Because of Coach Washijō's sharp tongue, the coaches from other schools didn't dare approach him to make conversation.
A few coaches who often played practice matches against Shiratorizawa did gather around to chat, though. The remaining coaches kept their eyes fixed on the court, but their ears were clearly tilted in, listening closely.
Coach Irihata from Aobajosai walked over with a smiling squint.
"Well now, where did you dig up that new kid? He's playing pretty well."
Coach Washijō saw through the old fox instantly and let out a sarcastic snort.
"He came to Shiratorizawa on his own. Got in with his academic scores. I didn't poach him."
Irihata choked on his words. Thinking about the grades of the brats on his own team, irritation surged up and his expression soured.
The people gathered around Coach Washijō were stunned. So he wasn't just good at volleyball—his grades were strong too?
Watching Ryosuke's receives, Irihata quietly started plotting. He wasn't officially wearing the team uniform yet. Maybe he could borrow him for a while and take the edge off Oikawa.
"This kid's mine. I raised him," Coach Washijō added flatly. "Once he becomes a regular, we can play more practice matches. Letting him stay with your team for a bit wouldn't be impossible—but don't get any funny ideas.
I didn't raise him for nothing."
Now it was everyone else's turn to be shocked—one moment they were listening idly, the next they were blindsided by the revelation.
Irihata had vaguely heard rumors before, about how Coach Washijō had brought home a child years ago. He'd thought it sounded ridiculous at the time.
Now, though… it really paid off. If I'd known, I should've raised a kid too. What a loss.
That pretty much extinguished the quiet schemes of the other schools. No one was going to go as far as abducting someone else's kid.
On the court, the first set was nearing its end: 22–23. Set point was just around the corner.
And yet, the purple team was only leading by one point. Were they going easy on them?
If Reon heard that, he'd be cursing loudly. Going easy? Like hell! I spike five balls and only score once—how is that going easy?!
All anyone could see now was Ryosuke sprinting across the backcourt like the wind, digging ball after ball. Up front, Goshiki and Yunohama were set up like heavy artillery, smashing everything that came their way.
Even Tendo couldn't hold back anymore.
"Hey, Wakatoshi, I swear Ryosuke-kun is like some kind of floor god."
Standing beside him, Wakatoshi nodded calmly.
"He can receive my spikes."
Kawanishi shivered. Thank god he's a teammate. If he were an opponent, I'd probably lose my mind.
The first set ended shortly after, with the purple team finishing one point ahead.
Yamagata grabbed a bottle of water and gulped it down before jogging over to the ever-stoic Reon with a grin.
"So, Reon—how is it? What do you think?"
Reon lifted his head weakly.
"At this rate, I'm going to get worn down to death.
Semi, next set, try to avoid serving to Ryosuke. Aim for that Yunohama guy instead."
"OK," Semi replied in distinctly unpolished English.
But choosing exactly who to serve to wasn't something you could always control—especially with a libero whose mobility was maxed out.
In situations like this, the success rate of serves only kept dropping.
Coach Washijō sat on a small bench and flipped open his records. A barely noticeable smile of approval crossed his face. Reon's scoring rate had been cut by at least half in the previous set. Anyone would be getting restless.
Before the second set began, the three players on the white team huddled together to discuss how to beat their seniors.
The one offering ideas was Yunohama. Compared to Ryosuke's naturally shy demeanor and Goshiki's hot-blooded enthusiasm, Yunohama's calm stood out all the more at this moment.
"Goshiki," Yunohama said quietly, "I've more or less figured out your hitting point. Reon-senpai's getting impatient—he'll instinctively focus on guarding Ryosuke.
When I set, I'll try to draw Semi-senpai away. After that, it'll just be you against Yamagata-senpai."
Ryosuke raised his arms—already starting to swell—and thought for a moment.
"As for Yamagata-senpai… aim your spikes near his feet. He has trouble with balls that land too close. If he misses, we score.
Even if he gets it up, his knee will hit the floor, and that'll make the first pass unstable."
Goshiki stared at him in shock.
"Ryosuke-kun?!"
"Hm?" Ryosuke tilted his head, confused.
"Were you possessed or something?! You—you actually said all that?!" Goshiki waved his arms around, acting out Ryosuke's usual silent self.
This is so embarrassing… Yunohama covered his face silently.
Ryosuke's face had gone as red as a tomato.
Goshiki's greatest strength was that he listened. When it came to volleyball, he was especially obedient. Back in middle school, because of his coach, he'd honed his sharp cross shots to perfection—though as a result, he was oddly bad at the straight shots most players favored.
Once the second set began, Goshiki started quietly putting in more power. A libero's range of movement was huge; trying to target one was both difficult and, in a way, not difficult at all.
When the first ball came over, Yunohama made a token block at the net—half-hearted at best.
In the backcourt, Ryosuke swept in like a gust of wind, arriving exactly where the ball was about to land.
In the stands, Oikawa covered his mouth. Here it comes again. No matter how they serve, they just can't score.
All eyes on the court were now locked onto Ryosuke. Yunohama quietly slipped into position three, marking Reon one-on-one.
Catching Yunohama's position out of the corner of his eye, Ryosuke delivered an extremely comfortable first pass. Yunohama bent his knees and sent a fast, flat set to position four.
Semi kept his eyes on Yunohama to guard against a second touch, while Yunohama watched Reon, cutting off his chance to receive.
The ball rose above Goshiki. He started his approach from behind the three-meter line.
He always remembered one rule:
If you can score, score. If you can't, make the ball do as much as it possibly can.
His gaze locked onto Yamagata in the backcourt. This angle could go cross.
With a flick of his wrist, the ball spun toward Yamagata. Yamagata hesitated.
Receive it—or don't?
Semi and Reon were tied up watching the others. The ball dropped closer and closer to Yamagata's feet.
Yamagata suddenly crouched, shifting toward the right-center. Just as Ryosuke had said, his right knee hit the floor in that position.
Anyone who played volleyball knew this—especially liberos. From that angle, trying to adjust and deliver a clean first pass was extremely difficult.