Chapter Sixteen

“Ah… a training match that lasts for three days straight…” At the entrance of the club, Eisuke Yaku looked utterly exhausted.

He was already a commuter student, and Oinuma High School was quite remote to begin with—his home was even further out. This kind of back-and-forth was really wearing him down.

“Why don’t you come stay at my place for a couple of days? My house is closer to the subway station,” Tetsurou Kuroo said, looking a bit troubled by Yaku’s worn-out expression.

The school they had arranged the training match with was in a suburban area on the other side of Tokyo, so they compromised and chose a club as the venue. Conveniently, Coach Nekomata served as a special advisor there, so the venue fee was waived.

The catch was that the opposing school only had free time in the mornings due to end-of-term exams and extra classes.

This meant they had to wake up early and take the subway for three consecutive days.

“It’s okay. I still have to take my kid to a crafts class at home, so I just have to hang in there for one more day,” Yaku waved his hand, trying to summon his energy.

Behind him, Takehiko Yamamoto looked puzzled. “Why is it so quiet today? Hardly anyone’s here… Huh? Kenma, what are you doing?”

There wasn’t a single soul outside today—not even the usual noisy kids.

Kenma, who had also noticed this, quietly observed for a while before sneaking toward the door of the second gym.

He pulled open the iron gate just a crack and peeked his head in, only to be startled by a sudden burst of cheers.

“Wow—did he really catch that ball just now?”

“So fast!!!”

“That serve was amazing too!”

Startled, Kenma quickly withdrew his head and, seeing he hadn’t been noticed, turned his gaze toward the court everyone was watching.

He saw the setter from Sendai Johsai standing still at the service line, holding the ball, while on the other side of the net stood a boy he had never seen before.

A kid acting as the referee blew a whistle, signaling the serve.

Toru Oikawa threw the ball up with force, then dashed forward, each step powerful against the floor.

With a thud, he leapt near the net, his body stretched like a taut bow, then hammered the ball down fiercely.

Kenma’s eyes widened.

That serve was impeccably precise and beautiful—no one at Oinuma could match that right now.

Though he could tell Oikawa was holding back a bit, that style was impossible to imitate.

The ball, like a small cannonball, crossed the net, aiming for a particularly tricky spot.

Kageyama focused intently on the ball, then lunged to his right.

Already familiar with receiving, he smoothly bumped the ball up with his arms. Though he had to drop to one knee awkwardly chasing the ball, managing to catch it was a success.

“Whoa! He caught that?” Eisuke Yaku’s voice came from beside Kenma, who was so focused he hadn’t reacted.

“What do you think?” Kuroo asked Yaku, who played libero.

He recognized Toru Oikawa, but the boy receiving seemed too small—definitely not a high schooler.

Could he be Sendai Johsai’s newly trained libero?

Yaku rubbed his chin. “His movements are pretty awkward, and he doesn’t seem to know how to protect himself in reception, but the accuracy is impressive… kind of off, though.”

Watching Oikawa and Kageyama repeat the serve and reception, Yaku suddenly had a flash of insight. “That kid... could he be a beginner?”

“Ha ha ha, you’re right on the money.” Noticing the cluster of heads at the gate, Coach Nekomata, who had been observing inside for some time, approached.

“Coach,” Kuroo greeted him as he joined.

Yaku, who had merely guessed, looked stunned. “Really? A beginner?”

Nekomata chuckled. “The coach of the junior team over there said he arrived at eight in the morning, and when he first came, he couldn’t even bump the ball.”

“But I just got here too.”

Hearing that, Yaku’s eyes sparkled.

He had guessed the boy was new to volleyball, but not this new!

A freshly minted beginner, less than two hours into the game, already able to receive such a powerful jump serve.

“How old is he?” Yaku’s eyes shone as he looked at Kageyama almost like he was a precious gem.

Kenma added, “He’s in the third year of middle school, I overheard.”

Yaku looked deeply at Nekomata. “Coach, I want to—”

“Don’t think about it. He’s obviously being trained by Sendai Johsai,” Kuroo, who had just inquired about the situation, came back and poured cold water on Yaku’s hopes.

Just like at Seijoh, Oinuma had been eliminated early in the Tokyo regional tournament and didn’t make it to nationals. The third-years had voluntarily stepped back; only the second and first years formed the starting lineup.

Their recruitment plan wasn’t going well. The promising talent Nekomata had spotted was only one middle blocker; the first-year backup libero was nowhere near Yaku’s level.

When this year’s second-years became seniors, they might face a gap in talent.

After all, for Oinuma, known for its defense, choosing a libero was crucial.

Yaku had obviously taken a liking to the boy receiving, but with the setter already their mainstay, it was impossible to lure him away.

“Don’t crush my hopes…” Yaku looked disappointed.

As they discussed, Oikawa and Kageyama finally paused after nearly two hours of nonstop play.

“Phew—time for halftime!” Oikawa exhaled deeply. He hadn’t played volleyball continuously like this in a long time.

Though tired, he had learned a lot during those two hours of continuous serving.

Perhaps he could increase the power and speed of his jump serve.

After all, just relying on tricky angles wasn’t enough—novices like Kageyama could still chase those down.

When Oikawa called a stop, Kageyama, already physically drained, nearly collapsed.

He admitted he had been caught up in the heat of the moment, trying to compete with Oikawa and completely ignoring his stamina.

“Those guys are amazing!” The kid who had been refereeing ran up to Oikawa, admiration shining on his face. “I want to be that strong someday!”

Oikawa patted the kid’s head. “You’re still just starting. You’ll be stronger than us.”

“Mm-hmm!”

After seeing the kid off, Oikawa looked somewhat baffled at the growing crowd.

Noticing the bruise on Kageyama’s knee, he suddenly realized he had forgotten to buy him knee pads.

“How’s your leg? Painful?” Oikawa checked Kageyama’s knee and arms, a bit unconvincing as a senior.

Like when he first started volleyball, Kageyama’s arms were dotted with small red marks from receiving.

“It’s okay, not too bad,” Kageyama said casually.

He had fallen plenty of times playing basketball, where physical contact was common, and going to the infirmary after collisions was routine.

Today, it was mainly due to his unfamiliarity. After two hours of receiving Oikawa’s serves, he had begun to find his rhythm and no longer flung himself awkwardly to the floor.

Oikawa breathed easier. “Good to hear.”

“I don’t know much about defense techniques yet. When you get back to Miyagi, I’ll ask Wataru Shinji to help you out. You two should get along well.”

Kageyama had shown strong offensive skills playing basketball, often scoring or assisting on key shots.

Whenever he passed, Teiko would almost always score.

Now, Shinji, who had taken over as Aoba Johsai’s starting libero, was originally a setter, so he sometimes organized attacks, which could inspire Kageyama.

“But I think the club’s advisor is…” Oikawa suddenly recalled something and glanced around.

After they stopped practicing, the junior team members who had gathered to watch had gradually left, making the group in red tracksuits stand out more.

Oikawa’s gaze met that of a white-haired old man with a kindly smile.

“Ah.” Oikawa was surprised.

It was indeed Coach Nekomata, who had developed Oinuma’s defense-focused style and was the legendary rival coach of the Small Giant’s team.

The youths beside him were presumably Oinuma’s current starters.

“They noticed me…” Kenma, first to catch Oikawa’s gaze, shrank back behind the others.

Not sure if it was some rivalry between setters, he instinctively thought the other side was difficult to deal with.

Yaku liked Kageyama more and more the longer he looked at him.

Kohei Fukunaga grabbed the restless senior libero. “You don’t want to.”

Coach Nekomata checked the time. “It’s almost time. Go warm up next door.”

Watching the fun was fine, but they couldn’t delay the real business.

“Yes!”

Before leaving, Yaku, after much internal debate, turned and hurried toward Kageyama.

He had no ulterior motive.

He just felt, inexplicably, that if he let this chance slip by without a fight… he would regret it forever.

“Hey!” Kuroo couldn’t stop him.

Yaku’s sudden approach left Oikawa and Kageyama confused.

“Hello, fellow student. I’m Eisuke Yaku, libero from Oinuma High School. Here’s my number. If you’re interested in coming to Oinuma, feel free to contact me anytime.” Yaku’s eyes shone with admiration for talent.

He looked at Kageyama as if he were a priceless treasure, making Kageyama a little uneasy.

As soon as Yaku finished, Oikawa’s expression darkened like the bottom of a pot.

Wait, is it really okay to openly poach like this?

Unfortunately, Yaku left as abruptly as he came, leaving the number before chasing after his teammates.

Oikawa glumly snatched the paper from Kageyama’s hand and pocketed it, mentally blacklisting Eisuke Yaku.

Still, he didn’t throw the paper away.

Oikawa remembered Yaku’s reputation. Though Oinuma hadn’t performed well these past two years, liberos of that caliber were rare in high school volleyball, and Yaku was well-known.

But to catch the attention of higher levels, they needed that golden ticket—the national tournament berth.

Neither Oinuma nor Aoba Johsai had it.

Moreover, one reason Oikawa chose this club was Coach Nekomata. Now that a libero trained by Nekomata had voluntarily left his contact info, Oikawa had no reason to refuse.

Of course, it would be better if he weren’t competing for the same underclassman.

“Libero is the defensive specialist, right?” Kageyama looked up at Oikawa.

Oikawa nodded. “Exactly. From serve reception to digging spikes, the libero is basically half the team’s core.”

“So defense means catching the balls the opponent hits over?” Kageyama asked.

If it were just that, it wouldn’t be too hard—he had been repeating that process all along.

Though awkward, he had caught every ball.

Oikawa thought for a moment and gave him an affirmative answer:

“That’s not wrong. Volleyball is a game where the ball can’t touch the ground. As long as a defensive player catches the ball, the rally continues.”

“But in real matches, defense is more complicated. With six players on the court, you have to consider your movement range without interfering with teammates’ paths.”

“The most important thing is that the defensive player must deliver the ball to the setter, who then organizes the offense.”

Kageyama, still unfamiliar with volleyball, asked, “Setter?”

“Right, that’s me on Aoba Johsai,” Oikawa said, pointing to himself.

He then walked onto the court and demonstrated.

“Usually, the libero replaces the back-row player who receives the first ball. Because of rotation rules, the setter can start in any position on the court.”

“Though they usually move to the front near the net for convenience, it’s not fixed. Different strategies have different setter positions and thus different targets for the defensive pass.”

Hearing this, Kageyama suddenly understood.

“So, I’m not just catching the ball. I need to pass it to where the setter is?”

Oikawa snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

Seeing Kageyama grasp the concept, Oikawa continued:

“Compared to professional teams, high school teams often struggle with fundamentals, making their defense unstable.”

“Unstable defense means many balls don’t reach the setter, or the setter has to run around meaninglessly.”

Aoba Johsai faced this too.

Against powerhouse Shiratorizawa’s high-pressure offense, Oikawa often failed to get the ball.

Either on the initial reception or chasing balls passed wildly by teammates.

Oikawa’s tricky ‘outside-the-court’ setter moves were often forced by circumstances.

If he could reduce this pointless exertion, he’d have more energy for offense and wouldn’t have to make abstract, ugly passes due to positional limits.

Among his peers, talented players willing to specialize in defense were rare.

The libero, who almost spends the entire match crawling on the floor and whose brilliance is overshadowed by teammates, was seldom chosen by middle schoolers.

Compared to attackers and setters, the libero’s role was almost invisible.

But anyone who plays volleyball knows how vital this position is.

No matter how skilled the attackers or how clever the setter’s strategies, if the ball doesn’t reach the setter, none of it matters.

Volleyball is a sport of constant progress, but the libero forms the foundation.

Kageyama had played a similar shadowed role in the Teiko basketball team, sacrificing all glory for the team—a feat few could manage.

But not everyone wants to be a lifelong shadow.

Oikawa’s plan to make Kageyama a libero was just his idea; whether Kageyama accepted it was up to him.

Even if Kageyama wanted to be a setter, Oikawa would fully support him.

Kageyama was mature and gentle—better than Tobio Kageyama, right?

And mastering reception fundamentals was essential for all positions.

As for other rules and points… a professional coach would teach those at tomorrow’s trial class.

“Setter’s position…” Kageyama thought about the spots Oikawa had pointed to earlier and began to understand.

Simply put, he needed to deliver the ball to a fixed spot. While catching, he had to find a way to pass it to the setter’s location.

He had done similar things before—when playing basketball, he often passed balls directly over Midorima’s head and performed aerial relays with others.

Compared to basketball, volleyball was easier to control. If the target was stationary, the difficulty decreased.

But for Kageyama now, the hardest part was the “catching” process.

Unlike basketball’s forgiving passes, volleyball balls came from opponents’ full-power spikes.

Hence, the balls were extremely fast and hard.

If he compared, they were as powerful as his fastest accelerated passes—maybe even more.

Kageyama couldn’t control the ball steadily yet; every reception looked awkward.

While Kageyama pondered, Oikawa borrowed tape from the staff and marked several common setter positions on the court with X’s.

“These are common setter positions in various tactics. When we practice reception later, try to pass the ball near these spots.”

It didn’t have to be perfect; as long as it was within a step’s reach, it was an excellent pass.

—Oikawa’s standards were low.

“I understand,” Kageyama nodded.

Oikawa’s step-by-step teaching suited him well, starting from the easiest part and gradually increasing difficulty.

What Kageyama didn’t know was that if a professional coach saw Oikawa teaching this way, they’d probably faint.

Because starting reception training without any basic groundwork was almost like forcing growth prematurely.