Morning training at Karasuno had become something of a legend—in less than a week.
By the fourth day under Rintarou Shimizu's coaching, the volleyball team's routine had transformed completely.
Gone were the lazy starts and disorganized drills. In their place: a strict 6:30 AM warm-up, fast-paced technical exercises, mental conditioning sessions, and a silent understanding that slacking off wasn't an option.
Yet somehow, it wasn't fear that pushed the boys.
It was **respect**.
"Stretch properly, Tanaka," Rintarou said, kneeling beside the first-year as he worked his hamstrings.
"Y-yes, sir!" Tanaka grunted, forcing the position even as his muscles trembled.
Rintarou gave him a small nod. "You're getting faster. Don't sacrifice form for speed."
"Understood!"
Across the gym, Daichi Sawamura led serve-receive rotations while Sugawara timed his sets to a metronome Rintarou had brought in. Asahi stood in the back, repeatedly spiking into a target square marked on the gym wall.
"Your toss is a little high," Rintarou called out to Asahi. "Lower it by five centimeters. Less arc. More power."
"Yes, Coach," Asahi replied softly.
Kiyoko watched from the corner of the gym as she wrote down notes in her clipboard. She caught herself smiling. The energy was different now—sharper, more focused.
Rintarou didn't micromanage, but nothing escaped his notice. He offered feedback without fuss, and encouragement without flattery.
Even the younger players—like the nervous freshman Ennoshita—were starting to believe they belonged on this court.
But not everyone adapted perfectly.
---
That afternoon, during team cleanup, Rintarou called Daichi, Sugawara, and Tanaka over to the equipment cabinet.
The three stood at attention like soldiers.
"Tomorrow," Rintarou said, "we'll begin positional evaluations."
Sugawara blinked. "Evaluations, sir?"
"You'll be formally assigned based on actual performance. Not tradition. No guarantees."
Tanaka rubbed the back of his neck. "Wait… like, even Daichi?"
"Especially Daichi," Rintarou replied. "Titles don't mean much if they aren't earned."
Daichi didn't flinch. He met his coach's eyes and nodded. "That's fair."
"Good," Rintarou said. "And another thing—there's a missing practice jersey from the laundry bin. Number 11. Anyone know where it went?"
The three looked at each other.
"No idea," Sugawara said.
"I saw it this morning," Tanaka muttered. "Pretty sure it was still in the basket."
Rintarou frowned slightly. "Keep your eyes open. If someone's being careless, I want to know."
---
The next day's practice was intense.
They ran full-court drills, forcing the players to cover gaps and scramble for control. Rintarou called out split-second decisions.
"Tanaka—rotate!"
"Asahi—track the block!"
"Daichi—read the setter's feet!"
It wasn't perfect. Far from it. But by the end of the session, the players were drenched, panting, and—most importantly—**learning**.
Rintarou sat them down afterward, holding his clipboard.
"Positional evaluations are tomorrow. Come ready."
Just as he stood to leave, Kiyoko walked over, frowning.
"What is it?" Rintarou asked.
"Found something odd," she said, holding up a jersey—the missing number 11.
It was stuffed into the bottom of a supply closet, balled up and damp.
"Why would someone hide it?" she asked.
Rintarou took it from her, fingers brushing over the back. There was a name tag inside.
Ennoshita.
His brow furrowed.
---
Later that evening, after most of the team had gone home, Rintarou found Ennoshita alone by the shoe lockers, lacing up his sneakers in silence.
"Ennoshita," he said.
The boy flinched slightly but looked up. "Yes, Coach?"
Rintarou held out the balled-up jersey. "Yours, isn't it?"
Ennoshita's face went pale.
"I… I didn't mean to—I wasn't trying to steal or anything—"
"You weren't," Rintarou said calmly. "But you did hide it."
The boy looked down. "I didn't think I deserved it. The others are stronger, better… I thought maybe if I skipped practice no one would notice…"
There was a long pause.
Then Rintarou sat down beside him.
"Do you know what I see when I look at you?" he asked.
Ennoshita shook his head.
"I see a player who's too scared to fail in front of others. Not because he's weak—but because he cares too much."
The younger boy blinked.
"That fear is normal. But if you want to grow, you don't run from it. You train through it."
Ennoshita said nothing.
Rintarou tossed the jersey onto his lap. "Tomorrow, you're first on the court. I expect you to be here at six. No excuses."
Ennoshita looked down at the jersey, then up at his coach.
"Yes, sir," he whispered.
---
The next morning, when Rintarou arrived at 5:55, Ennoshita was already waiting at the gate, jersey on, standing tall.
Rintarou didn't smile—but he gave the boy a nod of approval.
By 6:30, the team was running warm-up laps, and Rintarou had a new fire in his eyes.
The Crows were slowly finding their wings.