By Monday, the Karasuno gym was no longer just a school facility—it was a **war room**.
The announcement of a practice match had shaken the team. They weren't ready. Not yet. But that was exactly what Rintarou wanted.
Pressure revealed more than comfort ever could.
He stood before the team with a whiteboard covered in diagrams, notes, and small magnets shaped like players.
"Our first opponent is Shizukawa High," he said. "Middle of the pack. Strong blocker at the net, average libero, excellent setter. They specialize in wearing teams down with long rallies."
He pointed to the diagram of their rotation.
"They don't make flashy plays. They play smart and punish weak systems. Which is why they're perfect for us right now."
Tanaka leaned forward, eyes wide. "We gonna crush 'em, Coach?"
"No," Rintarou said bluntly. "You're going to survive them. Then you'll learn how to win."
The mood shifted. The boys straightened their backs, focused.
"From today until Friday," Rintarou continued, "we train like we're already in a match. No more isolated drills. Everything we do is about cohesion."
He tapped the magnet representing Sugawara.
"Setters lead flow. Suga, you'll shadow each offensive combination. Learn who jumps fastest, who needs space, who can adapt midair."
"Yes, Coach."
He moved to Asahi's magnet. "You've got the power. Now we're training your mental recovery. Every time you miss a spike, you do pushups until you're breathing normal. No slumps."
"Understood."
"Daichi," he said, "you're in charge of emergency rotations. I'm assigning you two additional roles: on-court communicator and defensive leader. That means you make split-second calls. If someone's late, you cover. If someone panics, you stabilize."
Daichi nodded slowly. "That's a lot."
Rintarou gave him a look. "That's leadership."
Tanaka raised a hand. "What about me?"
"You're going to be annoying."
"…What?"
Rintarou turned to him, serious. "Disrupt. Shout. Dive for impossible receives. Spike when they don't expect it. You're the wild card. Own it."
Tanaka's eyes lit up. "I was born annoying!"
Kiyoko, from the corner, sighed and scribbled something on the clipboard.
---
**Later That Day — Scrimmage Training**
They divided into two squads: Team A and Team B. Rintarou served as referee, and Kiyoko managed the scoreboard.
The players started off stiff. Their movements lacked fluidity. They hesitated, unsure who would call what, even though they'd practiced these plays for three days.
Sugawara's tosses were clean but safe. Asahi's spikes were strong but inconsistent. Daichi kept scrambling to cover holes in defense.
"Stop," Rintarou called after ten minutes. "Everyone reset."
They jogged back to the sidelines, breathing hard.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked calmly.
No one answered.
"You're not playing. You're performing. There's a difference."
He walked down the middle of the court.
"In a match, you don't have time to be cautious. You commit. Full speed. Whether you succeed or not, doesn't matter if you hesitate."
He looked to Daichi. "Run this again. But this time, don't hold back. I want full voice calls. I want every dive. Every block. You're not just trying to beat each other. You're trying to find rhythm."
Daichi nodded. "Yes, Coach."
The whistle blew again.
This time, something clicked.
Daichi shouted instructions clearly—"Left back! Block right!"—and the others reacted.
Sugawara dared to toss faster, pushing his spikers to adjust. Asahi landed his hits with increasing accuracy. Tanaka chased down balls that should've been out of reach. Even Narita and Kinoshita—usually reserved—began calling for plays.
The energy shifted.
Kiyoko glanced at Rintarou and caught a glint of approval in his eyes.
He didn't smile. But his posture eased just slightly.
They were learning.
---
**Thursday — Final Preparation**
The gym was hot with tension.
Rintarou had the team run scenario drills: 22-24, opponent's match point. Who panics? Who rallies? Who makes the smart call?
Daichi shined under pressure. Asahi had moments of brilliance. Even Tanaka showed gutsy confidence.
During water breaks, Rintarou pulled individuals aside for one-on-one talk.
He asked Ennoshita about how he felt calling for the ball.
"I still hesitate, sometimes," the boy admitted.
"You're not alone," Rintarou said. "But hesitation spreads. Learn to trust the decision. Even if it's wrong, at least it's yours."
He worked with Suga on quick tosses, showing him how to bait blockers and create false rhythms.
He brought Asahi aside and made him close his eyes mid-practice, visualizing himself hitting against three blockers, hearing the crowd noise in his head.
"You're not weak, Asahi," he said. "You're just too careful. Let your instincts guide you."
That night, as the gym emptied out, Rintarou stayed behind.
Ikkei Ukai sat on the bench beside him.
"They've changed," the old man said.
"They're starting to believe," Rintarou replied.
"Do you?"
Rintarou didn't answer at first.
Then, slowly, "They're not ready to win yet. But they're ready to fight."
Ikkei smirked. "That's more than most teams ever are."
---
**Friday — Match Day**
Shizukawa High's team arrived just after lunch, their uniforms crisp, their players taller and broader. Their captain shook hands with Rintarou, a bit too casually.
"I heard you used to play for the national team," the boy said. "Didn't think we'd see a celebrity here."
"I'm just a coach now," Rintarou said. "Let's see if you're good enough to notice the difference."
Inside, Karasuno's players were lacing up their shoes, adjusting knee pads, checking grip on their fingers. Nervous tension buzzed like static.
Rintarou entered the locker room.
"You're not here to impress me," he said. "You're here to prove to yourselves that everything you've trained for matters."
He looked at each of them, then added, "Play loud. Play smart. Trust each other. You don't win with the best players. You win with the best *team*."
The boys stood.
Daichi took a breath.
"Karasuno… fight!"
The gym echoed.
Rintarou Shimizu stood at the sideline, arms folded.
Let's see if you can fly.