The gym echoes with the sounds of volleyballs bouncing and sneakers squeaking against the polished wooden floor. Hinata, with his boundless energy, is already drenched in sweat, attempting another serve. The ball soars into the air, but his strike sends it careening off to the side, nowhere near the target. Beside him, three first-years watch intently, their expressions a mix of uncertainty and admiration.
"You're trying too hard to smash it," I call out, arms crossed as I observe the group. "Focus on the toss. Control comes first. Power will follow."
Hinata pants, giving a determined nod. He retrieves the ball, muttering something under his breath about getting it right this time. Meanwhile, the three newcomers are doing their best to pick up the basics, practicing serves and receives with varying levels of success.
I sigh softly. They're rough, no doubt about it. Hinata has the raw athleticism and fire, but his fundamentals are lacking. The first-years are green, barely grasping the basics of serving and receiving. And then there's Shigeo.
Shigeo is half-heartedly tossing a ball into the air, barely pretending to practice his sets. My lips twitch into a faint frown. I know Shigeo is slacking off, but I choose not to call him out—not yet. After all, I'm grateful that he joined the team, even if it took a little blackmail to make it happen.
"Alright, everyone, gather up!" I clap my hands, my voice cutting through the noise. The group shuffles toward me, forming a loose circle. Hinata plops down cross-legged, still catching his breath, while the first-years stand awkwardly. Shigeo ambles over at his own pace, tossing the ball in the air and catching it lazily.
I let the silence settle for a moment before speaking. "Do you know what separates a good player from a great one?" I scan their faces, letting the question hang in the air. Hinata tilts his head in confusion. Riku and Daiki exchange glances, while Minato simply looks thoughtful. Shigeo raises an eyebrow, his interest mildly piqued.
"It's ego," I say, my tone firm. "Not arrogance, not selfishness. Ego is about knowing your worth and believing you're the key to victory. Without it, you're just another player on the court. With it, you can become a diamond."
I watch their reactions carefully. Hinata's eyes widen, though it's clear he doesn't fully understand. The first-years look puzzled, with Riku tilting his head as if trying to process the concept. Shigeo, on the other hand, smirks faintly, shaking his head.
"Right now," I continue, "you're all diamonds in the rough. Potential, but unpolished. My job is to help you cut away the flaws and make you shine. But that starts with you believing you can shine."
I turn to Hinata first, pointing at him. "Hinata, you've got fire, but it's all over the place. You need control. Ego isn't just about going all out; it's about knowing when to push and when to hold back."
Hinata nods fervently, his determination shining through. "I'll figure it out! I'll become a diamond!"
I allow a small smile before shifting my gaze to Shigeo. "And you, Shigeo. You're a genius, no doubt about it. You're bright, smart, and a talented player. But what's the point of genius if you don't put in the effort to make it count?"
Shigeo's smirk fades slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. He shrugs, muttering, "Guess we'll see."
I step back, addressing the whole group. "Think of us as an orchestra. Each player has a role—a part to play in the symphony. The setter is the composer, the spiker the crescendo, and the libero the rhythm section holding it all together. But an orchestra only works if each musician has the ego to believe their part matters."
As the words left my mouth, a thought crossed my mind, unbidden but clear: In my past life, this idea of ego had inspired me profoundly. Maybe it's shameless, but I'll borrow it. It's a concept worth wielding here—to shape them, to shape me.
The first-years nod hesitantly, still processing the metaphor. Hinata looks deep in thought, clearly inspired but still trying to piece it together. Shigeo's smirk returns, but his eyes hold a flicker of intrigue.
"Now," I clap my hands once, "back to basics. Hinata, Minato, and Daiki, work on your receives. Riku, focus on serving. Shigeo, you're with me."
The team disperses, each heading to their assigned drills. I lead Shigeo to the net, tossing him a ball. "Alright, genius, show me what you've got as a setter."
Shigeo groans but complies, his movements lazy but precise. As I watch him set, I can't deny the talent. Shigeo's sets are nearly perfect, delivered with an ease that belies the effort required. His natural timing and precision are undeniable.
"Not bad," I remark. "Now let's see if you can sync with Hinata."
I call Hinata over, explaining the drill: a simple quick attack, with Shigeo setting and Hinata spiking. Hinata's eyes light up with excitement, while Shigeo rolls his eyes but gets into position. The first few attempts are chaotic—Hinata's timing is off, and Shigeo's sets don't quite match his pace. But then, almost by accident, it clicks.
Then BANG! The ball crashes into the court with a force that seems to echo endlessly in the gym. Everyone freezes, stunned by the sound and what it represents. My eyes watch their movements closely, inputting and analyzing every detail—imperfect, raw, yet undeniably filled with potential. Hinata's leap wasn't timed perfectly, his form slightly off-balance, but there was brilliance in that imperfection. Shigeo's set, while executed with a casual air, had the precision of someone far more experienced.
Hinata lands, his chest heaving, and stares at the ball for a moment before a wide grin splits his face. "Did you see that?" he shouts, his voice filled with exhilaration. "We did it!"
Shigeo blinks, then shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "Just a fluke. Don't expect it to happen again."
I watch them, satisfaction glimmering in my eyes. Hinata's raw athleticism, Shigeo's genius, and the growing potential of the first-years—the pieces are starting to fall into place. But this is only the beginning.
"Alright, let's call it a day," I finally say, clapping my hands. The team groans but obeys, gathering their things and heading out. As they leave the gym, I stay behind, gazing at the court with a smile.
This is just the beginning, but I can already hear the symphony beginning to take shape.