Still Saturday, 17 July 2001.
AKAI-KUMA E-sports team office.
Ryota Tanabe let out a long sigh as he stood inside the AKAI-KUMA training facility. It was supposed to be the weekend, yet somehow, the entire office was filled with players, coaches, analysts, nutrition staff, doctors, and support members. Not only the DoTA team had been summoned. The Counter-Strike team was also here, and even the single-player athletes, such as fighting-game players, racing-game players, and arcade specialists, had been called in.
All of this had happened because Zaboru had introduced a new training method for Japanese E-sports several months ago.
At first, almost every player had complained.
A lot.
They were gamers, after all. Most of them had expected professional E-sports training to mean sitting in front of a screen for many hours, practicing strategies, improving mechanics, reviewing replays, and maybe discussing team communication. They did not expect treadmills, stretching routines, reaction drills, posture correction, nutrition plans, eye-care checks, sleep scheduling, heart-rate monitoring, and physical conditioning.
The first time Ryota announced it, some players thought he was joking.
He was not.
Zaboru had created the system based on how professional E-sports teams trained in his previous life, especially more modern methods that treated E-sports players as real athletes rather than unhealthy nerds locked inside gaming rooms. The goal was simple: better stamina, sharper focus, stronger posture, healthier bodies, faster reactions, and fewer injuries from long training sessions.
Ryota had to admit the idea sounded strange at first.
Then the results started appearing.
Players who used to lose focus after several hours could now maintain concentration longer. Team communication improved because their bodies were no longer completely exhausted after every practice block. Their wrists, backs, shoulders, and eyes were monitored properly. Their meals were healthier. Their sleep schedules became less catastrophic. Even their reaction time and emotional control improved.
Because of that, the Japanese government and several major corporations began helping spread the training method across the country's professional E-sports scene. Japan did not want to fall behind America, China, Korea, or Europe in the growing global E-sports market.
So now, not only AKAI-KUMA used Zaboru's system.
Sonaya Speed, Honda Bright, Suzuki Mint, and many other large company-backed E-sports teams in Japan had adopted similar training structures. Each team adjusted the program slightly depending on its budget and game focus, but the basic philosophy remained the same.
E-sports players were no longer treated like random gamers who happened to be good.
They were treated like competitive athletes.
And competitive athletes needed to train.
Unfortunately, that idea did not make the players happy while they were running.
Inside the AKAI-KUMA training room, five members of the DoTA team were currently on treadmills: Rikiya, Tomoyasu, Iwataro, Keisuke, and Koichi. All of them were sweating heavily, breathing hard, and looking as if they were being punished for crimes they did not remember committing.
Rikiya, the captain of AKAI-KUMA's DoTA team, was trying to remain calm because he was supposed to be the responsible one.
But even he was suffering.
His legs felt heavy, his breathing was rough, and every few seconds, he glanced at the treadmill timer with deep hatred.
Beside him, Tomoyasu remained quiet as usual, but his blank expression looked more dead than normal. Koichi was shyly enduring the training without saying much, though his face had turned red from exhaustion. Keisuke, on the other hand, looked bizarrely energetic despite sweating like everyone else.
Then there was Iwataro.
Iwataro was not handling it well.
"Shit!" Iwataro groaned loudly while gripping the treadmill handle. "Why do we need to run every goddamn time we come here!? We are not football players! We are not boxers! We click mouse and press keyboard! My legs don't need to do any damn thing!."
A nearby staff member tried not to laugh.
Iwataro continued suffering dramatically. "Aghh, damn it! My legs! My legs are filing a resignation letter!"
Ryota, who was standing nearby with a clipboard in his hand, immediately shouted, "Shut up and keep running!"
Iwataro turned his head weakly. "President, this is cruel!"
Ryota pointed at him. "Cruel? You saw the improvement from Zaboru's training these past months, didn't you!? You all play better now! Your stamina improved! Your late-game concentration improved! Your team coordination improved! Last week you almost beat Korea's LG Thunder!"
Iwataro gasped for air. "Almost is still lose!"
"But it was not humiliation!" Ryota shouted back. "Do you understand how big that is!? Before this, strong Korean teams treated Japanese teams like practice dummies! Always 3-0! Now AKAI-KUMA actually fought back! You lost 3-2, but you made them sweat!"
Rikiya, despite suffering, nodded slightly. "That part is true."
Tomoyasu quietly said, "Their captain looked angry."
Koichi added shyly, "Their support player also looked very stressed."
Keisuke suddenly raised one fist while running. "HELL YEAH! That means we're getting stronger!"
Iwataro looked at him with betrayal in his eyes. "Why are you excited!? We are dying!"
Keisuke grinned while still running. "Because pain means growth!"
Iwataro shouted, "Pain also means pain!"
Ryota slammed the clipboard against his palm. "Enough! If you play better, your reputation improves. If your reputation improves, your tournament results improve. If your tournament results improve, your pay improves too! Do you understand!?"
The moment money was mentioned, several players became slightly quieter.
Ryota smirked.
He knew that worked.
Professional pride was important.
National pride was important.
But better salary was a very powerful motivator.
Ryota continued, "You want to become top players? Then stop acting like you're being tortured because you need to run for a bit! Zaboru said E-sports players need strong bodies to maintain strong minds. And you know what? He was right!"
Iwataro muttered, "I hate when Zaboru-san is right."
Rikiya breathed heavily and said, "He's usually right about games."
Iwataro snapped back, "This is not a game. This is treadmill horror."
One of the doctors monitoring them checked the heart-rate display and calmly said, "Your condition is still safe."
Iwataro looked at him with disbelief. "Doctor, my soul is not safe."
The doctor adjusted his glasses. "Unfortunately, I am not a soul specialist."
Keisuke burst out laughing so hard he almost lost his running rhythm.
Ryota immediately shouted, "Keisuke! Don't fall!"
Keisuke corrected himself and shouted, "I'm fine! I can run more!"
Everyone else groaned.
Keisuke was the only one who genuinely liked the physical training. He treated every exercise session like a shonen training arc. While the others saw treadmills and thought of suffering, Keisuke saw himself becoming stronger before a decisive battle against Korea, China, and America.
Iwataro hated him a little for that.
After the treadmill session ended, the players were not allowed to immediately collapse on the floor. The staff guided them into cooldown stretches, hydration checks, and breathing recovery.
Iwataro tried to lie down anyway.
A staff member immediately stopped him.
"Please sit properly first."
Iwataro looked betrayed. "Even the floor rejected me."
Rikiya wiped his sweat with a towel and looked toward Ryota. "President, I understand the purpose, but do we really need this schedule every week?"
Ryota sighed, then answered more calmly. "Yes. But not because I want to torture you. You know how fast E-sports is growing right now. DoTA, Counter-Strike, fighting games, racing games, real-time strategy, arcade competitions… everything is becoming bigger. More viewers are watching on YouTube. More sponsors are entering. More companies are creating teams. If Japan wants to become top tier, we cannot train like amateurs."
Rikiya nodded slowly.
Ryota continued, "Korea is strong because their PC culture is insane. America has huge money and strong FPS players. China is developing fast because of its player population. Europe has strategy-game monsters. Japan has talent, but talent alone is not enough anymore."
He pointed toward them.
"You guys are AKAI-KUMA. You represent AKAI, ZAGE's subsidiary, and Japan's professional E-sports scene. If you become strong, other teams will follow. If you become lazy, everyone will laugh and say Japanese E-sports is only good at making excuses."
That made the room quieter.
Even Iwataro stopped complaining for a moment.
Ryota's voice softened slightly. "Last week against LG Thunder, you proved something. You proved Japan can fight Korea. You lost, yes. But it was 3-2. Not 3-0. Not a stomp. You adapted, you communicated, you forced them into late-game mistakes, and you nearly took the series. That matters."
The memory of that match made everyone's expression change.
LG Thunder was one of the top-tier E-sports teams in Korea, especially in DoTA. Before the match, many viewers expected AKAI-KUMA to lose badly. Korean teams were feared for their discipline, mechanical skill, and terrifying practice culture. They were fast, coordinated, and ruthless once they gained an advantage.
But AKAI-KUMA had fought back.
In game one, they lost because their early-game draft collapsed.
In game two, Rikiya's leadership allowed them to drag the match into a late-game teamfight, where Keisuke's aggressive play created a comeback.
In game three, Tomoyasu's quiet but precise support rotations shocked the Korean commentators.
In game four, LG Thunder responded brutally and crushed them.
Then came game five.
AKAI-KUMA lost.
But only barely.
For Japanese E-sports fans, that result felt like a declaration.
Japan was not there yet.
But Japan was coming.
The match replay became popular on YouTube almost immediately. Fans analyzed every teamfight, every mistake, every clutch moment, and every shot of Ryota looking like he wanted to age ten years during game five.
Some viewers mocked them for losing.
But many others were excited.
For the first time, Japanese DoTA fans felt that one of their teams might truly reach the international top level.
That excitement created pressure.
And pressure created more training.
Iwataro, unfortunately, believed pressure should create more sleeping instead.
After cooldown, the players moved toward the nutrition area. Several prepared meals were waiting for them: rice, chicken, fish, vegetables, eggs, miso soup, fruit, and carefully measured drinks. It was not a prison diet. The food actually tasted good because AKAI-KUMA hired proper chefs.
But compared to instant noodles, fried snacks, soda, and convenience-store junk food, it still felt too healthy for some of the players.
Iwataro stared at his plate. "Where is the emotional support fried chicken?"
The nutritionist smiled. "You can have a cheat meal after the weekly review if your condition and practice results are good."
Iwataro slowly turned toward Ryota. "President."
Ryota immediately said, "No."
"I didn't even ask."
"You were about to."
Iwataro lowered his head. "This organization has no freedom."
Keisuke happily ate his meal. "This is good! Protein!"
Iwataro stared at him. "Keisuke, sometimes I think you were born in the wrong genre."
Koichi quietly ate beside them, then said, "But… I do feel less tired during long matches now."
Rikiya nodded. "Same. My focus during late game improved."
Tomoyasu simply said, "My wrist hurts less."
Iwataro looked around at his teammates, realizing that everyone was slowly betraying the complaining side.
He clicked his tongue. "Fine. Maybe the training works. But I reserve the right to complain."
Ryota grinned. "Complaining while improving is acceptable."
After the meal, the teams moved into the analysis room. The walls were covered with match diagrams, hero-pick statistics, map-control notes, and replay screenshots. Several analysts had already prepared breakdowns of the LG Thunder series, especially the mistakes from game five.
This part was where the players became serious.
No jokes.
No groaning.
No nonsense.
The moment the replay started, Rikiya leaned forward. Keisuke stopped fidgeting. Tomoyasu's eyes sharpened. Koichi took notes. Even Iwataro, who had complained about everything since morning, watched carefully.
They wanted to win.
That was the truth beneath all the whining.
They hated the running, hated the strict meals, hated the weekend training, and hated how Ryota shouted at them like a military coach trapped inside a gaming company president's body.
But they wanted to win.
And because they wanted to win, they endured it.
The analyst paused the replay during a crucial late-game fight.
"This is where LG Thunder regained control," he said. "Rikiya's call was correct, but Keisuke entered half a second too early. And their Sand King support actually really insane in timing and Tomoyasu was still rotating from the river, and Koichi had no vision on the left side."
Keisuke frowned deeply. "I thought we had the angle."
Rikiya shook his head. "We almost did. But because your Sven entered first, they focused you before I could start properly and Sand King stunned you."
Keisuke lowered his head. "My bad."
Iwataro crossed his arms. "Next time, wait for the quiet ghost over there."
Tomoyasu blinked. "Me?"
"Yes, you. You appear from nowhere and save us. That is ghost behavior."
Tomoyasu thought about it for a moment. "Okay."
Koichi quietly added, "Actually… if I placed the ward earlier, Keisuke might not have gone in."
The room became quiet.
Rikiya nodded. "Then that's our correction. Vision first, support position confirmed, then Keisuke enters."
Keisuke slammed one fist into his palm. "Got it!"
Ryota watched from the back of the room, arms crossed.
This was why he pushed them.
Moments like this.
The players were not simply gaming anymore. They were reviewing mistakes, correcting timing, adjusting communication, improving stamina, managing health, and treating victory like a profession.
This was what Zaboru wanted E-sports in Japan to become.
Not a hobby with sponsors.
A real competitive field.
Ryota looked at the AKAI-KUMA players and felt a strange mixture of pride and exhaustion.
They were still immature.
They still complained too much.
Iwataro alone could generate enough complaints to power a small city.
But they were improving.
Slowly, painfully, loudly, and with unnecessary drama, AKAI-KUMA was becoming stronger.
Across Japan, the same transformation was beginning.
Sonaya Speed was building a frighteningly disciplined fighting-game division. Honda Bright was investing heavily Counter-Strike. Suzuki Mint was creating one of the most balanced multi-game rosters in the country. Other companies were entering the scene as well, hoping to ride the rising popularity of E-sports before the market became too crowded.
YouTube made everything even more explosive.
Matches could now be watched by fans across Japan and abroad. Highlight clips spread quickly. Player personalities became popular. Rivalries formed. Sponsors saw potential. Young players began dreaming not only of becoming game developers, but also professional players.
This world E-sports was still young and Japanese are still behind.
Korea, America, China, and Europe remained ahead in many areas.
But Japan was no longer standing still.
The culture was changing.
The structure was improving.
The players were suffering.
And somehow, that suffering was working.
Later that afternoon, after the review session ended, Ryota looked at the team and clapped his hands once.
"All right. Next block: scrim practice."
Iwataro slowly raised his hand. "Can the next block be nap practice?"
Ryota smiled.
"No."
Iwataro lowered his hand. "Cruel world."
Keisuke jumped up from his seat. "Let's go! We're beating Korea next time!"
Rikiya stood as well, looking tired but determined. "Yeah. Next time, we win."
Tomoyasu nodded quietly.
Koichi smiled shyly. "I'll do my best."
Iwataro stood last, groaning dramatically as if he were an old man with cursed bones. But despite all his complaints, his eyes were sharper than before.
"Fine," he muttered. "Let's make LG Thunder regret surviving game five."
Ryota grinned.
"That's the spirit."
And so, AKAI-KUMA continued training on a weekend, complaining loudly, sweating horribly, eating properly, reviewing matches seriously, and slowly becoming one of Japan's strongest E-sports teams.
At the same time, Japan's entire E-sports scene continued growing under Zaboru's strange but effective training philosophy.
Sooner or later, Japanese teams would stand on the same stage as the best in the world.
And when that day came, the players would probably still complain about treadmill training.
To be continued.
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