Even Gen paused slightly before writing his name down.
Sera shifted beside him. Hina blinked once.
They didn't say anything.
But the surprise was obvious.
A few steps later, Domon gave his name in a voice too soft for his size.
> "D-Domon… center-back…"
Some players who'd been confident a moment ago suddenly looked uneasy.
Takeda just watched all of it without reaction — pen tapping once against the clipboard before stopping.
When the last registrant signed, Gen stood.
Takeda glanced at him.
A small nod — begin.
Gen turned to the crowd.
> "Coach will be observing. First — two laps around the field."
A few students looked relieved.
Just running? Easy.
Then they started.
By the first corner, three already fell behind.
By the halfway mark, a handful broke rhythm.
By the end of the first lap, several drifted to walking.
Takeda made a mark.
No comment.
When the second lap finished, the number remaining at pace had dropped sharply — barely half still moving properly.
One more mark on the board.
Those who had slowed or cut corners stepped aside, some embarrassed.
Takeda didn't spare them a glance.
He finally spoke:
> "Line up."
One word. Flat tone.
The remaining group formed a rough row.
He pointed to the cones Hina had set.
> "First touch."
That was all.
Gen and Sera passed the balls in rotation while Takeda watched mechanics — stance, feet, balance, panic or calm.
Rio received cleanly every time.
Domon's stops were heavy but stable.
Yuki had a quick touch but overcorrected on nerves.
Kawabe was raw but athletic.
Others — chests bouncing the ball too far, heels stiff, panic touches.
Takeda kept writing.
No praise.
No criticism.
Just evaluation.
He raised his head slightly.
> "Next."
Short passes.
Another silent filter about to begin.
From the corridor veranda overlooking the field, Tenma leaned slightly against the railing, half-hidden behind the open window frame.
He hadn't meant to watch.
He only came to return a homeroom key — then saw the turnout below… and the man beside the cones.
…So it's really him.
Takeda didn't scan the crowd, but somehow — as if sensing a watchful presence — his head angled slightly upward.
Their eyes met.
No change in Takeda's expression.
No greeting.
Just recognition — quiet and immediate.
Tenma straightened, turned away, and walked back down the hall without hesitation.
As soon as he disappeared from view, Takeda lowered his gaze again, pen tapping once against the clipboard.
The trial continued.
> "Next."
Short passing.
Simple one-twos between cones — Gen and Sera receiving, returning, rotating.
A few candidates tried to impress with power instead of control and lost rhythm.
Some fumbled the first touch and scrambled to recover.
Takeda didn't speak.
Just more notes.
Another faint reduction — a few more quietly stepped back, realizing they weren't keeping up.
The atmosphere shifted.
From casual… to serious.
He lifted his head again.
> "Control. Balance."
Everyone reset.
The drill shifted — slower pace now, more precise.
Gen and Sera rolled passes at awkward angles, forcing players to adjust mid-stride.
Some managed. Most didn't.
A boy tried to trap with his instep, slipped, and nearly collided with the cone.
Another chased a loose touch five meters wide.
Takeda didn't react.
Only the pen moved.
Domon's touches were heavy, but his body balance held — no panic, no swaying.
Kawabe absorbed the ball with his frame, not technique — awkward, but stable.
Yuki corrected faster with each repetition, nervous but learning on the fly.
Rio… barely looked like he was trying.
Clean reception, feet relaxed, shoulders loose.
Then footwork.
Not pace — rhythm.
Hina set a narrow cone lane. Quick touches through.
The last of the casuals dropped here.
Some stumbled.
Some slowed to walking speed halfway through.
Some stepped off the lane entirely.
The pool shrank again without a single word spoken.
Takeda finally lifted his head.
> "Rest."
Not encouragement.
Just instruction.
Players dropped to a knee, breathing heavy.
Gen looked toward him, waiting for next direction.
Takeda scanned his sheet once, then spoke quietly:
> "Keep these. Others may leave."
There was no confusion.
The ones who knew they were done… already knew.
A slow trickle of disappointed footsteps left the field.
Around twenty remained.
The light had shifted — sun leaning toward early evening.
The field suddenly felt wider, quieter, more serious.
Takeda stepped forward for the first time since the tryout started.
> "Next phase."
No change in tone.
But they all straightened.
He walked past them — slow, measured — eyes moving from foot posture to breathing pattern to body discipline, not talent.
Something about that silence carried weight.
Tomorrow, these boys would say: "The coach barely spoke — but somehow it felt like he saw everything."
He stopped at the center cone.
> "…Small-sided. Decision play. I don't need goals. Just intent."
Gen nodded — already moving to organize.
The real evaluation was about to begin.