Morning practice
The field was mostly empty. Dew still clung to the grass.
Yuki and Domon were already out there, passing between themselves and taking slow shots at the empty goal. No coach yet.
Tenma walked along the veranda, heading toward the building.
Yuki spotted him first.
"Ah— Tenma-senpai!" he waved. "We got selected!"
Tenma stopped. "I see. Congratulations."
Domon jogged up a few steps behind, slightly out of breath.
"Th… thank you… senpai," he said, bowing his head. "Also… um… that blocking tip you gave me… thank you. It helped a lot."
Tenma shook his head lightly.
"I only told you what to do. You're the one who practiced it."
Domon smiled shyly.
Tenma turned, ready to leave.
"Ah— wait!" Yuki called again. "Also… we wanted to tell you. Because of you, we did well against Kasugano. So—"
Tenma answered without thinking.
"I know. I watched."
Silence.
Yuki blinked. Domon froze.
Tenma realized too late.
"I mean— I didn't. I just—"
Yuki leaned in, teasing but casual.
"Oh, of course. You didn't watch."
"I didn't," Tenma insisted.
"Yeah yeah. You didn't," Yuki nodded, deadpan.
A small, awkward pause.
Tenma looked away, scratched his cheek once, then gave a small nod of farewell.
"Just… keep training."
He started walking again.
Yuki tapped the ball under his foot, then called out again.
"Senpai— wait. I still have trouble with my shooting form. Can you check it again?"
Tenma paused mid-step.
"…You have a new coach now," he said without turning fully. "Ask him. He knows more than I do."
"But he's not here yet," Yuki grinned. "And besides, you explain better. Just a little. At least practice with us."
Tenma hesitated.
His hand tightened slightly around the strap of his bag.
"It's been a long time since I played. I'm not sure I can."
Yuki laughed softly.
"If that's true, then why didn't you join the team?"
Tenma didn't answer.
"With you, this team would be the strongest," Yuki continued. "You'd definitely be the main starter… probably the star too."
Domon nodded quietly beside him.
Tenma's eyes lowered for a moment.
The praise didn't land — it only made the air heavier.
"…I can't join the team," he said finally. The tone was flat. Final.
Yuki blinked. That came out colder than he expected.
Tenma took one quiet breath.
"But…"
He glanced toward the grass, then back to them.
"…we can practice. That much is fine."
Yuki gave a small grin of victory, like he had pulled one rope loose from a tied gate.
"Alright then, senpai."
Domon hurried to fetch another ball.
Tenma stepped off the veranda and onto the edge of the field, shoes brushing dew.
They moved a little further toward the free space near the corner of the field.
The morning air was still quiet; only crows and distant bicycle chains.
Tenma set his bag down.
Yuki passed him the ball lightly.
Tenma stopped it with a calm first touch — controlled, ordinary. Nothing flashy.
"Stop killing the momentum with your heel," he said to Yuki. "Just meet it. Cushion it. Don't fight the ball."
Yuki tried again. The first one popped away awkwardly.
"Relax your ankle."
The second touch — smoother.
Tenma gave a small nod.
Domon waited patiently. Tenma turned to him.
"You're blocking your own passing lane with your stance. Open your body before the ball arrives."
Domon tried. The ball still trapped underfoot.
"Earlier. Read it a beat ahead."
The second attempt — clean.
Domon's eyes widened a little, quietly happy.
Yuki grinned. "See? Told you he explains better."
Tenma ignored the comment and continued feeding them passes — steady rhythm, repetition. He didn't break a sweat. He didn't even move much, just guided.
When Yuki's first touch finally settled clean twice in a row, Tenma gave a short, simple:
"Good."
It landed heavier than long praise. Yuki straightened up like he'd just passed a test.
Domon followed, learning quickly.
Their touches weren't perfect, but now consistent — controlled.
Yuki was already bouncing lightly, excited.
"Senpai, next— shooting?"
Tenma paused a moment.
"…Fine. Just basic mechanics."
Yuki set the ball down eagerly, but Tenma raised a hand.
"Before you think about shooting," he said, "you fix the base. Angle of approach. Plant foot. Strike through the center, don't slice."
He demonstrated without shooting — just stepping beside the still ball, body posture, calm and minimal.
No follow-through. No power. Only the concept.
"Contact point changes everything. If you rush, the ball decides, not you."
Yuki nodded, absorbing it.
Domon leaned forward slightly, listening.
Tenma stepped back.
"Work on that rhythm first. Shooting comes after."
He glanced toward the clock tower. Then:
"…I need to go. I have things to do before class."
Yuki looked a little disappointed. Domon gave a small bow.
Before leaving, Tenma tilted his head slightly toward the gate.
"And… it looks like your coach is here."
Yuki and Domon turned.
Takeda was standing a short distance away — not approaching, just observing quietly with his hands in his coat pockets, unreadable expression.
Judging by his posture, he had been there for a while.
Yuki straightened up instinctively. Domon tensed.
Tenma adjusted his bag strap.
"Keep practicing the base mechanics," he said flatly, voice back to neutral. "If you can't control the ball, nothing else matters."
He turned toward the walkway.
Yuki, almost on reflex, called out again, trying one last time:
"Then… tomorrow too?"
Tenma paused mid-step.
Not looking back.
"…We'll see."
And he walked off toward the school building.
Behind him, Takeda finally started moving toward the two first-years.
Yuki and Domon hurried over and bowed.
"Good morning, Coach!"
Takeda gave a small nod.
"…Continue what you were doing."
No lecture.
No praise.
He simply moved to the bench and sat, arms folded, watching.
The two resumed their touches, suddenly more nervous than before.
A few minutes later, footsteps echoed from the walkway — Gen, Sera, Tobita, and Hina.
They were chatting casually until they spotted him.
Their pace changed instantly — from walking to jogging.
They lined up and bowed.
"Good morning!"
Takeda's response was quiet.
"Three rounds around the field."
Gen understood immediately.
He exchanged a quick look with Sera and Tobita, then the three started running.
Hina remained at Takeda's side, clipboard in hand.
One by one, the rest of the selected players arrived — still drowsy, some stretching lazily — until they noticed the coach.
All received the same order.
"Three rounds."
No expression.
No further comment.
Finally, the last two appeared — Jirō and Akira — arriving from the other end of the grounds, half-arguing under their breath.
"You're the one who forgot your bag—"
"You're the one who—"
They stepped onto the field mid-bicker… and froze.
Takeda's eyes were already on them.
"Five rounds."
Both stared.
"F-five?"
No reaction.
Just silence.
Gen, still running, raised his voice from the far side.
"Start moving!"
They clicked their tongues, turned, and began running.
Once all had finished their rounds, Takeda stood.
"Warm-up is over.
The players gathered near him.
Takeda didn't raise his voice.
"State your position," he said.
One by one, they answered.
"CB."
"CM."
"Wing."
"Forward."
"Keeper."
The list went around until all had spoken.
He nodded once.
"Form lines. Defenders to the left. Midfielders center. Forwards and wingers right. Keepers separate."
They scrambled into place.
"Defenders — body orientation and first step. No lunging. Win angle before tackle."
"Midfielders — touch and release. No standing. You receive, you move."
"Forwards and wings — timing. Don't run first. Wait for cue, then break."
"Keepers — footwork and set shape."
He didn't demonstrate.
Didn't explain more than necessary.
"Start."
The whistle blew.
No shouting.
No encouragement.
Just the sound of movement, ball touches, cleats on dirt, and Takeda watching — arms folded, unreadable.
The first official morning session had begun.
Takeda didn't stay in one place.
While they drilled, he walked the touchline slowly, sometimes cutting across behind them, never interrupting. His eyes moved from feet to hips to timing. When someone mistouched, his pen moved. When someone hesitated, another line on the page.
No comments.
No reactions.
Just quiet note-taking as he observed each player.
Minutes passed like that — only ball sounds, breath, and his footsteps shifting in and out of their awareness.
At some point, he checked the sheet once more, then clicked his pen closed.
"That's enough for today," he said. "Practice is over."
No huddle.
No speech.
He simply turned, already writing something on a fresh paper as he walked toward the benches.
Takeda stayed by the bench a moment longer, head slightly down as he finished the last sheet by hand. No printed template. No checklist. Just lines of calm handwriting moving across the page.
Hina approached, thinking he would say something. He didn't.
He held the small stack out to her.
"Distribute these," he said. "They'll know which one is theirs."
She blinked.
"…Eh? Ah— yes."
Takeda nodded once, slipped his pen back into his coat, and started toward the gate — the same quiet pace as when he arrived, like the day was already moving on from them.
Hina looked down at the first page.
She froze.
Every line was specific — foot angle on first touch, body orientation before receiving, trigger timing for closing space, when to scan, what habit was slowing them, how to correct it. No fluff. Not even one extra word.
She hurried back.
"Gen… coach said to hand these out."
Gen took the stack, skimmed the top sheet — his own.
He exhaled once through his nose. "…He really watched everything."
He flipped through and started passing them out.
Domon squinted at his paper, startled the moment he realized his posture while jockeying was written out exactly as he'd been doing it.
Yuki's eyes widened — his finishing hesitation spelled out in a single clean sentence.
A few of the others went quiet in that same stunned way.
One practice.
No demonstrations.
No corrections spoken aloud.
Yet he had seen every weakness.
Sera looked toward the gate, watching Takeda already halfway gone.
Gen lowered his own sheet and said only:
"We focus on this tomorrow."
No one argued.
No one complained.
They all just stood there for a moment — suddenly aware that training had actually begun.