A ball machine clicked and released volleys one after another at the Yokohama F. Marinos complex.
And Shuu Takeda stood planted at the edge of the box, meeting each ball with clean, sharp strikes.
He didn't rush.
He let each volley rise before swinging through it, sending the ball skimming or dipping depending on how it came to him.
He wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist after an effort and then steadied himself for the last ball.
The machine hummed as the ball popped out.
Shuu shifted, leaned, and connected accordingly as the strike thumped against the far net.
"Shuu!" someone called.
He exhaled and turned around.
Two of his teammates were making their way over, holding a camera and a mic like they were the club's media crew.
One of them had the strap of the camera hanging off one shoulder, barely balancing it, while the other held a small mic.
"What now?" Shuu asked, reaching down for his bottle.
