Takeshi stared at the ceiling, replaying the scrimmage on loop.
Six to zero. Five to one. Nine to zero.
Daichi's casual perfection. Jin's lazy dominance. Sato chasing shadows for sixty minutes.
Twelve percent survival probability.
The number glowed in his mind like a neon sign.
Yuto snored softly across the room. Ren had finally settled after an hour of restless shifting. But Sato's bed was empty.
Takeshi sat up. Checked the bathroom. Empty. Hallway. Quiet. Common room. Dark.
A cold thought hit him. Did he leave camp?
He grabbed his jacket and headed outside.
The main field lay in darkness except for moonlight and distant security lamps.
A figure ran sprints on the far side. Again and again.
Sato.
Soaked in sweat. Form breaking down. Feet slapping wrong. But not stopping.
Takeshi approached slowly.
"How long have you been out here?" he called.
"An hour maybe," Sato said between breaths. "Can't sleep."
He stumbled at the end of another sprint, caught himself, turned to go again.
"Your form is terrible," Takeshi said. "You're just exhausting yourself."
Sato laughed bitterly. "Story of my life here."
He prepared another sprint.
"Wait," Takeshi said, shrugging off his jacket. "If we're doing this, do it right. I'll run with you. But proper form."
Sato stared at him. "You're eighteen. You need sleep more than me."
"Can't sleep anyway," Takeshi replied. "Might as well suffer together."
They ran ten proper sprints. Takeshi coaching form. "Drive knees up. First three steps, explode."
Both were gasping by the end.
From the equipment shed, Takeshi grabbed balls and cones. Set up a weaving pattern.
"Technical was your weakness. Fifty eight out of one hundred."
He demonstrated. Tight touches. Body leaning forward. Ball close.
"Like that. Slow first. Speed later."
Sato went through. Hit the first cone. Lost the ball on the second. Knocked over the third.
"Again," Takeshi said.
They repeated twenty times. By the tenth, fewer mistakes. By the twentieth, still not good, but the ball stayed close.
They collapsed on the grass.
"Why are you helping me?" Sato asked quietly. "Really. If I drag you to nineteen, you're bubble zone. You know that."
Takeshi was silent for a moment.
"Because quitting on teammates isn't who I am anymore," he said. "I did that once. For three years. Never again."
He looked at Sato.
"You texted match results for a thousand days when I ghosted you. Didn't give up on me. So no, I'm not giving up on you now."
Sato's eyes glistened. "What if I'm actually just not good enough?"
Adult logic said it was possible. The gap today looked massive.
"We find out Sunday," Takeshi said. "But we don't quit before the coaches do."
They stood again. Takeshi taught positioning concepts.
"You always react. Need to anticipate. Read hips, not eyes. Think two moves ahead."
Sato tried to follow. Mixed up steps. Turned wrong. Got confused.
Kept trying.
By one AM, both were drenched. Legs trembling. Bodies screaming.
Then a third figure approached.
Ren appeared with water bottles.
"Knew I'd find you here," he said, tossing them each one.
They drank desperately.
"You should be asleep," Takeshi said.
Ren sat on the grass. "I'm fifteen. Should feel safe, right?"
He plucked a blade of grass.
"Then I watched today. Saw how easy Team A made it look. Realized I'm four spots from bubble zone. One bad week, I'm nineteen."
He looked at them both.
"Couldn't sleep either."
Three players. Three different dangers.
Takeshi: eighteen. Last spot in Tier 2.
Ren: fifteen. Safe that suddenly wasn't.
Sato: twenty seven. Cut zone.
"Room three zero four," Ren said quietly.
"The outsiders," Takeshi added.
"Bottom feeders," Sato muttered.
They laughed once. Not happy, but something.
Ren grabbed a ball. "I'm a winger. Technical work is my specialty. Let me handle his feet. Takeshi, you do tactics."
He set up a different pattern. Focused on first touch, receiving and moving.
"Watch," he told Sato.
Killed the ball with his inside foot. Rolled it across his body. Shifted weight. Clean and simple.
"Now you."
They worked for another thirty minutes. Ren correcting touches. Takeshi running his own sprints. Sato absorbing everything his tired brain could hold.
Something flickered in Takeshi's vision.
MIDNIGHT TRAINING DETECTED
Players: Yamamoto, Sato, Takahashi
Duration: 2+ hours
Effort level: Maximum despite exhaustion
ANALYSIS: Rare behavior pattern
Most players rest after devastating loss
These three train when others sleep
UNLOCKING: BASIC TRAINING PROTOCOLS
Film study, tactical recognition, recovery optimization
Note: Not game changers. Tools for those willing to work.
Additional note: Night security cameras active. Coaches watching.
At two AM, all three lay on their backs staring at the clouded sky.
Every muscle ached. Throats dry. Legs cramping.
"Same time tomorrow," Ren mumbled.
"If I can move," Sato replied.
"We'll move," Takeshi said. "No choice."
They helped each other up and limped back to the dorms.
Yuto stood in the doorway of Room 304 when they arrived.
"Figured you'd be out there," he said.
"You're not coming?" Ren asked.
"I'll design the training," Yuto answered. "You three execute it."
No one laughed, but their shoulders felt lighter.
Fifteen minutes later, three beds held three sleeping bodies.
Ren fell asleep instantly. Sato's face finally relaxed. Yuto lay awake with a notebook, planning schedules.
Takeshi's phone buzzed.
Video call: ELSA HAUGEN.
2:24 AM Japan. About 6:30 PM Norway the day before.
He hesitated. Exhausted. Raw. Vulnerable.
Answered anyway.
Slipped into the common room so he wouldn't wake anyone.
The screen showed Elsa in her Norway training top. Blonde hair in a ponytail. Behind her, football posters and a small stuffed penguin from Ajax.
"Takeshi, you look terrible," she said.
He laughed weakly. "Thanks. Nice to see you too."
"It's two something AM there. What are you doing awake?"
"Midnight training. Couldn't sleep."
He told her everything. Thirty players, twenty three spots. Ranking eighteen. Sunday evaluation. Today's scrimmages. The destruction. The guilt.
Words spilled fast. Frustration. Fear.
Elsa listened without interrupting. Nodding. Understanding.
"I get it," she said softly. "I'm ranked fourth here. Midfielder. But there's this girl, Ingrid, she's third. Every mistake, I feel her ready to take my spot."
Different continent. Same pressure.
"My girlfriend Akari texted me today," he said casually. "Doesn't really understand football pressure but she tries to be supportive."
Something flickered across Elsa's face. Gone in a heartbeat.
"That's good," she said steadily. "Support matters."
Inside, her chest squeezed tight.
Of course it's Akari. The girl who was there while I'm six thousand miles away.
She smiled anyway.
"Remember Ajax?" she said. "Age eight? Before scouts and trials?"
"When I couldn't tie my boots," he replied.
"When you nutmegged three kids then tripped," she corrected.
He laughed.
"You played different then," she said. "You didn't care who watched. You just loved it."
He was quiet.
"I got scared," he said. "Of failing. Of not being good enough."
Elsa's expression softened.
"Rankings matter, but they're not why you started. The Takeshi I knew didn't play for numbers. He played because it felt right."
"How do you still love it with all this pressure?" he asked.
"Every time I step on field," she said, "I pretend I'm playing with you all again. The Ajax six. Just fun."
The sentence carried everything she couldn't say. Years of missing him. Of holding onto memories.
"I can't go back," he said.
"No. But you can remember why you picked up the ball in the first place."
Silence between them. Just breathing through the connection.
"I have training early tomorrow," she said. "Or your yesterday. Time zones are weird."
He nodded.
"Sunday's ranking," she said, holding his gaze. "You'll be fine."
"I believe in you."
Four words. Packed with everything.
"Thanks," he said. "I needed that."
"Anytime. That's what friends are for."
The word hurt to say. Friend. All she had left.
They said goodbye. Screen went dark.
Elsa sat in Norway, hugging the Ajax penguin to her chest.
"I believe in you," she whispered. "I always have."
"I love you," she added silently. "I just wish you knew."
In Japan, Takeshi sat in the dim common room. The vending machine hummed.
His body ached. Eyes burned. But the world felt lighter.
Someone far away, who understood, believed he could keep going.
He returned to Room 304.
Yuto opened one eye. "Good conversation?"
"Yeah. Really good."
"Don't waste it," Yuto murmured, closing his eyes.
Takeshi lay down. The mattress felt like heaven.
Tomorrow: Day 4.
Sunday: three days away.
Midnight training would happen again.
Somewhere in Norway, Elsa tried to sleep, thinking about a boy who saw her as just an old teammate.
Two players, eight thousand kilometers apart, fighting their own battles, carrying feelings the other didn't know.
The distance was wide.
The connection remained.
Sleep finally took him.