Chapter 1: Cold Morning, Warm Dream
Manchester's gray morning was cloudy, as always. The sky seemed determined not to let the sun rise. The air mixed with the steam from Arata's breath, combined with the still-lingering glow of the streetlights, creating a foggy landscape.
Nineteen-year-old Arata Minami had gone for a run before heading to the club's youth team facility, as he did every morning. He wore faded gray tracksuits, old headphones, and a focused expression on his face.
The soft Japanese rock melody playing through the headphones was like an echo of memories from a distant land. Almost a year had passed since he arrived in England, but sometimes the wind direction reminded him of his childhood seaside town.
Suddenly, a voice rang out:
—"Arata! Are you starting so early again?"
The voice belonged to Ethan Collins, his roommate and the reserve goalkeeper on the same team. He left the window half-open and called down.
Arata looked up briefly as he ran. "This is the quietest time of day. It's just me, the road, and the ball."
Ethan replied with a laugh:
"You and that ball... A real love story!"
Arata smiled slightly but continued running. As he passed through the narrow streets on the edge of town, a few workers waiting for the first morning bus looked at him. No one knew who he was. No one yet guessed that this young Japanese man would one day make his mark on the world of football.
About forty minutes later, he returned to his small apartment. Ethan had already started breakfast.
"Would you like some coffee?" Ethan asked, taking bread out of the toaster.
"Black, no sugar."
"Sure, because you always have to be disciplined, right?"
Arata smiled and sat down. "Talent is useless without discipline. That's what the coach says."
Ethan nodded. "Maybe you need to relax a bit. The coach will be hard on you in training today. He still hasn't forgotten about yesterday's passing mistake."
After a short silence, Arata murmured, staring into his coffee:
—"I don't forget my mistakes either. They remind me of who I am."
Breakfast continued in silence. When eight o'clock struck, the two went out to board the club minibus. Manchester's narrow streets, rain-soaked cobblestones, and the distant wail of sirens… This city was both harsh and instructive.
The club logo glowed above the gate: "Manchester Borough FC Academy."
This club, nestled in the Premier League's lower tier, was a place that offered young talent a second chance. For Arata, it was a starting point on the fringes of football.
The chatter of his teammates filled the air as they entered the locker room.
—"Hey, Jap, did you go for your morning run again?" teased Connor, the most talkative player on the team.
—"Yeah," Arata said with a brief smile.
—"I feel guilty about you too, man. Maybe I'll be out tomorrow."
—"Tomorrow?" Ethan laughed. "Then it'll rain, and Connor will find an excuse."
Amidst the laughter, the coach entered. Coach Harris was a stern-eyed but fair-minded man in his fifties.
—"Okay, guys! Today we'll focus on passing tempo, positioning, and quick thinking. Football isn't just footwork; it's about the mind. Minami!"
Arata straightened up immediately.
—"Yes, coach?"
—"You panicked under pressure in yesterday's match. There's no time in England; seconds dictate decisions here. You need to learn to feel, not think, when the ball comes to your feet."
Arata bowed his head. "I understand, coach."
Coach Harris's voice was stern, but it held a hint of conviction. "We'll see, Minami. You have something inside you, but you'll have to break yourself a little to get it out."
Rain began to fall lightly as practice began. The ball skittered rapidly across the floor, and Arata struggled to find his balance with each pass. He made mistakes, but each time he gained more focus. Ethan shouted from afar:
—"Arata, look at the right line!"
He controlled the ball, changed direction, and made the pass, then muttered to himself:
—"Don't think… feel…"
Time slowed for a moment. The grass beneath his feet trembled in time with the rhythm of his heart. In that moment, he felt that football wasn't just a sport; it was the only place he found his identity.
At the end of practice, everyone was returning to the locker room. Connor asked in a tired voice:
—"Why are you trying so hard, Arata? You're not even in the starting eleven yet."
Arata smiled faintly. "Because one day, when I am, everyone will understand why."
That night, sitting alone in his small apartment, he scribbled in his notebook.
"Goal Frontier… Reaching the limit of football. Maybe that limit isn't just on the pitch, it's within you."
He closed the notebook and turned off the lamp. The rain was still pouring outside, but a fire burned inside Arata.