Midfield Maestro

Takumi's world had become a cycle of routines: train, eat, sleep, repeat. Every morning, he would rise early and jog through the campus grounds, the soft crunch of gravel beneath his shoes a small comfort in the midst of the chaos of his mind. The academy was pushing him further than he'd ever been pushed before, and though his body ached, he refused to stop. He had too much riding on this.

Still, something was missing. He was improving, yes. His passes were getting sharper, his positioning better, his sense of the game more intuitive. But the pressure—always the pressure—was growing heavier. And when he wasn't on the pitch, that weight didn't lift. It hung over him like a dark cloud, always there, threatening to consume him.

He was so close to breaking through, yet the feeling of being stuck, of not quite being enough, seemed to persist. It didn't help that the constant eyes of Coach Sora and the older academy players weighed on him every day. There was always something to prove, always another step to climb.

This morning, Takumi woke up earlier than usual. The sounds of the campus were still muted, the sun barely cresting the horizon. He slipped into his football kit and grabbed his phone—part of him hoped that a quick message from Saki might give him a bit of relief from the gnawing anxiety that had settled into his chest.

Sure enough, there was a new message.

Saki: Good morning, Takumi! I know it's a big day for you. You got this. Just take it one pass at a time!

Takumi smiled at the words. It was a simple message, but it meant more to him than he cared to admit. Since their first conversation, he'd found a sense of calm in talking with Saki. While his teammates were focused on football, or training, or tactics, Saki's messages grounded him in a way he didn't realize he needed. She had no agenda, no expectations. She just... listened.

Takumi: Thanks, Saki. I really needed that. I'm going to give it my best today.

Saki: I know you will. Just believe in yourself!

Takumi tucked his phone into his pocket, trying to push the knot in his stomach aside. Today, Coach Sora was going to run them through one of the toughest drills yet: a full-pitch tactical scrimmage with a focus on ball movement, space, and quick transitions. The kind of drill where everything had to come together—touch, vision, passing, and most importantly, timing. There was no room for hesitation. No room for failure.

Don't think about it too much. Just play, Takumi reminded himself as he jogged toward the pitch.

The morning sun had fully risen by the time the team gathered on the field. The air was thick with anticipation, a stark contrast to the quiet calm that had greeted Takumi earlier. His teammates were stretching, getting into their rhythm, some of them exchanging words with each other, others lost in their own world. Ryuuji, as always, looked hyper-focused, the vein in his neck prominent from the effort of warming up. Meanwhile, Shinji was chatting with a few other forwards, grinning like a kid in a candy shop, trying to loosen up.

Coach Sora stood at the sidelines, observing the players, his ever-present whistle hanging around his neck. Takumi knew that when the session began, it wouldn't be about warming up anymore—it would be about performing. Coach would be watching their every move, scrutinizing every pass, every decision, every second of hesitation.

"Alright, gather up," Coach Sora barked, his voice cutting through the early morning stillness.

The team huddled around him. Takumi felt the usual knot in his stomach tighten. This was it.

"We're going to do a full-pitch scrimmage today. Focus will be on quick transitions, keeping possession under pressure, and making the right decisions at the right time. You're not just playing for the team—you're playing for yourself," Coach Sora continued, his piercing gaze sweeping over them. "Every pass you make must count. Every movement must be purposeful. Understood?"

"Yes, Coach!" the team replied in unison.

Takumi's heart was pounding. He tried to steady his breath, shaking out the nervous energy.

Coach Sora nodded once, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You're in two teams—Usui, you're in blue today. Ryuuji, you're in red. Let's go!"

Takumi was placed in a midfield trio with Atsushi, a technical player who always seemed to know the perfect pass, and Haruto, a more defensive-minded player who worked tirelessly to shield the backline. Takumi knew that he'd have to take the lead in dictating the tempo. The others were more than capable, but they looked to him for the vision that would unlock the game.

The whistle blew.

Immediately, the game was on. Takumi's mind sharpened as the ball rolled to him. He took a quick glance over his shoulder to assess his options. Shinji was making a run down the left wing, but he was tightly marked by Ryuuji's team. Atsushi was in a pocket of space, but the angle for a pass was narrow. Haruto was offering a deeper option, but Takumi wasn't sure if he could control the ball quickly enough to get the ball forward.

Think quickly. One touch.

He opted for the simplest route, passing it to Atsushi with a quick flick of his foot. Atsushi controlled it immediately and sent a first-time pass forward to Haruto. Takumi continued his run into space, scanning for an opening.

The ball moved quickly through the midfield, the players working like a well-oiled machine, passing one touch after another to evade the pressure. Takumi felt his mind speed up as the game unfolded. He had to think two, three steps ahead. Where would the defenders move? How could they stretch their opponent's backline?

Suddenly, a gap appeared.

Shinji was off his mark, sprinting into the space between the defenders. Takumi's heart skipped. This is it.

With a quick, sharp movement, he passed the ball to Atsushi, who made a slight flick to the side. Takumi took two quick steps and unleashed a pass in one fluid motion—perfectly weighted, perfectly timed—right into Shinji's stride.

Shinji controlled the ball effortlessly, pushing it forward before firing a shot. The ball rocketed toward the net.

Goalkeeper Takeda dove for it, but he was too late.

The ball found the back of the net.

"YES!" Shinji shouted as he ran to the corner flag, arms raised in triumph. The rest of the team erupted in celebration, gathering around him with high-fives and laughter.

Takumi felt a rush of pride. That pass... that was what I needed to do. He had read the game, anticipated the movement, and delivered the perfect ball under pressure.

As the celebrations died down, Coach Sora blew his whistle to restart the game.

But Takumi couldn't shake the feeling that something had clicked. In the midst of the pressure, in the midst of his own doubts, he had made the play that mattered. He could see it now: the vision that had been just out of reach was starting to make sense.

The scrimmage continued, and though the game was far from flawless, Takumi's confidence grew with every pass, every movement. His decision-making was sharper, and with each completed play, the weight of his doubts started to lift. He wasn't just reacting anymore; he was dictating, moving with purpose.

When the whistle blew, signaling the end of the scrimmage, Takumi felt a surge of relief. His team had won, 2-1, but it wasn't the scoreline that mattered most to him. It was the realization that his hard work—his relentless drive—was starting to pay off.

"Good work today, Usui," Coach Sora said, his gaze lingering on him for a moment longer than usual. "You're beginning to show your potential. But remember, this is just one step. Don't stop now."

Takumi nodded, his chest swelling with pride. It's not perfect yet, but I'm getting there.

After the session, Takumi walked slowly back to the dormitory, the adrenaline from the game still buzzing in his veins. His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar buzz of his phone.

Saki: How was the session? I hope it went well!

Takumi smiled as he read her message. He quickly typed out a response.

Takumi: It went great. I think I'm starting to figure it out. One step at a time, right?

Saki: Of course! I'm so proud of you, Takumi. I knew you had it in you.

Takumi felt his heart flutter at her words. It wasn't just her support—it was her belief in him, her unwavering confidence, that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he was more than just another player in the academy.

Takumi: Thanks for always being there for me, Saki. It means more than you know.

He paused, looking at the message, and then hesitated before sending the final words.

Takumi: Maybe... I'm starting to believe in myself too.