What was Rikuo about to hear? something he had never expected..
Rikuo straightened up immediately, fully focused.
"Yes, coach. I'm listening."
A short silence followed, then Satô spoke again.
"Alright, listen carefully.
One of our substitute midfielders got injured during training this morning and informed me just now because the pain was still there.
It's Mei. A veteran. Very important for the team."
Rikuo's heart started beating faster.
«Mei…He's the player who's always with Minato during training… He must be really good.» He thought.
The coach continued, choosing his words carefully.
"I'll add this, Rikuo. This does not mean you will play this weekend.
I want to be very clear from the start."
"Yes, coach," Rikuo replied without hesitation.
"For now, I need one more player to train with Group 1.
You and Takuma are still officially part of Group 2.
But starting tomorrow morning, you will train with the first team temporarily, and only with the first team."
Rikuo's eyes widened slightly.
A warm rush went through his body.
"Alright, coach," Rikuo answered.
"You'll start the session with Minato.
Stay with him, observe, listen, and play the way you know how.
He will guide you. I've already informed him."
Rikuo clenched his fist without even realizing it.
"Yes, coach. Thank you."
Satô's voice remained firm.
"Once again, don't get the wrong idea.
Nothing is guaranteed.
But if you work like you have these past few days… we'll see."
A brief silence, then:
"Good night, Rikuo. Be ready tomorrow."
"Good night, coach."
The call ended.
Rikuo stayed still for a few seconds, the phone still against his ear.
Then he let out a breath he had been holding in.
His heart was pounding. Hard.
Group 1.
For now, he had been taking part in collective training with Group 1, just like Group 2 during opposition drills.
But for special sessions before matches, the groups split.
He knew that because Hirohito had explained it to him earlier during training that morning.
He would train with Minato.
Starting tomorrow.
Rikuo couldn't wait.
He slowly sat down on his bed, looking at his hands trembling slightly.
A smile formed on his face.
"The coach probably isn't thinking about using me this weekend…
but this is my way in," Rikuo whispered.
In his mind, one thought kept repeating.
He didn't want to be there just to fill a spot.
He wanted to stand out.
He wanted to leave an impression.
"Even five minutes…
Even just a few touches…
That's enough for me."
He was hungry.
Hungry for football.
Hungry for recognition.
Hungry for his first professional minutes.
Rikuo stood up, placed his boots neatly next to his bag, and looked out the window.
The night was calm, but inside him, everything was burning.
"Tomorrow…" he murmured to himself.
"I'll give everything.
And then the coach will have no choice but to call me up this weekend.
Get ready, Tokyo supporters… you'll soon see your future hero."
The King's ascent had just shifted into a higher gear.
As a saying goes:
Football can move very slowly or very fast.
You can give everything for years and barely play any matches,
or you can explode in a short time and become someone important.
What truly matters is staying at the top for a long time.
The destiny of Rikuo Amada was now in motion…