The coach's whistle cut sharply through the cool morning air.
Training had officially begun.
During the laps around the pitch, Rikuo followed the pace, focused, but he felt it very quickly:
the tempo was different.
Faster.
Heavier.
Breathing was controlled, strides were steady.
No one was talking.
Everyone was already in their own world.
After the warm-up, the coach continued after a short water break.
Physical and endurance work.
"Let's go!" he shouted.
Short sprints in sets (10–20–30 meters), with changes of direction.
Quick footwork, agility ladder, coordination drills.
One-on-one physical duels.
Rikuo gave everything.
At first, it was okay… but after a few minutes, his legs started to burn.
"Damn… this is no joke…" he thought, already breathing hard.
The pros never slowed down.
Every sprint was at full speed.
Every duel was real.
Minato passed next to him after a sprint.
"Faster, Rikuo. Here, you need to increase your running volume."
Rikuo nodded and pushed himself again, but his thighs were already shaking.
Then the coaches set up a ball possession drill.
Two touches maximum.
Constant pressing.
Immediate punishment after losing the ball: a team sprint.
Rikuo received the ball and tried to turn… too slow.
A tackle came instantly.
"Lost ball. Sprint!" the coach shouted.
Rikuo clenched his teeth and ran.
After several repetitions, he started to make mistakes.
Touches were a bit too long.
He couldn't think clearly.
"Damn… I can't do what I want…" he thought.
His decisions were slightly late.
Rivelinho passed by and said, teasing but smiling:
"That's all you've got, prodigy?"
Minato added right after, without being mean, but without mercy:
"Here, talent alone is not enough. You have to keep the pace."
Rikuo felt his heart pounding hard.
"Damn… they're right…" he thought.
Last part: small-sided games.
Physical contact allowed.
100% intensity.
Constant communication.
Rikuo wanted to do well.
Too well…
He forced some passes.
Arrived late on a press.
Lost a physical duel.
Some players, who would have preferred to see Haruto in his place because they had known him for a long time, increased the intensity in their duels against Rikuo, making it clear:
if he wanted to keep his spot, he had to toughen up.
He raised his hands, frustrated.
"Sorry…" he said.
Minato came closer, out of breath.
"Don't apologize. Learn. Today, you're taking a hit, and that's normal."
Rikuo nodded.
"I can't keep up… not yet…" he whispered to himself.
The final whistle blew.
End of the session.
The players headed inside for recovery work: stretching, rest, then gym work with mobility exercises.
Rikuo stayed on the pitch.
He was empty.
His legs felt heavy.
His breathing was out of control.
He looked at his hands, slightly shaking.
"So this is what you meant, old Senda…" he thought.
Rivelinho passed by him.
"Don't worry. Everyone who made it here went through this."
Kaito, the goalkeeper, put a hand on his shoulder.
"Today, you lost the rhythm. Tomorrow, you'll start to understand it."
Rikuo lifted his head.
His eyes were still shining despite the fatigue.
"I didn't make it today…
But I'll come back.
And I'll hold on."
Deep inside him, one thing was clear:
yes, it was hard, but to stay in this group, he had to raise his physical level.
Rikuo, who had stopped playing football for two years, thought to himself:
"Damn… if I hadn't stopped playing, I would've handled this easily. You'll see tomorrow."
For now, he had to join the group for gym work: muscle strengthening and mobility exercises.
After that, he could finally get some rest.
It was a hard day for the young king on the rise.
But to climb higher, you have to endure.
Otherwise, you'll never be ready to reach the top.