The sterile white walls of the hospital room seemed to close in on Genzo Wakabayashi as he lay in bed, his leg encased in a bulky cast. The faint hum of machinery filled the room, punctuated by the occasional beep of a heart monitor. It was a far cry from the roaring stadiums and the electrifying atmosphere he was used to. The silence felt deafening, yet his mind refused to quiet down.
His gaze drifted toward the window, where sunlight filtered through thin curtains. The scene outside showed life moving on—cars passing by, people walking briskly—but inside, his world felt frozen, anchored by the weight of disappointment and helplessness.
Sitting by his bedside was Mina, her presence both comforting and unsettling. her concern evident in her furrowed brow and the soft way she spoke to him.
"You're lucky it wasn't worse," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "The doctor said it could have been career-ending if you'd landed differently."
Wakabayashi exhaled deeply, his jaw tightening. "Lucky," he muttered, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. "Tell that to the team out there without a proper keeper. Tell that to Rahmat. I should be on the pitch, not... here."
Mina reached out, placing a hand lightly on his arm. "Genzo, you can't blame yourself for this. Injuries happen. You've carried this team more times than anyone can count. Now it's their turn to carry you."
Wakabayashi turned his head away, staring at the dull ceiling. "You don't understand, Mina. They're counting on me. Hamton's good, but he's not ready for this level. You saw what happened against Leicester—four goals conceded. That's on me. I should have been there to stop them."
Mina sighed, her fingers tightening around his arm. "You think I don't understand? I see how much this means to you. But pushing yourself to the point of breaking isn't helping anyone. Rahmat believes in the team, and you need to believe in them too."
The mention of Rahmat gave Wakabayashi pause. His mind flashed back to the last conversation he had with the manager before the Ipswich game. Rahmat's words echoed in his mind: "You're the anchor, Genzo. But remember, even anchors need support."
But how could he let go of the guilt gnawing at him? His role wasn't just about saving goals—it was about being a leader, a symbol of reliability for the team. Without him, he feared they would crumble.
---
Mina stood and moved closer to the bed, crossing her arms as she looked down at him with a determined expression. "You know, you're not as invincible as you think you are. You've always carried everything on your shoulders, Genzo, but this? This is your chance to show them they can rise without you. Hamton needs to step up, and the team needs to learn to adapt. You taught them that, didn't you?"
Wakabayashi let her words sink in, though the frustration bubbling inside him refused to subside. "I don't know how to just... watch, Mina. I've never been good at standing still."
"Then don't," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You're not on the pitch, but you're still their captain. Be their voice from here. You can watch the tapes, talk to Rahmat, and help Lewis prepare mentally. You've always been more than just the guy between the posts."
Her words stirred something in him, but his pride kept him silent. Mina took a seat again, her expression softening. She reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook, setting it on the table beside him.
"What's this?" Wakabayashi asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A distraction," she replied. "Write down what you'd tell Lewis. Write what you'd say to Rahmat about the tactics, the gaps you see, and how they can fix them. You're still part of this team, Genzo. Just in a different way for now."
He stared at the notebook for a long moment, then glanced at Mina. "You're really not going to let me wallow in self-pity, are you?"
"Not a chance," she said with a smirk. "You're Genzo Wakabayashi, the guy who stopped a point blank shot from the previous season top scorer Haaland in your debut. You're not going to let an injury stop you from being who you are."
The corners of his lips twitched, a faint hint of a smile breaking through the storm of emotions. He picked up the notebook and flipped it open. The blank pages stared back at him, challenging him in a way he hadn't expected. Slowly, he grabbed the pen Mina offered, and the first words he wrote were simple but meaningful:
"Lewis, it's not about perfection. It's about heart."
As he wrote, the weight on his chest began to lighten, if only slightly. Mina sat quietly beside him, scrolling through her phone doing her job as their agent but occasionally glancing at him with a knowing smile. The room felt less suffocating now, the air carrying a hint of hope.
---
Meanwhile, Hamton walked into the training facility, the air crisp with determination. He had decided to push through his doubts and make every second count. As he laced up his boots, Rahmat approached him with a knowing smile.
"I've arranged something special for you today," Rahmat said. "Come on. Grab your things."
Hamton, curious but compliant, followed Rahmat outside the facility. To his surprise, instead of the club's sleek transport, Rahmat gestured toward a local bus pulling into the nearby stop. The bus was adorned with colorful advertisements and packed with a lively mix of passengers, including a few fans who recognized the duo.
"Seriously?" Hamton asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Seriously," Rahmat replied, grinning. "You need to reconnect with the heartbeat of the city—the people who cheer for you no matter what. Trust me."
As they boarded, a group of young fans immediately noticed them. "Rahmat! And..Lewis!" one of them called out, excitement lighting up their faces.
One boy, clutching a worn Luton scarf, approached Hamton shyly. "You'll do great this season," he said. "We believe in you."
The words, simple but heartfelt, struck a chord in Hamton. He smiled, shaking the boy's hand. "Thank you. That means a lot."
---
The bus ride ended at the local hospital, where Rahmat led Hamton through the bustling corridors. Inside one of the wards, propped up on a therapy bed, was Genzo Wakabayashi, his injury wrapped in a brace. Despite his temporary immobility, the legendary goalkeeper exuded his usual commanding presence..
"Captain!" Hamton exclaimed, startled.
Wakabayashi smiled warmly, waving him closer. "Lewis. Good to see you. Rahmat told me you've been hard on yourself."
Hamton hesitated. "I—I feel like I let the team down. I'm not sure I have what it takes to fill your gloves."
Wakabayashi leaned forward, his gaze sharp but encouraging. "Listen, Lewis. Nobody becomes great without facing adversity. I've made mistakes, some that cost my team matches. But you know what? I learned from every single one of them. You have talent—I saw it the moment you joined us. Now, it's time to refine it."
Hamton nodded, his chest swelling with a mix of pride and nervousness. "How do I start?"
---
For the next few days, Hamton threw himself into training with unwavering focus. Wakabayashi, though confined to the phone's, became his mentor. The seasoned keeper guided him through intense drills, analyzing his positioning, footwork, and reaction times.
"Your instincts are good, but you're hesitating," Wakabayashi pointed out during one session. "Trust your gut. When you see the striker winding up, commit to the dive. Don't second-guess."
Hamton practiced relentlessly, diving for shots that seemed impossible to reach. Each time he missed, Wakabayashi shouted encouragement from the video calls.
"Again! You're closer this time. Keep your hands firm and lead with your body!"
---
In one particularly grueling session, Rahmat joined them on the field, observing Hamton's progress. Wakabayashi motioned for Rahmat to approach the screen.
"He's improving," Wakabayashi said. "But his confidence still wavers. He needs to understand the mental game."
Rahmat nodded thoughtfully. "Lewis," he called out. "Take a break."
As Hamton approached, panting and drenched in sweat, Rahmat handed him a water bottle. "Do you know what makes Wakabayashi great?" he asked.
Hamton shrugged, unsure of the answer. "His reflexes? His leadership?"
"All true," Rahmat said. "But it's his presence. When he's in goal, even the best strikers doubt themselves. They second-guess their shots because they know he'll likely stop them. That's what I want from you—a keeper who commands respect, not just for his saves but for his presence." And then Rahmat handed him a note that reads :
" Lewis, it's not about perfection. It's about heart "
Hamton absorbed the words, a flicker of determination lighting in his eyes.