The next few days passed in a blur for Hiroshi. Every free moment he had, he spent glued to his laptop, devouring everything he could find about American football. He watched videos of legendary players, read articles breaking down the intricacies of the game, and even studied playbooks he found online.
His chessboard, once the centerpiece of his desk, now sat untouched, collecting dust. Instead, sheets of paper covered with hastily drawn football plays were scattered across his room.
Hiroshi couldn't stop thinking about the game. The complexity of it, the way each player had a role to fulfill, and how every decision the quarterback made could change the outcome—it all captivated him. It felt like chess, but faster, more dynamic, and far more unpredictable.
At dinner, his father noticed the change.
"Hiroshi," Akio said, his voice sharp. "You've been distracted lately. Your focus is slipping."
"I've been… learning something new," Hiroshi replied cautiously.
Akio's eyes narrowed. "Is this about that football nonsense again?"
Hiroshi nodded, bracing himself. "Yes, Father. I've been studying the game. It's fascinating—the strategy, the teamwork. It's not just brute force like you said. There's so much more to it."
Akio's expression darkened. "You are wasting your time. Chess is your path, Hiroshi. Football is a distraction."
Naomi, as always, tried to diffuse the tension. "Akio, maybe it's good for Hiroshi to explore other interests. He's still young."
But Akio shook his head. "A champion doesn't divide their focus. Hiroshi has a gift. It's my job to ensure he uses it."
Hiroshi clenched his fists under the table but said nothing. He knew arguing with his father was pointless.
That night, Hiroshi sat at his desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper. His father's words echoed in his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of this new obsession.
He picked up his pencil and began sketching another play, his mind racing with ideas. He imagined himself as the quarterback, standing on the field, reading the defense, and making the perfect pass.
The thought sent a thrill through him.
Suddenly, an idea struck him. If he wanted to understand football, really understand it, he needed more than just videos and articles. He needed to see the game up close.
The next afternoon, Hiroshi biked to a nearby park. He had overheard some boys at school talking about playing football there after class. If he was going to learn, this was his chance.
When he arrived, he saw a group of boys around his age tossing a football back and forth. They laughed and shouted, their energy contagious. Hiroshi stood at the edge of the field, watching intently.
One of the boys noticed him and jogged over. "Hey, you new here?"
Hiroshi hesitated but nodded. "Yeah. I've never played before, but… can I join?"
The boy grinned. "Of course! I'm Kenji. What's your name?"
"Hiroshi," he replied.
"Nice to meet you, Hiroshi. Ever thrown a football before?" Kenji asked, holding out the ball.
Hiroshi shook his head. "No, but I'd like to try."
Kenji showed him the proper grip and how to throw. At first, Hiroshi's throws wobbled and fell short, but with Kenji's guidance, he slowly improved.
"Not bad for your first time," Kenji said after a few minutes. "You've got potential."
Hiroshi smiled, a rare feeling of pride swelling in his chest. For the first time in a long while, he felt free—free from the weight of expectations, from the constant pressure to be perfect.
As the boys set up a scrimmage game, Hiroshi watched their movements closely, analyzing their strategies. It was chaotic, but he could see patterns forming. Without even realizing it, his chess-trained mind began to dissect the game, identifying opportunities and weaknesses.
When Kenji handed him the ball and said, "Your turn to be quarterback," Hiroshi felt a surge of nervous excitement.
He took his place behind the line of scrimmage, his heart pounding. As he called the snap and the play began, everything seemed to slow down. The players moved like chess pieces on a board, and for the first time, Hiroshi wasn't just watching the game—he was part of it.
That evening, Hiroshi returned home covered in dirt and sweat, but with a smile on his face. His mother noticed immediately.
"You look happy," Naomi said.
"I think I found something I love," Hiroshi replied simply.
As he walked past the living room, his father looked up from his book. His eyes flicked to the dirt-streaked clothes and the football Hiroshi carried.
"Hiroshi," Akio said, his tone heavy with disapproval. "We need to talk."
But Hiroshi didn't stop. For the first time, he felt like he had control over his own path, and he wasn't going to let it go.
American football wasn't just a passing interest anymore—it was his new obsession.