The next day, Hiroshi sat at his desk with a notebook open in front of him. The victory from yesterday still buzzed in his mind, but he couldn't shake a lingering thought: they had won on instinct and luck, but if they wanted to compete seriously, they needed more than that.
He grabbed the rulebook Kenji had borrowed from the library. The cover, worn from use, featured a football player mid-tackle. As he flipped through the pages, Hiroshi realized how complex the game truly was. There were rules about downs, penalties, formations, and even specific player positions he didn't fully understand yet.
Football wasn't just about strength or speed—it was a game of precision, strategy, and knowledge.
Later that afternoon, Hiroshi called the team together at the park. The sun beat down on them as they gathered in a circle, each boy curious about the hastily called meeting.
"What's up, Hiroshi?" Kenji asked, tossing the football back and forth between his hands.
"We need to learn the rules," Hiroshi said firmly, holding up the rulebook. "Yesterday was great, but we won't always get by on raw talent. If we don't understand the game, we'll get crushed by anyone who does."
Kenta groaned. "You want us to study a book? This isn't school, man."
"It's not just about reading," Hiroshi countered. "It's about knowing what we can and can't do. Knowing the rules gives us an advantage. How can we make smart plays if we don't understand how the game works?"
Kenji nodded, backing Hiroshi up. "He's right. If we're serious about this, we need to get serious about learning."
Reluctantly, the boys agreed.
Over the next few days, Hiroshi turned their practices into a mix of drills and classroom-style sessions. He broke down the basics:
The Downs System: "We have four tries to move the ball ten yards. If we don't, we lose possession. If we succeed, we get a fresh set of downs."
Offensive Formations: "The quarterback isn't the only one who matters. Every position has a role—receivers spread the defense, the line protects the quarterback, and the running back provides balance."
Penalties: "False starts, holding, offsides—these can cost us yards. We have to be disciplined."
He even used a whiteboard his mother let him borrow, sketching out formations and explaining strategies.
At first, the team struggled to stay focused. Kenta often yawned, Riku doodled in the dirt with a stick, and Daichi seemed overwhelmed by all the information. But Hiroshi kept pushing, finding creative ways to make the lessons engaging.
During one session, he set up cones to simulate a field and had the team run plays while calling out rules as they went.
"Daichi, if you grab the defender's jersey, that's holding. Ten-yard penalty!" Hiroshi shouted during a drill.
Daichi grumbled but nodded. "Got it. No grabbing jerseys."
Another time, Hiroshi challenged the team with a trivia game.
"What happens if we go out of bounds without advancing the ball?" Hiroshi asked.
Riku raised his hand. "The clock stops?"
"Correct!" Hiroshi said, tossing him a candy bar as a reward.
Slowly but surely, the team began to understand the intricacies of the game.
One evening after practice, Hiroshi stayed behind to review the rulebook again. His father, Akio, walked into the room and noticed the open pages on the desk.
"Football rules?" Akio asked, his tone neutral.
Hiroshi nodded. "I realized I can't just play on instinct. I need to understand the game if I want to lead the team."
Akio studied him for a moment before sitting down across the desk. "That's a good mindset. In chess, knowing the rules is just the foundation. Mastery comes from understanding how to bend those rules to your advantage."
Hiroshi paused, considering his father's words. "So, it's not just about knowing what's allowed. It's about using the rules to outthink the opponent?"
"Exactly," Akio said, leaning back. "You're starting to understand strategy, Hiroshi. That's a good sign."
For the first time in months, Hiroshi felt a flicker of approval from his father.
The next practice was a turning point. Hiroshi gathered the team and outlined a new play, one he had designed after studying the rulebook.
"Alright, this is called a play-action pass," he explained. "We'll fake a handoff to the running back, drawing the defense toward the line of scrimmage. Then, Kenji will slip past them for a deep pass. If we sell the fake well, their safeties will bite, leaving Kenji open."
The boys ran the play several times, fumbling the timing at first. But after a few tries, it started to click.
By the end of practice, the team was running the play smoothly.
"That's it!" Hiroshi shouted as Kenji caught a perfectly placed pass and sprinted into the imaginary end zone. "We're getting there."
That night, Hiroshi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Football was quickly becoming more than just a game. It was a puzzle—a dynamic, ever-changing puzzle that required teamwork, strategy, and creativity to solve.
The rules weren't just constraints; they were opportunities.
For the first time, Hiroshi realized that football wasn't so different from chess after all. And just like in chess, the real challenge wasn't just playing the game—it was mastering it.