The sharp, metallic clank of weights hitting the ground echoed through the small gym. Hiroshi stood by the squat rack, staring at the loaded barbell with a mix of apprehension and determination. Sweat dripped from his brow, his legs already burning from earlier sets, but he wasn't done yet.
"C'mon, Hiroshi! One more rep!" Kenta shouted, spotting him from behind.
Hiroshi gritted his teeth, gripping the barbell tightly. He bent his knees, lowering into a squat before pushing himself back up, the strain making his entire body tremble.
"Good!" Kenta said, clapping him on the back as Hiroshi racked the barbell. "That's what I'm talking about! You're getting stronger already."
Hiroshi panted, leaning against the rack for support. "Stronger, huh?" he muttered under his breath. "Doesn't feel like it."
The realization that his physical limits were holding him back had hit Hiroshi hard after the scrimmage loss. While his mind worked quickly to analyze the game, his body struggled to keep up. The Thunder's quarterback, Daichi, had easily shrugged off tacklers and scrambled for extra yards when plays broke down. Meanwhile, Hiroshi had been sacked multiple times, unable to evade the defense or buy time for his receivers.
"Football's not just mental," Hiroshi said to himself as he left the gym that night. "If I can't keep up physically, it doesn't matter how good my strategy is."
The next morning, Hiroshi found himself on the track at sunrise. He hadn't told anyone about his plans to start endurance training—it felt like something he needed to do on his own.
"Just like chess," he muttered, stretching his legs. "Small, deliberate moves until it all comes together."
But running wasn't like chess. By the third lap, Hiroshi's lungs burned, his legs felt like lead, and his pace had slowed to an awkward shuffle. He stopped, hands on his knees, gasping for air as frustration bubbled to the surface.
"How do people do this?" he muttered, wiping sweat from his face.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. "You look like you're about to pass out."
Hiroshi looked up to see Kenta jogging toward him, a water bottle in hand.
"What are you doing here?" Hiroshi asked, still catching his breath.
"I could ask you the same thing," Kenta replied, handing him the bottle. "But I figured you'd be here. You've been pushing yourself harder than anyone else lately."
Hiroshi took a long drink before replying. "I just… I don't want to be the weak link. If I can't keep up physically, I'll drag the team down."
Kenta shook his head. "You're not a weak link, Hiroshi. But I get it—you want to get better. So how about you let me help?"
Hiroshi raised an eyebrow. "You? Help me?"
"Hey, I've been doing this kind of training for years," Kenta said, flexing his arms for emphasis. "You need to build endurance and strength? I'm your guy."
From that day on, Kenta became Hiroshi's unofficial trainer. They started every morning with laps around the track, gradually increasing Hiroshi's stamina. Afternoons were spent in the gym, where Kenta taught Hiroshi proper lifting techniques and pushed him to his limits.
"Focus on your core," Kenta said one day as Hiroshi struggled through a plank. "You need a strong core for everything—throwing, running, even taking hits."
"I thought chess was hard," Hiroshi grumbled through clenched teeth.
Kenta laughed. "Welcome to the real game, genius."
As the weeks went on, Hiroshi began to notice changes. His legs no longer felt like jelly after running, and he could lift heavier weights without immediately collapsing. More importantly, he started to feel more confident in his physical abilities.
One afternoon, after finishing a set of sprints, Hiroshi sat on the grass, catching his breath. Kenta plopped down beside him, grinning.
"You're getting faster," Kenta said. "You're still not outrunning me, but you're getting there."
Hiroshi smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Seriously, though," Kenta continued, his tone more serious. "You've always had the brains for this game, but now you're building the body to match. Keep this up, and you'll be a complete player."
Hiroshi stared out at the empty field, the setting sun casting long shadows across the grass. For the first time, he felt like he was starting to bridge the gap between his mental strengths and physical weaknesses.
"Thanks, Kenta," he said quietly.
Kenta shrugged. "What are teammates for?"
That evening, as Hiroshi sat at his desk, he added a new note to his playbook:
"Mental strength wins games. Physical strength keeps you in them."
With the rematch against the Thunder looming, Hiroshi knew he still had a long way to go. But for the first time, he felt like he was on the right path—one step closer to becoming the player he wanted to be.