The small town buzzed with energy in the days leading up to the rematch against the Northside Thunder. It started with whispers in the school hallways and casual conversations at the local convenience store. Then, someone posted about the game on social media, and suddenly everyone seemed to be talking about it.
"Did you hear? Tanaka's team is taking on the Thunder again!"
"I heard they've been practicing non-stop."
"They don't stand a chance, but it'll be fun to watch."
Hiroshi couldn't walk through the halls without overhearing snippets of conversations about the game. The attention was exciting, but it also brought a new kind of pressure.
At practice, the team felt it too.
"Did you see the post?" Kenji asked, jogging up to Hiroshi as they warmed up. "There's a whole thread about the game. People are saying it's going to be a blowout—Thunder wins by at least three touchdowns."
Hiroshi frowned, adjusting his helmet. "Let them say what they want. It doesn't matter what they think. It matters what we do on the field."
Kenta, who had been stretching nearby, chimed in. "Yeah, but it's not just random people talking. My older brother told me half the town is planning to come watch. Even the Thunder's parents are hyping it up. This is turning into a spectacle."
Hiroshi glanced around at his teammates. He could see the nerves in their faces. They were used to playing in relative obscurity, with only a few parents or curious onlookers watching. The idea of a crowd showing up, expecting to see them succeed—or fail—was a lot to handle.
Coach Ryan called the team into a huddle, sensing the unease.
"Listen up," he said, his voice steady but firm. "I know you're hearing a lot of noise about this game. People are talking, speculating, making predictions. But here's the truth: none of that matters. The crowd doesn't matter. The rumors don't matter. The only thing that matters is what happens on this field and what happens on game day."
The team nodded, though the tension in the air was still palpable.
Ryan's gaze softened. "Pressure can either break you or make you stronger. It's up to you how you use it. Remember, you've put in the work. Trust yourselves, trust each other, and block out the rest."
Despite Ryan's words, the pressure continued to build as the game drew closer. Hiroshi could feel it in the way his teammates moved during practice—hesitations where there hadn't been any before, uncharacteristic mistakes, and frustration bubbling just below the surface.
"Ryota, you've got to stay on your route!" Hiroshi called during a drill as Ryota broke too early, missing a pass.
"Yeah, I know!" Ryota snapped, kicking the ground in frustration. "I just… I wasn't thinking."
Hiroshi jogged over, placing a hand on Ryota's shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. We'll get it right. Just focus on the play, not on what's happening outside the field."
Ryota nodded, taking a deep breath. "Got it."
The night before the game, Hiroshi sat at his desk, staring at the neatly organized playbook in front of him. He'd gone over every strategy, every adjustment, every possible scenario. He knew the Thunder's strengths and weaknesses inside and out. But as he flipped through the pages, he couldn't shake the weight of expectation pressing down on him.
His phone buzzed with a message from Kenji.
Kenji: "You good, man? Big day tomorrow."
Hiroshi: "Yeah, just trying to stay focused."
Kenji: "Don't sweat it. We've got this. We're ready."
Hiroshi stared at the screen for a moment before replying.
Hiroshi: "Thanks. See you tomorrow."
As he set the phone down, another knock came at the door. Naomi stepped in, her expression calm but concerned.
"Still working?" she asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.
"Just going over the plays one last time," Hiroshi replied, closing the playbook.
Naomi studied him for a moment. "You've been carrying a lot lately. The team, the game, your father's expectations… it's a lot for one person."
Hiroshi nodded silently.
"Do you remember what you told me when you started playing football?" Naomi asked, her voice soft.
Hiroshi tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"You said it made you feel alive," she reminded him. "That it wasn't just about the game—it was about being part of something bigger, about working with your team toward a shared goal."
Hiroshi smiled faintly, the memory warming his chest. "Yeah, I remember."
Naomi reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That's what matters, Hiroshi. Not the crowd, not the rumors, not even the result. What matters is that you give it everything you have and enjoy every moment of it. If you do that, you've already won."
Hiroshi took a deep breath, her words settling in his heart. "Thanks, Mom. I needed that."
She smiled, standing up. "Get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day."
As Hiroshi lay in bed that night, he replayed the game plan in his mind one last time. The pressure was still there, but it no longer felt overwhelming. His mother was right—this wasn't just about winning or proving people wrong. It was about the journey, about the bond he shared with his team, and about giving everything he had for the game he loved.
Tomorrow, they would step onto the field not as underdogs, but as a team ready to show the world what they were capable of.
And Hiroshi was ready.