The morning sun poured through the windows of the Tanaka household as Hiroshi sat at the dining table, absentmindedly stirring his miso soup. His mind was already on the field, running through plays and strategies for the upcoming rematch against the Thunder. But before he could fully immerse himself in his thoughts, a knock at the door interrupted the silence.
"I'll get it," Naomi said, standing from her seat. She opened the door, revealing a tall man in his late 40s with sharp features and a serious expression. It was Hiroshi's chess coach, Takeda-san.
"Hiroshi," Naomi called, glancing between him and the unexpected guest. "Coach Takeda is here to see you."
Hiroshi's stomach sank. He hadn't seen Takeda-san since his disappointing loss at the chess tournament, and he knew exactly why the coach had come.
Minutes later, Hiroshi and Takeda-san sat in the living room, the air between them heavy with unspoken tension. Takeda's piercing eyes studied Hiroshi, as if searching for answers before he even asked the questions.
"I was surprised to hear about your loss at the tournament," Takeda began, his tone calm but laced with disappointment. "You've always been one of the most disciplined players I've coached. What happened, Hiroshi?"
Hiroshi shifted uncomfortably, his hands gripping his knees. "I just… wasn't at my best that day."
Takeda raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't just 'that day,' was it? Your focus has been slipping for months. And I've heard rumors about why."
Hiroshi looked down, unable to meet his coach's gaze.
"Football," Takeda continued, his voice firmer now. "It's clear you've been dividing your time between chess and this… sport. And it's affecting your performance."
Hiroshi's head snapped up, his chest tightening. "Football isn't just a sport to me, Takeda-san. It's something I care about deeply. It's not like I've stopped caring about chess, but football gives me something chess never could."
"And what's that?" Takeda asked, leaning forward.
"Teamwork," Hiroshi said without hesitation. "The bond I have with my teammates, the challenge of working together toward a common goal—it's completely different from sitting across a board, playing alone."
Takeda's expression softened for a moment, but his voice remained stern. "I can understand that, Hiroshi. But chess has been your foundation for years. You've built a reputation, earned respect, and have real opportunities ahead of you because of it. Do you really want to throw all of that away?"
"I'm not throwing it away," Hiroshi said firmly. "I'm just… trying to find balance."
Takeda sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Balance is important, but there comes a point where you have to make a choice. You can't excel at both chess and football if you're splitting your focus like this. If you want to reach your full potential, you need to decide which path you're going to commit to."
Takeda stood, his presence towering over Hiroshi. "You have a bright future ahead of you in chess, Hiroshi. But that future depends on your dedication. If you're serious about football, then fine—pursue it. But don't expect chess to wait for you. The world moves on quickly."
The weight of Takeda's words hung in the air as Hiroshi watched him walk to the door. Before leaving, the coach turned back, his expression less severe.
"I believe in you, Hiroshi. I always have. But belief only goes so far. The rest is up to you."
After Takeda-san left, Hiroshi remained on the couch, his mind racing. He thought about the hours he'd spent at the chessboard, the tournaments he'd won, and the pride his father had shown during those moments. Then he thought about the football field, the camaraderie with his team, and the thrill of executing a perfect play.
"Why does it have to be one or the other?" he muttered to himself, frustration bubbling in his chest.
Naomi entered the room, sitting beside him. "Coach Takeda is worried about you," she said gently.
"I know," Hiroshi replied, his voice low. "He's not wrong. I haven't been giving chess the focus it deserves. But I can't just give up football, Mom. I love it too much."
Naomi placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're trying to juggle two worlds, Hiroshi, and that's not easy. But you have to ask yourself: What do you want most? What truly makes you happy?"
Hiroshi looked down at his hands, his mother's words echoing in his mind. He didn't have an answer—not yet.
That evening, Hiroshi sat at his desk, staring at the two objects in front of him: his chessboard and his football playbook. The chess pieces gleamed under the desk lamp, each one carefully arranged in a midgame position. The playbook, in contrast, was messy, filled with scribbled notes and diagrams.
He reached out, his fingers brushing over the chessboard before shifting to the playbook. The two worlds felt so far apart, yet both were a part of him.
"Make a choice," he whispered, Takeda's words ringing in his ears.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
With a deep breath, Hiroshi closed the playbook and reset the chessboard. For now, he would keep balancing both, even as the pressure to decide continued to mount.
Tomorrow, he would return to the field, to his team, to the dream that filled his heart with fire. But he couldn't ignore the other part of him—the part that had grown up with chess, the part that still sought the quiet satisfaction of a perfectly executed strategy.
For now, he would fight for both. But he knew the time to choose was drawing closer, and the weight of that decision loomed over him like a shadow.