Ch 5:
As Ichiro opened his eyes the next morning, his brain was hit with a sense of déjà-vu. For a second day in a row, his mind was assaulted by the bright, blue screen of the Football System.
This time however, the screen showed something other than the usual home screen, that presented his information. The screen instead, showed the tab assigned to the System´s tasks.
TASKS
-SHAPE UP – Monthly: (0/30)
Get in better shape by completing objectives.
OBJECTIVES:
*Run 10km every day
*Complete 100 pushups every day
*Complete 200 sit-ups every day
*Complete 10 minutes of plank every day
REWARDS: (upon full completion)
*5 Attribute Points
*Permanent increase in physical Attributes
PENALTIES: (upon failure of completing the objectives)
*System shut down
"Aaahhh" Ichiro sighed quietly, trying to adjust his eyes to the bright light. Rolling over on his side, he patted his hand around the bed – trying to find his phone. After a few tries he found it and opened it up, the light from the phone ambushing him, just as the System had done earlier.
8 AM, the clock showed. It seemed like the System had woke him up.
Ichiro was not really sure if he should be thankful or a little annoyed that the System had pulled him from his sleep. But after thinking for a minute and allowing his mind to regain some sort of clarity, he decided that it wasn't actually a bad idea. He now had a System and an alarm he was sure would always work.
"Ha, how convenient" he grunted, still half asleep. Getting out of bed, Ichiro awkwardly tried to put on some of his training clothes – which turned out to take a lot more time when one was half asleep.
After finally wrestling himself into a pair of black running shorts, a T-shirt and some running shoes, it was time to begin his first task.
50 minutes later Ichiro returned to his small apartment, huffing, puffing, and with the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Ichiro had done a lot of running, just as every academy player would have done. However today had felt different. Maybe it was because of yesterday´s rejection, but he had felt the need to prove something. To prove that he was worthy to be invested in. To be believed in.
Whatever it was though, it had helped. Ichiro didn't think he had ever run 10km´s that fast before, and that was at least… something.
Taking a few deep breaths to try and control his breathing, as well as chugging down a glass of water, filling it up again – and then proceeding to only take a sip of it. Ichiro found his training mat and started on the other part of his workout. He was looking to get the whole thing done in the morning.
That however seemed to be a bit optimistic.
"It seems like that damned System actually wasn't that far of" Ichiro said panting heavily. His chest quickly rising and falling.
He had finished about half of the push-up´s and sit-up´s, before giving in to exhaustion. The rest of the task would have to be done a little later.
After wrapping up his workout—or at least the parts he could manage—Ichiro decided it was time for a shower. Between the jog and the intense bedroom routine, he was drenched. And for a teenage boy, a little sweat went a long way: he smelled like something rotten. Maybe an old sandwich left in a locker all summer. Or a zoo.
The shower was, to put it mildly, glorious. He stood under the steaming water way longer than he should have, reluctant to leave the comforting heat. And when he finally did, the urge to go back in was in no way small.
As he was walking out of the shower, Ichiro paused in front of the bathroom mirror, catching a good look at himself. His face still held that unmistakable youthful energy—soft features framed by a jawline that looked like it belonged to someone older, or at least more serious. His brown eyes and olive-toned skin worked in quiet harmony, and his hair—golden blonde and just messy enough—topped it all off.
Yeah, Ichiro knew he was a pretty good-looking guy. Always had been. Back home, girls used to notice him more than he liked to admit—sometimes more than he wanted. But ever since moving to England, things had been... different.
As Ichiro was about to exit the bathroom, he suddenly heard the sound of his phone. He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and exited the bathroom, finding his phone on the table.
The name on the screen made him blink. Not his dad. Not some spam call. It was a name he hadn't seen in a while.
Coach Masuda – Gamba Osaka Youth
Ichiro hesitated for a moment before answering. That hesitation—it wasn't fear. It was more like the weight of nostalgia. A life before England. Before freezing cold mornings in Birmingham. Before the pressure and the rejections.
He answered.
"Coach?"
"Ichiro! It's been a while."
The voice was deep, warm, and unmistakably Japanese. Like hearing a piece of home.
"Yeah, it really has."
"I watched the final. That goal…" The coach chuckled lightly. "Well, let's just say I might've spilled some tea in the living room."
Ichiro smiled despite himself. "Thanks, Coach."
"I talked to your dad you know." Masuda said, voice softening.
Of course he had.
Ichiro let out a breath through his nose. "I see… so, he told you?"
Now it was Masuda´s time to let out a breath, as he sighed deeply – letting a few moments pass.
A short pause.
"Yeah."
Another pause.
"Ichiro," Masuda said, halting Ichiro´s words before they could take form "there's something I want to ask you. Have you considered coming back to Japan? Just for a while. Get your rhythm back, play in a familiar environment."
Ichiro rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know... I want to stay in Europe. I want to make it big here."
"I understand. But sometimes, to take two steps forward, you take one back. Doesn't mean you're retreating. Just repositioning."
It made sense. It also scared him.
"I'll think about it," Ichiro said at last.
Masuda gave a short hum of approval. "Do that. And if you decide to come home for a bit, we always have space for you here. Not to brag you know, but our youth department is pretty good."
Letting out a small laugh, Ichiro said. "Thanks, Coach."
As the call ended, Ichiro sat in silence for a while. The system was still there. The work lay ahead. But now… there were decisions.
He glanced at the time—10:12 AM.
He still had about 50 pushups to go, 110 sit-ups, and 10 minutes of plank time left.
"Right," he said aloud, tossing his phone on the bed. "Back to it."