The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows on the training field. It was the second day of their training under [old legend] Eiji Kobayashi — a forward feared for his devastating long-range shots. The top five players — Kazuya Mori, Yuto Kisaragi, Kazuki Shindo, Tetsuya Aikawa, and Renji Kurogami — stood ready, their muscles tense with anticipation.
Kobayashi stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, his sharp eyes assessing them like a predator sizing up prey. "Today's training is about one thing: precision," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "Power means nothing if you can't control it. And control means nothing if you can't hit your mark."
He gestured to a row of targets set up at various distances — small, narrow, and some barely visible. "Your task: hit these targets. But there's a catch — you only get one touch. No settling the ball. You strike it as it comes."
The players exchanged glances. It was a brutal drill — no time to adjust, no room for error. But they didn't come here for comfort.
Mori went first. The ball came rolling toward him fast. With his impeccable technique, he struck it cleanly — the ball soared through the air and hit the target dead center. A perfect start.
Yuto followed, his calm and strategic nature showing in his measured strike. Another hit.
Shindo stepped up, his speed and reaction time kicking in as he sent a blistering shot straight into the next target. He grinned, the confidence in his evolving skill clear.
Aikawa missed his first shot — the ball swerved just wide. His frustration was evident, but he bit it back and focused on the next attempt.
Renji was last. As the ball approached, his mind flashed back to his late-night training with Nakamura — the blindfolded drills, the heightened awareness, the demand for perfect timing. He struck the ball, his movement fluid and instinctive — and the ball slammed into the target with a satisfying thud.
Kobayashi nodded. "Not bad. But hitting stationary targets is just the start. Now we make them move."
The next phase was chaos. The targets shifted unpredictably, and the balls came faster. Shindo struggled at first, his speed working against him as his shots lacked control. Aikawa fought to keep up, missing more than he hit.
But Mori thrived. His tactical mind adapted quickly, predicting the target's movement with uncanny accuracy. Yuto stayed calm and efficient, his control keeping him consistent.
Renji pushed himself, his vision expanding, the lessons from both Hoshigaki and Nakamura coming together. He wasn't the fastest or the strongest — but his growing field awareness let him see the patterns. He adjusted his stance, shifted his weight — and his shots grew sharper, more precise.
By the end, they were all breathing hard. But Kobayashi wasn't finished. "One last drill," he said. "You're going to outshoot me."
The top five froze.
"Five-on-one. I take my shots from anywhere. You stop me while hitting your own targets. If you can."
And just like that, the game began. Kobayashi moved with terrifying ease — his positioning perfect, his shots effortless and lethal. They scrambled to keep up, but the gap was obvious.
Still, Renji kept watching. Studying. And when his moment came — when Kobayashi's attention flickered for just a second — he struck. The ball sailed through the air, hitting its mark just as one of Kobayashi's shots missed by inches.
For the first time, Renji saw the faintest hint of a smile on the [old legend]'s face.
"Interesting," Kobayashi murmured.