Location: The Nest - Training Ground Entrance Time: The Next Morning, 09:15
The morning damp hung heavy on the rusted iron gates of The Nest. Kenji checked the analog stopwatch in his hand; the needle had ticked fifteen minutes past the threshold of tolerance. Beside him, Lukas stood like a bomb primed to detonate, the veins in his neck already dangerously prominent.
"Give me one reason not to sack him," Lukas hissed, the words squeezing through gritted teeth. "I've memorized the scout reports, Kenji. He's an idiot. And on top of that, he's late. No respect for the team, no respect for himself."
Kenji didn't take his eyes off the road. "Be patient, Lukas. We don't need a soldier; we need a weapon. And weapons are inherently dangerous."
At that exact moment, the gate swung open with a screech. Darren strolled in, his neon tracksuit glowing like a profane gesture against Blackriver's gray gloom and crumbling walls. Oversized headphones around his neck, an energy drink in hand, and that signature, infuriating smirk plastered on his face.
Darren popped his gum as he approached. "Sup, bosses. The sat-nav labeled this place 'The Dump,' took me a while to find the entrance," he said cockily.
Lukas's patience snapped. He stepped forward, snatched the can from Darren's hand, and hurled it to the ground. The sound of metal striking concrete echoed sharply. "Training starts at 09:00. If you think you can act like a clown here just because of some viral video, you're mistaken, kid. Now move your expensive ass and..."
Kenji stepped in. He raised a hand to stop Lukas and walked towards Darren. He narrowed his eyes. The world shifted; The Prisma engaged. Biomechanical data cascaded into Kenji's mind like a digital waterfall:
[ SCAN COMPLETE: DARREN ]
Acceleration: Excellent. (Gastrocnemius muscles short and taut. First 5-meter burst faster than any fullback in the league.)
Off-the-Ball Movement: Elite. (Stride length exceptionally wide for his height.)
Dribbling Speed: Critical Flaw. (Head drops while dribbling, compromising spinal angle and aerodynamics. 20% speed reduction during ball control.)
Kenji deactivated The Prisma and looked into the boy's eyes, as if piercing his soul. "Your acceleration is incredible," he said calmly.
Darren lifted his chin defensively. "Obviously. I'm the fastest in this league."
"No, you're not. You're only fast without the ball," Kenji said, his voice ice-cold. "When you have the ball, you look down at your feet, blinding yourself to the pitch. That's why you stepped on the ball and fell in that viral video. And because you're impatient, you're constantly caught offside."
The cocky mask slipped from Darren's face. "Did you bring me here just to judge me?"
"No, we came to save you. But first, you need to run. Lukas, start him up."
Lukas brought the whistle to his lips and blew it with vengeful force. "Twenty laps! Sprint on the whistle!"
Darren took a reluctant step onto the field but stopped abruptly. His eyes fixed on the turf. The grass at The Nest was patchy, balding in places, and last night's rain had turned sections into a quagmire. The surface was uneven, unforgiving, and dangerous.
Darren turned back, a look of disgust on his face. "Are you crazy? I'm not running in this paddy field."
Lukas marched towards him. "What did you say?"
"You heard me!" Darren shouted, pointing at his expensive boots. "Look at this pitch! It's full of holes. My ankles are worth millions. If I sprint in this potato field and twist something, my season is over. I'm not playing until the pitch is fixed."
Just as Lukas was about to explode, Kenji intervened calmly. He walked over to Darren and pointed to a muddy patch. "You're right, Darren," he said. "This surface is atrocious."
Darren looked surprised, thinking he'd found an ally. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying..."
"But there's something you're forgetting," Kenji continued, his tone reminiscent of a teacher. "This pitch isn't just terrible for you; it's terrible for the opponents too. Do you know what happens when Ironport's six-foot-three heavy center-backs step into this mud? They sink. Their turns slow down. They won't mark you tight because they're terrified of slipping."
Kenji locked eyes with Darren. "You are light. If you adjust your center of gravity, if you run on the balls of your feet instead of your heels, this pitch stops being a trap and becomes your advantage. While they are stuck in the mud, you will glide over them. So, what is your choice? Wrap your million-dollar ankles in cotton wool, or become the monster of this swamp?"
Darren looked at the ground, then at Lukas, and finally at Kenji. The challenge had struck the most sensitive part of his ego. "Monster of the swamp, huh?" he muttered. "Doesn't sound too bad."
He turned to Lukas. "Blow the whistle, old man." Darren took his first step into the mud and began to run.
As Darren began his laps, Kenji walked over to Liam, who was waiting silently on the sidelines. The scrawny youth wasn't watching Darren; he was staring into the void with terror-filled eyes. He looked pale as a ghost.
"Is there a problem, Liam?"
Liam flinched. His voice trembled. "Boss... I heard Hiroto's report. We're playing Ironport this weekend. Their center-back is nicknamed 'The Butcher.' He's 1.92 meters, 95 kilos. And I..." He looked at his own thin arms, desperation leaking into his voice. "...I'm only 60 kilos. If he shoulders me, my bones will snap. Darren is fast, he can run away. But me? I'll be stuck in the middle. They'll crush me."
Kenji placed a hand on Liam's shoulder. "They can't crush you, Liam."
"How? It's basic physics!"
"Physics will work in your favor," Kenji said, turning the boy to face him. "I'm going to teach you the 'Ghost' tactic."
Liam looked confused.
"You are not going to enter physical duels with them. Your talent is 'The Metronome.' You will release the ball one second before the opponent reaches you. When they come to shoulder charge you, you will have already passed the ball and moved. They will hit nothing but empty air—your ghost."
Kenji pointed to Darren running on the pitch. "Look, the spearhead is running. All you have to do is this: when The Butcher starts charging at you, drop the ball in front of Darren. No contact. No pain. Just you, the ball, and space. Do you understand?"
Liam took a deep breath. The fear hadn't vanished, but Kenji's voice had instilled a strange, logical confidence in him. "No contact..." he repeated. "Just the pass."
"Exactly," Kenji said. "Now get on the pitch. The spear is running; you are the brain that guides it."
Despite his shaking legs, Liam stepped onto the field. Kenji turned to Emir on the sidelines and smiled. "The pitch is bad, the players are scared, we have no money. Everything is exactly as I want it."
After training, Kenji, Emir, and the entire technical staff gathered in the office. The sky had darkened, and the atmosphere was tense. Three files lay on the desk: Samuel, Igor, and Martinez.
When Kenji revealed his plan, the room turned to ice. Hiroto was the first to break the silence.
"You've lost your mind!" Hiroto shouted, the usually calm genius slamming his tablet onto the desk. "Kenji, this is mathematical suicide! Do you know what a -12 point deduction means? It means anchoring ourselves to the bottom of the league. Statistically, our chance of climbing out of that pit is 3.4%. Three percent! You're trying to make us believe in a fairy tale, but numbers don't lie. We will be relegated, Kenji. Without a doubt."
Elena interjected furiously. "Is it just the points table? What about Samuel? The man's knees are made of glass! If you give him the 'Savior' role, those knees will explode in two matches under that stress. Are you going to burn the club's future for a cripple? This isn't ethical, Kenji. I am a doctor, I cannot approve this madness."
Lukas let out an angry laugh. "The doctor is right. But the real problem is that Russian bear, Igor! The guy is a psychopath, Kenji. We're already starting with -12 points, morale will be shattered. Do you think Igor can stay calm in that pressure cooker? He'll beat up a referee in the first match and leave us with ten men. You're not building a 'Wall,' you're buying three bombs with the pins pulled."
Kenji listened to his team's rebellion in silence. They were all right. Logic screamed, "Don't do it."
"You are right," Kenji said calmly. "Mathematically, we sink. Medically, it's risky. In terms of discipline, it's chaos. But..."
Kenji turned to Emir. "If we don't take them, with the current squad, we will die a slow, painful death, Emir. Relegation is 100% certain. I am offering you a 3% hope. A quick death, or a miraculous life?"
Emir wiped his sweating forehead. He looked out the window at the rainy stadium, at "The Nest." For years they had been cautious, followed the rules, and gained nothing but debt and disappointment.
He slammed his fist on the table. "Burn the ships, Kenji. Sign all three! We'll pay whatever penalty comes."
The next day, a meeting room in a dingy hotel on the outskirts of the city hosted a grim gathering. Kenji sat opposite his three new transfers: Samuel, Igor, Martinez. The players had signed their contracts, wearing their brand-new Blackriver kits. Their faces held the hope of a "New Beginning." They didn't know about the -12 point deduction yet.
Kenji locked the door and sat down. "Welcome, gentlemen. Since the signatures are dry, I need to mention a small detail."
Kenji placed a paper showing the league table on the desk. At the very bottom was Blackriver United. Points: -6.
"The Federation determined we breached the budget cap to sign you. So, they handed us a -12 point deduction. Meaning, we are currently at the bottom of the ocean. And to get out, we need to win almost every game."
The room exploded like a powder keg.
Igor (The Butcher) leaped up. He kicked his chair over, marched on Kenji, and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him hard against the wall. "I'll kill you, Jap! Did you trick us? I came here to save my career, not to get relegated!"
Igor's fist hovered in the air, ready to smash Kenji's face. Despite the pressure on his throat, Kenji didn't avert his eyes. "Hit me," he rasped. "Hit me, and then call your agent. Ask him if you can return the signing bonus."
Igor's fist froze. "What?"
Kenji pulled free from Igor's loosening grip and straightened his collar. He coughed and continued. "Your signing bonuses have hit your accounts. And I'm sure your greedy agents have already spent their commissions. If you leave now, the club sues for breach of contract. You'll have to pay that money back with interest. Tell me, Igor, do you have that much cash in the bank? or will you be indebted to the mafia when you go back to Siberia?"
Igor gritted his teeth. He kicked the table in desperation and paced to the corner. He was trapped.
Meanwhile, Martinez (The Short General), keeping his cool, was examining the contract. He stood up and showed the paper to Kenji. "This contract could be voided. You withheld information about the club's financial status. I can report you to FIFA."
"You can," Kenji said, pulling up a chair and sitting. "The lawsuit will take two years. In the meantime, your license is suspended. Who buys a 1.74-meter center-back who hasn't played for two years, Martinez? By the time you're 24, your career is dead."
Martinez crumpled the paper and threw it on the table. Pure hatred burned in his eyes. "You... You are a complete devil."
Kenji nodded. "Maybe. But I offer you a way out."
He took a red pen from his jacket pocket and leaned over the contracts. "Listen. I know you don't trust me. I don't trust you either. This isn't a team; this is a necessity. I have a proposal."
Kenji added a clause to the bottom of each contract.
CLAUSE 24: If the team avoids relegation, the player has the right to be released on a FREE TRANSFER at the end of the season.
Kenji dropped the pen in the middle of the table. "Here is the opportunity. If you play for me and keep this team in the league, you get your freedom papers at the end of the season. You leave as heroes who saved the team from a -12 deficit, and go to whatever club you want. I stay in the league; you save your careers and get the hell out. Win-Win."
In the corner, Samuel (The Glass Tower) spoke for the first time. His voice trembled. "What if we fail? What if my knees give out?"
Kenji turned to Samuel. "Then we all sink, Samuel. But Elena has prepared a special program for you. If we stay up, we will have healed you. If we fail... well, what do we have left to lose anyway?"
The room fell silent for a long time.
Finally, Igor turned from the corner. His face was crimson, but the murderous intent in his eyes had been replaced by a cold acceptance. He walked towards Kenji.
"I hate you, Boss," Igor whispered. It wasn't a threat; it was a statement of fact. "I won't play for you. I'll play for myself. But..."
He pressed a finger into Kenji's chest. "If we get relegated... I swear, you will be the heaviest corpse in that river."
Kenji smiled. "Deal. But if we stay up... We all become legends."
Martinez took a deep breath, took out his pen, and signed the added clause. "Damn it," Martinez said. "We'll get the points. But don't act like our friend in the dressing room. The day the job is done, I'm gone."
Samuel slowly lifted his head too. He nodded desperately. "Okay... Okay."
Kenji walked to the door. "Tomorrow morning, 09:00. Don't be late. Ironport is waiting for us."
When Kenji left the room, there was no air of victory inside. There was the silence of a funeral home and a thick hatred hanging in the air. These three men were not Kenji Sato's soldiers.
They were Kenji Sato's prisoners. And a prisoner fights for his freedom more savagely than anything else.