The mist still hung over the field as the players began to gather. Some warmed up slowly, others exchanged tense glances full of expectation. The collective murmur made it clear: the tryouts were about to begin.
A black car slid up to the entrance of the field. The door opened, and Jin Ford stepped out with firm strides, his gaze calm and determined. A heavy silence fell over the group, broken only by the sound of the wind rustling through the trees around them.
Akira stepped forward respectfully, speaking firmly:
— Mr. Ford.
Before he could hear a reply, a wave of boos erupted from the players. Accusatory voices echoed, pointing at Ford:
— I hate you! "It's your fault we didn't make it to the finals."
— Traitor! You only care about the money!
Ford remained calm, observing the crowd with a hint of contempt but never losing his composure. He raised his hand to call for silence.
— You will run one hundred and fifty laps around this field. Anyone who can't keep up will be eliminated.
Shock was immediate. Nervous whispers spread, incredulous eyes met, and sarcastic laughs bubbled up among the group.
— One hundred and fifty laps? That's crazy!
— No one can handle that!
— It's impossible to survive this!
Ford cut through the noise with a sharp, firm voice:
— If you think this is impossible, then this isn't the place for you. You can leave now.
Because you will never become professionals.
It's not technique, dribbling, or finishing that defines a player.
It's endurance. The ability to run, run, and run throughout the entire game.
If you stop, even for ten seconds, the other team will score.
Want to know why this team is almost being relegated?
Because they think like you.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost palpable. None of the players dared to argue.
Ford cast a piercing glance at Akira, sizing him up.
— Ready? The timer starts in three... two... one...
The group burst forward, the sound of footsteps echoing on the misty, damp field. The laps began to pile up on the clock, an effort that seemed endless.
When Akira reached the 78th lap, his body screamed for rest. His breathing was heavy, sweat stung his eyes, and his legs felt like lead. For a moment, the urge to quit almost took over.
"Hold on, legs. Just a little more..." he thought, forcing his steps, remembering the family he had left behind.
But when he hit the 100th lap, his body begged for relief. His vision started to blur, and darkness threatened to swallow his consciousness.
He felt himself fading, his eyelids growing heavy, slowly closing.
Outside the field, Jin Ford watched closely, his gaze fixed and analytical.
"Maybe I was wrong about him... Maybe he can't take it." — he thought, a rare flicker of doubt crossing his stern face.
When Akira completed the 101st lap, Ford saw something that made him hesitate: the boy's eyes were almost unconscious, yet he was still running.
"Maybe it's just my ego, but I don't want to tell him to stop."
Ford remained silent, letting Akira push on