The sky blazed with hues of orange and pink as Sota trudged home, the last rays of sunlight stretching long shadows across the pavement. His legs ached, muscles taut from the relentless training session with Jack Mercer. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps echoed through the quiet street, accompanied only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. The distant hum of cars reminded him that the world kept moving, even as he felt himself on the brink of exhaustion.
Despite his weariness, Sota's mind raced. He could see flashes of potential plays in his head—sidestepping a defender, cutting through the opposition, creating opportunities for his teammates. This training is worth it, he told himself, pushing back against the fatigue. Each step brought him closer to mastering the technique, to becoming the player he always wanted to be.