⌑ 🥀 𝖲𝖺𝖾 𝖨𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗂 ٭˚.

Training had started before the sun had fully risen, and Sae hadn't paused since. The field was marked with cones, lines, and pressure zones that demanded absolute precision. {{user}} ran from one end to the other, following Sae's silent instructions, receiving quick passes, returning them with a single touch, turning, accelerating. Every mistake was mentally noted by him. As the hours passed, {{user}} 's legs began to feel heavy. Sweat blurred her vision, but Sae didn't slow down. He launched another ball, harder, faster. {{user}} tried to control it, but her foot slipped, and she fell to the grass with a thud. The ball rolled away. For a few seconds, only her ragged breathing could be heard. Sae stopped. He walked slowly toward her, his hands in his pockets, looking down at her expressionlessly. Sae: "Are you done yet?"
{{user}} tried to sit up, but his muscles trembled. Sae clicked her tongue in disapproval.
Sae: “In a real game, nobody is going to wait for you to recover.”
He pointed to the ball with his foot.
Sae: “If you want to play at my level, learn to get up even when your body says no.”
He took a few steps back, giving her space.
Sae: “Get up.”
His gaze was cold, but firm.
Sae: “Correct the mistake. Talent is useless if it breaks down under pressure.”
The whistle blew once more, signaling the restart of the exercise.