My system allows me to copy talents

The next morning, the headlines were everywhere.

”JFA IN CRISIS: Hiro’s Injury Splits Japan’s World Cup Hopes” — Sports Nippon

”Will Hiro Make It? Japan’s Golden Boy Faces Race Against Time” — Nikkan Sports

”The Replacement Question: Who Steps Up If Hiro Can’t?” — Football Digest Japan

On television, the debate had already turned heated.

Three panelists sat behind a curved desk in a bright studio, a graphic of Hiro’s face hovering on the screen behind them, and the first of them leaned toward his microphone with the air of a man who had been waiting all morning to say his piece.

”You can’t plan around an injured player. It’s irresponsible. Japan needs to prepare for the possibility that Hiro won’t be there.”

”And who do you suggest replaces him?” the second panelist shot back. ”There is no one. Hiro is irreplaceable.”

”Then we change the system and adapt. That is what good teams do.”

”That is what teams do when they have no other choice. Japan does have a choice, and the choice is to wait for Hiro.”

The third panelist shook his head. ”Wait? The World Cup is not going to wait for anyone. We need to be realistic.”

”Realistic?” The second panelist’s voice rose, and he struck the desk with his open palm. ”You want to give up on the best player in the world because of a timeline? That isn’t realism. That is cowardice.”

In Madrid, Hiro watched the broadcast from his rehabilitation room, propped against the pillows with the remote resting on his chest.

His agent had told him about the JFA meeting the day before, and he had expected a little concern, maybe even some doubt.

But it was different to watch it unfold on live television, to hear strangers in tailored suits argue over whether he was worth waiting for. Hearing it said so openly, in such calm and reasonable voices, stung more than he had prepared for.

He pressed the button and the screen went dark.

The room settled into silence, broken only by the soft beeping of the monitor. He looked down at his leg, still wrapped and still healing, and a bitter thought rose up in him.

They’re arguing about whether I’m worth waiting for, as if I weren’t even in the room.

His hand closed slowly into a fist on top of the blanket. For a brief moment, he couldn’t help but doubt their claims.

But then again, he cleared the doubt as soon as it emerged.

I’ll make it. He thought, his fist clenched.

Ring~ Ring~ Ring~

Late in the night, the phone buzzed against the nightstand, its screen glowing in the dim room.

Hiro turned his head and saw Shun’s name lit up across the top. A smile came before he could stop it, the first real one in hours, and he picked up the phone and answered.

”Don’t you have training early tomorrow?” he asked.

”It’s barely nine in the evening,” Shun said. ”You’re the one who ought to be asleep. What’s your excuse?”

”I’m injured. I don’t need excuses.”

Shun laughed, a warm and familiar sound that carried down the line and pushed back the stillness of the rehabilitation room. ”Fair enough.”

A short pause followed. Behind Shun’s voice, Hiro could hear a television murmuring, some sports channel by the sound of it, and he could guess easily enough what the presenters were talking about.

”You saw the news,” Hiro said.

”Everyone saw the news.” Shun’s tone had lightened, but a thread of concern ran underneath it. ”The JFA is in a panic, the media is having the time of its life, and half of Japan is apparently debating whether you’re worth waiting for.”

”And the other half?”

”The other half is arguing with the first half.”

Hiro let out a soft chuckle. ”So it’s business as usual.”

”Business as usual?” Shun’s voice rose. ”Hiro, they’re talking about you like you’re a damaged asset, a gamble they aren’t sure they want to take. Doesn’t that bother you at all?”

Hiro didn’t answer right away. A pale strip of streetlight lay across the ceiling above him, and he watched it while he thought the question over honestly before he spoke.

”No,” he said.

”No?”

”No.” His voice was calm, so calm that it sounded almost strange to his own ears. ”They’re doing their job. They have to plan for every possibility, and if I were sitting in their chairs, I’d probably do the same.”

Shun said nothing for a moment. When he finally spoke, he sounded almost wary. ”You’re too calm, and it’s kinda unsettling.”

”I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

”That’s what you always say.”

”Because it’s always true.”

Shun sighed, long and theatrical. ”You’re impossible.”

”So I’ve been told.”

A long pause followed, long enough that Hiro checked the screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. When Shun spoke again, his voice was quieter, with the teasing gone out of it.

”Are you really okay?”

Hiro’s eyes drifted down to the bandaged shape of his leg beneath the blanket. He thought about the media storm and the closed-door meeting in Tokyo, and about the headlines that spoke of his future as if it were already in doubt.

”I’m okay,” he said at last. ”It isn’t because everything is fine. It’s because I know what I have to do.”

”And what’s that?”

”Recover, adapt, and come back stronger.”

Shun laughed, but there was no joy in it, only a dry bitterness that crackled faintly over the line. ”You make it sound so simple.”

”It isn’t simple, but it is clear.”

”Clear,” Shun repeated.

”Yes.”

Shun went quiet again, and in the silence Hiro heard the television on his end click off. He took a slow breath and chose his next words with care.

”You should focus on yourself, you know.”

”What do you mean?”

”Your spot on the national team isn’t guaranteed either.”

The words hung between them over the line. Shun didn’t respond, and Hiro could picture his face well enough without seeing it.

”I’m not saying it to be cruel,” he went on, more gently. ”I’m saying it because I know you. You’ve always been hard on yourself, and you’ve always pushed yourself right to the edge. But sometimes you forget you’re fighting for your own place, and not only worrying about mine.”

Shun’s throat tightened. ”I...”

”You’re a goalkeeper, Shun. You aren’t competing with me. You’re competing with every other keeper in Japan, and you are good enough. You just have to believe it.”

For a moment, there was only the faint sound of breathing.

”Since when did you get so wise?” Shun muttered.

”Since I got injured. It gave me a lot of time to think.”

”You’re always thinking.”

”I know.”

This time, Shun’s laugh came easily, and it sounded real. ”Fine, I’ll focus on myself. But only if you promise to do the same.”

”Deal.”

”And no more pushing yourself too hard. Elena told me about the seizure.”

Hiro blinked at the ceiling. ”She told you?”

For a moment, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This information had been revealed all of a sudden, and he couldn’t help but freeze.

”She’s my secret informant.”

”I’ll fire her.”

”You can’t. She likes me too much.”

Hiro smiled, and the smile reached all the way up to his eyes. ”You’re impossible.”

”So I’ve been told,” Shun said.