Chapter 825: Quest!

Hiro sat staring at the blank pages of the notebook. He had developed a habit of writing after the incident.

This time as well, he had opened the notebook to write something. However, unlike the other times, he couldn’t bring himself to write.

For a long while, he just sat there staring at the white pages.

Then he picked up his pen, pinched it between his fingers, and moved it toward the notebook.

His hands moved as he traced something on the paper.

"I will be back."

He looked at it for a long moment, the words small and plain against the white paper. Then he closed the cover and reached out for the System.

[Passive Skill: Adaptive Recovery - Active.]

[Recovery rate: 38%. Mental clarity: High. Emotional stability: Stable.]

[Resolve detected. New Quest Available.]

Just as he was staring at the interface, a notification popped up all of a sudden.

[Ding!]

His eyes narrowed as the next lines unfolded behind them.

[Quest: Return to the Pitch.]

[Objective: Complete rehabilitation and play a competitive match.]

[Reward: Unknown.]

[Time Limit: World Cup.]

[Bonus Objective: Unlock hidden potential through mental mastery.]

[Condition: Recovery must be achieved through intelligent progression, not brute force. Overtraining will result in setback.]

Hiro read the last line twice. Intelligent progression, not brute force. Slowly, he began to understand. The System was not only measuring his physical recovery. It was watching his mind as well, his approach and the way he drove himself, and the desperation he had been wearing like a second skin ever since the injury.

Recover like a genius, not like a desperate man.

He slid the notebook into the bag at the foot of the bed and swung his legs over the edge. He tested his weight on the injured leg, felt it hold, and stood.

Two hours later, he was in the therapy room.

Elena had gone home for the evening, but she had left him a set of exercises to do on his own: gentle stretches and controlled movements, nothing that would strain him.

The room was dim and almost silent, lit only by a few lamps along the wall, with the machines standing in rows like sleeping animals.

He began with the basics, moving slowly and deliberately with his attention fixed on every motion. For nearly twenty minutes it went well. Then the old, familiar itch crept back in, the urge to push harder, to do more, and to hurry his recovery along through willpower alone.

He added one extra set of resistance work, telling himself it was harmless. Then he added another, and after that a third. His leg began to ache, and he ignored it.

Just a little more.

The ache sharpened into a burn that ran up through his thigh, and he pushed through that as well.

One more set.

The edges of his vision blurred, and the weight shook in his trembling hands. Just—

[Warning: Overtraining detected. Recovery efficiency is decreasing.]

[Risk of setback: Moderate.]

Hiro froze. He looked down at his leg, at the muscles twitching beneath bandages that had gone dark and damp with sweat, and a cold understanding settled over him.

I’m doing it again.

He closed his eyes. It was brute force and desperation, exactly what the System had warned him against only two hours before. Carefully, he lowered himself to the floor and sat with his back against the side of the bench, breathing hard.

That’s not the way.

For a long while he stayed where he was, letting his heartbeat settle, and the pain ease into something he could bear. Elena’s words came back to him from the other night, about racing himself and not the world, and this time he heard what she had really meant.

Recover like a genius. Not like a desperate man.

When his hands had stopped shaking, he pulled the notebook from his bag and opened it on his knee. Beneath the line he had written earlier, in the same steady handwriting, he added a new one.

Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast.

He didn’t need to note every single thing. But he needed something to remind himself, or else he would forget the lesson.

Hence, he jotted down whatever felt important.

Heeding the warnings, he didn’t push himself further.

The next morning, Hiro came to his therapy session in a different frame of mind.

He didn’t push, and he didn’t rush.

He moved through each exercise with quiet purpose, counting every repetition and holding every position until the muscle had done its work, and when his leg began to tire, he stopped before the tiredness could turn into pain.

Elena noticed within minutes. She watched him from the end of the mat with her arms folded and her head tilted slightly to one side.

"You’re different today."

"I’m learning."

"Learning what?"

"That I can’t force this." He let his leg settle back onto the mat and breathed out slowly. "Recovery is more like a marathon, and I’ve been running it like a sprint."

Elena smiled, a rare, genuine smile that softened her whole face. "Good."

Weeks passed.

They settled into a steady rhythm, and his recovery rate climbed slowly, without a single setback.

It rose to 42%, then 47%, then 51%, each new number appearing behind his eyes while he was already back at work on the next exercise, never stopping to chase the one after it.

He also changed how he watched Atlético’s matches.

The envy that had once gnawed at him gave way to something closer to pride, and he began to study the games the way a student studies a master’s work, following the runs and the passing patterns and noticing how the team grew a little more fluid each week.

He filled his notebook with observations and tactical ideas, small diagrams crowding the margins, and notes on where he might fit into their evolving system when his turn came.

He was no longer only recovering.

Instead, he was preparing.

Meanwhile, in Japan, the World Cup qualifiers were underway.

Japan had been drawn into a group with Australia, Saudi Arabia, and Vietnam, and they had won their first three matches convincingly: a 4-0 demolition of Vietnam, a gritty 2-1 win over Saudi Arabia, and a 3-1 victory over Australia.

The team was playing with confidence and fluidity, and the stadiums were full.

Yet in every press conference, every newspaper column, and every television studio, the media kept returning to the same question.

"Where is Hiro Takahashi?"