"Forty percent. That's about how much possession you had," Matsumoto said after a few seconds of silence. "If Takayama had been even slightly better at converting their position, you all would've lost."
The weight of his words settled over the team like a fog. They had expected praise since they had won, but instead they were basically told, 'You should have lost.' Some of them looked around in confusion at each other, shocked by the sudden reality check.
"Right now, you're probably thinking: 'Why does it matter? We still won,' aren't you?" Matsumoto paused, scanning the group, "So, can anyone tell me why I care about keeping possession?"
Ryo's eyes drifted over the other players, analyzing their reactions. Most of them probably know the answer, so I'll stay quiet for now.
Ren raised his hand.
"Yes, Ren?"
"Because we can control the pace better."
"Oh? And what do you mean by that?" Matsumoto inquired further.
"Well…" Ren hesitated briefly, "During the game, we scored because of some good counterattacks. But most of the time, Takayama had the ball, and we tired out much quicker chasing after it. If we had more possession, we'd have had more attacks and less pressure on our defense."
Matsumoto studied him carefully. "So? Why does that matter? We have substitutions, don't we? If the defense can hold, the rest of you can attack freely, right?"
Ren frowned. "Well, that's not entirely wrong… But more possession means we're more consistent."
A faint smile washed over Matsumoto's face, "That's right. Consistent play wins in the long run. If you rely on luck, hoping that your line holds or that a counter lands, you'll win a few matches, like Saturday. But most of the time, you'll be outplayed; your attacks will break down, your defense will crumble, and your morale will sink."
He let his words hang before continuing. "No one enjoys playing a losing game. But when you control possession, your game will be more consistent. You'll retreat more easily, launch an attack more effectively, and, most importantly, conserve much more energy."
A murmur of acknowledgement spread among the players. Ryo nodded along. He's right. We got lucky on Saturday. Without stronger possession, we'll just keep running ourselves into the ground.
"Alright," Matsumoto said, clapping his hands once. "Besides that issue, there weren't any other glaring problems in the game. In fact, I was quite happy to see some of you using what you've been practicing," Matsumoto said, his gaze sweeping over a couple of players.
"We'll address the smaller issues later, so this week, you will mostly work on improving your possession of the ball. Although there is a lot that makes up good ball possession, it can basically be narrowed down to three things." Matusmoto held up three fingers.
"Structure, decision-making, and precision." Raising only his first finger, he started. "Structure is how well you can coordinate with the rest of the team. A good structure means that the ball holder has several passing options, good spacing, and proper support."
Raising his second finger, he moved on, "Decision-making is how fast you can think on your feet. You need to be able to answer questions like, 'Do I keep moving forward, or do I pass back? Am I in a good spot to help my teammates?' And, 'Should I pass it long or keep it short?' Every second you're on the pitch, you're answering those questions."
For the last point, he raised his third finger, "Lastly, precision. You need to have confidence in your skills and know your own limits. You should be able to provide accurate passes to your teammates, and not let sloppy play drag the rest of the team down."
He dropped his hand and moved over to a whiteboard that had been brought onto the sideline. "The best way to understand this is through practice. So today, you will be playing a rondo."
A wave of recognition passed through the players. After all, the rondo was a drill incorporated into the practices of the most renowned clubs in the world.
Everyone who plays football knows the rondo. It tests how quickly we can make decisions while keeping the ball away from danger. Ryo looked at the whiteboard as the marker glided across the surface, the coach drawing out the structure of the rondo.
What started as a warm-up drill for FC Barcelona turned into a core part of football education. Under the philosophy of the Barcelona coaches, they believed the rondo to be a microcosm of the game. Each aspect of the rondo had an application within a match, so it was seen as an essential part of Barcelona's training. With the formation of the J-League and the boom of football in Japan, the rondo saw applications in teams of all levels, all the way down to the U-12 level.
Classically, it consists of a circle of 'attackers' trying to keep the ball away from 'defenders.' At its simplest, in a 4v1 or a 5v2 configuration, the attackers pass the ball between themselves, while the defenders try to take control of the ball or knock it outside the circle. If they accomplish this, the defender responsible switches position with the attacker who made the mistake, and the play restarts.
Although the premise is relatively simple, there can be a lot of complexity added to the drill. The players can limit the number of touches they have, minimize the play area they have, or even call out the recipient ahead of time.
As such, the rondo is notorious for being a versatile drill that trains players' control, passing, and awareness. As such, it was the perfect drill that Ryusei's team needed at the moment.
Ryo listened attentively as Matsumoto explained the drill. I wonder what gimmicks Coach will add to the drill.
"Today, we'll start simple. You will form two rondos with 6 attackers and 3 defenders. Yes, that means that I also want the goalies to take part in this drill. Whether you are a defender, a striker, or a goalie, everyone has something to learn from this drill."
Matsumoto capped the marker. "Does anyone have any questions?"
Taiga raised his hand, seeing that nobody else was moving.
"Yes, Taiga?"
"Coach, earlier you mentioned that the rondo could have some special rules. Are there any for the drill today?"
"Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me," Matsumoto said, thinking about his answer for a second. "How about this: nobody can have more than two touches on the ball. If someone touches the ball more than twice, they have to switch out with a defender."
So he wants us to either one-touch or two-touch the ball? That's actually pretty difficult to do well… Ryo was curious about how well the team could perform the drill. It's going to be fast—really fast.
With no further questions, they were split into the two groups and started their rondo. For the first time in a team practice, Ryo was put in the same group as Ren. As the drill began, he wore a sinister grin.
This will be fun. I get to practice against Ren.
—————————————————————————————————
As the rondo switched up once again, most of the players were panting, barely able to keep up. The rondo had already been going for twenty-five minutes but showed no signs of slowing down—all thanks to the Aoyama brothers. One player spent the short pause with his hands on his knees, panting heavily.
Eguchi Hideki.
A fifth-year student who plays in the right midfield, right behind Ren in the team's formation. He already knew how good Ren was. Although they were a year apart, they joined the second team at the same time, when Ren was in his second year and he was in his third. Then the year after, they both advanced to the first team.
Even though they were always on the same team, Hideki always felt like Ren was better. He dribbled better than him, he passed better than him, and he shot better than him.
But ever since they started practicing again as a team, he felt like Ren had changed—he was even better than before. After the drills in their triangle formation, Hideki confirmed it. He was miles behind Ren. The striker had gotten much better in all aspects of his game, and it showed in their practices.
However, he had no idea why.
When he first saw Ryo, he hadn't thought much of him—he was just another player on the first team. He'd never practiced closely with Ryo, and in scrimmages, Ryo was usually on the opposite side of the pitch, so he never saw his full abilities. But at the moment, the two of them played effortlessly, pushing the tempo to a level nobody else could keep up with.
And Hideki was stuck in the middle as a defender. He tried all he could to keep up, but he couldn't intercept the ball. And if the ball went to Ryo or Ren, the ball was gone before he could blink.
Those two—they're insane. How do they still have that much stamina?
Hideki's breathing grew heavier as he watched them banter mid-drill, laughing, as if the rondo were a warm-up. He clenched his fists against his knees, the frustration rising through him.
How did they get so good? Ren was already the best, but now? Nobody can come close. And Ryo—he's just as good. And he's only a first year? How's that even possible?
His fingers dug into his palms.
It's not fair. Why can't I be as good as them?