The numbers went up before breakfast.
At seven in the morning on Day 3, all thirty players sat in the same conference room where it had begun. The air felt different now. On Day 1 there had been nervous excitement. Today it felt like everyone was waiting for a sentence.
Coach Koji Saito stood at the front of the room. Behind him, a projection screen glowed white. The assistant coaches sat in a row at the side. Fujiwara for fitness. Taniguchi for tactics. Nakamura for psychology. Hideki for the keepers.
No one spoke. Even Jin was quiet.
Saito picked up the remote and clicked once.
Big letters appeared on the screen.
WEEKLY RANKING SYSTEM
"Today," Saito said, "we formalize the selection process."
His voice was steady, almost bored, like he was reading a weather report.
"Every Sunday at eighteen hundred, a complete ranking will be posted publicly," he said. "You will see your name and your number. So will everyone else."
The slide changed.
"Evaluation uses multiple criteria. Physical performance. Technical ability. Tactical intelligence. Match performance. Team chemistry. Coachability. Mental resilience."
Each category flashed on the screen, one by one.
"This is not only about how fast you run," Saito said. "We are choosing players for a national team. That means we measure everything you bring onto the pitch and everything you bring into the locker room."
He clicked again.
Now the screen showed four colored blocks.
"These rankings fall into four tiers," he said.
"Tier one is rank one to eleven. Starting eleven. If you end there on the final Sunday, you are guaranteed to go to the World Cup and you are competing for starting spots."
"Tier two is rank twelve to eighteen. Strong backups. You are very likely to make the squad and you are expected to contribute as substitutes or rotation players."
"Tier three is rank nineteen to twenty three. Bubble zone. You are fighting for the last places. Nothing is safe."
"Tier four is rank twenty four to thirty. Cut danger. Seven players will be eliminated. Most of them will come from here."
He did not soften the words at all.
Saito changed the slide again. A simple timeline appeared.
"Today is Day 3. You have eighteen days until final selection."
"There will be three official rankings. First Sunday. Second Sunday. Third Sunday."
"First ranking, Day 7. Establishes baseline. Second, Day 14. Shows who improved and who fell behind. Third, Day 21. Determines the final twenty three man squad."
He looked around the room. No one met his eyes for long.
"After the third ranking is posted," Saito said quietly, "seven of you will go home that day. There will be no extra chances."
He let the silence sit.
"What you saw yesterday were preliminary rankings from two and a half days of work," he continued. "Useful, but not final. This Sunday will be the first official evaluation."
He set the remote down.
"Use the next four days well. Improve or fall behind. There is no middle ground."
His gaze swept across them.
"Any questions?"
No one moved.
"Good," he said. "The current preliminary standings are posted in the hallway outside. Look at them. Training starts in thirty minutes."
He stepped away from the screen.
"Dismissed."
Chairs scraped. Nobody rushed, but everybody stood up.
The rankings were waiting just outside.
The hallway turned into a traffic jam.
All thirty players tried to squeeze in front of a single large board taped to the wall. A printed sheet sat in the center, surrounded by colored marker lines.
PRELIMINARY RANKINGS – DAY 3
Everyone already knew who would be at the top. It still felt different to see it written in black and white.
"Daichi Suzuki. Ninety four point two," someone muttered.
Tier one was highlighted in dark blue. Eleven names.
Daichi Suzuki
Jin Nakamura
Kaito Hayashi
Haruki Tanaka
Issei Kojima
Morita
Fujii
Hoshino
Nagaoka
Takeda
Shibata
Daichi glanced once, then turned away. For him, number one was not news. It was gravity.
Jin stared at the board and grinned wide.
"Knew I was at least number two," he said. "Would look weird any lower."
Haruki saw his name at four. His jaw tensed.
"Fourth," he whispered. "I am coming for you, Suzuki."
The others in blue showed quiet relief. Shoulders dropped. Breathing slowed. For now, they were safe.
Below that, a green block marked tier two. Strong backups.
Okamoto
Yuto Sasaki
Inoue
Ren Takahashi
Kawashima
Sugiyama
Takeshi Yamamoto
Takeshi's eyes went straight to the bottom of green.
Eighteenth.
Last name before the color changed.
If he dropped by even one place, his name would move into yellow. The bubble zone. One bad scrimmage, one bad drill, and he would be fighting not to disappear.
Next to him, Yuto saw his own name at thirteen and gave a small nod. It matched the way he behaved. Calm. Focused. Already thinking ahead.
Ren spotted fifteen and blew out a breath.
"Middle green," he said. "Could be worse."
His joke sounded thin, but he was smiling.
Below them, the yellow block started.
Tier three. Bubble zone.
Arai
Sakamoto
Nakajima
Hirose
Matsuda
Five players. Five names.
They were all standing there, shoulder to shoulder, looking from the sheet to each other. The math was simple. If everyone above them held, at least two would climb into safety and at least three would sink into red once cuts came.
Unless they dragged someone from green down with them.
Finally, the red block.
Tier four. Cut danger.
Ando
Maeda
Ishikawa
Hiroshi Sato
Kubo
Ueda
Tanabe
Sato stared at the number like it was in a foreign language.
Twenty seven.
He reached out without thinking and touched the paper next to his name.
"That is me," he whispered.
Three places from the bottom. Three places from vanishing.
Takeshi felt a strange disconnect, like he was watching his friend drown through glass. He had seen Sato tired, angry, excited. He had never seen him look hollow.
Around them, the other red players reacted in their own ways.
Ando clenched his fist and hit the wall once before walking away.
Maeda blinked hard, eyes shining, but kept his back straight.
Tanabe, in last place, laughed once, a quiet ugly sound, then just dropped his gaze to the floor.
The gaps that had been invisible on Day 1 now had color and numbers.
It was not just feeling anymore.
It was fact.
Breakfast that morning was quieter than the day before, but somehow harsher.
The room looked the same. Long tables. Trays. The smell of rice and eggs and miso soup.
The way players sat made everything different.
The elite table in the corner had Daichi, Kaito, and the other blue names. They did not shout. They talked in low voices, serious, already discussing tactics and matchups. Their table radiated a kind of cold weight. Everyone else kept a distance without thinking about it.
At another table, Jin slapped his tray down and announced to his group, "Top two, boys."
Issei threw a piece of bread at him.
"Your head is going to float away if you keep saying that," he said.
Haruki cut in quietly, eyes still pointed at the elite table.
"I am fourth," he said. "I am not staying fourth."
The academy kids filled another table. Players who knew each other from regional leagues. Same clubs. Same coaches. Their laughter was more forced now. Every few minutes, someone would glance toward the ranking board.
The bubble players had formed their own little island.
"Five of us," Arai said, looking around the table. "Five spots."
"Not really," Sakamoto replied. "There are five slots in yellow, but people move. Someone from green drops, they push one of us out. Someone from red climbs, same thing."
No one argued. They all started watching the green table without meaning to.
At the outsiders table, Room 304 sat with a few other players who did not fit neatly anywhere.
Sato pushed his food around his plate more than he ate it.
"I am twenty seventh," he said quietly. "I am in red. That means I am getting cut."
His fork clinked against the plate because his hand would not stop shaking.
Ren leaned forward.
"Not decided yet," he said. "Sunday is the first official one. You have four days to move."
Sato gave a short, bitter laugh.
"Move where?" he asked. "I am three tiers below you."
He looked at each of them like their numbers were written on their faces.
Yuto at thirteen. Ren at fifteen. Takeshi at eighteen.
"Even if I climb four places, I am still in yellow," Sato said. "Still bubble. Still on the edge."
"It is better than red," Ren said. "You do not jump from bottom to safe in one week. You climb color by color."
Takeshi forced his voice to stay steady.
"We know where you lost points," he said. "We saw your tests. We can target those. It is not hopeless."
Yuto had his phone out with the list open.
"You need roughly six points minimum to reach the low end of yellow," Yuto said. "That is a lot for four days, but not impossible if your weakest areas improve fast."
He tapped the screen once.
"Technical and tactical," he said. "Those are where you can move fastest. Physical will change slowly. Psychological and coachability, you just cannot break."
Sato stared at his tray.
"Six points," he repeated. "Feels like sixty."
Across the room, the coaches watched.
Nakamura kept his voice low.
"The rankings are doing their job," he said to Saito. "You can see the fractures starting. The ones who are already breaking, the ones who harden, the ones who go quiet."
Saito took everything in with that same calm expression.
"Better to know now," he said. "If someone cannot handle a printed list in a dining hall, they cannot handle a stadium full of cameras."
He watched Room 304 for a long second.
"Some are grouping up," Nakamura added. "Alliances. Those are interesting."
"Teams form naturally," Saito said. "Even in a selection camp."
He did not sound upset about that.
Just thoughtful.
Training felt like a different sport.
The drills were the same. Warm up laps. Technical stations. Small sided games. Set piece work.
Intensity had shifted.
During the laps, the boys in blue ran at a controlled pace. Not lazy, but careful. They had something to protect. No need to prove they could collapse on the grass.
Green pushed harder. Enough to show hunger.
Yellow and red were a blur of arms and legs.
Sato ran his first lap like a sprint. By the second, his breathing was ragged. Sweat dripped off his chin.
"Sato, pace yourself," Ren called.
"I cannot," Sato shot back without slowing. "I am twenty seven."
His voice cracked on the number.
In the technical drills, encouragement dried up.
On Day 2, missed cones had earned friendly groans. Now, a clipped cone meant someone else silently moved one step closer to safety.
In a shooting drill, a bubble player dragged a shot badly wide. The keeper caught it and stood up slowly.
"You cannot miss those if you are down there," he muttered.
The words stung because they were true.
The small games turned nasty in subtle ways.
Tackles were heavier. Players followed through a fraction more. Not quite dirty, but definitely less friendly.
A bubble midfielder went in late on a green winger. The winger hit the ground hard and rolled, cursing.
"Too much," Fujiwara shouted.
The midfielder pressed his lips together.
"If he cannot take a hit, he should not be here," he said, not quite loud, but enough.
It was not really about the winger. It was about proving something to the men with clipboards.
Room 304 tried to swim against the current.
In passing drills, Yuto and Takeshi positioned themselves so Sato got more reps. Short passes. Medium passes. One touch. Two touch. Letting him feel rhythm instead of panic.
"You do not need to be perfect," Yuto told him quietly. "You just need to be clearly better than you were."
In shooting, Ren cut back balls to him instead of taking shots himself.
"Your turn," Ren would say. "Again."
It drew attention.
Jin jogged past at one point and called out, "Your roommates are doing charity work now, Sato?"
His tone had that playful poison in it.
"You going to share your ranking too, relegation kid?" he tossed at Takeshi.
Takeshi wanted to snap back. He did not. He turned and focused on the next ball.
Not worth it. Not now.
By the time training ended, everyone looked more drained than on Day 2.
It was not just physical.
Numbers hung over every mistake.
That evening, Room 304 turned serious.
They had eaten. They had showered. The hallway buzzed with tired conversation, but their room was quiet.
A whiteboard leaned against the wall by Ren's bed. Yuto had borrowed it from a study room. He stood with a marker in hand. The others sat around like a tiny team meeting.
"Current ranks," Yuto said.
He wrote them at the top.
YUTO – 13
REN – 15
TAKESHI – 18
SATO – 27
"Goal by Sunday," he wrote below.
YUTO – stay in green or climb
REN – stay in green or climb
TAKESHI – stay inside twelve to eighteen
SATO – reach bubble at least. Nineteen to twenty three.
He drew a box around Sato's name.
"Sato needs at least six points," Yuto said. "From sixty one point eight to somewhere around sixty eight. Otherwise he is still in red, or barely out of it."
Sato watched the numbers like they belonged to someone else.
"So how?" Ren asked.
Yuto divided the board into three simple words.
Physical. Technical. Tactical.
"Physical first," he said. "We are already measured. In four days, we can improve pacing and avoid bad impressions, but not make huge jumps. So physical is about not losing more points, not about gaining many."
He turned to technical.
"Technical is where you are lowest," he told Sato. "Fifty eight out of a hundred. The good news is, visible improvement here is possible fast. Extra touches. Extra passes. Clean drills."
Ren sat up straighter.
"I will handle that," he said. "First touch. Control. Short passing. Ten, fifteen minute sessions before breakfast and after dinner. Small but focused. Not marathon work."
"Tactical and match performance," Yuto went on, "are where the biggest changes can show. If you start reading the game better and stop making obvious mistakes, coaches notice quickly. And in scrimmages, if you position well and make simple, correct choices, that is huge."
Takeshi nodded.
"I can help there," he said. "We can watch film after lights out. I can explain what Taniguchi is seeing. What he liked in my play. Where you can move without being the fastest guy."
Sato rubbed his face.
"So you are all going to spend time on me," he said. "What if you drop because of it? Especially you, Takeshi. You are on a knife edge."
He looked at eighteen on the board.
"If you fall to nineteen, you are in yellow. Then you are fighting with me."
The room went quiet.
Takeshi stared at his own name.
He could feel the truth in Sato's worry. Time spent helping Sato was time not spent on his own weak points. His body was already at its limit some days. Pushing more could backfire.
He took a breath.
"If I drop," he said slowly, "it will not be because I helped you. It will be because I did not work hard enough myself."
He looked Sato in the eyes.
"I will train with you in the mornings," he said. "In the evenings, we do tactics together. After that, I will add my own technical or physical work. It will be hard. I know that. But I cannot just ignore you and pretend we are not in the same room."
Ren snorted.
"And if you burn out, we drag you back up," he said. "You are not doing hero mode solo."
Yuto considered for a moment.
"It is a risk," he said. "But we also gain things. When we train together, we build on field understanding. Coaches are watching chemistry too. A strong unit might get extra value. And mentally, having people to lean on keeps mistakes from snowballing."
He wrote two words at the bottom of the board.
Risk and reward.
"We accept both," he said.
Sato's voice dropped.
"Why do you even care this much?" he asked. "You just met me. I am dragging the room average down."
Ren answered first.
"Because it sucks being alone in hell," he said simply. "I looked around on Day 1 and thought, I do not want to do this by myself. Then I met you three. Now I do not have to."
Yuto spoke next.
"Because if you go," he said, "this room changes. And I do not want to start over. Also, I like solving hard problems."
Takeshi smiled.
"And because Tokyo FC taught me something," he said. "When everyone thought we were dead, we survived by playing like a team, not five strangers in the same shirt."
He reached his hand toward the center of the room.
"No secrets," he said. "If you are hurt, you say it. If you are scared, you say it. We do not pretend we are fine when we are not."
Ren put his hand on top of his.
"Room three oh four," he said.
Yuto hesitated only a moment before adding his hand.
"Mutual survival," he said.
Sato stared at their hands, then placed his on top.
"My only chance," he whispered.
They squeezed once.
It did not erase the numbers on the wall outside. It just gave those numbers something to push against.
Later, lying in the dark, Takeshi stared up at the bottom of the bunk and felt the weight settle in his chest.
Eighteen.
Twenty seven.
Four days until Sunday.
He was scared. It did not cancel his resolve. The two feelings sat side by side.
From the other bed, Sato's voice came very softly.
"Thank you," he said.
Ren's answer floated back.
"That is what roommates are for."
Yuto added, "And you better make it worth our time."
Takeshi smiled into his pillow.
"Also," he murmured, just loud enough for the room, "I really want to wipe that relegation joke off Jin's face."
A quiet laugh went around the room.
Sleep came slowly, but it came.
Tomorrow would be Day 4.
The ranking board was no longer just a list.
It was a countdown.
And twenty three names would still be there when it reached zero.