The mont Izan stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him, his grandmother’s voice ca from the dining area.
"Good timing. Co on, wash your hands and sit. I just finished cooking."
He slipped off his shoes and nodded, the familiar scent of soy, stead rice, and sothing lightly grilled settling around him like a welco.
He walked straight to the sink, rolled up his sleeves, and let the warm water run over his hands as the soft clatter of bowls being moved reached him from the table.
When he joined them, he folded down onto the floor cushion across from his grandfather.
The old man already had his bowl in hand, watching Izan with a questioning look.
"So," his grandfather said while lifting a bit of pickled radish with his chopsticks, "how did it go?"
Izan scooped a bit of rice, let the steam rise, and answered, "It went well. I had fun, and they had fun, so it was all good."
His grandmother turned toward her husband before he could continue.
"Not while we’re eating. You can talk football with him after the al."
Izan broke into a laugh.
"You’re right. We won’t start all that now."
His grandfather nodded with a small smile, focusing on his food instead.
The next morning, the clips of Izan’s session with the Japanese youngsters were everywhere.
In Tokyo, in Osaka, and in every feed, anyone who followed football or had even a passing interest in sport could scroll past.
The videos were short, mostly of him ro-modelling players older than him and so when he was on the ball.
Comnts began appearing under the clips as if overnight, cascading in from people across Japan and football fans.
"He played and destroyed teams, so now, he’s teaching it too. Seriously, though, sobody has got to do sothing about this."
"I do agree that sobody has to do sothing about this, but who? He has single-handedly dropped the market valuation of players by dribbling and wrecking them in gas."
"If he ever opens an academy, I’ll send my kids there. No question."
"Arteta must be shaking in his boots. He’s seventeen, and he’s already showing signs of managing teams better than so pros twice his age."
Even casual football fans who didn’t usually comnt felt compelled to type.
s started forming, with fans debating about fans of other teams who thought nobody was going to get to the levels of their club’s best players.
Far from the frenzy of social dia, in the sleek glass-fronted Nikon headquarters, a man sat at a polished table, watching the sa clips on a large monitor.
He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Powerful," he muttered softly, almost to himself. "All this... and he doesn’t even play for our national team nor has much relation with Japan."
Just as he said that, a girl, Aiko, burst into the room before her, energy filling the space as she trodded over to the man’s table.
"Papa! He’s really coming tomorrow, isn’t he? It’s true, right? Is Izan really coming? I just heard it from one of the staff."
The man sighed, running a hand down his face, leaning back as he watched the enthusiasm spill from his daughter.
"Aiko... you’re twenty-two. You really want to keep fangirling over a seventeen-year-old boy?"
"That doesn’t matter! Just tell if it’s true!" she shot back, shoving him lightly with both hands.
He chuckled, letting her shove him before nodding. "Yes, yes, he’s coming. We have a shoot with him tomorrow."
Aiko shrieked, jumping slightly on the spot, her excitent spilling into a rapid-fire chatter before keeping herself composed after she saw her father staring at her too much.
"I’ll leave you to do your job," she said as she turned, muttering about what she was going to wear.
Her father shook his head, muttering half to himself, half to her as she flitted toward the door, "What am I going to do with you... Twenty-two, acting like a child again."
And with that, she was gone, leaving the man alone with the screen.
....
Izan arrived at the entrance of Nikon HQ in Japan, the morning sun reflecting off the sleek glass facade.
A small entourage of staff waited, and space around them was punctuated by the occasional beep of passing cars and distant chatter from delivery personnel.
At the front stood Kenji Yamada, the CEO of Nikon, his posture straight and commanding but with a warmth in his smile reserved for welcoming soone he respected.
"Welco, Mr Izan," Kenji said, extending his hand firmly. "Thank you for accepting our offer."
Izan shook his hand, matching the firm grip with a confident, polite nod.
"No, thank you for offering it. I appreciate the opportunity, so the feeling is mutual."
Kenji’s eyes flicked briefly to his staff before returning to Izan.
He gave a small nod of approval, then gestured for Izan to follow him.
"Very well. Let show you around."
As they walked through the lobby, the polished floors echoing lightly with each step, Kenji began speaking, effortlessly blending history with vision.
"Nikon has been part of the world of imaging for over a century, but recently our focus has expanded beyond photography. Our sports-tech line is growing rapidly. We’re developing football-specific lenses and action caras that can track movent, speed, and capture monts at above-match-level detail. It’s precision work where every angle, every fra counts. And that’s exactly why we approached you."
Izan listened attentively, his hands loosely at his sides, occasionally gesturing subtly when making a point.
He had already reviewed their proposal, so much of it was familiar, but hearing it in person gave a sense of scale.
"I read the proposal the other day," Izan said, nodding slightly.
"I like the direction you’re heading with these caras. Tracking player movent at that level... it could really change training and analysis. How fast is the capture rate on your new prototype lenses?"
Kenji glanced at a nearby staff mber, who tapped a tablet before answering.
"We’re at 120 fras per second for standard play, but the next iteration should reach up to three hundred without losing detail. Coupled with AI-assisted analysis, it can provide insights that were previously impossible to gather in real-ti."
Izan raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
"That’s more than enough for detailed match breakdowns. And you’re confident it can handle outdoor conditions reliably?"
"Absolutely," Kenji replied.
"We’ve tested them across all levels, from high school pitches to professional stadia. And we want to see how they perform under live conditions with soone who understands the nuances of football. That’s where you co in."
Izan nodded, letting the weight of the words sink in.
A few steps later, Kenji stopped in front of a large, sleek door.
"Well, I think we shouldn’t linger. Let’s get right to it and see what we can accomplish together."
Izan’s lips curled into a small, confident smile.
"Absolutely. Let’s get started."
After a while, Izan found himself behind the Nikon building.
He now had his gear on and ready for whatever was to co, but his mind was more on how good the pitch was.
The field was modest but immaculate, the turf perfectly even, with white lines crisp and clean.
Surrounding it were rows of caras perched on sleek, futuristic mounts, their lenses glinting under the morning sun, giving the pitch an almost sci-fi aura.
"This is... really impressive," Izan said, his eyes sweeping over the setup.
"A football pitch that looks like this... teams would probably fight to train here."
Kenji chuckled, walking alongside him.
"Sotis our staff plays here during company events, or we host picnics and casual gas. It’s a perk for them, but yes, we try to keep it immaculate. I suppose it’s nice that you notice."
Izan nodded, giving a small smile.
"I can see myself wanting to push a few laps here just to see the caras in action."
Kenji’s eyes twinkled.
"Then I suppose we’ll make sure you have the space. But first..." He lifted a hand, motioning toward a small structure off to the side of the pitch.
From behind it, a lanky figure erged, glasses perched carefully on his nose and carrying a tablet bristling with sensors and schematics.
"I’d like you to et the head of developnt for this entire project," Kenji said.
"He’s the one who keeps these caras sharp, functional, and capable of capturing every movent and the one running the show on the pitch today."
Izan’s gaze followed the man as Kenji continued, "He’ll walk you through how the caras work, what they can asure, and how we plan to integrate them into real football analysis. If anyone can turn technology into football insight, it’s him."
Izan gave a small nod, adjusting his stance and tensing slightly in anticipation.
"Looking forward to it. Always curious to see how tech can complent the ga."
Kenji smiled and stepped back slightly, letting the developer approach.
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