In the Southgate, training took place in same grounds where the marches were often played. Every team, whether officially registered for the qualifiers or merely a group of friends wishing to settle a dispute, simply needed to reserve a spot and, naturally, pay the fee. The prime hours were typically after work, meaning the evenings were usually bustling with activity.

Hiro arrived with a new pair of boots, a gift from Rina. They were crafted from brown leather, with sturdy soles reinforced by rounded metal studs, topped with a wooden cover. As for the rest of the uniform, Testa had hinted they would find out soon, as he had somehow secured new equipment for everyone, thanks to a last-minute sponsorship. Surprisingly, the coach had registered them at the eleventh hour, spurred by the addition of the peculiar ghoul kid who was nowhere to be seen on the training grounds.

Mira dug into the sand with her hands. “See?” She said while uncovering a smooth rocky surface beneath. “They are elongated blocks, like columns. They can go up and down and contain spells to freeze players in case the black flag is raised.”

“Why do they go up and down?”

“Well, it turns out those who moved the earth used to leave the field unplayable, so this way it’s easier.”

“Wow,” Hiro took a peek at the goals, Where Arso was using his wind’s shield to stop Pitaco’s shots. “F.M.A. meets M.M.A.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hiro whispered. “You talked about illegal moves. What is it? I thought everything could happen.”

“You can’t hit someone from behind. Neither repeatedly hitting someone who is already unconscious. And no tackle over the shoulders. Twisting the neck. Such things.”

Hiro glanced at Tarth and Serin, who were chatting nearby. “I don’t think I can knock anyone out.”

“Me neither!” Mira strode away towards a group of new training balls, tossing one to Tarth and Serin, and keeping one for herself. Hiro picked one up as well, but did little more than gaze at it. It resembled the old leather balls, with lines of jinx-ink encircling its surface in two large rings that met at two points—a spell designed to make it nearly indestructible and also linked to the field’s enchantments, preventing it from escaping with a wild shot.

“Uhm, Arso, sir,” Hiro said as he approached the goalposts where Arso and Pitaco were chatting. “I’m Hiroshi, I was—”

“What do you want?” Arso’s face turned suddenly unwelcome.

“I thought of a way to improve your wind spell, and I was wondering if you’d like to hear my idea. Not that your current style is bad, of course, just… just, well, it’s just an idea.”

Arso and Pitaco turned toward him. They were tall, middle-aged men—not as muscular as Sand or Rufus, but well-built and more intimidating than Vini. “Go on, shoot.”

“So, you invoke the wind to push the ball away from the goal, right? I was thinking, what if that push was upwards instead? If that’s possible, you could send the ball over the goal, and that’s possession for you, right? Better than returning it to the opposing team.”

Arso and Pitaco exchanged glances, then Arso grinned. “That actually sounds interesting, mate. Thanks.”

Hiro stepped aside as Pitaco took a few test shots toward the goal. Each time, the wind surged from below, sending the ball over the net and stopping at the magic shield that surrounded the barriers. When Pitaco tried shots close to the floor, he scored, but Arso soon addressed the problem by summoning from further off the goal line. “Man, this might really work!” Pitaco said, clearly excited. Arso shared in the excitement, though it didn’t last long. When Sand and Vini arrived at the grounds, their expressions turned grim.

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“Damn it, not this guy,” Pitaco whispered as Vini shouted from afar.

Upon spotting Testa’s arrival, Hiro trotted over to meet him, eager for instructions. As he approached, Arso’s voice called out behind him, dripping with a mix of humour and warning. “Careful with Vini, lad. You might find his hands sneaking where they shouldn’t.”

“Yeah, right under your pants!” Pitaco’s remark brought Arso into a fit of shared chuckles.

When Hiro arrived at the gathering, he noticed what Testa was holding. The coach raised a white shirt with maroon horizontal stripes into the air. “We have a sponsor!” he exclaimed joyfully. “The Best Ham butcher’s shop in the Haven! They’re going to pay for uniforms, materials, and extras! How great is that?”

“Are we really calling our team Best Ham?” Serin asked skeptically.

“I like it,” Tarth added, rubbing his belly. “It makes me hungry.”

“Anyway, pay attention, people,” Testa said, brushing off the banter. “Why are Arso and Pitaco still over there? Well, it’s fine. Listen! Our first match is coming up soon. We have little time to practice, but we will start anyway. This season we will play with transitions. I want the guardians to attack and the vanguards to defend, which is why we will focus our training on increasing physicality. We will also practice a lot of passing with the foot, as Hiro suggests.”

Serin turned to give Hiro an askance look, her expression not friendly at all. “What for? I can run as fast with the ball in my hands as he can with the ball rolling.”

Testa reached into a sack and took out two balls. He tossed one to Serin and threw one at Hiro’s feet. “Hey, Pitaco! Get ready to receive a pass!”

As Pitaco prepared, Testa positioned Serin next to Hiro, spacing them with his extended arms. “Let’s see who can give Pit a precise pass first. Go!”

Serin wasted no time and burst into a run. Hiro, anticipating Testa’s plan, kicked the ball slightly forward and took a few steps before delivering a controlled long shot. The ball soared above Serin in a perfect curve, causing her to slow down and watch as it landed almost at Pitaco’s position, where he only had to take a few steps forward to catch it.

“Get in pairs, passing exercise, but with your feet,” Testa instructed.

Hiro paired with Mira, who, despite rarely lifting her gaze from the ground, aimed her kicks fairly accurately, though most of the time, the passes fell short. Sand and Vini, of course, paired up, and quickly showed they were just as skilled with their feet as they were with their hands. Serin and Tarth, however, struggled—Tarth had trouble hitting the ball at all, while Serin kept striking it as if it were a shot at the goal, sending Tarth to retrieve the ball from a distance each time.

“Try hitting it with the inside of your foot,” Hiro suggested, to which Serin responded with a grunt. He shifted uncomfortably, darting around the training grounds before landing on Mira. Taking a deep breath, He moved on, giving Mira a compliment on her work she took with a blush. “Where is Rufus?” Hiro asked, trying to bring her back.

“I don’t think he will. He’s too busy on the farm. But he’ll make it to the march for sure. He always does.”

She reached for a ball that had rolled a bit to the side. Hiro glanced at her physique, then shifted his gaze to Serin. Though Serin appeared more fit, she was still small compared to people like Sand or Rufus. And, of course, Tarth. Everyone was small compared to him. The realisation of being as small and weak as them both, truck like a hammer, mostly because Serin had her own spell, and Mira could cast a defence over herself, but he still needed to rely on the translation inks living him to the mercy of much tougher opponents with no magic aid.

“Do you think he would like me to help him on the farm? I was thinking of running there early in the morning to improve my stamina. The wagon makes me sick, anyway.”

Mira’s eyes widened, but she didn’t stare. “That would be great. I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

Training time passed. Mira improved, her kicks reaching further, with Sand and Vini getting the best of it as well. During that time, Arso and Pitaco kept a part of the team, chatting and practicing on their own. Tarth and Serin struggled all the way, no signs of the sightless improvement. When Testa returned to announce the end of the session, Serin kicked a ball in frustration and stormed out with a yelling grunt.

“I’ll get her,” Tarth said.

“Fine. Let’s call it a day,” Testa replied.

As everyone else headed toward a changing room, they never used for such a purpose, Despair appeared through the door broken by Tarth. “Hey! Hey!” said the ghoul as he began a sloppy trot, slower than a simple walk. “Sorry, I had to sneak past some pest who was asking me for money. What did I miss?”