Zero confidence. 100% fear. And yet, I still chose to fight.

Why share these journals now?

I’ve been writing in notebooks every single day since 2006 — about football, about life, about myself.Frustration, fear, inferiority, joy, determination — all of it lives inside these twenty-plus volumes.

Recently, I went back and read those old journals.And I was reminded of just how clumsy I was at twenty, how desperately I wanted to grow, and how fiercely I was fighting myself every single day.

There were countless moments when I thought:

“I wish I could give my younger self the answers I know now.”

But right after that, another thought always followed:

“Without that struggle, I wouldn’t be who I am today.”

That’s why I decided to share these journals now.Not by rewriting them, but by placing the words of my younger self side by side with the perspective I have today — letting them live as a story.

This series is a record of my beginnings, and if it becomes a source of strength for someone else who’s trying to move forward, that would mean everything to me.

From passive to active

2007 was the year I finally began approaching football actively.I had been journaling since 2005, but in the beginning the entries were simple “records” — training menus, lineups, meeting notes.

Toward the end of 2006, my writing slowly shifted into something closer to a diary.And by 2007, something inside me had clearly switched. You can see it unmistakably when you read the journals from that year.

This series is about tracing that shift — the change in my mindset, the change in my heart — one entry at a time.

03.16

I was able to focus on every single shot. Whether it went in or not—that wasn't the point. Just like Kamamoto-san always said when you take a shot, you have to "lock onto your prey." You have to become a hunter.

When a goal goes in, your mental state is at its absolute peak. The key is how to reach that state at the very moment you strike the ball. That's why preparation matters. Somehow. I feel like I can smell a goal coming tomorrow.

Later that night, Nori-san called me to his room. He showed me a video he had edited - my clips from the Cyprus trip and from the previous match against Mexico.

He told me: "You're good at receiving the ball wide, so use that more.

You have shooting power, so take shots even from distance.

You don't need to dribble past defenders — just shift the angle a little and shoot." He pointed out the good things first.

Then he talked about my movement into crosses. "Look around more. Get out of the defender's line of sight. Call for the ball more aggressively. And improve your finishing accuracy." He also mentioned my timing in lvl situations. "Your distance when you engage is too close, so you get dispossessed. Attack in your distance before entering theirs. If you do that, you'll beat them."

He said that if I could fix those things,

I'd earn my way back again. And finally — "For tomorrow's match against Mexico," he said, "If the first half ends 0-0, we'll put you in around the 50th minute, and you'll score the winner." I thought, Of course, the final decision is up to Ohashi-san, not him•••

but I will prepare myself anyway with that in mind.

So that's exactly what I planned to do.

Prepare, believe, and be ready.

03.17

In the second leg of the playoff, we lost 1-2 to Mexico, but still secured our spot in the World Cup.

In that sense, it was a relief. We were going to the World Cup.

But I didn't get to play. And the moment the match ended, a mix of joy and frustration rushed through me.

Honestly, the frustration was stronger. I acted cheerful on the outside, but inside, it hurt.Not being able to play. it hurt so much. But maybe that frustration is what pushes me forward.

I know I should be happy— this is a team effort, and qualifying is something to celebrate. So I couldn't show that frustration. I didn't let it surface.

Even when the tears came, I made them look like tears of joy.

But they weren't.

They were tears of frustration. wiped them quickly.

I haven't even reached the starting line yet.

There's still so much I need to do.

I want to play.

I want to play.

I want to play.

I want to play.

So l just have to train more than anyone else.

I'm tired of feeling like this.

Maybe this is a sign— that it's still too early for me, that I still have a lot more to do.

The real battle is the World Cup.

Whoever plays there is the real winner.

This was only the qualifying round.

In September, at the World Cup, I'll take that position.

If I push myself to a level I can truly be proud of, others will naturally recognize it too.

I'm going to work so hard that it would be strange not to be on the pitch.

I can't allow myself to rely on excuses anymore.

I'm turning twenty this year.

There's no room for being soft.

I have to do it.

I have to move forward.

I'm going to break through - no matter what.

05.01

Every time I received a pass into my feet and lost the ball, I got yelled at. And the harder I tried not to lose it, the more mistakes I made. A terrible cycle.

I couldn't help thinking, Why does he get so angry when I make a mistake, but not when Asano does? I knew I shouldn't think like that, but it kept slipping in.

He always said, "Asano(my sister) never loses the ball." But I don't think that's true. She's good—yes, undeniably. But why am I the one who gets yelled at and not her?

The only answer I could accept was: because he expects more from me. I had to believe that— otherwise I wouldn't survive it. If I didn't think that way, I would drown in the loss of confidence, in the fear-almost despair.

It's not that I hate being compared to Asano.

What I hate is being compared to her as my sister.

So I told myself: Don't see her as your little sister.

See her as just another player.

But that doesn't mean I'm planning to lose.

No way.

There is no chance I'm letting someone like her steal my spot.

I've spent years building myself up.

I won't let everything collapse in an instant.

I have my pride.

If I don't show it now, then when?

If I don't show the difference now, what am I doing?

In truth, I knew this day would come.

Asano has always been naturally talented.

I've always had to train harder just to keep up.

If I want to play, I have to shoot more than anyone and score more than anyone.

For now, panicking won't help. So I'll stick to the advice my brother gave me and study the best players closely.

He told me:

"Don't receive the ball with the defender on your back.

Move as you control it. Don't stop and play flat-footed — control changes when you stay in motion."

The match in two days... I don't know if I'll play.

But there's only one thing I can do: show my strengths.

Show what I can do.

Go all in.

I have to.

I will.

05.15

Today's training was actually fun — the kind of fun I hadn't felt in a long time.

It was tough, it was exhausting, but even inside that struggle I felt something enjoyable.

Moments like this remind me just how much I truly love football.

I feel like my body is finally starting to come back to me.

There are still things that aren't there yet, but I can feel myself playing more the way I want to play, and that makes me really happy. O-chan (Performance coach) told me I still have no sharpness at all - which basically means I need to be much sharper.

So I'm going to push harder. I still hesitate too much about where to place my first touch, so I need to make quicker decisions and put the ball exactly where I imagine it should go.

And then there's receiving the ball — always thinking:

How can I receive in a spot where I can shoot?

How can I receive facing forward?

I need to move more, move continuously, and demand the ball more aggressively.

And I can't lose the ball when the pass comes into my feet.

When I come into the top position, I need to support faster.

Today I played on the left side, so I had to think about the connection with the left back— whether to come inside or stay wide. If I can play multiple positions, my range grows, my competition decreases, and I gain more chances to play.

Honestly, I want to play center. But there's so much to learn from playing on the left too, and I want to become capable there, so I'm choosing to take on that challenge.

Instead of being bound by systems or tactics, I want to show my own football.

If I do that, I'll naturally help the team.

So I'll run. And run even more. And keep running.

"They're making you do the physical work and the training."

That's what our coaching stuff told us. And it honestly frustrated me.

I was training because I wanted to get stronger— yet that wasn't how it looked to them. Maybe it meant my goals weren't clear.

Maybe it looked like I lacked hunger.

"Do you really want to play?"

"Why don't you show more desire?" —They all asked us that. The head coach said,

"None of you guys train on their own initiative. Maybe only Nagasato does."

He also said nobody repeats the same drills every day.

Everyone keeps jumping from one thing to another and ends up gaining nothing.

"You're not clear on what exactly you want to improve."

Our performance coach told us the same thing - in a different place, at a different time.

When people ask me why I do physical training, my answer is simple: because I want to be able to move continuously. That's the part I lack. That's why I train proactively.

I used to feel like I was being made to train, but not anymore.

Now I do it because I choose to.

And because of that, I know I gain so much more.

If you're not proactive, you won't grow.

That's true not only for physical work but for skill training as well.

Training on your own initiative— that matters.

And when you truly love something, doing that is easy.

In the last game today's session, I lost my temper a bit. The staff kept calling offside on me even when it wasn't offside, and I snapped— made some reckless plays.

I cooled down afterwards, but I definitely shouldn't have reacted like that.

I regret it.

Today's theme was defending

Applying pressure continuously from the front.

I focused on that.

One player alone can't win the ball, but if everyone has the same intention, I really believe we could win it easily.

Though today I went in a bit too aggressively and got nutmegged three times.

07.20

You get better in these tight, small-sided games.

So if you can't enjoy them like mini-games, when will you ever improve?

They mainly said that to the defenders, but it applies to everyone.

If you can't grow here, then where? I'm not naturally gifted, so these tight-space games are the perfect opportunity for me to get better. That's why I push myself to try things I don't usually attempt.

Today I tried one-twos, protecting the ball, taking players on with the dribble, taking the opponent's opposite shoulder— a bunch of different things.

I don't know how well I did, but at least I tried.

I can't keep deciding "I can't do that kind of play."

I have to believe in my own potential and keep challenging myself.

Face forward.

Keep moving forward.

Never stop moving forward— in football, and in life.

There's no time to stand still.

Just keep going, relentlessly.

Because the moment you stop moving forward, it's over.

08.03

At this point, there's no need to "appeal" anything.

It's simply about what I can do for the team.

As long as I don't lose sight of myself, there's nothing to worry about.

Aya said, "I don't feel like the team is united.Everyone thinks we'll win, and there's this strange sense of ease."She was right. Compared to the Athens qualifiers— where we had to beat North Korea just to reach the Olympics— this time feels much easier. We're playing against Vietnam, a team clearly below us in terms of ability. But this is an Olympic qualifier. Anything can happen.

No matter who the opponent is, what I do doesn't change.

Prepare to the fullest, and give everything I have.

This time, I finally earned the right to step onto the field in an Olympic qualifier— in the fifth match at last.

So much has happened to get here.

Leaving camp because of injury.

Struggling to get back into form.

Building my body again with the club team.

Pushing through the physical training without compromise.

All of that is why being here now feels genuinely meaningful.

And now, there's a chance I might actually get on the field.

But this is only a qualifier. It's just a checkpoint.

My eyes are set on something higher.

If you don't aim high, you can't climb higher.

Tomorrow's match is not the end.

It's an important new beginning.

I hope we can play a match that has both results and quality.

And if I get on the field, I'll let my joy explode.

We will win. Absolutely.

08.16

After talking with head coach, I started thinking more deeply:

What does the joy of football really mean?

He asked me, "Was the match against the U.S. fun?"

Without hesitation, I said yes.

"What about the Vietnam match?"

It was tough.

"And Thailand?"

Not good at all.

From those answers, he asked,

"Why wasn't the Thailand match fun?"

I couldn't answer.

Why wasn't it fun?

If different factors overlap and I can only show fifty percent of what l'm capable of, does that mean I can no longer enjoy the game? He said no.

Even in those situations, it should still be possible to feel, "Ah, this match was fun."

So what is that feeling?

If I can find that answer, something inside me will change.

A match where I can say "That was fun," no matter the circumstances.

Is good play = fun?

Is winning = fun?

I don't think so.

I want to keep searching for what that answer truly is.

08.29

The day before the first match of the World Cup

Ohashi-san(head coach for national team) said something to me:

"You're doing better than anyone else in training, but I want this tournament to be the moment where you become a player who can perform in tight, decisive matches."

He said he wanted to help create that moment for me, but also told me to search for it myself. A "breakthrough," huh...

In the end, I think it all comes down to mindset.

I'm still mentally weak, but somehow I feel like I might be able to break out of this shell. I don't feel the usual anxiety.

Maybe I finally have some emotional space.

That constant feeling of I have to do this, I have to do that — I don't feel it anymore.

If I get the chance to play tomorrow, I'm going to throw everything I have into my game.

09.01

I stepped onto the field with ten minutes left, down 1-2.

From a personal standpoint, there's really only one thing to say:

Why didn't I take that shot?

I entered the game fully believing I would score.

So why did I end up playing so passively in that moment?

I should have gone for it— should have been more aggressive.

There's no use regretting it now, and that moment will never come back.

So the only thing I can say is this: as a forward, you have to shoot without hesitation.

And I need to carry that lesson forward.

Maybe I need to be more of an egoist.

Maybe that's exactly what l'm lacking— the decisiveness to make bold choices in big moments.

Making decisive plays under pressure is also a form of believing in myself.

I need to become more of an egoist— the kind all true strikers carry within them.

The match ended in a draw, but all I can do now is move on to the next one.

09.20

After facing Germany, Argentina, and England at the 2007 FIFA Women's World Cup in China, I kept asking myself:

What did I gain?

What did I truly walk away with?

The more I thought about it, the less I understood what I had actually felt or learned.

I definitely felt the gap between us and the world— because I couldn't do anything out there.

There are still so many things I need to work on.

Maybe there are so many that I don't even know where to begin.

So l need to reset my goals and tackle each problem one by one.

If I keep reaching for everything at once, I won't end up grasping anything at all.

10.04

My body wasn't moving well, and mentally, I felt like I had lost something too.

I lost the ball, and it led to a goal against us.

The head coach got angry because I didn't chase back- something

I would normally always do. But this time, I couldn't.

Maybe I was mentally soft. Hearing that made me furious with myself. I was frustrated because I couldn't do something so fundamental:

I lose the ball, not win it back. I had been blaming others.

Shifting responsibility. There was a softness in me, and as painful as it was, I had to admit it.

My body truly wasn't moving the way I wanted The assistant coach noticed immediately. I knew better than anyone that I wasn't in top form.

I didn't know how to fix it, but I knew I had to do something— and I was trying. Still, my body wouldn't respond.

Maybe it was the pressure, the expectations.

But I knew I couldn't let that become a burden.

Someone told me,

"Climb the stairs at your own pace, step by step." Those words encouraged me more than anything

Face forward.

Don't look back.

Take one step at a time, slow is fine just keep moving.

It's okay to make mistakes. Try again, and again.

If you're afraid to challenge yourself, you'll never succeed.

So fail.

Make mistakes.

It's your life-walk it with your own feet.

Why do you play football?

If you love it, then commit to it, keep going, push through to the very top.

10.02

I had a one-on-one talk with Coach for the first time in a while.

He asked me, "How are you doing recently?" I answered, "I'm overwhelmed."

He told me I was trying too hard—too stiff, too tense.

When force meets force, the side pushing forward will always win. "So loosen your tension," he said. And even letting go of tension depends on timing.

He also talked about foot placement. If I could master that, he said, I would never lose the ball when receiving a vertical pass.

It might take time, but I'll get there.

It's time to graduate from the kind of play that relies solely on effort and intensity.

When I try too hard to receive the ball head-on, I lose my composure-and my energy.

I need more creativity in how I receive the ball: taking positions where the defenders aren't sure who should mark me, understanding which space I move into, and which space will open for someone else as a result.

It's like solving a puzzle.

Then there's moving against the flow.

Midfielder play often becomes horizontal during a match. And when the ball moves away to the opposite side, that's when I need to stop, or make a pull-away run in the opposite direction.

Just one sharp movement is enough to receive the ball.

And I have to make myself available— visible to the passer.

Sometimes I need to receive the ball by separating from the defender, and other times by feeling the defender's body on my back.

If I'm going to receive while pulling away, I need to open my body—half-turn— so I can see the defender and the ball at the same time. There are so many ways to be creative.

October 25

There's no way I can sprint like this.

No way I can play at full capacity.

The pain was that bad — and still, told both the coach and performance coach, "I'm fine."

Because I want to play.

Because I love football.

Because I want to be out there, even if it hurts.

October 26

I have to evaluate my own body myself.

No one else can decide that for me — only I can know it.

Learning to accurately assess my own condition.. it's really hard at this age.

But I know it's something that will be absolutely essential for the rest of my football career.

October 31

This won't do. I need to focus so intensely that I stop feeling the pain.If I've decided to play through it, then I have to take responsibility for that choice.

Once the match starts, being injured doesn't justify anything.

There's no excuse. No "I'm hurt." Nothing.

I have to train and compete with responsibility and resolve.

I'm still not there yet.

I'm still too soft.

I need to be harder on myself - much harder.

November 1

The answer l've come to now is this: I'm going to play in the next match - even if it kills me.Otherwise I won't understand why I trained so hard this entire week, and it would burden the team too.

What happens afterward, 'll decide once the match is over.

Right now, I'm just going to focus on the game Prepare to play.

Prepare to step on that field.

I don't regret the answer I chose.

No matter what happens, I'll trust myself.

And whatever the outcome is — I won't regret it.

11.15

I lost my marker twice on corner kicks and let my opponent get to the ball first. That's what head coach talked to me about.

He said he had a lot he could say, but he chose to focus on just one thing: Responsibility.

Why wasn't l battling harder?

Why wasn't I taking responsibility for my mark?

He said that lack of responsibility was showing in my overall play.

He had always valued my "boldness" — that aggressive quality you don't often see in Japanese players. But going forward recklessly isn't always the answer.

There are moments when you should use your teammates.

If you force it in the wrong moment and lose the ball, it turns into a counter and everyone has to sprint back.

That happens because I wasn't taking responsibility for my decisions.

He told me: Take responsibility for every single play.

What is the responsibility expected of me on this team?

Connecting with my buddy?

Receiving the ball as the target player?

No. It's deeper than that.

Be more deliberate with every action— every pass, every touch, every shot, every dribble.

Do each one with care.

That, he said, is what responsibility really means.

And if I want to aim higher, I need to play with that kind of responsibility.

Assistant coach also told me:

"You'll grow more if you make decisions."

If I receive a pass and I've already decided "I'm going to do this play," I might not lose the ball, but I also won't grow-because there's no decision-making.

If no defender is coming, turn forward.

If pressure is coming, protect the ball and keep possession.

If I want to develop my decision-making, I need to take risks— make mistakes, fail, and learn from each one.

Once I can make decisions with confidence, I can rise much, much higher.

11.25

I knew it myself—I just didn't understand why things had fallen apart like this.

I kept sinking deeper and deeper.

It was mostly a mental problem.

Thad completely lost confidence in myself.

I was afraid of something—the opponents, the head coach, the staff, my teammates. and in the end, I was losing to myself.

I kept losing the ball on the receiving pass, over and over again.

Every time I received it, I lost it.

And every time I lost it, I got more and more frustrated with the fact that I couldn't control the ball the way I wanted.

That frustration turned into panic.

Still, today I tried to keep receiving the ball.

I kept challenging myself.

But even then • I still couldn't do it.

I couldn't beat the fear.

I couldn't beat the anxiety.

I lost myself completely and even got a yellow card— the one thing I absolutely shouldn't have done. Then I made the decisive mis-passing and got subbed out.

Early coming off again like always.

Head coach kept telling me,

"Calm down," "Don't rush," "Timing."

He wasn't angry.

He was trying to bring me back to myself.

Even so, I couldn't recover.

And honestly, I understood the substitution.

That's why I didn't cry. Rare for me. or maybe that's normal.

But for me, it felt like a small kind of growth.

I was playing soccer while being tied down by something.

Playing while being afraid of something.

Is this the football I want to play?

No. absolutely not.

Two years ago, or even last year, it wasn't like this.

I enjoyed football more.

Football was fun.

But now? Is it fun?

Even when I ask myself, I can't answer "Yes."

I can't change the coaches, or the staff, or the environment.

But I can change myself.

Nothing changes unless I change. want to enjoy football again.

There are many ways to enjoy it, so I need to look at myself once more.

What do I really want?

What do I want to do?

Maybe it's time to think about that more deeply.

12.09

"Champions."

How much we suffered to reach that word.

It was a league full of brutally difficult battles.

We tried new things, failed repeatedly, and still kept fighting without giving up.

Even when we were eight points behind TASAKI after the first round, not a single person gave up.

Everyone believed-truly believed-that we would become champions. Whether we conceded first or were caught up to, we didn't lose. Especially in the third round maybe we had all grown stronger mentally.

After losing to TASAKI, we won fourteen matches in a row, and drew the final one. Because we fought under the pressure of "we cannot lose even once," we became stronger.

We didn't play a single match we were satisfied with, and yet— we kept winning. And together, while being pushed, scolded, and supported by Matsuda-san, Hoshikawa-san, and O-chan, we earned this championship.

We should be proud.

I'm grateful to head coach for never giving up on us.

Without him, we couldn't have won this title.

It was a difficult third year for him, but achieving a three-peat means so much.

This match was a chance to test how much I had grown.

In the first half, I could do almost nothing-truly nothing.

It felt like that match against INAC. But in the second half, after listening head coach at halftime, something lit up inside me.

I began playing aggressively, and as I pushed forward, I started to feel enjoyment again.

It was painful, but maybe the most fulfilling match of the season.

I even cramped for the first time in a game— I had never run that much before. What pushed me that far was, without question, my obsession with winning.

Even after we equalized, I kept running because I absolutely wanted to win. Maybe some of those runs were unnecessary— but it didn't matter. I just wanted to win, no matter what.

In the end, we couldn't get the victory. but I still felt that I gave everything I had in that match.

It was so exhausting, so overwhelming, that I couldn't hold back my tears when the game ended. I told myself I wouldn't cry, but there they were— guess I was still pretty weak back then.

18 matches, 14 goals.

But I feel like I gained something far greater than numbers this season. Stats don't always reflect the full story.

Still, I didn't reach my target of 19 goals.

That just means I didn't work hard enough.

Next year, I want to become a forward who can score even more

— a forward who can finish.

I want to keep challenging myself in every way.

Next up is the All Japan Championship.

And I want to win that final big title.

12.27

I keep overthinking.

Even in yesterday's training, I caught myself wondering:

Why am I even playing football?

"Do it. Do it because you want to."

I understand that in my head, but in reality, I feel like I'm being "made to do it."

Every time I get yelled at, I get scared of making mistakes, and I start playing timidly. Whether I start or come off the bench, my football shouldn't change— yet | was letting that take over my mind.

That's not who I want to be.

Not losing the ball doesn't make you a starter.

That's not it.

I want to play more aggressively.

I want to play freely.

So why am I caring so much?

Worrying about getting yelled at, worrying about how the manager or coaches see me. Is that really something I need to worry about?

No. It's not.

I was being stupid.

Last year, I wasn't like this.

I played with so much more intention, so much more of my football. Because I was enjoying the game.

In the end, everything comes back to that.

The joy of football.

It's the essential feeling you can't lose if you want to keep going in this sport.

Tomorrow, I'm going to enjoy it.

Even if it's a tough, demanding match— I won't forget that feeling.

12.31

It started in January with Yoshikawa's training sessions.

In February, the Cyprus tournament.

March brought the playoff against Mexico-playing at nearly 3,000 meters above sea level. I didn't get on the field. And honestly, the frustration of not playing outweighed the joy of securing a World Cup spot.

In April. I got pushed too hard from a national team coach during a stretch and ended up with a muscle strain. I couldn't get myself ready in time for the league opener.

From there, my form just wouldn't rise the way I wanted it to.

May and June I wasn't called up to the national team. So l focused entirely on my physical conditioning. That period made me so much stronger—it turned out to be a valuable experience.

August: Olympic qualifiers. We earned our place at the Beijing Olympics.

September: my first-ever World Cup. Standing on that stage, competing on that field— it's a place not everyone gets to stand. I felt nothing but gratitude.

And beyond that, there were so many moments— moments of struggle, frustration, joy, sadness.More than I could ever put into words.

Tomorrow is the last match of the season, and at the same time, the first step into a new one.

So let's enjoy the biggest stage to the fullest.

A year of constant turbulence — and what waited beyond it.

In 2007, I was fighting fear, shrinking from mistakes, and struggling against myself.I lost confidence, found it again, lost it once more — and still kept searching for any trace of light.

Looking back now, that entire year was a battle against my own unsteady heart.

But — that very instability is what made me stronger later on.

In 2008, I slowly began to break free from fear. A small seed of self-trust finally started to move, quietly but definitely.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but 2007 was really the run-up — the momentum I needed to step into the next stage.

Next up: 2008.