Dallas was unbelievably hot.
I underestimated it, thinking that since it's America, the heat would be dry and manageable. But I couldn't even stand in the sun for a few minutes, and my respect and concern for the players practicing in this environment grew. Texas in June is terrifying.
In the massive city of Dallas, the world's expectations descend like a curtain.
Driving about 30 minutes from downtown, a massive—seriously huge—stadium appeared.
With a retractable roof, air conditioning, and state-of-the-art giant monitors, it was the perfect space prepared for the tournament.
I witnessed it here.
The act of becoming a source of strength.
The Netherlands kept possession, attacking repeatedly while shifting horizontally. They dominated the air during set pieces, utilizing their superior physique. In response, Japan looked for counter-attacking opportunities with careful defense to create numerical advantages.
To be honest, the start was a difficult development for Japan. The pressure from the front wasn't fully applied, and there was a vague impression of whether to raise the line or focus on intercepting passes. It was a heart-stopping period where Japan was repeatedly saved by the world-class saves of goalkeeper Zion Suzuki.
Then came the second half.
Finally, the deadlock was broken, and Japan conceded a goal.
A moment of silence. A sense of tragedy descended on the stands, so heavy I mistakenly thought the air had physically become denser.
Japan had never defeated a European powerhouse like the Netherlands before. That data felt like a slap in the face to our faint hopes.
The Samurai on the pitch looked forward.
They gathered in the center. They formed a circle and encouraged each other.
They patted shoulders, said something to one another, and dispersed again.
There was no way the spectators wouldn't be inspired by that passionate sight. Without anyone leading, even spectators who weren't part of either country's faction were swept into a massive whirlpool of cheering. The voices echoed so much that the stadium of over 70,000 felt like it was about to explode.
Then, the tide turned.
Keito Nakamura's goal, Summerville's incredible breakaway goal that didn't even allow for a blink, and a priceless header jumping over Van Dijk to show off.
Whether scoring or conceding, the crowd's support grew stronger and louder. The cheering was so intense it dyed the venue in the colors of the Hinomaru, to the point where two out of three broadcast cameras became inoperable due to the vibration.
"Cheering becomes power" is a phrase we often hear.
I won't call it a mere formality, but sound waves don't physically bend a shot, and I can't speak from a player's perspective to feel it. Since it's a phrase positioned at the opposite pole of logic, I've tried not to use it too lightly.
But now, I've seen with my own eyes how voices push people forward and change the future. Of course, the skill of those involved is almost everything. But in a place that is neither more nor less than that, and not logical, hearts resonate.
Cheering is power.
It was an event that reminded me once again that what I have continued to believe in is wonderful.
2026.6.17 / From Kageyama, who boasts that everywhere I go is sunny and every flight will fly.
July 30th: Yuka Kageyama's essay collection "Kage made Aishite" (Love even the shadows) will be released by Magazine House!
A release commemorative event will also be held! Applications are open until June 21st. I think the face-to-face event might be a once-in-a-lifetime thing, so I want to spend precious time with each and every one of you!
We look forward to your applications ☺︎
