Moriyasu's Third Term: The Four-Back and Nakamura's Free-Kick School

I still remember that afternoon at the JFA training centre east of Tokyo, when a technical assistant quietly carried the tactics board out of the storeroom. On it were no longer the familiar three defenders, but four. He offered no explanation, simply folded it and walked into the meeting room. In more than two decades following teams from the Bundesliga to World Cups, I have learned one thing: when a federation starts changing what is drawn on the board, what is thought in the mind changed long before.

The 31-man Japan squad has just been announced, carrying a soft message: 20 faces from the North/Central America World Cup retained, 11 new or returning names added. To someone who has sat for hours in the corridors of training camps, that number says more than any statement about "continuity". Because continuity, framed correctly, is not standing still — it is keeping the anchor and changing the sail.

This is Hajime Moriyasu's third term. At first I intended to treat it as a dull cycle — stable national teams produce stable articles, and stable does not sell. But when I read the JFA announcement on the coaching restructure carefully, I noticed two changes sitting side by side that are not at all parallel in importance: the adoption of a four-back formation, and the reassignment of coaching roles — Shunsuke Nakamura in charge of set-piece attack, Makoto Hasebe in charge of defence. The original FOOTBALL ZONE piece treats these as equivalent. I do not.

The truth in the dressing room is never old — people are simply reluctant to look back at it. Changing formation is a structural change, affecting every phase of play. Changing coaching roles is a functional change, affecting only specific match states. One moves the spine, the other moves the arm. But both say the same thing: Moriyasu does not want his third term to be a copy of the previous two.

Context: a cycle measured by the Asian Cup

This term is framed toward the Asian Cup — meaning there is no room for a "transition season". Japan has long sat at the top of Asia, and the goal of winning the continental crown was stated plainly. That creates a familiar paradox: the stronger the team, the smaller the margin. With 20 World Cup players in hand, Moriyasu cannot plead inexperience.

The next four matches — Uruguay, Venezuela, Ecuador, then Panama or New Zealand — form a deliberately staged difficulty curve. Uruguay is the elite test. Ecuador is a highly regarded CONMEBOL side. Venezuela and Panama/New Zealand are lighter, enough to experiment without over-committing. This is a testing window, not a random set of friendlies. In other words, the staff has already scheduled a verification window for the "two changes". The fact that they dare to do so shows they believe these changes are no joke.

Behind it all sits another layer rarely mentioned. The JFA is running a commercial partnership programme called the "JFA PARTNERSHIP PROJECT for DREAM" — a drive to recruit partners tied to the dream of winning the World Cup. It is a strategy that bets on expectation before results appear, and it creates a reputational dependency: the commercial story only holds if the sporting project delivers. National-team director Yamamoto appeared alongside Moriyasu at the announcement, a sign that the coaching restructure has backing from the whole system.

Core analysis: the four-back is a lever, not a revolution

To be clear: the back-three does not disappear. The four-back is described as a situational option, not a new base system. This is the key point most readers skim past. If the back-three remains the anchor, then the four-back is an in-game lever — something Moriyasu can pull when an opponent parks the bus, or when the team needs to stretch width against a deep, crowded defence.

I have seen this kind of switch in the Bundesliga, and it always comes with a hidden price. A back-three lives on high-motor wing-backs — running the flanks, attacking and defending. Switching to a back-four shifts that burden onto full-backs and wide forwards. Moriyasu selecting players for "positional balance" to play both systems means he is asking some men to cover two role profiles at once. That is a versatility tax — useful, but not free.

Theoretically, expanding to a four-back is not an innovation. It is already standard among elite national teams. What is new here is that Japan is actively equipping it while keeping the back-three — a flexibility they previously did not need, because in Asia they often overwhelmed opponents through individual quality. Preparing two systems now suggests they are looking beyond Asia, at opponents who can punish a single Plan A.

But this is where the data falls silent. No expected-goals figures, no possession metrics, no set-piece conversion data released. We have only tactical intent, not measured output. For someone like me, who once wrote against every statistical model to trust my own eyes, that is both intriguing and suspicious. Intent, however beautiful, can be smothered by a deep block if the ball is not delivered into the box quickly enough.

Nakamura's free-kick school: opportunity and trap

This is the change I find most fascinating, and also the one most easily misjudged. Turning Shunsuke Nakamura — one of Asia's greatest dead-ball specialists — into the dedicated set-piece-attack coach is an ambitious move. In Asian football, where knockout matches are often decided by small moments against a crowded defence, the ability to score from dead balls is the most important lock-picking weapon. Moriyasu clearly wants to turn a traditional weakness — breaking down a low block — into a strength.

But there is a risk the original piece does not mention: being a great free-kick taker and being a great free-kick coach are two different trades. An individual's dead-ball technique does not automatically translate into organisational set-piece design — routine-building, blocking schemes, delivery variations, opponent scouting. A man who once struck free kicks magically can teach how to set the instep, but building an entire set-piece system for 25 players is a different job in nature.

The dressing room never lies — we just do not hear it in time. And what I hear in this move is: the JFA is betting that Nakamura's fame will inspire and instruct at once. It is a reasonable bet, but still a bet. If Japan's set pieces remain as opaque as before, people will ask whether an on-pitch legend is truly a dead-ball architect.

Alongside that, Makoto Hasebe takes over the defensive coaching role. Hasebe's profile — a deep-lying organiser, a hybrid centre-back — suggests the defensive philosophy will lean toward structure and distribution from the back rather than pure man-marking. It is a subtle change but consistent with the four-back idea: both point toward a team that builds from behind, not merely destroys.

Contrarian angle: continuity is a double-edged blade

Here I must speak plainly, even knowing it is not easy to hear. The word "continuity" sounds safe, but it also means: no more "transition season" shield. This squad is experienced, so results are expected immediately. Retaining 20 World Cup players stabilises the project, but at the same time removes every excuse for a slow start.

The bench whispers louder than the press conference shouts. In this case, what the bench whispers is accumulated fatigue. A manager who has been through multiple tournament cycles carries inertia in the press and the fan base. The "new weapons" frame may itself be a conscious effort to refresh the narrative without changing the leader. It is a clever move — but only clever if the weapons actually fire.

The clearest tactical risk is simple: a deep-lying opponent can neutralise the width advantage of the four-back, unless set pieces deliver. In other words, every new path Moriyasu takes leads to the same point: dead balls. If Nakamura cannot build that school, the whole tactical house may stand on sand.

There is one more blind spot, tied to the succession path. Stressing that Go Oiwa's U-21 side — aimed at the 2028 Los Angeles Olympic qualifiers — plays a 4-3-3 hints at a deliberate stylistic handover. The senior four-back may be a bridge toward the successor's system. This is long-horizon planning rarely seen in Asian federations, and it reinforces Japan's structural advantage. But it also puts Moriyasu in a position of having to prove the four-back is not just a passing toy.

The next internal signals

The next four matches will not decide the Asian Cup, but they will reveal whether these two changes are real or mere form. I will not look at the scoreline. I will look at how smoothly Japan switches between three and four at the back, at who stands beside Nakamura in set-piece training, and at whether Hasebe can push the defensive line one beat higher.

Against the current — that is the phrase I keep in mind whenever I follow a team trying to change without losing itself. Moriyasu's Japan is walking exactly that path: keeping the anchor, changing the sail, and letting the biggest match judge whether they are wise continuers or hesitant ones. The answer is not on the tactics board. It is in how the players walk out of the tunnel — because the dressing room never lies, we just do not hear it in time.