Fever Pitch, Vol. 1
Prologue
The ball on the pitch was motionless. A foul committed at the back of the penalty area resulted in a free kick. Evan Morrison, who had just turned twenty, stood before the ball as the team's designated kicker. The packed crowd surrounding the pitch directed their countless gazes squarely at Evan and the sphere laid out before him.
A suffocating tension, so thick that not even a needle could slip through, filled the stadium. Evan's face, bearing the full weight of tens of thousands of eyes showering down upon him like arrows, was stained with resolve. His heartbeat intensified. The thunderous roars of the fervent crowd echoed, lingering faintly in his ears.
With the ball placed at the center of all attention, Evan stepped back a few paces. He had to follow instinct over thought, feeling over calculation. Aligning both feet in a straight line and positioning his plant foot just right, Evan immediately surged forward. He struck the bottom of the ball forcefully with his left foot, curling it. It was a precise and delicate shot.
The ball soared into the air and cleared the defensive wall with ease, never touching the ground. Flying in a regular, wobbling arc, the ball reached the crossbar and dropped sharply below it. The football's sudden change of direction bewildered the opposing goalkeeper.
“Waaah!”
The powerful shot burrowed sharply into the upper right corner of the goal. As the goal net rippled, a roar like thunder erupted. The opposing goalkeeper stood with a vacant expression, both hands raised like a fool. This brought them one step closer to victory. Scorching heat filled the stadium.
It was a priceless goal. Since the first leg home match in London had ended in a 0-0 draw, the general consensus among experts was that Preston FC, Evan's team, was in a disadvantageous position for the second leg in Madrid. However, Preston FC fought tenaciously against Madrid CF, who were considered favorites to win the tournament. They overcame their lack of big-match experience through sheer fighting spirit and tenacity, determined to prevail against the odds.
The Preston players refused to give up even after falling behind 1-0 in Madrid, equalizing to bring the contest back to square one. Once again, the score was 1-1; the balance was restored. Preston's fierce attacks aiming for additional goals clashed with Madrid's will to focus on defense. Attack and counterattack repeated without a decisive strike, and the match remained deadlocked.
Then, in the 37th minute of the second half, approximately ten minutes before the end of the match. The born striker, Evan Morrison, snatched the opportunity that came his way like a predatory beast. Evan's magic goal elegantly shattered the deadlock. Evan's free kick directly became the winning goal that decided the match. Preston FC, brimming with fresh vitality, forced traditional powerhouse Madrid CF to accept defeat at their home ground, the San Jose Fernando Stadium, and advanced to the Champions League final.
Even after the match ended, the excitement refused to subside. With his face flushed red, Evan smiled bashfully as he looked around the vast pitch. Evan had just finished exchanging jerseys with the opposing team's striker, who wore the number 9 just as he did, and was about to return to the dressing room, pushing aside his lingering regrets, when—
Someone waiting in the tunnel grabbed Evan. It was an Asian boy, tall as a reed but with a body that had yet to fully grow.
“…….”
“…….”
The boy who had boldly grabbed Evan remained silent for some time. Evan tried to calm his chest, still heaving rapidly from exertion. Silence lingered. Ah. A small exclamation escaped from between Evan's lips as he recognized the boy. He was the ball boy for today's match.
“Hello?”
“…….”
Intoxicated by victory, Evan felt generous and soft. Evan greeted him kindly. Instead of answering, the ball boy bit his lower lip slightly, his expression silent. Looking down at the less-than-sociable ball boy, Evan flashed his uniquely charming smile. As Evan's face melted into a gentle smile, the boy flinched slightly.
Before long, the boy, head deeply bowed, hesitantly thrust a Madrid CF jersey and a marker toward Evan.
“Please sign here.”
“Of course.”
Evan Morrison's signature on a Madrid jersey. Truthfully, it was not quite appropriate. But Evan, who had even won the Champions League, had no reason not to be generous to a young football fan captivated by him. Smiling brightly, Evan signed the unfamiliar jersey. The boy gazed up at him steadily and muttered in a low voice.
“That was unbelievable.”
“Hmm?”
Evan raised his head. His light golden lashes fluttered gently.
“That free kick.”
The boy wore a rather complicated expression. He looked melancholy, yet somewhere even exuded a sense of resolve. Well, of course he knew that. Evan felt a surge of pride. It seemed his free kick had plunged a dagger into the heart of a passionate youth who supported Madrid CF.
“Then, why don't you become my fan starting today?”
Evan asked playfully, reaching out to ruffle the hair of the boy, who was about a hand shorter than him. The boy made a face but didn't push Evan's hand away.
Finally, Evan winked at the boy and turned his back.
Clack-clack, the studs of football boots running at high speed rang out loudly. His teammates would already be enjoying the afterglow of victory in the dressing room.