E. MORRISON
Then, at the sight of his own name floating on the screen, Evan’s eyes went round. In the game, Evan Morrison, wearing Madrid CF’s red uniform, had caught the ball and was charging into the opponent’s penalty area.
Evan glanced at the lanky figure from behind playing as Madrid CF. Long fingers tapped the controller lightly, and the in-game Evan displayed dazzling individual skills. Exclamations burst forth naturally. Even to Evan’s unversed eyes, the controls looked incredibly skilled.
…It felt a bit strange. While he turned away gruffly when facing the real person, he controlled the virtual player with such devotion.
The goal net rippling three-dimensionally looked exactly like a real stadium. Finally, the in-game Evan who had driven a powerful volley into the opponent’s goal roared and showed off a celebration.
“Uwah! It’s a goal!”
As the tense 0:0 deadlock broke, the three young players who had been deeply engrossed in the game finally seemed ready to look around.
“Oh, my god! Evan! Evan Morrison!”
The brown-haired young man who spotted Evan began to make a fuss. It was a face he had seen a few times at the training ground, but he couldn’t quite recall the name. He seemed to be a reserve player, not a first-team player.
“Is it surprising that Evan scores?”
“No, you idiot, it’s the real Evan!”
A low voice sharply rebuked the brown-haired youth. Then, at the unexpected reaction, the trapezius muscles rising over Jaemin’s broad shoulders flinched. When he finally turned his head, Evan and Jaemin’s eyes met head-on. His well-defined face flushed red with embarrassment. Evan slightly raised the corners of his lips and smiled smugly.
“Oh, what, it really is Evan!”
“See, I told you? Hello, Morrison.”
The dreadlocked youth who had been sitting on the sofa watching the game also rushed to Evan. Like ordinary people Evan knew, they welcomed and cheered for him immensely upon discovering him. The heated FIFA game was already pushed to the back burner.
Evan dealt with the two young players with his trademark bright smile. Jaemin, who had stepped back a little, scratched his ear with an awkward expression.
The dreadlocked youth and brown-haired youth said they were Madrid CF’s second-team players. The fresh-faced players who had just turned twenty were extremely excited to meet Evan, a star player of the first team. After finishing their introductions, they gazed at Evan as if spellbound and began asking this and that. Evan, who didn’t find their fervor unpleasant, treated the young players generously.
“Oh, Evan. All of us here are huge fans of yours.”
Just like when he had conceded a goal to Jaemin earlier, the brown-haired youth cupped his cheeks with wide palms and muttered blankly. Jaemin, who had been excitedly participating in the game until just moments ago, was now standing far away from them, staring into space. The brown-haired youth’s words, still unable to hide his excitement, twisted Evan’s feelings slightly.
“That can’t be.”
“Huh?”
“At least, that Yun over there seems to hate me very much?”
He said it while looking straight into the brown-haired youth’s eyes, but it was clearly meant for Jaemin to hear. It didn’t take long before a large shadow fell over them. Jaemin, reacting to his name, was approaching Evan. Evan, confirming it was Jaemin, rolled his eyes.
“What do you mean by that, Evan. Jaemin has since his youth days…”
“Huh?”
“That’s right, among the players here, Jaemin is probably the most…”
Before they knew it, Jaemin had approached and suddenly grabbed the brown-haired youth’s nape. Lifted by the tall Jaemin in an instant, the brown-haired youth flailed.
“That’s enough, Mikel.”
A low voice muttered. Jaemin’s gaze, unable to look at Evan, was cast haphazardly at the floor.
“…Evan.”
For the first time, Jaemin called his name. Evan blinked his blue eyes and looked up at Jaemin who had effortlessly subdued the brown-haired youth.
“I’m going to stop playing the game now.”
Jaemin left the room just like that, together with the brown-haired youth. The dreadlocked youth, who had given Evan an awkward greeting, also hurriedly chased after Jaemin. Left alone in the spacious room with the FIFA game’s flashy sound effects, Evan stared fixedly at the disappeared backs. A hollow laugh escaped through his plump pink lips.
Evan left the room as well, and for a while mixed with his teammates in the main room, playing table football and table tennis. Moving his body busily and working up a sweat, his restless mind calmed down somewhat. When the round sunset was sinking through the widely opened window, Evan left the clubhouse building with a refreshed heart.
But something felt prickly on the surface of his heart, as if it would burst through at any moment.
He had been pretending otherwise, but it had been weighing on his mind the whole time. Jaemin, who had turned away from him so abruptly, made Evan feel extremely bewildered. If he thought about it, his attitude felt rude too. If the man had been gruff to everyone equally, he might have just let it go.
He suddenly recalled Jan’s words that Jaemin had helped him greatly with his adaptation to Madrid. Besides that, whenever Jaemin came up in conversation, his teammates all agreed in unison that he was a taciturn but warm-hearted young man. Jaemin only kept his guard up and bared his sharp edges toward Evan. Evan felt wronged.
Honestly, it was true that Jaemin had first caught Evan’s attention because he showed a different attitude toward him. It had started with simple curiosity. But before he knew it, Evan was unconsciously getting hurt by Jaemin, who was cold and chilly only to him.
Everyone loved Evan. No matter how extreme an anti-fan, if given five minutes for a one-on-one conversation, Evan was confident he could turn them into his fan with a single eye-smile. He was handsome, rich, a football genius, and good at sex—there couldn’t possibly be anyone in the world who could truly reject him.
But what if Jaemin was the exception?
Rejection—just thinking about it was terrible. No, it was something he couldn’t even imagine in the first place. Beneath the flashy shell armed with hollow bravado, there was a sensitive, soft inner self. Jaemin had unintentionally turned Evan inside out.
Bad guy. Yun Jaemin is a bad guy.
Having reached this conclusion, Evan bit his lower lip firmly, his face resolute. His lips, shaped in a stubborn line, jutted out sulkily.
***
But why couldn’t I completely pull my interest away from that bad guy?
Adjusting the heavy duffel bag hanging on his shoulder, Evan boarded the club bus heading south for the Round 2 away match. After taking a slight breath of the stuffy air filling the bus interior, Evan looked around to find a suitable seat.
Then, a sleek side profile with his head slightly tilted toward the window came into Evan’s view. Jaemin, wearing a black short-sleeved T-shirt that fit his muscular body snugly, was sitting alone in a back seat of the bus.
His hesitation was brief and his action impulsive. Evan quickly sat in the seat next to Jaemin. When Evan plopped down, the broad shoulder right beside him flinched. Shortly after, Eduardo, who had boarded the bus, muttered “That’s my seat” and bumped Evan, but Evan pretended not to hear.
“…….”
An awkward silence filled the air. His mouth went completely dry. Evan ran his pink tongue over his plump lips and slowly chose his words. But before Evan could even part his lips, Jaemin moved his large hand and put on earphones, closing his ears.
Ha. Evan’s face hardened as he opened his mouth in disbelief. Soon his pink lips pouted.
At least he could say hello, couldn’t he? Finding Jaemin annoying for quickly lowering his eyes, Evan grumbled inwardly.
In the end, Evan also grabbed his phone and began looking at photos of hot Spanish models, admiring their physiques. He also recognized some faces he had been introduced to at Eduardo’s house last time.
Hmm. Evan let out a small cough. At first his blue eyes sparkled, but his hand scrolling down the screen gradually lost enthusiasm. Suddenly irritation surged up, and Evan impulsively stuffed his phone into his pocket. He looked at Jaemin, who was either asleep or simply sitting with his eyes closed quietly beside him.
When he came to his senses, Evan was already observing him.
Overall, he had distinct lines and a stubborn, decisive impression. His monolid eyes were long and wide-set, making his presence distinct. Jaemin’s pupils were sometimes so black and clear they could send chills down one’s spine. The bridge of his nose sitting in the center of his face was high and straight. Following the long bridge down, one could see the tip of his nose, neatly finished with pretty angles like a well-trimmed chestnut.
His cheeks were nicely hollow, and his firm jawline had a clearly defined gonial angle. Lips slightly thicker than average hung a little slanted at the left corner of his mouth. His dark skin, tanned by the Madrid sun, made the subtle sex appeal his face exuded appear more blatantly.
Forgetting his sulky feelings toward Jaemin for a moment, Evan admired him internally. Really not my type, but he thought anew that Yun Jaemin was indeed handsome. Eduardo had also whispered that Jaemin was gaining great popularity among local female fans lately.
Of course, Evan didn’t harbor that kind of feeling toward Jaemin. Evan Morrison was someone who could thoroughly enjoy sex with men too, but basically Evan preferred to put thinner, more delicate pretty boys beneath him. No matter how sexy Jaemin looked, he couldn’t imagine laying Jaemin down beneath him and doting on him.
So, doesn’t everyone have that kind of experience at least once? Even if it’s not your type, you can’t help but acknowledge objective good looks. Well, regardless of how annoying he is, handsome is handsome. As a man himself possessing an exceedingly beautiful and delicate face like divine favor, Evan could concede that much about Jaemin.
Creak. Just as various thoughts about Jaemin were lightly rolling around inside Evan’s head, covered with finely textured blonde hair. Before long, the bus stopped, and Jaemin opened his closed eyes wide. Their eyes met just like that, and Evan turned his head away with a cool expression as if it were a simple coincidence.
***
The match didn’t go well. As Madrid CF was one of the strongest teams in the league, proportional to that pride, they had many enemies. The Round 2 opponent team had harbored strong resentment toward Madrid CF from before the match started. The opposing players burned with fierce fighting spirit. Simultaneously, the opponent team’s supporters filling the stadium backed their players with overwhelming cheers. After the kickoff, the momentum easily flipped to the opposing team like the turn of a hand.
Once the atmosphere shifted, it didn’t return easily. The hostile atmosphere of the first away match of the season intimidated Madrid CF’s players. Pass misses kept happening. Though they were players with outstanding individual skills, dazzling individual plays were displayed moment by moment, but overall they were somehow shoddy like gears with missing parts.
He requested a pass from an exquisite position but was ignored. When the attacking midfielder who passed right by Evan attempted a reckless forward dribble and eventually lost the ball, Evan let out a deep sigh.
On the other hand, the thought that they were going toe-to-toe with Madrid CF, whom they themselves boasted as the world’s best, and overwhelming the atmosphere considerably encouraged the opposing players. After consistently making good movements in front of Madrid’s goal, the forward hit a shot that barely grazed the goalpost and went wide. In the subsequent set piece situation, a corner kick that curved in toward the front of the goal and led to a powerful header was barely caught by Jaemin.
“Hey!”
Jaemin, holding the ball, came out in front of the goal and shouted loudly. His low voice reverberated thunderously. Jaemin, who usually appeared somewhat static, was a rather aggressive style of goalkeeper. Jaemin’s wild roar revitalized the defense and suppressed the opposing team’s momentum.
When Jaemin reached out his hand and gave directions here and there, the flustered defensive line organized neatly. As the expression says the goalkeeper is the last defender, the East Asian goalkeeper who had just turned twenty-two commanded the defense on the ground with his unique charisma and leadership.
Crisis is soon opportunity. The ball rolled on the ground and rapid passes were exchanged. A dribble breakaway on the flank was attempted. Madrid CF’s players were getting closer to the opponent’s goal. It was a counterattack. Before he knew it, Evan had penetrated inside the penalty box.
Evan raised his hand high. The winger on the left flank passed the ball. The opponent’s defense was already disoriented by the counterattack proceeding at high speed. It was the best chance since the match began. Evan tried to strike the ball with the instep of his left foot.
But the shot didn’t follow. Instead, Evan collapsed heavily onto the ground. A back tackle came from the bulky opposing defender. At the clear penalty kick situation, Madrid players appealed strongly to the referee. Evan, having taken the rough tackle, rubbed his calf and limped.
Eventually, a penalty kick was declared. Madrid’s forward Jan Petersen faced the goalkeeper. Soon after, the shot he lightly kicked to the left of the goal shook the net as it was. Riding on the penalty kick goal, Madrid secured a narrow 1:0 victory.
However, even after the penalty kick goal, Madrid never showed satisfactory performance. The Madrid CF player who displayed a performance worthy of recognition from the press was, even afterward, only Jaemin who desperately saved the opponent’s shots pouring down like rain.
Though they achieved victory, the atmosphere in the dressing room was somewhat gloomy due to the performance that fell short of expectations. Having finished his shower, Evan walked toward his locker, roughly smoothing his golden hair that was still warm and damp.
In his path stood a black-haired youth about half a head taller than him. Though it was Evan who had induced the penalty kick that led to the goal, in truth Jaemin was the player who had practically led today’s match to victory.
Evan reached his hand up slightly and tapped Jaemin’s shoulder. Sensing his presence, Jaemin bowed his head briefly and raised it. Their eyes met soon after. Perhaps due to the excitement from the match, Jaemin’s pitch-black pupils were no longer calm. Evan, staring at Jaemin intently, could feel a minute tremor more disheveled than usual.
“We would have been in big trouble without your saves.”
“…Thank you.”
Jaemin answered simply and stared at Evan fixedly. Evan’s eyes briefly swept over Jaemin’s slightly flushed, hollow cheeks.
“…….”
“…….”
Evan had rarely been the one to approach someone first. Just sorting out and appropriately brushing off people who clung to him kept Evan’s life busy enough. So this was actually unfamiliar to Evan too.
Moreover, he had already been ignored by Jaemin several times. But if he kept weighing on his mind like this, he thought ignoring it like this was also cowardly. Just one more time. Evan steeled his resolve.
“My car is a Bugatti supercar, you know. Have you ever ridden in one?”
Perhaps he wanted to resolve this nagging feeling in his heart in some way or another. Toward Evan who had approached him again, Jaemin raised his dark, thick eyebrows as if puzzled.
“…No.”
“When we get back to Madrid, I can take you for a drive.”
“I’m fine.”
Should he be relieved that at least he understood Evan’s English and responded in English? But Evan was actually impatient. He didn’t want to keep chasing after the guy’s back, conscious of him anymore. Evan gulped. Jaemin’s gaze landed very briefly on Evan’s smoothly moving throat.
“Um… my house has a really nice pool too.”
“…….”
“My agent said it would be hard to find such a great mansion in Madrid.”
“…I see.”
Jaemin, slightly tilting his head, seemed to be making an expression as if saying ‘why are you doing this to me?’ Evan also tilted his head slightly. The situation felt funny as much as it was nerve-wracking. Evan burst out laughing. Well. I don’t even know why I’m doing this to you.
“Tomorrow with Eduardo…”
As if to stop Evan from continuing, Jaemin hesitantly reached out his hand. His large hand touched Evan’s still-damp head. He touched it lightly and gently stroked it. It was an action close to instinct. Evan, blinking his eyes slowly, looked up at Jaemin. Jaemin still had a hesitant face.
“Shall we return to the bus?”
Jaemin leaned his face toward Evan. The bitter scent of body wash wafted strongly. From close to his ear, a low, resonant voice whispered.
***
Ah. So annoying. Evan furrowed his brows and turned his head toward the bus window. From beside him, excited Spanish chatter had been continuing since earlier. Excited voices poured out like rapid-fire, and of course Evan couldn’t understand a single word. In the seat right next to the aisle, Jaemin and Eduardo sat chatting animatedly with flushed, laughing faces.
However, the source of the alienation Evan felt wasn’t actually the language barrier. Jaemin was patting Eduardo’s shoulder, laughing with his eyes curved like crescent moons. His brightly blooming face was quite splendid, but Evan was angry. No, perhaps he should say his pride was hurt.
Jaemin had clearly maintained stiff silence in response to Evan’s invitation to hang out together in Madrid in the dressing room just earlier. Even when sitting in the exact same seat next to Evan on the bus, he had blocked conversation by keeping his eyes tightly shut with earphones on. Yet now he was chatting lively and intimately with Eduardo as if none of that had happened. Jaemin was always like that, only with Evan.
Maybe he’s not in good condition. Yun must have his own reasons. The excuses he had scraped together for Jaemin to avoid getting hurt himself were gradually running out. The curiosity and interest Evan had first felt were being roughly worn away by repeated rejections. Clearly, Jaemin’s cold attitude made Evan feel starkly lonely. The desire to find a reason he could accept had also subsided before he knew it. Evan suddenly felt as if cold water had been splashed on him, his mind snapping awake.
Right, Evan had pride too. And a very solid and powerful one at that. Evan was a world-class football player recognized by all. He had recently renewed the highest transfer fee in the transfer market, proving his own value. And that wasn’t all. With his outstanding looks that would make anyone’s jaw drop, and having played since age twenty for a big EPL club with a terrifying weekly wage, his accumulated wealth was enormous too.
No matter how much he was the recently hotly rising starting goalkeeper for Madrid CF, Jaemin was still a rookie who had only shown two seasons. Evan had seen countless prospects during his football career who shone brightly for a season or two before disappearing like morning dew under the pressure of the big leagues. Whether the ability Jaemin showed was permanent class or a temporary fluke, no one knew yet. It wasn’t a curse; rather, the careers Evan and Jaemin had actually built up over time said so.
Of course, Jaemin was quite tall. But aside from that, Evan was superior to him in every way. So there was no reason to wear down his pride and get impatient over Jaemin’s coldness.
Perhaps Jaemin was like an anti-fan in his life. Something he could never understand, and if he didn’t accept it, only he would suffer more. Evan thought it would be better to just leave Jaemin be, thinking maybe that’s just how he was.
Though Evan was exceptionally accomplished for a human, he wasn’t an almighty god after all. He couldn’t control the emotions every person felt toward him one by one. Even as he crushed the thoughts, the still surging emotions were beyond his control.
“Ahahahaha.”
“U-hahahaha.”
Whatever was so funny, Jaemin and Eduardo were still laughing loudly. It was really driving him crazy. Leaving me out. Finally pulling out his earphones and plugging them into his ears, stubborn resolve hardened solidly in Evan’s heart.
I will never approach him first again.
***
After that day, Evan truly didn’t speak to Jaemin. It was correct to say he was now making an effort not to get involved with Jaemin. Meeting Jaemin’s face every day at the training ground where practice took place daily was somewhat awkward.
Jaemin seemed closest to Eduardo, but otherwise he got along well with players regardless of nationality. Honestly, when Jaemin was hanging out with other players, Evan didn’t really want to join in, so he would sometimes step back alone and keep a little distance from them. Evan himself knew it was stupid and unnecessary, but he couldn’t help it.
Fortunately, the reserve team player he had met by chance at the clubhouse last time had been called up to the first team. That day’s brown-haired youth stuck to Evan like a burr. Thanks to that, Evan didn’t feel lonely or empty while ignoring Jaemin. At least, that’s what Evan himself thought.
“Evan, show me how to take a free kick.”
“If you give me 100 euros.”
“Uwah. Where would I have money?”
During break time, Mikel, holding a football up with both hands, acted cutesy in front of Evan in a way ill-fitting for his size. He felt like a monkey performing tricks at a zoo, but he could still treat the much younger player with a generous mindset. Evan, raising the corner of his lips in a grin, sharply curled his foot at the ball placed on the pitch.
“Waah! Evan is really amazing.”
As Mikel made a fuss noisily, the team’s gazes all focused on Evan. Everyone was looking at Evan. Evan, who knew how to enjoy attention, put on a splendid expression and smoothly swept his forehead with the back of his hand.
“…….”
He could let other things pass without much thought, but not when it came to Jaemin. Feeling Jaemin’s gaze on him, Evan flinched. Even after the small commotion in the training ground subsided, Jaemin’s pupils were still fixed piercingly on Evan. In truth, even before Evan struck the ball, when he had been grumbling softly with Mikel, Jaemin had been staring at Evan tenaciously. Evan knew this too.
When their eyes met once or twice at first, Evan thought it was a coincidence too. For whatever reason, the fact that he himself was conscious of Jaemin was true. So he had dismissed it as him reacting sensitively to trivial brushes.
But recently, Jaemin had clearly been looking at Evan. For so long it was obvious, distinctly. His hesitating, shadowed black pupils persisted toward Evan. He looked like someone who wanted to say something. Yet Jaemin never spoke to Evan first, dropping his gaze pretending not to notice whenever their eyes met.
Sometimes he instinctively felt that if he approached now, he might not be pushed away at least. But honestly, Evan didn’t want to go that far. Why bother. He was sick of taking the risk of rejection now. If you don’t approach me first, I won’t pay attention to you anymore either. Evan steeled his heart firmly.
***
Evan’s life in Madrid was enjoyable. More precisely, it had been enjoyable. In Round 3 of the Primera Liga, in a home match against a weak team, Madrid CF faced the shocking result of a draw. Following the unsatisfactory performance in Round 2, it was extremely disappointing news for Madrid’s fans.
Thanks to rival team Barcelona securing consecutive great victories with outstanding performances in their first three matches, Madrid’s record looked relatively even more worthless. Evan’s life in Madrid, which had been sailing smoothly, also plummeted along with the team’s declining performance curve.
The team’s atmosphere was very gloomy. Football is a game played by eleven people, and unsatisfactory match results are ultimately the whole team’s fault, but the arrows seeking a scapegoat flew toward Evan.
The impatient press brought up the recently creaking teamwork of certain players and raised crisis theories. It wasn’t uncommon to see opinions that the recruitment policy of Chairman Antonio Quaresma, who chased away key players and only pushed ‘big stars,’ was fundamentally wrong. And Evan, who symbolized Chairman Quaresma’s aggressive recruitment policy, was the press’s most delectable target.
The newspapers criticized daily that Evan, who had transferred to Madrid, was by no means worth a hundred million euros. If one looked at the facts one by one, his performance wasn't actually that bad. His ratings were average, his link-up play with teammates leading to assists was good, and as a striker he ran around the pitch so diligently that his work rate was outstanding.
However, he hadn't scored a goal yet. It was a performance unworthy of the reputation of someone who had won the Premier League top scorer award for five consecutive seasons. It was understandable that fans who had expected a scoring prowess bubbling like an active volcano were disappointed. So Evan, a striker chasing goals, had no choice but to hang his head.
Evan himself felt so frustrated he could die that goals simply wouldn't come. The fact that his personal slump happened to coincide with the team's poor form meant that neither the gazes watching him nor he himself could wait with patience.
The more it was like this, the more Evan devoted himself to training. In his current state, he barely even felt like having sex. Evan kicked the ball and sweated. Left alone in the empty training ground, he continued practicing shots that, unfortunately, missed the goal. Nevertheless, a corner of his heart felt empty and powerless.
As always, Evan arrived early at the training ground that morning and frowned when he spotted a familiar face in the newspaper hanging at the stand. On the front pages of every daily published in Madrid were huge photos of Evan Morrison and the sexy model with whom he'd spent a passionate night.
Reading the article, the content was a sight to behold. The model he'd hung out with at Eduardo's party last time had described the night with Evan as provocatively as possible. Along with the exposé of a charming football star's private life, Madrid buzzed as chaotically as when the news of Evan's transfer had first broken.
Of course, this time it came with scathing criticism that Evan couldn't score goals properly and was only interested in pleasure. The sarcastic jabs—asking if he'd come to Madrid to play with his lower body rather than to play football—stabbed painfully at Evan.
"Of course, I fully respect your private life."
English with a thick French accent spoke slowly but clearly. Vincent Lenar, manager of Madrid CF, who had called for Evan, swept his gaze down Evan with a cold, calculating stare. The unique gravitas of a middle-aged gentleman felt far more uncomfortable to Evan than usual. Evan couldn't dare meet his eyes.
"You're at an age teeming with vitality."
"……."
"But I hope you'll exercise restraint when both the team and you are in crisis."
"……."
"Though it is my judgment that you haven't yet sufficiently adapted to the league."
Evan's face flushed red. It wasn't because he was ashamed of his private life. Rather, the fact that his football was failing to meet people's expectations was freshly brought to mind.
"Starving journalists don't miss moments of crisis; they turn into piranhas."
"……."
"If you are the best player, you must know how to act more prudently."
"Yes. I understand."
Evan pressed his lips tightly shut. The words that followed were gentle, yet they felt like they were digging into him somewhere. Forcing a smile, Evan nodded at Manager Lenar while feeling inwardly wronged. It wasn't as if Evan had deliberately lived a dissolute life timing it with the team's slump.
It had only been reported as if he'd done it just yesterday, but in reality, it was sex he'd had out of sheer joy from a victory quite some time ago. Since then, Evan had been restraining himself. In fact, no one was more desperate for a goal than Evan himself.
But a footballer had to prove his ability through results. Everything else was just excuses. So Evan couldn't add a word.
However, the thought that there was no one completely on his side here left a corner of his heart bleak.
***
The training ground was busy preparing for the match ahead of the away trip to France. The Champions League group stage match was two days away. Madrid CF had always been a strong contender for the Champions League, which selected Europe's strongest football teams. This year too, they absolutely had to win in their first step toward it.
They split the squad into Team A and Team B for a practice match. After finishing the abbreviated thirty-minute match, his breath was somewhat ragged. The pressure of the team's slump, which the media had recently been sensationalizing and pointing out, was weighing on the managers and players whether they realized it or not. Having been scolded by the manager, Evan couldn't help but be more withdrawn than usual. The one lifting the generally gloomy atmosphere of the training ground was the cheerful-by-nature Mikel.
"It’s my first time going to Lyon."
Mikel, who had just been named to the first-team squad, seemed quite excited about the away match to Lyon, France. When break time came, he ran up to Evan as always and chattered on about this and that.
"If we win the match, I want to check out a club there."
Mikel, watching for his cue, spoke as if dreaming. It was a small voice, like a soliloquy. When Evan glanced back at him, the tan face reflected in his eyes looked far too young. He didn't even look like he knew the first thing about clubs. Evan, stretching his arms and legs, snickered.
"If it's a club in Lyon, you know I'm well acquainted."
Evan put on a bragging, boastful face. It was true, but more than that, it was a joke to tease Mikel. The eyes of Mikel, who looked up to Evan, went round at once.
"Wow, Evan. Then have you slept with a French woman?"
"Is that even a question?"
Just as Mikel was oohing and aahing over Evan, who was holding back a laugh and shrugging his shoulders for no reason—
"I really can't stand this."
Someone cut in between Evan and Mikel, who had been engrossed in conversation. It was Enrique Lopez, captain and center back of Madrid. A strict, conservative man of principles, he was the polar opposite in personality to the free-spirited Evan.
"Not content with causing a scandal, you're still desperate to show off and stand out."
"Enrique…."
"Morrison, don't you even have a concept of 'team' in your head?"
"That's not—"
Evan trailed off, confused himself. He didn't know if Enrique was overreacting to a simple joke, or if he was truly shaking the team's teamwork at Madrid.
"That is not Madridismo (the spirit of Madrid)."
Enrique declared in stubborn English with a strong Spanish accent. The intimidation and charisma born from wearing the captain's armband for the past three years were considerable. The training ground, which had been buzzing with chatter, fell silent at once. Fluttering gazes deliberately avoided Evan's eyes.
"……."
"……."
"I'm sorry."
Enrique didn't properly accept Evan's apology. He glanced at Evan with a displeased look and then simply turned away. Evan, who had only wanted to joke around with Mikel, felt wronged once again. Yet there was no one anywhere to whom he could appeal that sorrow.
Mikel, meeting Evan's eyes, scrunched his brows and expressed an apology with his expression, but unable to read the captain's mood, he couldn't say another word to Evan. Hesitating, he moved away from Evan and simply started stretching again.
Yan or Eduardo, whom he usually got along with well, didn't encourage Evan by saying it was no big deal. No, they couldn't. The team's atmosphere was too subdued lately for any conspicuous individual actions.
*So no one is truly on my side.* Realizing this painful fact once more, Evan laughed hollowly.
He plopped down onto the ground, still damp from the sprinkling rain not long ago. He fixed his gaze on the distance and let time pass blankly. Evan, unable to get the praise and recognition he needed, felt like an electronic device with a dead battery.
How much time had passed like that? Evan blinked at the huge shadow cast over his face. He loosely directed his half-opened eyes upward. Where his gaze landed, unexpectedly, was Jaemin.
Still, a silent, expressionless face. And when he squatted down and stood up again, a bottle of sports drink lay between Evan's legs. Other than that, not a single word. Evan stared blankly at the bottle containing blue liquid. When Evan raised his head again, the tall figure was already striding away from him.
A bewildered Evan wondered if Jaemin had thrown a sports drink between his legs and left. That probably wasn't it, right? His heart, which had startled before calming, beat up shallowly, thump-thump. Evan collected himself and opened the cap of the sports drink. He gulped down the sweet liquid. He felt a strangely stinging sensation.
Soon, the signal to resume training sounded. Evan pinged the now-empty bottle into the trash can.
***
The away match in Lyon ended in a draw after all. Evan's scoring boots remained silent, and media criticism over the poor result grew harsher. The team was staking everything on the result of the fourth-round away match against Valencia coming up that weekend.
People commonly think that in La Liga, Madrid and Barcelona divide the league between them. Criticism that the rest of the league's teams couldn't develop properly because of the firmly established duopoly's cartel was endless. But that didn't mean all teams in the league besides Madrid and Barcelona were weak. La Liga had other historically strong teams besides the two.
One of them was precisely the fourth-round opponent based in Valencia. Because the opponent was a formidable force that couldn't be ignored, the away match felt burdensome. But turned around, it was also the best opportunity to stage a comeback.
Manager Lenar emphasized the importance of this match several times in the dressing room before kickoff and firmly reinforced tactical instructions. Captain Enrique also stoked the players' fighting spirit, emphasizing their pride as Madridistas.
"Waah!"
Playing an aggressive passing game, Madrid dominated Valencia, almost monopolizing possession in the early stages. Receiving Evan's through pass, Yan unleashed a sharp shot that narrowly grazed the Valencia goalkeeper's fingertips. A roar mixed with jeers and cheers erupted. The heated air permeated Evan's ball. Excitement flooded in. The atmosphere was heating up; something felt like it was going to happen.
But before long, a deep sigh burst from the Madrid supporters who had been worked up. Valencia was by no means an easy team. Madrid, deploying an aggressive attacking posture, had their fullbacks deeply overlapping in the opponent's half.
Taking advantage, Valencia launched a counterattack and sharply pierced through Madrid's loosened defensive line. A Valencia attacker who had penetrated behind the defense took a right-footed shot. A defender cleared the shot outside the goal line, but a corner kick was called immediately.
It was a set piece. Madrid and Valencia players gathered in front of the goalpost, pushing each other's bodies and engaging in a tense battle of nerves. The Valencia kicker standing at the corner of the pitch sent a signal with his hand and delivered a high cross. Whoosh. A tall Valencia defender jumped high and headed the ball floating in the air. The ball veered straight toward Madrid's goal.
It was a good angle. Tension ran through the Madrid players. Reacting with excellent reflexes, Jaemin stretched his arm long and punched the ball. Relief lasted but a moment. A Valencia midfielder didn't miss the ball as it dropped to the ground. Taking advantage of the moment Jaemin's posture was broken from barely stopping the ball, the Valencia midfielder lightly touched it with his left foot. The ball crossed the goal line and was sucked into the net.
"Damn!"
With the goal following the corner kick situation, Valencia took a 1-0 lead in the match. The Madrid players, having conceded from a set piece, wore hollow expressions. An uneasy premonition that the signs of the match weren't very good today gloomily lingered among the players in red uniforms.
Evan did his best to turn the match, which was tilting toward Valencia, around. But whenever Evan touched the ball, both Valencia fans and Madrid fans sent showers of jeers at him. Evan's dribbling, weak in hostile atmospheres, kept going awry.
Evan gritted his teeth and ran around the pitch trying to create opportunities. But his heart was impatient. Receiving a cross sent to the far post by a winger who had broken through the left flank, Evan took a shot. But his footing was off, so the power didn't go in properly. The opposing goalkeeper easily caught the ball Evan had kicked.
Similar situations repeated several times after that. Yet Evan couldn't score even once. Until the end of the second half, the score didn't change. Madrid lost 1-0 to Valencia. Valencia fans filling the stadium chanted the name of the midfielder who had scored. The Madrid players surrounded by hostile cheers hung their heads low.
Winning was a given for the team. Madrid CF had to not only win often but absolutely could not lose. Defeat was a mistake that couldn't be tolerated. Between Madrid and Barcelona—teams with abilities already on track—it was precisely the absence of such mistakes that determined the owner of the league championship trophy. Rather than the team that wins the most, the team that loses the least wins in La Liga; that was the nature of the league.
The dressing room was silent. It was a heavy atmosphere where no one could rashly speak. The players quietly finished showering and changed clothes.
While his teammates moved about busily, Evan plopped into a chair and hung his head. He hadn't scored again today. He had lost to the opposing team too. That fact made him unbearably furious.
"Hoo…"
Evan brushed his burning hot face with his palm. The players disappeared one by one to board the club bus. There was a voice calling Evan, but he ignored it. Having become thoroughly alone, Evan breathed roughly in ragged gasps. A drop of water fell onto the dressing room floor with a plop.
'Get the hell back to London!'
'Damn, that useless bastard is our team's striker!'
'The damn club threw money into the air!'
The Madrid fans who had traveled to Valencia for the away match were furious to their core. The curses and insults they had poured on Evan came to mind.
Plop. Plop. The color of the water drops falling to his feet gradually darkened. Considering their early performance, it was a game they could have easily won. It was a truly important match that could have completely reversed the team's depressed atmosphere. He recalled the ball that had been helplessly sucked into Madrid's goal, untouchable. He remembered again his shot today that had hit the crossbar and bounced out.
Thud.
The football boot Evan had thrown, his eyes red-rimmed, hit the locker and bounced out with a clack. Glaring at the distorted boot, Evan was breathing roughly. His emotions surged like fierce waves. He couldn't calm down easily. He was angry at himself, and this situation was unbearably frustrating.
"Hueeeeng."
In the end, Evan burst into loud sobs. Once he started crying aloud, sorrow poured out so much it was hard to stop. It wasn't only today's match result; the emotions that had been piling up layer by layer all this time came crashing down like a broken dam.
Evan wanted to do well too. He wanted to lead the team to prosperity by scoring splendid goals. He was making enough effort. But the situation that wouldn't work out no matter what felt cruel.
He hadn't come to Madrid for this. Evan suddenly missed London. The days when he had played football happily, loved and recognized.
"Hue… Uuu…"
Evan's shoulders heaved greatly with the sobs that wouldn't cease. The air of the empty dressing room was desolately cold. In the end, what was most heartbreaking was that no one understood his heart like this.
It was then that the dressing room door opened. Evan, completely absorbed in his loud crying, only noticed the presence entering through the door after it had approached for some time. A huge shadow loomed over Evan. A flustered Evan belatedly wiped the tears streaming down his face, but his eyes were already red and swollen.
Because he had cried so much, Evan's eyes were dry and his vision blurry. He blinked his eyes, covered densely with golden eyelashes, several times. His vision cleared. The identity of the person before him was so unexpected that his tears stopped at once. Evan took a small breath and looked up at the man in front of him.
"Evan."
A voice so low it sent chills down the spine split the air. Jaemin called Evan's name.
"……."
Being caught crying like a child was both shameful and disconcerting for Evan. But at the same time, confirming someone's presence approaching him in a situation where he had thought himself completely alone brought a subtle sense of relief. He poked his head up after all. Evan's blue eyes transparently gazed at Jaemin. Jaemin, fiddling with his ear, let out a long sigh.
Evan flinched at the unfamiliar sensation touching his shoulder. Jaemin tapped Evan's shoulder with an incredibly clumsy gesture. As if trying to comfort him.
"That…"
Jaemin, bending his knees, met Evan's gaze. Quiet, pitch-black eyes stared clearly at Evan. A thick tongue slickly licked over the lips that were fumbling at the end of words.
"You know it's not your fault."
Jaemin couldn't hold Evan's eyes for long. Eventually dropping his gaze to the floor where teardrops had spread messily, Jaemin mumbled clumsily. It was a quiet, low voice that seemed barely audible, but its meaning was conveyed clearly to Evan.
Jaemin gripped Evan's shoulder tightly and then let go. His palm was as hard as rock, but his touch was extremely careful. With a face full of things to say, Jaemin couldn't continue. The dressing room was silent. Feeling somewhat awkward, Evan looked around.
Then, upon suddenly looking, the tips of Jaemin's ears were burning red. Was he embarrassed? Anyway, Jaemin didn't seem skilled at comforting. Or perhaps, not skilled at it with Evan.
"I'll defend better from now on…."
Jaemin suddenly vowed with a determined face. Evan and Jaemin were quite close. The hot breath Jaemin exhaled reached warmly. Evan stared blankly up at Jaemin. Perhaps because he hadn't yet escaped the aftereffects of crying, Evan's whole head felt hazy and numb. He was confused about what he should say to Jaemin.
"Hic."
In the end, what burst out wasn't words but a hiccup. Evan hadn't been embarrassed about being caught crying, but why was a hiccup such a big deal? Evan's face turned bright red in an instant. Hic. Hic. Clenching his fist, Evan thumped his chest and heaved. But once hiccups started, they didn't stop easily.
Jaemin brought his hand close to Evan's back but couldn't bring himself to touch it carelessly, circling nearby instead. Tears welled up again in Evan's eyes as he held back the hiccups. Hic. When he let it out once more, Jaemin's palm slowly patted Evan's back. Only then did Evan's diaphragm begin to calm. The hesitant palm slid once down Evan's spine.
"……."
"……."
Once the hiccups stopped too, he wondered what all this commotion had been about. The atmosphere after everything had quietly settled was awkward. A bit sheepish, Evan trudged over and picked up the football boot he'd thrown. Jaemin watched Evan from afar, and when their eyes met, he slightly turned his head.
"People are waiting."
"Yeah."
"Shall we go now?"
"Yeah."
Hearing Jaemin's voice asking softly, Evan belatedly felt wonder. Today, Jaemin was warm and kind to Evan as if he were a completely different person from before. Evan had no way of knowing what change of heart had made Jaemin treat him kindly.
But if one thing was certain, he had desperately needed comfort just now. And the one who had been there was Jaemin.
"Yoon."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
As soon as Evan finished speaking, this time not just his earlobes but Jaemin's whole face turned bright red. Was "thank you" really such an embarrassing word? Evan briefly wondered. Jaemin opened the dressing room door for Evan. Evan, with a duffel bag over his left shoulder, exited through the gap in the door shadowed by Jaemin.
Thus Evan headed toward the club bus with Jaemin. While walking slowly, matching steps with him, a fundamental question arose in Evan.
*But, didn't this guy hate me?*
***
Any footballer experiences a slump. However, when playing for Preston FC, Evan hadn't struggled greatly with slumps. In football, there's a famous saying: form is temporary, but class is permanent. Naturally, Evan believed without doubt that his class was that of a world-class footballer. When his body felt heavier than usual, he believed his class would return and simply waited for the temporary sandbags to fall quickly from his legs.
But Evan, who had settled in Madrid after leaving London where he had lived for twenty-seven years, realized that such positive thinking had only been possible because of the friendly environment surrounding him. Moving leagues didn't simply mean the opposing teams and football play styles changed. The transfer to Madrid had absolutely changed the environment surrounding the life of a single person named Evan.
Preston manager Jonathan Acrey had treated Evan like a father ever since picking him up as a youth player at eleven. Teammates who had played together since their youth days and built a young, confident team were colleagues and friends who knew each other more closely than anyone. When he returned home after a match, a freshly cooked warm meal awaited with his beloved family.
In Madrid, it wasn't like that. In this environment where everything was unfamiliar, there was no unconditional support for Evan. The gazes that looked at Evan were no longer based on warm affection. Evan was surrounded by cold evaluations and emotional gazes as a thorough product that had to prove his worth. The oppressive pressure falling coldly intimidated Evan. He felt driven to the edge of a cliff.
More than anything, what made it hardest for Evan was the thought that there was no one on his side here.
The day after the match, Evan opened his eyes in his Madrid mansion. Yellow sunlight pouring through the wide window shone smoothly along Evan's handsome profile just awakened from sleep. Evan stretched out his arm and took a long stretch. It had been a very long time since he had woken up with a clear head.
Nothing had changed in the situation compared to yesterday. Madrid CF was still mired in a slump, and Evan still couldn't score. Nevertheless, he felt somehow refreshed and lighthearted.
There was someone who worried about him. Someone who existed to tell him this situation wasn't his fault and cheer him on, saying he would help solve it. In Madrid, Evan wasn't alone as he had thought until now. Jaemin might have acted without much thought, but Evan gained great strength from it. Rinsing his body lightly with cold water, Evan headed to the training ground with a light body.
"……."
"……."
Arriving early at the training ground, Evan's eyes widened when he spotted someone. Jaemin was running, wearing a black sleeveless shirt. Evan waved his hand widely at him. When Jaemin turned around, their eyes met.
Evan smiled broadly and gave him a bright wink. The corner of Jaemin's lips, who tilted his head slightly with a stiff expression, twitched almost imperceptibly.
***
Evan participated actively in training. Until now, he had unconsciously felt the pressure to show something and prove himself during training. Today, he shook off such unnecessary emotions. He felt that he could just play his football like this.
In the practice match, Evan toyed with the ball with his left foot. Along with the leisure slowly returning to his mind, Evan's great strength—his vision for reading the game—returned as well. Evan quickly broke through the flank and penetrated the space, then unleashed a powerful shot straight at the opposing team's goal, drawing exclamations from those around him.
***
After training, Eduardo suggested having a light drinking gathering with colleagues at his house that evening. Evan, who had readily accepted Eduardo's invitation, put on a particularly cherished Thom Browne shirt and drove his Bugatti Chiron—a supercar he felt proud of every time he saw it—toward Eduardo's mansion.
Having spotted Evan entering through the front door, Eduardo welcomed him with a broad smile. It seemed Evan was not the only one who had received an invitation. In the mansion’s drawing room, Evan ran into Yan and greeted him amiably. Yan made light physical contact with Evan as he asked perfunctory questions about his well-being. When Evan discovered a dark silhouette fidgeting with his toes near the wall, his eyes grew round. Unexpectedly, Jaemin was there too.
Tequila of a rose-crimson hue was poured with a clatter into an ice glass garnished with a lime. The four Madrid players, having moved their seats to the terrace, clinked glasses and brought the alcohol to their lips. Evan furrowed his eyes faintly. The strong liquor, which he had not tasted in a long time, stung like an electric current.
“Haah….”
Evan exhaled softly. He glanced to the side. Their gazes brushed as though about to meet. He flinched. Pretending not to notice, he turned his head. Then he glanced again.
The reason he kept growing conscious of him… was because Jaemin had helped him out so much back then, so of course he would seem a little special and different. Having finished this rationalization quickly, Evan was now openly staring at Jaemin, who was sitting next to Eduardo.
Jaemin was quietly drinking without saying much. His upper body, contained in a black V-neck T-shirt that fit his frame snugly, was firm and well-balanced. While one hand held his glass, Jaemin’s other hand was loosely stuffed into the pocket of his dark blue jeans with a rough wash.
Rose-crimson alcohol was drawn in through his slightly parted lips. Evan blinked as he watched the glass being emptied. It was the first time he had sat at the same table as Jaemin to drink. As Jaemin tugged up the corner of his lips in a smile at Eduardo’s joke, he looked more languid than usual.
“Evan, what are you thinking so hard about?”
“Ah, nothing.”
“Here, have another drink.”
Eduardo filled Evan’s empty glass and tapped his shoulder. Jaemin’s shadowed eyes briefly touched upon Eduardo’s hand before falling away.
“Anyway, what I mean is that just because we lost the match, we don’t need to be depressed forever.”
“Mhm.”
“And stop worrying about Enrique’s moods from now on.”
“Sure, sure.”
“Really. If you only put on a long face, even doable things won’t get done.”
The cheerful Brazilian-born midfielder, who kept the spirit of Samba football deep in his heart, persuaded his teammates with eloquent gestures. Evan nodded slowly. It was true—when your spirits were low, your energy drained, and then your performance dropped, starting a vicious cycle. Trying to recall the freshness that had visited him that morning after a long while, Evan drank.
“Evan.”
When he set his empty glass down on the table, a cautious voice called his name. It was Yan.
“When I first transferred to Madrid from the German league, I really struggled too.”
“…Ah.”
“I was called a tall, lanky Dutchman who was useless and nothing but a creaky mess.”
Behind the confession blurted out so abruptly was clearly the intention to comfort Evan. Evan, who had not been prepared for it, felt slightly bewildered, but also grateful.
“That’s how it is for strikers. When you’re doing well, you’re praised like crazy.”
“Right.”
“Where there is glory, there are also deep shadows.”
Eduardo chimed in. Beside him, Jaemin nodded faintly.
“You’re not the only attacker on this team.”
“Yan.”
“The team’s results aren’t your fault either.”
Yan shrugged as if it were no big deal. Evan’s blue irises glistened. Even Evan, who had his dull moments, could see right through to his transparent intentions. The warm words his teammates carefully offered were filled with consolation for him.
“…….”
Evan’s eyelids grew hot. One side of his heart prickled. He was only now belatedly beginning to realize the things he hadn’t known because he had so rashly assumed and turned a blind eye. Just as in London, in Madrid, Evan was never alone.
“…Yes.”
“Huh?”
“Your movements aren’t bad.”
Jaemin, who had been silently tipping back his glass, opened his mouth. He murmured something just barely audible to Evan. In response to Evan’s following question, Jaemin leaned his body sideways. Jaemin’s long eyes narrowed. His thick, even eyebrows twitched. Brushing his hair back lightly, Jaemin repeated himself.
“So you will score soon.”
Having declared this, Jaemin tilted his head back and downed his glass. Evan stared at Jaemin fixedly. He couldn’t know on what basis Jaemin was so certain, but listening to Jaemin’s serious, weighty voice, it really felt like it was only natural that he would score a goal.
Just as he had averted his eyes from Evan again after offering words of absolute support, Jaemin’s attitude toward Evan was inconsistent. Evan found such a Jaemin utterly puzzling. Evan liked those who liked him, and ignored those who disliked him.
Then what should he do with Jaemin, who he couldn’t tell liked or disliked him?
“Evan. Everything will work out.”
Eduardo’s hand patted Evan’s back. Evan smiled, scrunching up his narrowing eyes. Evan’s self-confidence, which had wilted under consecutive slumps and defeats, began to shoot up toward the high sky, nourished by his teammates’ trust and goodwill.
***
He powerfully struck the lower half of the ball placed on the pitch.
The ball, having gained momentum, soared into the air. Evan caught his breath as he watched the trajectory of the receding ball. The ball, floating ordinarily, suddenly curved sharply as it neared the goal. However, it failed to be sucked into the goal and narrowly cleared the crossbar. Evan roughly wiped his forehead, now drenched in sweat, with the back of his hand and brought a new ball to his feet.
The training ground was silent hours after regular practice had ended. Most of the players, having finished the internal scrimmage and additional set-piece training in preparation for the weekend league home match, had returned home. However, Evan had voluntarily remained on the ground.
Evan’s heart was filled with resolve as he practiced his trademark, incisive free kicks.
*‘You will score soon.’*
He recalled Jaemin whispering in a low voice. Evan vowed that he would definitely score in this upcoming match. No, he was certain that he would score. Gaining his breath and placing a new ball, Evan was never tired.
*Thud!*
This time, the ball lodged into the corner of the goalpost by a hair’s breadth. Sweat dripped one after another from Evan’s elegant jawline, which had endured a moment of tension.
“…….”
The sky was already darkening, dyed in a dull crimson. It was the turning point where the seasons changed. Evan had believed all the players had gone home. Therefore, he was startled by Jaemin’s footsteps approaching the goalpost with heavy thuds. Evan quickly wiped his chin with the back of his hand, feigning nonchalance, and greeted Jaemin with a look.
“Your plant foot looks a little stiffer than usual.”
Jaemin blurted that out without so much as a greeting. Along with the sunset slowly devouring the sky, Jaemin’s face was also tinged with a reddish hue. Between the loosely hanging shadows, his high nose bridge and plump lips were visible.
“…….”
“You seem to be putting too much force into it.”
The moment he questioned the ordinary remark of “than usual,” Jaemin strode up and placed a ball in front of Evan. Evan felt his heart beat a little harder.
Listening to Jaemin, it did seem his plant foot had been somewhat stiff and tense. Though he played soccer every day, when practicing alone, there were times he failed to notice such basic things and passed them by. Evan consciously rotated his right ankle flexibly and stretched.
As more free kick attempts followed, Jaemin silently brought new balls over to Evan. While Jaemin watched meticulously, Evan’s kick gradually found its original rhythm. The free kick Evan struck again sliced through the air and dipped sharply down near the crossbar.
The soccer ball traced a trajectory beautiful like a painting. Soon after, the goal net shook refreshingly. After throwing his hand up high with an elated heart, Evan turned around to see Jaemin smiling brilliantly at him. A smile with not a single crease of worry shone clearly.
Watching Jaemin soar like a young boy, Evan rubbed his ear unnecessarily. It seemed like the first time he had seen Jaemin smile like that. Perhaps because it was someone who usually didn’t, his heart itched as though brushed by a feather.
At Evan’s suggestion to call it a day and head back, Jaemin began cleaning up the scattered ground. Evan helped him. The two shadows grew long. The green ground was dyed red by the broadly draping sunset.
***
The whistle signaling the start of the match blew, and Evan began running on the left flank. The Madrid spectators did not seem too pleased when Evan received the ball. In fact, up until the last match, Evan had often grown depressed by the boos erupting from the stands. Today was not like that.
*I’m going to score today.* Evan whispered to himself. It was closer to a clear conviction than a heavy burden. With his golden hair, youthful and neat face, and slender frame, Evan ran about the pitch lightly, filled with confidence. When Evan truly enjoyed soccer, there was no one who could stop him.
The match was quite aggressive. It was not uncommon for them to grab each other’s uniforms when the referee wasn’t looking. When an opposing player checked Evan and pushed him with his shoulder, Evan furrowed his brows deeply and poured out a thunderous curse.
“Fuck off, you piece of shit!”
Seeing Evan shout in English with a British accent, the Spanish player made a bewildered expression. At any rate, he had certainly seized the initiative. Today, Evan was not intimidated. Not in the least.
Evan’s passes were delicate and crafty, and his dribbling was fast and technical. Evan’s unique creative play was beautifully unfolding today in the Spanish Primera Liga, at Madrid CF’s San Jose Fernando Stadium.
With the ball at his feet, Evan constantly knocked at the opposing team’s goal. Even without the ball, he tried to find the best space to receive it. Having aggressively broken through the opponent’s flank, Evan dribbled the ball skillfully.
As the vanguard of the fiercely pressing attack, Evan was unquestionably leading Madrid’s charge. With movements that transitioned from consecutive flank breakthroughs to central penetration, the opposing goalkeeper panted as he barely managed to stop the goals. The opponent’s defenders couldn’t help but be startled and click their tongues at the agile movements that sharply pierced behind their defense.
Having come up from the flank, Evan continued dribbling fluidly. Through a feint, he caused the opposing defender to lose his physical balance, and Evan dug into the center. It was a golden opportunity. As he tried to enter the penalty box, the flustered opposing defender made a very rough tackle. A direct free kick was declared right away.
The soccer ball was placed about 20 meters from the goal. It was Evan who had earned the free kick, and Evan who stepped up as the kicker. The small ball in front of him could decide the match. Evan breathed in deeply and calmed his mind.
*‘Your plant foot looks a little stiffer than usual.’*
At the moment tension reached its peak, Jaemin’s words came to mind. Carefully positioning his plant foot, Evan extended his left foot.
The ball, struck at its lower half, effortlessly soared over the defensive wall. It was a precise and delicate shot. Not only the players watching nearby but also the spectators surrounding the stadium held their breath and focused on the ball’s trajectory.
The shot, flying so high that it seemed impossible to reach, plummeted like a lightning bolt as it neared the crossbar. The goalkeeper was helpless against Evan’s shot. The billowing, swaying goal net celebrated Evan’s success.
“Waaaah!”
Having succeeded in the high-sensitivity free kick, Evan slid his knees across the pitch. As he raised both fists and roared, the thunderous cheers pouring out deafened Evan’s ears. When the camera approached Evan, he winked, scrunching up his right eye at the lens. He looked like a lively and spirited player who had never experienced a slump.
Thanks to Evan’s goal, the tide of the match began to tilt toward Madrid. The opposing team did not give up easily. They seemed to think that with only a one-goal difference, there was still plenty to try for. Taking advantage of the slight lapse in Madrid’s concentration after conceding, the opposing team targeted the timing for a counterattack. Among them were some threatening shots chilling enough to send a shiver down Evan’s spine.
But in Madrid’s goal stood Jaemin. With outstanding reflexes and reaction speed, Jaemin saved the team from conceding on several occasions. The final twenty minutes of the match were a battle between the attackers persistently pounding on Madrid’s goal and Jaemin, Madrid’s goalkeeper, who did not yield even the slightest gap to those attackers.
In injury time, an attacker fired a shot toward the corner of the goal, and Jaemin, diving to embrace it once more, shook his clenched fist with a face flushed with excitement. Not long after Jaemin kicked the ball away, the whistle blowing the end of the match sounded. It was Madrid’s victory.
“Morrison! Our hero!”
Victory elevated everyone. As the players exited the pitch, the spectators began singing for Evan, who had scored his debut goal today and led the team to victory. Teammates including Yan and Eduardo offered their congratulations. Coach Renard also tapped Evan’s shoulder with a pleased expression, encouraging him. Even the captain, Enrique Lopez, gave a thumbs-up when his eyes met Evan’s.
“Ah…”
His heart, letting out a small gasp, swelled hotly. He was overjoyed that he could lead the desperately hoped-for victory with the debut goal he had been waiting for. His ears rang with the pounding of his heart.
“Evan! Congratulations on your La Liga debut goal!”
Mikel, who had played about 20 minutes as a second-half substitute today, hugged Evan tightly. His voice, thick with excitement, trembled slightly. The pure goodwill brimming on his face made Evan feel even better.
“I knew you could do it, as expected!”
“Of course. I knew I could do it too.”
“Ha ha, really?”
“Yeah. I was born to be a star.”
Evan, putting on a confident expression, thumped his chest. *Wow, what a mentality…* Finding the muttering Mikel cute, Evan hugged him and ruffled his hair wildly. It was then that something caught the eye of Evan, who was laughing with his eyes curved into crescents.
“Look, there goes today’s other hero.”
Mikel’s outstretched finger pointed at Jaemin, who was wearing a tight black uniform. Unexpectedly, Jaemin strode toward Evan and Mikel. Though he hadn’t done anything particularly wrong, Evan let go of Mikel, whose hair he had been ruffling.
Evan looked up at Jaemin’s shimmering, dark eyes. Just as Jaemin’s plump lips opened as if to say something, Mikel charged at Jaemin this time.
“Wow. You were singing ‘Evan Morrison, Evan Morrison’ like that, and now…”
Evan was bewildered. What was he talking about?
“Isn’t it because Evan scored today that you defended like your life depended on it? Like ‘I must protect the victory Evan’s goal created!’”
“Hey. That’s not it.”
“Why are you taking a joke so seriously? Or did it strike a nerve?”
The tips of Jaemin’s ears turned red, and he was visibly flustered. He covered the mouth of Mikel, who was hopping around nearby making a fuss. Having subdued Mikel, who struggled making loud muffled sounds, Jaemin turned to Evan with an awkward face. It was an expression as if he might smile or not. Watching Jaemin’s lips move subtly, Evan felt somehow ticklish.
“…Congratulations, Evan.”
A low voice whispered.
“Ah, uh-huh.”
Evan grew conflicted. The encouragement in the dressing room after the away match, the advice when taking the free kick that allowed him to score, and the brilliant saves that protected the team’s victory today—all of it…
“I’ll be off then.”
While Evan stood there with his mouth open, hesitating, Jaemin, who had put Mikel in a headlock, strode away. Evan’s eyebrows drooped as he kicked the ground lightly and needlessly with the tip of his soccer boot.
In the end, he couldn’t say thank you to Jaemin.