106. The Type to Keep His Word -3
June 4, 2022.
Under the sun that had grown intense, the people coming and going through the streets of Florence wore light clothing. A cityscape no different from usual. Yet, there was somehow an inexplicable sense of leisure. The streets that ought to be bustling were relatively quiet, and more than one or two shops had their doors closed despite it not even being the weekend. 'CLOSED' signs hung here and there in the shops, as if a general strike had broken out. One could easily complain about this, but the people who checked the reason for the closure all turned around with smiles. Because everyone sympathized that it was a reason worth doing so for.
—Closed June 4–6 for personal reasons—
—Closed for two days—
—Gone to watch soccer. Come again next time.—
—Owner gone to watch Fiorentina win the championship—
Everyone was heading to Rome.
It was a challenge for the championship after a whopping 22 years. 22 years. It may be called 22 years, but what a long time of waiting it had been. While Fiorentina had been unable to lift the championship trophy, five World Cups had taken place. A child born at the time of the last championship was already well into adulthood, and those who had been youths in their twenties had become middle-aged. After that long period, Fiorentina was once again challenging for the championship. Those who wanted to witness with their own eyes the era they had only heard about from adults, and those who wanted to return to that era once more. Everyone was heading to Rome.
There were this many people for whom livelihood meant nothing if they could only watch Fiorentina win in real time, live on the scene. To that extent, the people of Florence had inflated their longing for a championship after 22 years to the utmost.
"Up we go."
Amidst all this, Umberto, the owner of *The Morning of Florence*, which claimed to be the best fruit shop in Florence, was also dusting off his hands after finishing locking up. By nature of a shop that handled only fresh fruit, Umberto had not taken more than two days off in over 20 years... but this time, he had no choice but to leave the shop empty. Because he wanted to see it with his own two eyes. The sight of that boy, green as an unripe apple, who stopped by the shop every morning, becoming Fiorentina's hero.
"Alright, that's done."
Umberto, having put out the sign for the last time, nodded in satisfaction. The sign read thus:
Though it was a brazen message for a sign announcing a closure, Umberto merely chuckled. It was also confidence in the diligence he had maintained for 20 years.
"Let's go."
So as not to be late for his reserved train, Umberto hurried his steps.
ㆍㆍㆍ
6:00 PM, June 5, 2022.
Rome, Italy. Stadio Olimpico.
The giant stadium boasting a total capacity of 70,000 was packed to the brim with spectators. In fact, the density was such that the word "sold out" hardly seemed sufficient; at a glance, it looked like there were far more than 70,000. But anyway, it was sold out. Total official attendance: 70,634. Because it was a match held at a neutral venue, exactly half of them were Nerazzurri and half were Viola. The chants shouted by both teams' fans mixed together, creating a strange cacophony. Though the whistle had not yet blown, the match seemed already underway thanks to the fans' shouting match.
Amala—!
Pazza Inter, amala—!
È una gioia infinita—!
Che dura una vita—!
Pazza Inter, amala—!
Inter were thirstier than anyone for victory. They had shown good form throughout the season and achieved results beyond expectations, but they were ultimately without a trophy. They had been eliminated in the Round of 16 in the Champions League and finished runners-up in the league by a two-point margin. And the ones who had taken the title by that two-point margin were none other than AC Milan. The two Milan sides were considered the most famous rivals even in Europe; since their rivals had taken the league title, Inter too were in a situation where they needed to lift something to avoid disgrace. The Nerazzurri hoped that would be today's Coppa Italia trophy, and their desperation-filled longing that losing would mean utter ruin was erupting through their enormous voices.
Yet... the voices of the Viola seated on the opposite side were no less formidable. No, perhaps they were even louder.
Oh Fiorentina—!
Di ogni squadra ti vogliam regina!
Oh Fiorentina—!
Combatti ovunque ardita e con valor!
Forza Fiorentina—!
Alé viola—!
Inter had at least won last year. This side had been without a trophy for 22 years. 22 years. As it was the moment when the longing of those 22 years had come before their eyes, the voices of fans who had no intention of returning empty-handed shook the earth. Everyone was of different ages, different jobs, different lives lived, but in this very moment, wearing the same purple uniform and singing the same chant, the 35,000 were one. They wanted Fiorentina to win.
Waaaaaaaah—!!
With a tremendous roar, the players of both teams began to appear on the field.
*
That's just the way sports are, but finals in particular have an especially cruel side. Because with a single match, one side takes everything and the other loses everything.
"Let's pour it all out. Just, pour it all out. There is no tomorrow. Let's fight with the mindset that we'll kill them all and die ourselves too."
Gathered in the center of the pitch with arms over shoulders, hearing the captain's voice tremble quite a bit, I swallowed hard. It wasn't just me; sounds of swallowing could be heard here and there. It was hard to keep still, and I was so tense my pounding heart seemed audible in my ears... but the fact that I wasn't the only one so tense gave me a surprising sense of stability.
It's only natural to be nervous. So there's no need to worry.
"Now, let's go."
"Let's go, let's go!"
"Forza—!"
"Viola—!!"
Shouting the final Viola of the season, we scattered to our positions. I too walked near the center circle, cracking my neck side to side and swinging my arms around while looking around the stadium. Many fans were visible, and simultaneously, I felt responsibility. What would happen if we lost? Everyone would be sad. How could we, after coming all this way. It was hard to even dare imagine the magnitude of that sorrow. So, I decided not to imagine it.
If I can't do it... countless people will be sad, but. Conversely, if I do well, countless people will be happy. I am someone blessed with the ability to make them happy. Moreover, I am someone blessed with the ability to make the person precious to me smile.
"...I can do it."
Repeating such things to myself, I waited for the whistle. It wasn't my first final. But it was the first time I was this nervous, so I felt I had to mutter like this.
...I promised with my own mouth. To return to Florence with the trophy.
"—How are you going to handle that?"
Jiu's voice crossed my mind for a moment, and a short laugh slipped out. Right. How did I make such a promise, thinking I could handle it?
But, you know. Do you know that everything I've said up until now were all things I couldn't handle? But I kept them. With just that funny thought of wanting to look good to someone. So today, too... the words I spat out, I'll keep them myself.
Beeeeep—!
Hearing the vigorously sounding whistle, I stomped the ground even more vigorously.
*
Cramped.
More than anything, the first impression of the final was "cramped." We had come out in a 4-3-3 formation, and the opponent in a classic 3-5-2. Just from the displayed numbers, there were eight in the midfield, but in reality, there were more than that. The opponent had many midfielders to begin with, so they formed a fairly dense midfield line. For us too, with Saponara and Romero on the flanks taking high positions, me dropping down added one more to the midfield. In reality, a phenomenon where nearly ten players crowded the midfield was occurring.
Thwack—!
Thwack—!
Thanks to that, I could feel the tempo of the match was quite fast. In the narrow area, the opponent connected short passes, and no player took more than three touches. It was only natural. Since everyone maintained close distances, pressure was applied to the player with the ball within three seconds. Holding onto the ball for long in such an environment took considerable courage. Nevertheless, though I could feel confidence in the opponent's appearance of circulating passes in this cramped space, on the other hand, I could also feel that they were nervous. Because their pass circulation looked somewhat urgent, as if they were passing around a bomb, rather than composed.
The opponents were human too, and visibly nervous.
"Hold your positions! Don't go out!"
Of course, it was the same for us, so there were moments when the line was disordered, but each time, the captain's voice steadied it. Seeing that, I suddenly kept getting the feeling from when I played on the U17 team. Because the seniors who normally seemed so far above me had expressions no different from the U17 kids. So I thought the captain's role would be great today. Because while everyone was busy joking around at the training ground, on the field, everyone relied on the captain. Starting with me.
Thwack—!
Thwack—!
At any rate, the opponent's passes continued carefully. That sight felt so selfish it made me angry for a moment. Because it was blatantly obvious that during the early period when acclimation to the pitch was necessary, they intended to adapt by keeping the ball to themselves. Of course, the fact that I, the opponent, was angry meant Inter were playing smart.
"Slowly, don't run too much—"
While chasing the ball, Bonaventura passed by my side and spoke. At those words, I slowed down a bit. Though my range of activity was wide, from the front line to the midfield, my role was ultimately to spread influence on the attack. That was the basics, but I had grown so impatient that I seemed to have forgotten those basics. This is why even the top scorer title isn't an award just for me. Right. I needed to breathe as a team and trust my teammates a little more.
With that thought, I caught my breath for a moment and expanded my senses to look down on the field from above. Just because the space was cramped didn't mean my vision should be cramped too. Throwing away impatience, I read the shape of play in advance and drew up a map so that whenever the ball came to me, I could continue the next play. Then, at a glance... when I saw some empty space.
A not-so-welcome pass from the opponent advanced forward.
Whoooosh—!
The long ball sent lofting high flew toward near the box. At the point where the ball was predicted to drop stood the tall opposing striker. And I could see the stocky striker approaching around him. The Big and Small combination one might only see in tactical textbooks—Edin Dzeko and Lautaro Martinez. It might look a bit old-fashioned, but the things that appear in textbooks are there for a reason. Theory was unfolding into practice.
Thwaaack—!
The ball that touched Dzeko's head dropped in front, and Lautaro quickly snatched it. Before the match, the coach had told us to be most wary of Lautaro. And with his first touch, Lautaro showed why.
Whoooosh—!
Without going further in, he created an angle with just two touches and shot right away. The shot struck from the front of the arc traveled threateningly toward the goal. However, the defenders positioned in front of the box had narrowed the angle fairly well. That shot headed straight toward the goalkeeper.
Thwaaack—!
It nestled honestly into his arms.
The goalkeeper, cradling the ball as preciously as if holding a baby, fell forward and assessed the situation.
Woooooah—!
At that moment, an exclamation that seemed to mix several meanings enveloped the stadium. It was from some distance, and because it was a shot straight at the goalkeeper. Normally, it might have been a scene that passed without much meaning... but today, the atmosphere was definitely different. It was understandable why the coach had told us to be wary of him—how a single confident shot could draw exclamations from the crowd and seize the atmosphere of the stadium.
"..."
Hmm.
While thinking that, I suddenly grew curious. What did the opposing team's coach... tell them to be most wary of among us?
Tatatat—!
While preparing for the goal kick, I dropped a little lower. Teammates who noticed me like that exchanged glances...
Thwack—!
The goal kick was taken short.
Thwack—!
Thwack—!
The ball then went through Milenkovic, Nastasic, to Torreira, then touched Bonaventura's foot before being delivered to me.
Tock—!
Though it was a pass coming from behind, since my body direction was open, I took it with the outside of my foot. Thanks to that, turning forward was easy. Turning like that, the still-dense formation of the opposing players came into view. For a moment, greed arose. Just as the player we'd been told to be most wary of had shown why...
I felt like showing them why too.
*Why I'm the league's top scorer.*
Honestly, it might be closer to self-suggestion than greed. I felt I had to do this to shake off the tension, so I repeated it in my head.
*I am the Serie A top scorer, and the opponent can't stop me.*
Doing this, I wondered if I'd gone crazy from being so nervous, but it didn't matter. I had to go crazy anyway. Every moment up until now had been like that.
Tatatat—!
Two, then three opponents approached, narrowing the gap.
Tap, tap—!
But instead of turning back, I tapped the ball forward and advanced.
I intended to seize the atmosphere.