107. The Type Who Keeps His Word -4
I’d received the ball in a fairly deep position, so there were many opponents standing in my way.
Tok-!
I shifted my weight onto my left foot, my plant foot, and with my right foot relaxed, I lightly tapped the ball with the outside of my foot, waiting for the opponent to commit first.
Unlike the last defenders, midfielders have a tendency to rush in to steal the ball.
They probably think it's great if they can apply pressure and take it, and even if they can't, there are plenty of players behind them.
Turn that on its head, and shedding that pressure isn't such a difficult task.
Tatatat-!
The opponent approached, stomping his foot as if to threaten me.
Watching him closely, the moment his left foot stretched out, I knocked the ball to the right.
Since he had committed with his left foot, knocking it that way left him with no secondary means of stopping me.
All I had to do was open up enough of an angle so it wouldn't get caught on his foot and move the ball.
Tatat-!
Sending one man behind me like that, I slowly began to pick up speed.
If I stood still while surrounded, I'd inevitably be subjected to physical pressure.
Of course, I could draw a foul and protect the ball, but... that wasn't enough.
Not if I wanted to bring the momentum over.
I wanted to draw exclamations from the crowd and bring the stadium's atmosphere to our side.
Tatatat-!
As I advanced, I saw the approaching opponent stop and lower his stance.
There were only two such opponents right in front of me.
Without the slightest fear, I charged straight at them.
Then, the instant our distance closed to within three steps...
Paaang-!
I fed the ball to the left, and while the opponent's gaze turned that way, I spun behind him and ran.
It was so obvious.
We were in a position where a single steal would lead straight to a counterattack, so they were clearly focused only on the ball, convinced they could take it.
Thanks to that, it seemed I was the only one who noticed Senior Bonaventura approaching to receive the pass. After giving him a light pass, I could move freely.
"Hey!"
Paaang-!
Senior Bonaventura's return pass landed right in front of my foot, and I pushed my first touch forward, maintaining my speed as I advanced.
With that movement, I crossed the halfway line in an instant.
Woooooah-!
Exclamations burst from our stands in response, but I still wasn't satisfied.
Louder... It had to blanket the entire stadium.
Tatatat-!
Having broken out of the tight space, I raised my speed even more. I pushed off the grass powerfully with my cleats, delicately touched the ball, and carried it within a single stride.
Listening to the wind brushing past my ears, I watched the movements ahead.
As expected, the opponents were maintaining their intervals in a tight defensive line.
They showed a clear resolve to concede the wide spaces but never the central areas.
Although Senior Saponara and Romero were stretched out wide to the left and right, if the ball eventually came centrally, we would be at a disadvantage in competitiveness inside the box. It seemed like a fairly appropriate response from them.
But I had no leisure to praise the enemy's defense.
Our mission was to turn even what was right into something wrong.
Tatatat-!
I entered along the right half-space until I was near the box. The defenders lined up in a row all crouched low and stared only at me.
I judged that I should aim for that ambiguous space between one defender and the next.
Tatat-!
I reduced my speed, controlled the ball with the outside of my left foot, and cut my direction to the left.
Simultaneously, through my peripheral vision, I detected Saponara on the left dashing into the center of the box, and Romero on the right penetrating the space behind the fullback.
At those movements, the wide defenders subtly retreated backward. With one defender right in front of me, I shuffled in place and dangled my left foot.
As if I were about to thread a through ball at any moment.
Tatat-!
...Fun.
The sight of the opponent flinching at my slightest movement.
What's more, they didn't even think of closing in, only keeping their hands behind their backs and maintaining distance. It was as if they knew that if they charged in, they'd be skinned alive.
The opponent acknowledged me, too.
Not as a sixteen-year-old brat... but as the top scorer of Serie A, the player who put the ball in the net better than anyone in this country.
At that fact, tension drained away, and instead, I felt confidence swelling up.
And that confidence led me to set my mind on a shot.
Tat-!
I nudged the ball slightly with the outside of my left foot, then planted my right foot firmly on the ground as the pivot foot and drew my left foot back.
My upper body soon tilted to the right, so I didn't achieve a textbook shooting posture, but since my goal had been a half-beat quicker shot from the start, I didn't care and simply extended my left foot.
Straightening my ankle fully, I struck the center of the ball as if powerfully pushing through it.
Bbbaaaaaang-!
...A refreshing sensation traveled up my left foot.
If it felt light rather than heavy like now, that meant it had caught the instep cleanly.
Shhhhhhwooooosh-
The ball passed the defender with his hands behind his back and flew low.
Below knee height. The trajectory was toward the left goalpost.
No spin.
The pattern on the official final match ball was perfectly visible.
I could see the goalkeeper hurling his body toward the shot, but the ball danced of its own accord right before him.
Dancing as it pleased, it veered past the goalkeeper's hand.
Smaaack-!!!
In that instant, my mind snapped awake.
I'd only intended to bring over a bit of momentum, but...
Waaaaaaaaah-!!!
The stadium had become ours.
"Yaaaaaah!"
"Woooah...!"
"You! You! Maknae, you!"
While I was still a bit dazed, tearing voices came from nearby.
My seniors ran toward me clutching their heads, all wearing expressions that seemed to ask if such a thing could really happen in this world.
...Why are they all so surprised?
I'm the top scorer. I simply showed them what a top scorer looks like.
"You brat!"
"Kkiyahoo!"
But my excessive self-suggestion was immediately shattered by the physical force rushing at me.
In the grips of my seniors grabbing and shaking me, I realized I was nothing more than our team's maknae.
...The moment felt so surreal it made my mind waver.
*
I approached Senior Bonaventura, who was surrounded by opposing players, and called out.
"Hey—"
Then Senior Bonaventura, without even checking my situation, sent a no-look pass.
Paaang-!
While I admired how accurate it was for a no-look pass, I also wondered what he was thinking—what if I'd been in a difficult position to receive it?
Well, I wouldn't have asked for the ball in the first place if it weren't a receivable situation, so that doesn't even make sense.
With idle thoughts like that, I gently trapped the ball.
Paaang-!
After the goal, my number of touches on the ball had increased drastically.
The moment our team had possession, everyone looked for me first; that was why.
Tatatat-!
I felt the opponent's momentum rushing from behind.
Sensing that momentum, I calculated the distance. The instant I thought we would collide, I leaned my body to the left.
And turned to the right.
Tok-!
Is this what a matador feels like?
The moment before collision sends a chill down my spine, but after dodging the charge, ecstasy surges up.
Savoring that ecstasy, this time I faced a black bull charging from the front.
I think his name was Dumfries.
Tok-!
This time, I tapped the ball and slipped it between the opponent's legs.
Aiming between the legs was a dangerous act that could send a bull into a rage, but fortunately, this bull only threw his head back and looked at the sky, not charging again.
Srrrrk-
I rolled the ball with the sole of my foot, bracing for the next charge.
But these bulls seemed to be ones with learning ability.
Perhaps realizing they couldn't catch me with honest charges, they only watched while subtly widening the distance.
In response, I leisurely looked the other way and struck a long kick as if practicing.
Bbbaaaaang-!
At the pass heading toward the wide open space on the right, the heads of all the opposing players turned.
They all stared for a moment as if admiring my pass... then soon hung their heads low and sprinted clattering back toward their own half.
At that sight, I hid my leaking satisfaction and slowly ran to follow behind them.
It was a situation where nearly twenty minutes of the first half had passed.
I was feeling a rather strange sensation in many ways.
Right after the match started, looking at my seniors' faces had reminded me of the U17 kids.
Now, even the opposing players felt like U17 kids.
Had the self-suggestion I muttered to shake off my nerves been too much?
The goal I'd pulled out with my left foot seemed to have given me wings.
It was also thanks to my seniors' expressions as they ran to me right after the goal and the cheers erupting from the stands.
Whatever the reason, the tension that had made my body tremble had long since vanished, leaving only excessive confidence.
Jiu had said it.
That your position makes the person.
It seemed to be true.
Just because I'd been top scorer once, everyone was now looking up from beneath my feet.
I wondered if I could be this arrogant, but... as I'd said before, this was a final where you had to be crazy to play.
At least for this moment, I, too, would remain crazy.
Bbbaaaaang-!
The moment I'd advanced near the box, a cross came up from Romero.
Paaang-!
But the low cross was deflected by the defender right in front, rising high into the sky.
Shhhwoooosh
After rising high, it slowly fell...
And strangely, it dropped toward where I stood.
Tatat-!
At the same time, my body moved on its own.
After confirming there were no defenders around, I raised my head, watched the falling ball, and cocked my right foot.
Planting my left foot as the pivot, I naturally leaned my upper body back and raised my right foot high.
And matching the timing of the ball's descent, I swung my leg as if performing taekwondo I'd learned as a child.
It's not easy to think of hitting a ball falling vertically from above horizontally.
But for some reason, it felt like it would work right now.
Bbbaaaaang-!
See?
Today is the day, I told you.
Shhhhhhwoooooosh
With the sensation of the ball landing exactly on my instep, it shot out. At the same time, I could see the goalkeeper frozen in place, unable to move.
If it just went straight in, it would be a goal, but...
Paaaaang-!
An unwelcome, crisp sound rang out, and the players frantically rushed toward the ball bouncing out.
It had hammered the goalpost.
Players rushed toward the ball that rose high again, and after a chaotic contest, the ball ended up going over the goal line.
The decision was recognized as the opponent's goal kick, but while the opponents' expressions hardened, our team's seniors clapped.
"Nice, nice!"
"You're in top shape today!"
"Do whatever you want, our maknae!"
...My seniors are largely to blame for my having become this arrogant.
They just clap and say everything I do is good, so my shoulders keep filling with swagger.
"Huu—"
I raised my hand to my teammates on either side to express my apologies, then turned my back and returned to our half.
At the same time, a memory from the past suddenly came to mind.
When I was with the U17, Coach Tony had always told me as I prepared for matches, "Do whatever you want."
But until now, there had never been a time when I'd truly done everything I wanted.
Now, it felt like I was finally carrying out that order.
For the first time, I was doing exactly everything I wanted to do.
*
A person in a key position leading a team inevitably takes on a conservative disposition regardless of individual temperament.
It means always thinking of the worst-case scenario before the best, and preparing ways to deal with it takes priority.
"······."
Ahead of this match, Simone Inzaghi, the commander of Inter, had been no different.
Though it was the end of the season, there were no core players lost to injury, their final experience was more than sufficient compared to the opponent, and the players' motivation toward the trophy was strongly formed.
There were many positive factors, but Coach Inzaghi set those aside and prepared for the match by first envisioning the adverse factors with high probability.
First, the inherent variables of a final itself.
A final played as a single match was a bundle of variables in itself, where nothing that happened would be strange, so it needed to be guarded against.
In response, Coach Inzaghi established a countermeasure by asking veteran players within the team to take charge of the early atmosphere.
He had ordered them to proceed as normally as possible in order to remove variables as much as possible and fill the match with constants.
So much for that.
The second predictable adverse factor was the stamina issue.
This season, Inter was a team that had participated in almost every competition they could enter.
The league, the Champions League, the Coppa Italia.
Having digested three competitions with a squad that was not particularly young, it was predictable that physical issues would show at the end of the season.
For this, Coach Inzaghi prepared by raising the condition of bench-classified players as much as possible.
He also devoted maximum effort to conserving stamina by unconditionally giving the main players rest after the final league match.
There were other things besides these, and while most were minor, he did not pass over them lightly.
He thoroughly prepared and defended against every aspect.
Inter was definitely a top-of-the-table team, yet Coach Inzaghi had prepared for this final so conservatively.
However, there was just one thing.
There was one predicted adverse factor for which he couldn't devise a countermeasure and had simply glossed over while looking only at the hopeful side.
Moreover, even though it was the worst adverse factor, he couldn't approach it conservatively.
If such an adverse factor occurred, there was simply nothing that could be done about it.
It was none other than Fiorentina's Ijian taking the field in the best possible condition for the final.
There was no way to deal with this.
All that came to mind were stale ideas like having two or three players cooperate to stop him, pressure him, don't give him the ball easily.
But coldly speaking, if Ijian's condition was good, even those would obviously be useless.
Even Coach Inzaghi, who approached everything conservatively, had no choice but to pin his hopes on this aspect.
He had to hope that Ijian taking the field in the final would appear not as the MVP who had chewed through the league, but as a sixteen-year-old novice for whom this was his first final.
He could only harbor such a hope; no concrete countermeasure could exist.
And so, now.
"······."
Inzaghi, who was only fiddling with his dry lips, could do nothing in particular.
The very adverse factor he had turned his face away from the most had burst forth.
Today's Ijian was not a sixteen-year-old boy, but top scorer Ijian.
Therefore, there was no way to use his hands.
It was a natural disaster.