August 14, 2022.
Stadio Artemio Franchi, Florence, Italy.
One might wonder if anything in the world is hotter than the August sun, but anyone who found their way here today might confidently answer that it is right here.
Whoosh-!
Crimson flames flared up here and there, as if to challenge the blazing sun.
Oh Fiorentina─!
Di ogni squadra ti vogliam regina!
Oh Fiorentina─!
Combatti ovunque ardita e con valor!
Forza Fiorentina─!
Tens of thousands of spectators roared Fiorentina's anthem, their battle hymn, like warriors marching toward the battlefield.
No one paid any mind to the scorching sun.
Because even that sun was nothing compared to the heat radiated by those who had waited through the off-season just for today.
Something hotter than the August sun existed here, and there, the 2022–23 Serie A opener between Fiorentina and AC Milan was about to unfold.
“Wow, did you hear what they were saying up front?”
“What were they saying?”
“They were dealing scalped tickets, I think. I almost sold mine after hearing the price.”
“…Are you serious?”
“Ah, it’s just a figure of speech. Don’t be so serious.”
In a corner of the stands, Fiorentina U17 Head Coach Tony and Coach Luca were sharing light conversation.
With the youth league opener still about two weeks away, the two had come to watch the season opener, and they were astonished by the sheer crowds packing the downtown area far from the stadium.
It felt as if not only the entire city had come out, but also people from the surrounding suburbs had flocked to Florence for today’s match.
Just as Coach Luca had joked—though he was half-serious—even the scalped tickets traded in secret were priced at a jaw-dropping level.
It was crowded to a degree that made one wonder if the Artemio Franchi had ever been this packed since the 2000s.
Thanks to that, everywhere one looked was a scene overflowing with energy, though occasionally someone would burst out in complaint.
“Phew, we barely got in. What a hassle because of people who aren’t even Viola.”
“Good thing I bought a season ticket in advance. Otherwise, I might not have gotten in.”
“This is why I didn’t want us to get too famous.”
They were fans who had stood by this place whether Fiorentina played well or poorly, rain or snow.
Until now, home matches had felt like small, enjoyable outings for them, but suddenly the park they frequented had become a tourist attraction.
With outsiders flooding in and the neighborhood growing rowdy, their complaints were somewhat understandable.
Nor could one deny that, from an old fan’s perspective, there existed a certain twisted fandom—those who never cared before but suddenly appeared pretending to be die-hard fans now that the results were good.
Of course, there were far more normal fans welcoming the new ones.
“Fiorentina is entering a new golden age.”
“I didn’t think I’d see a scene like this again before I die.”
“Why are you talking like an old man pushing eighty?”
Coach Tony and Coach Luca burst into smiles.
If one were to pick the golden eras of the team called Fiorentina, several periods could be named, but if asked, these two would certainly speak of the 1990s.
The days when Francesco Toldo, Rui Costa, and Gabriel Batistuta represented Fiorentina.
And the days when that Fiorentina represented Serie A as one of the Seven Sisters.
Having grown up experiencing that glorious era in their emotionally abundant teenage years, even now, that time remained the best years in their hearts, and when it came to the greatest star, it could only be Batistuta.
But setting aside such subjective memories or nostalgic bias, the scene at the Artemio Franchi today surpassed the heat of that era.
A glorious age they had thought would never return had come to Fiorentina once more.
And one could tell who the new star was that had ushered in this glorious age just by looking at the backs of the spectators in the rows ahead.
“Ah, we should’ve bought jerseys too. Should we ask him to send us one later?”
“Forget it. Why bother the kid?”
“Why? Considering old ties, he could at least send us new jerseys.”
“You, as a coach…”
“Ah, whatever. Then I’ll ask him to send just one. Yours isn’t included, Coach.”
“….”
Looking around at the backs plastered entirely with “LEE,” Coach Luca spoke.
He naturally had Lee Jian’s jersey, but he hadn’t been able to acquire this season’s version yet.
No matter how many times he checked daily to see if it was in stock, it kept selling out.
Whether online or offline.
Even if he rushed in the moment he saw a restock alert, it was sold out again.
Thanks to that, he still hadn’t gotten one.
He had made do with last season’s jersey, but he couldn’t help being jealous of those lucky ones wearing the new ones.
The new design was appealing, but it was the number on the back that made him want the new jersey even more.
“To think that troublesome little brat is wearing number 10. It’s quite a feeling.”
“I find it amazing that it was just a year ago.”
LEE
10
Lee Jian, who had worn number 20 until last season, had taken the team’s number 10 starting this season.
In football, a squad number is not merely a number. Over a long history and tradition, meaning had formed and solidified around them.
For example, 1 is the goalkeeper.
2 and 3 are fullbacks.
4 and 5 are center-backs or central midfielders.
7 is for the flashiest player or the attacking spearhead.
9 is the striker responsible for the team’s goals.
And among them, number 10 holds the greatest meaning and symbolism.
It is the number worn only by the team’s commander, star player, and undisputed ace.
In that sense, there was no player on the team who suited the number 10 better than Lee Jian.
He already had been since last season.
So it was nothing surprising, but Coach Luca and Coach Tony, suddenly reminded of the quiet, sensitive little kid from a year ago, couldn’t help but smile as they looked at the number 10 on the fans’ backs.
That child had become the face and pride of this city.
And he had become the protagonist who kicked open the door to a new glorious era.
“To those little ones over there, Jian must be their Rui Costa and Batistuta, don’t you think?”
Coach Luca said proudly, looking at the kids sitting side by side in Lee Jian’s jerseys.
Coach Tony nodded as well.
“He’ll become even more than that.”
“I’m sure he will.”
Just as these two had admired Batistuta as a hero in their day, to those children, Jian would become such a player.
Perhaps even more than that.
No, he would surely become so.
“It’s just… I hope he doesn’t let it get to his head.”
“Can he not?”
“It won’t be easy.”
“Is it greedy to hope he overcomes it?”
Worry flashed across the faces of Coach Tony and Coach Luca, which had been full of pride.
Becoming someone’s hero sounds quite romantic, but it is accompanied by enormous pressure.
Everyone has expectations on him.
Having shown such performance last season, having brought home a championship trophy after decades—how many people would say that’s enough?
Most would want him to show even greater performances, to go ahead and bring home the league title too.
They couldn’t be blamed, since he had shown them he was capable of such expectations.
Because of this pressure, it wasn’t rare to see young players perform worse in their second year than their first.
Even players born with strong mentality couldn’t easily overcome this.
But Lee Jian was a child who had already suffered through it.
That was why it was difficult to simply feel proud about everyone looking only to him.
“Still… he has experience overcoming it once. Maybe he can do even better.”
“If only he could…”
Still, perhaps that experience might actually help.
Because someone who has fallen once knows how to get back up.
“Ah, they’re out.”
Soon the stadium grew even louder. Before long, an enormous roar deafened their ears, and everyone rose from their seats to cheer toward one spot.
The players were entering the pitch, and Coach Tony and Coach Luca also stood to welcome them with cheers.
Eleven who brought tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands, even millions—to cheer.
Among them, they caught sight of the back of the player wearing number 10, and Coach Tony and Coach Luca smiled at the same time.
In the short time since they had last seen him, that back had grown quite broad and manly.
*
They said the atmosphere of the opener is different, and it seems the seniors were right.
Standing in the center of the pitch for the kickoff, I had to stare intently at the referee with the whistle in his mouth.
Lest I fail to hear the whistle.
The crowd’s noise was so massive it felt like physical pressure.
Beeeeeeep-!
…Hmm.
A needless worry.
Since the whistle rang out clearly, I started the game with the kickoff while paying respects to whoever first invented this tool called a whistle.
Thwack-!
I sent the ball far back and slowly ran over to the opponent’s half.
Then I positioned myself in the space between the opponent’s back line and their midfield, slowly walking and broadly surveying my surroundings.
AC Milan right from the first league match.
Not an easy schedule.
But… how should I put it.
Maybe because I had played against Manchester United and Barcelona in recent weeks.
I don’t seem to feel what I felt when I first met a team like AC Milan.
In other words, the opponent didn’t look so big anymore.
Tat-tat-tat-
Slowly walking and looking around for about five minutes.
After completing the map in my head, I slowly began to run.
Today my back felt somewhat heavy.
Perhaps because I was wearing the number I had worn when playing in Korea after so long.
I wasn’t unaware of what this number meant.
I knew it all too well, and it was a number I had disliked even when I was in Korea.
Not much different now.
I already missed the 20 I used before.
Number 10 was burdensome, as expected.
Not only that.
The tens of thousands of fans filling the stadium—their expectations pinned on me reached my skin as scorching gazes and cheers.
A moment unparalleled in pressure in many ways.
But at this very moment, what suddenly comes to mind is myself from a year ago.
Back then… even running on the training ground with not a single spectator was difficult.
With only the head coach and coach watching, even that made my heart pound.
I also remembered the day Jiu first came to watch my game. The moment I went in as a substitute. I ran onto the pitch trembling, thinking it was over if I messed up.
The reason that time came to mind now wasn’t because my past self seemed laughable.
It wasn’t that I couldn’t understand why I trembled over something so trivial when I now played before tens of thousands.
I still understood.
Because I still trembled.
Even now, I was of course nervous and burdened.
I was still burdened and nervous playing football before tens of thousands, shouldering all their expectations.
“Hey-!”
Thwack-!
I received the ball just past the halfway line.
I tried to turn immediately but felt a defender stick tight behind me, so I changed direction with a return pass.
Thwack-!
As the opponent’s defensive attention scattered toward the ball, I quietly moved to receive it again.
Overcoming pressure is good, but I think receiving the ball where there’s no pressure in the first place is better play.
Thwack-!
Receiving the ball again in a more comfortable space, this time I turned immediately.
And I quickly accelerated, dribbling the ball up toward the opponent’s half.
Tat-tat-tat-!
Meanwhile, I began to hear the crowd’s cheers growing louder.
What they expected at this moment was, of course, a goal.
A burdensome moment, then and now.
However, if there was one difference between me a year ago and me now… I now had experience overcoming that pressure once.
I have my own method.
I think this is what they call know-how.
At this moment, I need only think of one person instead of tens of thousands.
Through experience, I knew that thinking of that one person would cause abilities I didn’t even know I had to burst forth.
Tat-tat-tat-!
Faking left with my upper body against the defender blocking my path, I broke through to the right.
Since I broke through without killing speed, even though I was in front of the box, an open shooting angle came into view.
Without hesitation, I drew my right foot back wide.
Boooooooom-!
My body lifted into the air because I struck with my full weight behind it.
Watching the shot fly while floating in the air like that… hmm.
The shot was floating like my body.
The mid-range shot narrowly sailed over the crossbar.
A groan of disappointment burst from the stands, but I clicked my tongue once and turned to run back toward our half.
If there was one more thing that had changed compared to before, it was that missing such a chance no longer made my heart feel like it was shriveling up.
This too was something I knew from experience.
Clap-clap-clap-clap-
Applause of encouragement soon burst from the stands, which had been briefly dyed with groans of regret.
Not curses, but applause.
I had learned from that applause that it was okay not to be perfect every moment.
So unlike before, I could now brush this off without making a big deal of it.
Come to think of it, it’s fascinating.
I had overcome the pressure caused by one person thanks to that one person, and I could overcome the pressure caused by tens of thousands thanks to those tens of thousands.
…Hm.
The ways of the world were truly full of things difficult to understand with a seventeen-year-old’s head.