"You understand... right?"
"Ah, yes."
"You even hesitated when I asked just now. I asked something too obvious."
The Coach, who had been explaining tactics for a while with a serious expression, bursts into hearty laughter.
At this, the assistant coaches around him chuckle as well, so I scratch my head.
"Okay. Then no need for long words, let's just try it."
"Let's go. To your positions!"
Anyway, training begins.
It's tactical training.
Tactical training is something we do almost every day, but today there's something a bit special.
Normally, the Coach would only give me the broad framework and tell me to figure out the small details on my own.
But today was a little different.
With the first Champions League match approaching in a week... he said there was a specific role I had to play in the match against Paris Saint-Germain.
And what that was...
"Ready!"
At the Coach's signal, I head to the left side of the field.
A position where Saponara senior should be according to the original formation.
But today, I'm standing here.
Beep—!
Soon the whistle blows, and play starts from the opposite side of the pitch.
This side is empty, while that side feels crowded with players gathered close together.
The players wearing red bibs taking the role of Paris Saint-Germain apply pressure, and we try to keep the ball as much as possible, passing in a tight area.
And I stand still watching that sight, as if watching from the bench.
It feels like the pitch is split in half, with different matches unfolding on each half.
I wonder if it's okay to stand still like this, but I'm strictly following the Coach's instructions.
"..."
As I'm doing so, just when I'm starting to yawn.
I see the ball being circulated in the tight space roll to Bonaventura senior's feet.
At that moment, recalling the Coach's words, I make my move.
Tatat—!
I instantly drop back, creating distance from the defender standing with me.
At the same time, my eyes meet Bonaventura senior's, and he sends a long pass to me.
Swoooooosh—
Thud—!
I softly trap it with the inside of my foot and let it drop... then face the defender blocking my path head-on.
I tap the ball and move forward.
Since the ball switched sides in one go, it's a 1v1 situation where I don't need to worry about anything else.
Thanks to that, I can pour all my concentration solely on the defender in front of me.
According to the Coach... he said this is called isolation.
Tatatat—!
I feint toward the center, then drive along the touchline.
But there is a limit to pure speed alone, and I can feel the defender catching up quickly.
So I mix acceleration and deceleration.
Tatat—!
The irregular sound of turf being torn by cleats rings out several times.
The moment the muscles around my knees send a strange signal from the repeated sudden braking and accelerating...
Swhaaack—!
My opponent's feet, trying to follow my movement and stop, slip on the grass, exposing a gap.
He had lost his center of balance from my continuous changes of speed and direction.
Tatatat—!
Not missing that, I burst to the right—that is, toward the center—and dig in.
Then, soon enough, an angle for a shot opens up—not perfect, but worth trying.
Near the left corner of the box.
The position where a curling shot with the right foot is most effective.
Bbeeoooorrrrng—!
Swoooooosh—
Thwack—!
A shot drawing quite a convincing trajectory gets caught in the net by the far post.
"Nice, good! That's it!"
The Coach's satisfied voice soon reaches me, but I silently return to my position.
Since this is only training, countless repetitions would be needed for this kind of play to come out in a real match too.
*
"Hooo..."
I take a water bottle from the icebox, drink half, and use the other half to wash my face.
I collapse into the shade to catch my breath, and seniors gather around me one by one.
Looking at their faces, everyone seems to feel like death, just like me.
"Hey, if we go out in the Champions League twice, we're all gonna die..."
"Sigh. It can't be helped. We have to stop Messi, so we need to go through this."
"At least he's not in his prime anymore."
It's the time when Florence is at its hottest.
We repeated training until all our energy was drained under the blazing sun.
Everyone already had tanned skin; at this rate, we'll all become the same race.
Come to think of it, Jiwoo probably couldn't be a soccer player even if she were reborn.
She hates getting her skin burned the most.
Well, if I had skin like Jiwoo's, I'd probably be sensitive to tanning too.
Anyway, whether white, black, or Asian.
While everyone becomes one regardless of race, gasping for breath with dead expressions.
The amazing thing was that something like excitement seemed visible even on those deathly faces.
Bonaventura senior, who had the most deathly expression, spoke.
"Still, a day like this has come. The day when my man-marking target is Neymar."
Then Torreira senior next to him snorts and says.
"Must be nice. Mine is Messi."
"That's better. At least Messi is gentlemanly. With Neymar, you never know what he'll do. They say we have to train to stop Sapon too afterwards."
"Then switch. You mark Messi."
"No. Let's mark him together."
"Sure."
Their bickering, which looks childish even to a seventeen-year-old's eyes, draws snorts of laughter here and there.
Listening to them, it's clearly complaining, but feeling the excitement within that complaining... I truly realize what kind of stage the Champions League is.
A stage of opportunity where you can face players that some people could never meet even if they devoted their entire lives.
Hmm.
Honestly, I don't really know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
Just like now, when I'd gathered at the Captain's house not long ago to watch the group draw ceremony on TV.
The moment the name 'Messi' came out of the seniors' mouths, the emotion I felt was half-and-half too.
Well, what should I call it.
Half of it was fear, and half was excitement.
I've never seen him in person, but I know who Messi is. He's just the person who plays soccer the best in the world.
A monster that's simply not human, for whom the word genius isn't enough.
It's only natural that I would look ordinary standing before such a player... so half of it was fear.
On the other hand, half was the excitement of being able to see such a genius up close, whom I wouldn't dare to even look at normally.
I think I felt a strange emotion from those things intersecting.
Hm.
I already worry about how to explain to Jiwoo that he's not human, that it's only natural I can't beat him.
But what's funny even to me is that perhaps... really perhaps, I also feel hope that we might be able to win.
Well... that's what soccer is in the first place.
"Hey, don't whine in front of the Captain. No one's more screwed than the Captain."
While I was lost in such thoughts, I heard someone speaking while holding back laughter from somewhere.
I looked at the Captain, and his face was grave.
He didn't even have the slightest excitement that could be felt from the other seniors; he looked like a prisoner about to be dragged away.
Milenković senior, who was sitting next to him, put a hand on the Captain's shoulder and spoke.
"You have to hope Mbappé plays left wing, I guess."
"He will. From what I've seen, he's been playing on the left all season."
"But he only starts there and switches all game long?"
"Hey, shh."
Hmm.
The Captain definitely seems to be the one in the most trouble among us.
The Captain is always a reliable teammate, but there's no such thing as a player without weaknesses in this world.
If I had to name the Captain's weakness... it's that he's weak against fast attackers.
But of all things, Paris Saint-Germain has a player named Mbappé.
They say he's the fastest in the world.
He's even a player who moves freely between left and right, and I remember the Coach saying there's a high possibility he'll run on the Captain's side because the Captain is slow-footed.
Even though the Captain has never shown weakness in front of us, he seems unusually worried this time.
Despite the playful consolation from the other seniors, the Captain, who had been silently keeping his head down, finally opened his mouth after coolly taking a gulp of water, as if his chest felt suffocated.
"...Honestly, I'm a bit scared."
At that quite serious voice, even the seniors full of playfulness lose the smiles from their lips.
Everyone isn't so tactless as to joke around in this situation.
The Captain perhaps didn't like that atmosphere and forced a laugh, but it was clearly a hollow laugh that didn't spread to those around him.
The Captain shrugged and continued.
"Well, saying weak things before a match is useless... but honestly, yeah. I'm scared I'll cause trouble for you guys. Because I've done that once before..."
Much was omitted in those words, but it was possible to understand.
When we talked about the Champions League before, the Captain had told me about when he played for Inter in the Champions League.
He said they lost the match back then because he made consecutive mistakes.
He'd been broken through by a player named Hakimi, creating holes in the defense.
Even... because of that match, he couldn't play from the next game onwards, and eventually had to leave Inter.
But that player named Hakimi is at Paris Saint-Germain now.
Mbappé is Mbappé, but... the Captain also has to fight against trauma.
"..."
Seeing the Captain like that, suddenly... the match against Juventus during my U17 days comes to mind.
Because back then, I think I was... feeling something similar.
I was really scared.
I pretended otherwise on the outside, but honestly, I was really scared.
Back then, I couldn't even call Juventus by its name and just referred to it as 'that team from Turin.'
But what's certain... is that there were few times I felt as good as when I won that match.
At best... hmm.
Maybe when I scored my first goal in front of Jiwoo, or when we won the Coppa Italia?
Anyway.
I think I learned then that overcoming something that tormented you is a truly great feeling.
That nothing is solved by just turning away from it, and that you have to face it...
"...Don't worry too much."
By the time my thoughts reached that point, my mouth moved on its own, and the seniors' gazes fell on me.
Really overstepping my bounds, a cheeky desire to share my experience with the Captain made my mouth start moving on its own.
"I promised you last time."
"...A promise?"
"I promised I'd get revenge for you."
The Captain snorts a laugh at my words.
Back then, I'd promised that if we met the player named Hakimi again, I'd get the Captain's revenge.
...Actually, I'd made that promise without knowing we'd really meet.
Somehow, it turned out this way.
But I'm the type who tries to keep his word, living a very tiring life, so...
"The youngest will show you. Today's training was for that too, wasn't it."
I end up spitting out words that even I don't know if I can handle.
At this, the seniors burst into laughter—a snicker or something like it.
The Captain also giggled.
"Yeah. I've become the Captain and have no shame at all, but I'm asking you. Youngest."
"We only believe in the youngest. If Mbappé tears the Captain apart, the youngest just needs to tear Hakimi apart just as much."
"We really don't act our age. Old folks relying only on the youngest. But what can we do? Do it one more time."
...Hmm.
As the Captain and all the seniors say something each, I immediately end up regretting it.
It feels like I've added another reason why I have to do well because of unnecessary words.
But this body of mine, which had maxed out its pride instead of self-esteem, was just nodding on its own even while I felt such regret.
"Good. Let's go trusting only the youngest."
"If we lose even with the youngest, it's our fault."
"Then we should all go die."
...I don't know.
Somehow it turned out like this; I have to keep my word.
Hmm.
Anyway, for some reason, the word 'youngest' that the seniors called me today sounded different somehow.
I myself didn't know what the reason was.
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