129. Repayment -2
Fiorentina’s captain, Cristiano Biraghi, still vividly remembered that day one year ago when a boy with a childish face had joined the first team and taken his first training session.
Truthfully, it was fairly common for youth players to come and train with the first team, so it wasn’t something particularly novel or memorable.
That day, however, he had received an unusually strong impression from that otherwise ordinary youth.
If asked what had been so striking, well, for one, the boy was East Asian, but setting that aside.
Despite it being routine training, he seemed especially nervous, yet for all that tension, his skill was far too outstanding—that was the biggest reason.
It wasn’t simply that he did well in spite of his nerves. By absolute standards, his talent was enough to make one’s eyes pop.
Yet despite possessing such talent, rather than showing the arrogance typical of boys his age, he was excessively humble, even appearing dejected.
Perhaps it was the contrast between those opposing traits—his skill and his personality—that had made him impossible to miss.
Moreover, immediately after that first training session, Coach Vincenzo had called Biraghi aside and said the following.
“That child is the team’s future, and before long, he’ll become the protagonist. He has such-and-such circumstances, so as the captain, please take careful care of him so he can adapt quickly, and create an atmosphere where the other players can do the same.”
At first glance, they were words that could leave a bad taste in one’s mouth.
From the perspective of the existing players, it was more than understandable. They were being asked to give special treatment to a brat whose face they’d never even seen before.
But Biraghi had nodded without the slightest hint of displeasure.
Because he could empathize with Coach Vincenzo’s intentions in saying such things.
Perhaps it was because he was someone with children of his own, but truthfully, the boy was so young that Biraghi felt an urge to look after him.
Above all, he could nod deeply at the words that the boy would soon become the protagonist.
Simply because the talent he possessed was special, so very special.
And so, Biraghi had worried quite a bit.
After hearing about the circumstances the boy carried, he realized this wasn’t something he could approach lightly.
How could he help the boy adapt comfortably? How could he make him take to the pitch with confidence?
He had worried and worried again.
But in truth, it had been a meaningless worry, as he realized while spending time with him.
It wasn’t about calculating his actions as he had earnestly worried over… In the end, all he needed was to sincerely cheer the boy on from behind.
Somehow, he was just that kind of boy.
Always humble and withdrawn, a boy one sometimes wished to see acting cocky with overflowing confidence.
Always seeming to carry some worry in a corner of his heart, a boy one sometimes wished to see laughing without a thought in the world.
Because he was that kind of boy, rather than doing something for him as captain, Biraghi simply sent his wholehearted support from behind.
In truth, by now he was the previous season’s league top scorer and the player of the year.
He had grown into such a massive presence that such support was no longer necessary.
Just as parents always see their children as babies no matter how grown they are, Biraghi still felt that way.
In fact, he was still a seventeen-year-old kid.
Perhaps that was why.
After the boy had torn through Hakimi—not once, but twice—and scored.
When he had spread his arms toward Biraghi and cocked his head with an expression that felt almost arrogant.
Running toward the youngest, Biraghi felt greater pride in how much the kid had grown than joy at the childish revenge—if it could even be called that—having been accomplished.
The reason he had run to him with a wide smile, using every muscle in his face, and embraced him was exactly that.
It wasn’t about revenge or anything of the sort; he simply felt so proud seeing the kid he had only wanted to care for now trying to care for him.
*
Would falling into the middle of a stormy sea feel like this?
That’s what I thought when I was surrounded by my teammates after scoring the go-ahead goal.
They all leaped in from everywhere with their athletic physiques, so I simply couldn’t withstand it.
Thanks to my teammates rushing in without mercy, I ended up getting buried beneath them, and despite the pose I’d struck just moments before… I had to beg for my life.
…Whew.
Still, what was fortunate was that even amid all that, the captain had fulfilled his role as captain.
The captain, buried right above me, had held out with his strength and protected me.
Had he not been such a captain, I would never have been able to get back up intact with several hundred kilograms weighing down on me.
Thanks to the captain holding out, I was able to stand up again.
Anyway, barely getting back up, hugging my seniors and the captain again… and tidying my disheveled hair as I returned to our half, I felt as though I were flying through the sky.
Should I say the floating, detached feeling was pleasant yet surreal?
Perhaps it was because the faces I brushed past on my way back were Messi, Neymar, Mbappé, and the like.
That I had scored the second goal against a team with players like that.
I did wonder if this was a dream, but truthfully, it felt like a dream simply because I was so happy.
But what made me feel even prouder… was just five minutes later.
At the score of 2–1, five minutes after the match resumed, when the ball went out and play briefly stopped, Hakimi suddenly started running somewhere.
I kept watching him, wondering where he was going, and his destination… was the bench.
The opposing manager had taken Hakimi off and put another defender in his place.
At that moment, I unconsciously looked at the captain, and he glanced at me too, our eyes meeting.
Then the captain broke into a grin and gave me a thumbs-up, and I nodded back.
Of course, player substitutions happen for various reasons.
Fitness issues, condition issues, tactical reasons.
Or sometimes substitutions happen for no particular reason at all.
But today, Hakimi being replaced by another defender… Honestly, it was hard to think of any other reason.
Other than it being a substitution acknowledging that he bore a heavy responsibility for the two goals conceded.
I felt even better for no reason, wondering if the captain’s mood might have improved a little watching that.
Honestly, I know too.
In truth, Hakimi hadn’t done anything wrong enough to warrant the word “revenge.”
If he was guilty of anything, it was only of playing well.
That was all, so using the word revenge was laughable.
But this is what happens when you play football.
Once you face them as the opposing team, you have to think of them all as bad people to be comfortable.
…Well, maybe that’s just an excuse and it’s my personality that’s weird, but anyway.
I thought that today, I might be able to stretch out my legs and sleep comfortably.
*
“Ah… what a shame.”
“It really is a shame. Ah, if only not for that at the end, we would have had it.”
“We did everything well, really everything well. With three minutes left, argh…”
The moment the first match of the Champions League group stage between Fiorentina and Paris Saint-Germain ended.
Fiorentina’s Football Director Paolo Rossini and Youth Director Marco Villazzo, sitting in the stands, looked at the scoreboard and let out deep regret.
90:00
FIO 2 : 2 PSG
They had thought they were catching a big fish until the clock on the scoreboard stopped.
It ended in a draw after conceding the equalizer, so it was nothing but regret. What’s more, conceding in added time made it even more disappointing.
However, the cheers and applause of the spectators, who soon shook off their disappointment, began to fill the stadium.
At this, Paolo and Marco also nodded and applauded.
“It really, really is a shame, but still, it exceeded expectations.”
“Well, if you think about it calmly, a draw itself was fortunate in this match. The opposition had many threatening moments; when you think about the ones that hit the post…”
“Even though it’s the first match, a draw with Paris raises our chances of advancing to the Round of 16. Ah, really. Thinking about it that way makes it even more of a shame.”
It was more regrettable simply because they had played better than expected.
It wasn’t a bad result.
A matchup between a Pot 1 team and a Pot 3 team, where they were inferior in objective strength, and with it being their first Champions League match, they must have been very nervous.
To have earned a draw there—wasn’t that an excellent result?
And above all… the scoring timeline displayed on the scoreboard was making these two especially proud.
90:00
FIO 2 : 2 PSG
-18’ MESSI
-24’ LEE
-71’ LEE
-90+1’ MBAPPE
Lionel Messi and Kylian Mbappé.
And in between them, there were two entries for LEE.
If you only looked at the results, today’s match was one where Lee Jian had performed as much as Messi and Mbappé combined.
Honestly, it might sound materialistic, and since these two were in a profession where the more materialistic you were, the better you were said to be at your job—
those two LEEs sandwiched between Messi and Mbappé couldn’t have looked better.
Thanks to today’s performance, it felt as though they could hear Lee Jian’s market value rising in real time.
Of course, even with what he had accomplished up until yesterday, no one would have doubted his talent.
Though it wasn’t an official market value, the value the market already placed on him was approaching 100 million euros.
Of course, estimated market values tend to be calculated generously the younger a player is, so it might differ from reality.
Even so, there was a reason he was evaluated to that extent at seventeen years of age.
In any case, he had already reached that level, but it was true that one remaining verification was his performance in international competition.
Well, a verification of whether his real market value could match his estimated market value, so to speak.
Anyway, as times had changed, even though big clubs’ spending had risen to astronomical levels.
Even in Europe, there weren’t many clubs that could burn 100 million euros on a single player.
And the teams with that kind of purchasing power, with few exceptions, were all teams targeting the Champions League title.
Real Madrid in La Liga, Bayern Munich in the Bundesliga, and a few teams in the Premier League.
So some showing in the Champions League was needed, however slight.
Of course, before being a director, as a fan, he didn’t lack the desire for Lee Jian to remain a one-club man for life.
On the other hand, he also greatly wished to send him to a bigger team that could contain his talent, and practically speaking as a director, that was the right thing to do.
If he were to leave the team someday, shouldn’t his destination be at least a team aiming for the Champions League title so they could let him go with less lingering attachment?
Not to mention the financial gain returning to the team.
In any case, whether as a fan or as a director.
Lee Jian’s performance in today’s match was undoubtedly a source of immense pride.
Because it proved he possessed the talent to play for a mega-club ranked among Europe’s elite, even right now.
And such reactions began to arrive just a few hours after the match ended.
…
It was hard to be satisfied with not losing, because until the clock on the scoreboard stopped, we had been winning.
It would be a lie to say I wasn’t disappointed when the match ended in a draw.
Still, the atmosphere in the stands and the locker room after the match wasn’t bad.
The fans had applauded, and the coach hadn’t held back his praise.
Of course, it was obvious his words would change starting from tomorrow’s training, but at least for that moment, it was so.
Anyway, because of that, my mood on the way home after finishing the match was somewhat strange.
It was good, regretful, and on one hand, relieving.
It was quite complicated, you could say.
The good feeling probably came from the captain’s happy expression after the match.
The regret was from the fact that the result had changed from victory to a draw just before the end.
And the relief was perhaps from having scored not one but two goals among players I could barely even look at, managing to save face in front of Jiwoo.
Thanks to that, I was able to return home with a relatively light heart, and when I came home and was greeted by Jiwoo.
Seeing Jiwoo making a fuss about how amazingly I had done today, the things I had felt during the match suddenly came back to me.
So I asked without thinking.
“…Why do you cheer for me?”
“Huh? What?”
Was it too sudden and strange a question?
At that question, Jiwoo’s expression… strangely changed.
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