137. Listen to the Adults -3
“...I’m sorry.”
When I held out a hand to the opponent who’d fallen because of me, he took it, stood up, let out a short laugh, and ruffled my hair.
...To be honest, I flinched a little at that hand coming toward my head.
It had been a fairly rough tussle, so I thought he was about to get angry.
But whether it was due to my flustered expression, or because I was too young for him to get angry at—
he simply ruffled my hair and patted my back instead. Letting out a sigh of relief, I simultaneously thought with a strange notion that I hoped Jiu hadn’t witnessed that scene just now, and it suddenly forced me to look back on what I had done.
So... I had been a fool.
That I had committed a foul trying to stop the counterattack and collected a yellow card was secondary.
Creating such a situation in the first place had been idiotic.
Wham—!
While the opponent quickly took the free kick and resumed the match, I returned to my usual self, caught my breath—which had risen all the way to my chin—and took some time to reflect.
I had overdone it.
My confidence.
Having never once experienced excessive confidence, I hadn’t known that it becomes arrogance.
It was an obvious truth, really.
No matter how good my physical condition was, even if I felt like I could do anything once I had the ball.
The fact that I couldn’t actually do so was only natural.
Even Messi, called a god, doesn’t succeed in every attack, does he?
But somehow, today I had been fooled by the feeling that things would work out.
Not even realizing that that was an extremely dangerous thought.
To think that I felt capable of doing anything.
That I had been completely taken in by that absurd whisper without a shred of doubt.
It was something that wouldn’t have made sense if I’d thought about it even once, so why hadn’t I even considered doubting it?
“...”
If I thought back on that scene just now, what should I have done instead?
If anything, had my physical condition been the same as usual, I wouldn’t have attempted such a reckless one-on-one.
Looking back, I had plenty of options. I could have passed it back, or switched play to the opposite side.
What had blocked my path was the core of the opponent’s defense.
And not just the core—he was a defender so outstanding that I’d felt he was a monster several times.
Avoiding such a monster was common sense.
It wasn’t like beating him would award two points, so there had been no reason to be stubborn at all.
It’s not like I’m even here because I’m good at one-on-ones.
My weapon had been my ability to somehow survive, to slyly use my wits in a cowardly manner.
“...”
While reproaching myself to the point of wanting to smash my own head in, I glanced at my fellow attackers and fell even deeper into self-reproach.
To be blunt... I wondered if part of it was that I hadn’t trusted my teammates.
It was truly unparalleled arrogance.
I won’t deny that somewhere deep in my head, without my knowing, the idea had been lodged that I was the one who had to handle the most troublesome defender among the opponent’s back line.
Yes.
I had thought that I had to do it.
Rather than leave it to a teammate.
...A hollow laugh slipped out.
Just when had I become so cocky?
When I won the top scorer title? When I was named Player of the Year?
Or was it because I had luckily not revealed my shallow depth in matches against world-class players?
“...”
For a moment, the yellow card the referee had held out to me earlier flashed before my eyes.
The meaning of a yellow card... is a warning.
In soccer, if you receive two warnings, you are sent off.
In other words, they’ll let it slide once, but not twice.
Once is a mistake, but from the second time on, it’s no longer a mistake.
Somehow, that warning I had been given felt less like a warning for my dangerous foul... and more like a message telling me to come to my senses.
That what had allowed me to come this far wasn’t confidence, but desperation.
I thought that perhaps it was a warning telling me to think about that once more.
...Hmm.
I don’t know why this suddenly came to mind, but I recalled when I first learned to ride a bicycle at a very young age.
It was probably when the whole soccer team went to ride bicycles as a fun training exercise, and the Coach had said this while watching the kids who rode well.
He said accidents happen when you think you ride well, so don’t show off and ride carefully.
Back then, my young mind couldn’t understand those words at all, so they had remained vividly in my memory.
Somehow, it felt like I was only just understanding them now.
Really... I had an accident.
*
You always realize mistakes too late.
If you had realized early, you wouldn’t have made the mistake in the first place, so in a way, it’s only natural.
So perhaps it is greedy to ask not only for the chance to realize your mistake, but also the chance to make up for it.
“Hoo, hoo...”
I thought I had walked for quite a while to catch my breath, but my breathing refused to settle, making me anxious again. My legs were heavy, and even my not-so-thick arms felt heavy, making me keep putting my hands on my knees.
When I glanced at the scoreboard, it was just past the 80-minute mark.
It was a tough stretch, but it shouldn’t have been this tough.
I felt the aftereffects of acting cocky from the start because my body felt light today rushing in more than I could handle.
...So cocky.
This is what happens when you ignore the Coach’s words.
I should have listened to the adults first.
The price for my arrogance was too high.
“Jian, good work.”
“Good work.”
When I squeezed out my last remaining strength and left the pitch, the seniors sitting on the bench held out their hands, saying I had worked hard.
I clapped those hands undeservedly and plopped down into my seat, draped a towel roughly over my head, and hung it low.
Compared to the towel Jiu had placed on my forehead a few days ago, this one was as light as a feather... yet I didn’t know why it felt so heavy.
Thanks to that, I couldn’t lift my head.
“You okay? Is it very hard?”
While sitting there with my face covered by the towel, a rather cheerful voice reached me.
Soon after, I felt hands straightening my legs and rubbing them here and there.
It was the Trainer’s hands.
“This is quite knotted up here. Why did you run so much, you. What was the rush?”
Even though I had my legs in the hands of someone much older than me, as if I were some sort of master.
Lacking the courage to remove the towel covering my face, I was at a loss for a moment.
“Vincenzo! I’ll take this kid in first. Is that all right?”
Hearing the Trainer’s voice calling for the Coach, the Trainer soon grabbed my wrist and pulled me up.
Led along by that hand, fluttering like a paper doll... before I knew it, I was inside a tunnel where sounds hummed and echoed.
...It was a moment when something from several months ago suddenly came to mind.
Back then too, the two of us walking like this... I think I had bawled like a child.
“Go in and rest first. Hm? Aren’t you grateful? I brought you out well, didn’t I?”
Because of the Trainer speaking playfully while rubbing my shoulder, today too that same feeling from back then washed over me.
Not wanting to show tears again, I wiped my face with the towel... then held it in my hand.
And instead of crying like a child, I gripped the towel tightly and spoke.
“...Next time, I can do better.”
“Huh? How much better do you want to do. You did well today.”
“...Today, I couldn’t.”
“You. If you call that not doing well, what does that make everyone else? Take it easy, take it easy.”
“...I’ll do reasonably well.”
I had spoken with all my heart, but perhaps because it was so heavily laden with meaning.
The Trainer burst into hearty laughter and rubbed my shoulder.
Perhaps because the Trainer’s hands were healing hands.
It was something I knew yet couldn’t fathom—why those hands felt so warm.
∙∙∙
“...Hoo.”
After downing a cup of lukewarm water, I let out a short sigh.
Wondering why my hands kept sweating, I wiped my damp palms against my pants again.
Then, after letting out one big sigh, I nodded resolutely and moved my trembling hand toward the space bar of the laptop on the desk.
“...Ha.”
But I couldn’t muster the courage after all, and I couldn’t press the space bar.
...Hmm.
The room was too bright. I should draw the curtains first.
Swish—!
It wasn’t even like the window faced the direction where the sun came in directly, so it didn’t really matter.
Still, I drew the curtains and sat back in front of the laptop.
...Why did I feel so nauseous over something like this?
Enough.
I’ll just squeeze my eyes shut and press it.
Eyes squeezed shut...
Clack—!
...I pressed it.
Then, from the laptop’s speaker, a voice of rather poor quality began to play.
“—Greetings! This is the Artemio Franchi, where the Round 7 league match between Fiorentina and Napoli is taking place...”
At that voice, I cracked my eyes open and looked at the screen. What began playing was a recording of yesterday’s match.
Actually, I wasn’t the type to rewind and watch matches I had played in.
Hmm.
Rather than saying I wasn’t the type, to be exact, I didn’t watch them at all.
Of course, when doing video analysis and such, there were times I had no choice but to watch.
Aside from such times, I never deliberately rewatched my own matches.
It was just... strange.
Watching myself appear on TV felt really weird.
So I almost never watched, but I felt I had to watch yesterday’s match.
In order not to repeat the same mistake going forward... to make sure that one warning I received yesterday was the end of it.
Thanks to that, I had to muster quite a bit of courage.
Others might ask what kind of thing requires courage, but... for me, it was courage.
“—These are two teams with many similarities. They have both continued the upward trend that began last season, and neither has suffered a single defeat yet this season...”
Because sweat kept flowing, I placed my hands on my knees. I forcibly fixed my gaze, which kept trying to turn away, onto the screen and watched the match.
...Was our stadium always that small?
When you’re actually standing in the middle, it’s really big, but looking down from above, it feels small.
If you only watched broadcasts, you probably wouldn’t understand why players get nervous.
While I was entertaining such useless thoughts, the players soon began entering.
And I could see myself too... I ended up squeezing my eyes shut.
Because even on screen, my face was filled with confidence.
Please... please don’t be like that, my friend...
Even though it can’t be undone.
Today’s me looks at yesterday’s me with a heartbroken expression.
Anyway, I pressed the right arrow key to skip ahead a bit, and the match began.
I didn’t think it would, but once the match started, I began to get immersed.
And not just a little... every time the me on screen received the ball, my knees jerked.
...I don’t know why I’m shown on camera so much.
On the broadcast, I mean.
Was I really like that?
Running around without rest from the start, demanding the ball—I looked like someone with urgent business.
...No wonder I was so exhausted in the second half that I couldn’t run and only grew more impatient.
Even though it was just yesterday’s me, I looked pathetic; the me on screen felt very young.
Be that as it may, the me on screen scores a goal.
Then the commentators burst with excitement into broad dialect, and the screen showed the crowd jumping up and down.
...You have to hear that at the stadium to get the full effect.
Through the screen, it sounds small, so it doesn’t quite hit the spot.
Tap, tap—
Shaking my head, I skip ahead again.
“...”
Immersing myself again and watching like that, before I knew it, the first half ended.
Watching like this, I felt like I understood clearly.
Just how absurdly confident I had been yesterday.
Why I appeared on screen so frequently—my face came up almost once every three minutes.
And I definitely felt it.
That I looked very rushed.
Even though there were clearly moments to take a beat and rest, I only looked ahead like some racehorse.
...I wondered if the incredibly fast tempo of yesterday’s match wasn’t actually my fault.
Because I was in such a hurry, my teammates had no choice but to match my tempo.
I suddenly recalled when I played in the U17s.
Back then, Coach Tony had entrusted me with the keys... telling me to control the tempo of the match as I saw fit.
I should have done the same yesterday, but because of me, everything had gone awry.
Watching this, the Coach seemed like a saint for not saying a word.
Anyway, I skip ahead again and finish watching the remaining second half.
And the problematic scene comes out.
Receiving the ball on the left, the me on screen attempts a reckless one-on-one, loses the ball... and rushes in to commit a foul.
And receiving the warning—what is that expression?
Really looks like an idiot.
...Watching it like this, I can’t help but suspect that Jiu telling me I looked cool after watching a match like that was all just a lie.
The expressions that came out unconsciously all just look stupid.
Anyway, I feel it once again—there had clearly been much better options.
Romero was dropping behind, and Senior Saponara was opening up space.
Among them, the best option had seemed to be simply passing it back and taking a breath.
But I had chosen the worst method and truly done something foolish.
Yesterday’s me was a fool incarnate.
“...”
I pressed the space bar after watching until there.
After that... watching more would just hurt.
There’s no need to watch the scene where we conceded two goals in a row again.
“...Hoo.”
Closing the laptop, I only then realize my entire body is drenched.
As if I had run about half a match.
This is why I hate watching my matches again, but still, I think I did well today.
Watching it again like this... I really looked like a fool.
Because I felt strongly that I mustn’t do such foolish things again.
I’ll stick to what I’m good at.
Without being greedy and trying to do even what I’m not good at.
“...”
Hmm.
Well, anyway, isn’t it a good thing that I learned something... or is that too much self-rationalization?
Just as I was shaking my head and letting out a sigh.
“Jian. Can I come in?”
Along with the sound of knocking on the door, I heard Dad’s voice, so I answered, and Dad poked his head in.
“...What were you watching?”
“Yes? Just, I was watching something.”
“Really? I didn’t disturb you, did I?”
“...No.”
...Why is he looking at me like that?
When I furrowed my brows, Dad cleared his throat and spoke.
“Ah, it’s nothing else. The agent contacted me. There’s someone who wants to meet you, it seems.”
At this unexpected summons, I had to prepare for a dinner outing.