143. Strength in the Shoulders -3
I think I came across a passage like that somewhere in a book.
They say life is C (Choice) between B (Birth) and D (Death), or something like that.
I remember the gist being that we stand at a crossroads of choice every moment we live, and because our lives change according to those choices, choice is just that important.
I think the same.
Choices are important.
That’s why they’re difficult.
Well, maybe it’s just me.
But I don’t know why choosing one thing feels so difficult.
When I choose one thing, is it because I feel sorry for everything else that gets left behind?
Come to think of it, it might be because I’m too greedy.
Choice… ultimately means giving up on one thing. It’s foolish greed—the desire to have it all—that makes me hesitate and keeps me from deciding.
Anyway, that was me.
I hesitated, unable to make a decision easily when it came to matters concerning the national team.
Like stuffing garbage in a corner because taking it out was bothersome, I shoved it aside and pretended it didn’t exist.
But only now do I realize.
Being careful is fine, but it seems the faster you make a choice, the better.
Especially regarding the national team, I can’t help but feel it would have been better to decide quickly.
Because… hmm.
Because of all those eyes looking at me from every direction.
“Ready!”
At the sight of the coach raising his hand to signal, I stand inside the penalty arc, tapping the ball around my feet as I prepare for the drill.
It’s a shooting drill we do often at the club too, so there’s nothing unfamiliar about it, but for some reason, I’m incredibly nervous today.
It’s because the moment my turn came, everyone stopped what they were doing and started watching me.
“Ooh, finally get to see it.”
“Wow, so that’s him. The genius kid who devoured Italy at seventeen.”
“Show us, show us! Show us what a genius looks like!”
…I have no idea why they’re all acting like this, but everyone is watching my turn with eyes full of expectation.
I have a feeling I know why.
Just like how even something trivial makes people curious and raises expectations the more you drag it out.
Because I needlessly delayed and delayed, making my joining the national team into such a difficult affair, isn’t that why everyone’s expectations are so high?
If I’d known this would happen, I would have decided quickly.
The burden only grew.
You could say it’s just training, and I’ve performed well even in front of tens of thousands before, so what is there to be nervous about… but the people watching me are national team players.
If you summed up the people who kick the ball best in this country in four syllables, it becomes “national team.”
With those people looking at me with such expectant eyes, I can’t help but tense up for no reason.
I just hope those eyes don’t change to looks of disappointment.
“Huu.”
I exhale once and raise my left hand to signal that I’m ready.
Immediately, the ball starts flying toward me.
Smack-!
A ball kicked from beside the goalpost comes flying in fast.
The objective of this drill is to control the ball with your first touch so it doesn’t leave the penalty arc, then strike the shot on your second touch.
I carefully bring my right foot to meet the ball coming at considerable speed.
Smack-!
Perhaps because I’m more focused than during an actual match,
fortunately, the ball dies down just enough and drops in front of my foot.
I adjust my stride, run at it, and strike.
Course… upper left.
Bbaaaaang-!
Shhhwoooong-
Thwack-!!
…For now, it worked.
It flew exactly where I wanted and stuck.
To be honest, I was in no state to say my condition was good; which is precisely why I was concentrating even harder.
“Ooh, that’s sick!”
“Man, that shooting is insane!”
“What are you all surprised about? You think he chewed up Serie A at that age for nothing?”
“What was I even doing at that age?”
When the shot shook the goal net, exclamations burst from all around, but with no time to feel awkward, I return to my spot, tapping the ball around as I wait for the next pass.
And when the pass comes, I repeat the process.
Bbaaaaang-!
Thwack-!!
“Waaah, a genius is a genius!”
“So dependable!”
…I could say with certainty that this was the most burdensome training I had ever done.
*
Even when I was in Italy, it was fairly common for reporters to come to the training ground.
Hmm, common? Honestly, from a certain point on, it was almost every day.
However…… I don’t think it was ever to this degree.
“I’ll take just one question per person! I’ll give everyone a chance, so please keep to the order!”
Who said anything about giving everyone a chance?
I certainly never gave any permission myself.
Anyway, having barely finished the burdensome training and coming out, an even more burdensome sight was waiting.
Countless cameras and microphones.
And the fact that the people holding those cameras and microphones spoke the same mother tongue as me… for some reason, that felt even more burdensome.
Thinking about why, when I spoke Italian, I had the belief that they’d understand even if I made a slight slip of the tongue.
Whereas when speaking Korean, I felt like I couldn’t afford even the slightest mistake.
Thanks to that, my lips kept drying up as the barrage of questions began before I could even prepare.
More than Paris Saint-Germain’s attacking lineup… these reporters felt scarier right now.
“I’m reporter Nam Seung-hyeon from Widedaily. First, I’m truly glad to see you here at the Paju Training Center on a personal level. From what I’ve heard, you received a serious naturalization offer in Italy. If this is true, you rejected that offer to come here; what was the reason for this decision?”
…Listening to the machine-gun-like questions, I suddenly remember what senior Torreira had said and nearly let out a snicker.
That people with the job of reporter are the same breed no matter where in the world you go.
It was a moment where I deeply related to those words, but I only nodded inwardly.
Still not adjusted to the time difference, my mind was hazy, and having just finished training, I couldn’t even process the words well.
The first question was too long, and too spicy.
I took enough time to organize my thoughts before answering.
My brain wasn’t clear enough to craft my words beautifully, so I decided to just be honest.
“Uh… hmm. I’m sorry, but it’s not some grand reason. I just… hated the feeling of running away and hiding… yes.”
I decided not to add that I had been scared to come to Korea…
And that the reason I had been scared was because of situations like this one.
Still, it was my first day, and I didn’t yet have the courage to make enemies.
Besides, it wasn’t as if I had any reason to paint these people as villains when I was the one who had made a mountain out of a molehill.
“Next question.”
I suppose the only advantage when there are many reporters lined up to ask questions is that even a short answer lets you move on to the next one.
At the staff member’s razor-sharp progression, over ten hands shot up, and seeing that, it finally felt real that I had come to Korea.
They had said they’d give everyone a fair chance, but I guess they still had to pick who went first.
“I’m reporter Ryu Seung-ho from Sports Donga. You’ve already achieved so much at a young age, and thanks to that, you’ve set the record for youngest selection to the A team. I’m curious how you feel about this.”
Hmm, the second question was no easy one either.
It wasn’t information I particularly wanted to know, but should I still be grateful that they told me?
“Uh… I think it’s an honor. Still, I don’t think age is what’s important.”
I had tried to say “please don’t attach too much meaning to this” in a roundabout way, but I didn’t know if the message got across.
I didn’t even hope they’d understand perfectly; I just hoped it wouldn’t get strangely distorted.
“I’m reporter Kim Yeong-jun from Sports Idaily…”
“I’m reporter Yu Ji-hwan from Seoul Sports…”
“Sports Naeil……”
Anyway, I wasn’t given the leisure to wonder whether my previous answer had been okay.
Barely finishing one answer before a flood of questions poured out, I held onto my senses tightly and continued answering.
Fortunately, while there were relatively easy questions to answer—what were my first impressions of the national team hyungs, who took care of me the most, were there any seniors who gave me advice—that let me catch my breath.
True to a country of spicy taste, the moment I let my guard down, a Cheongyang pepper would pop into my mouth.
“With your dazzling growth, fans’ expectations are so high that labels like ‘Korea’s Messi’ and the ‘Second Messi’ are already attaching themselves; aren’t these expectations and attention burdensome?”
If someone shoved a Cheongyang pepper into my mouth and asked if it wasn’t spicy, what answer should I give?
Is it right to say it’s bearable, or is it right to get angry and say, “Of course it’s spicy, what do you think?”
“I’m grateful, but… I think I still have a long way to go. Right now it’s burden… some, I suppose.”
Honestly, I wasn’t grateful at all, but being grateful seemed like the right attitude, so I decided to act that way.
However, I made sure my face showed an expression of dying from the burden, so I just hoped that side got through more.
“We’ll wrap this up now. Just one last question!”
Still, with the end finally in sight, my scrunched-up face relaxed.
That they would give everyone a chance was a lie in the end, but aren’t there such things as white lies in this world?
Perhaps excited by the fact that they had been tricked, hands went up even more aggressively, making me shrink my neck unconsciously.
“Yes. Ah, I’m Lee Jun-myeong from Star News. I didn’t know I’d be the last, but anyway.”
Perhaps because he had seized the opportunity through a competition fiercer than a heading duel in front of the goal, his voice was combative from the start, so I listened with great tension.
Since it was the last one, I tried hard to calm my mind, determined not to be flustered no matter what question came.
But with the question that soon came my way, all that effort became useless.
“Cha, Park, Son. If you ranked them personally, one, two, three?”
“……Huh?”
…At the very least, I should understand what they’re saying before I can be flustered or not.
…
Could it be that time difference doesn’t simply mean the difference in time right now, but also carries the meaning that time flows differently when the space changes?
True to a country where “hurry hurry” is the entire nation’s catchphrase, time in Korea flowed faster than in Italy.
Whether that was good or bad was a confusing matter, but what was clear was that I hoped time would continue to flow just as quickly from now on as it had so far.
“…”
Sitting on the bench, I look around the stadium with an entirely different atmosphere.
It’s all red.
It’s not my first time seeing stands packed to capacity with a full crowd, yet it’s fascinating how the air feels different.
Thinking about the reason in my own way… first, the ratio of female fans is higher than that of scary-looking middle-aged male spectators.
Because of that, the tone of the cheering is piercingly high.
And another thing… how should I put it.
Could it also be the subtle determination I feel in the expressions of the players preparing for the match, different from league games?
The air is heavy, as if pressing down.
Pbeeeeeep-!
Before I can even adapt to that pressure, the whistle blows and the match begins.
When I come to my senses, it’s now, and it’s here.
The first evaluation match has just begun, and I’m sitting on the bench.
I think it had truly been a long time since I’d felt relieved at not being in the starting lineup.
I had ample time to talk with the coach during training.
The coach said he understood my physical condition and that I wouldn’t be forced to overdo it, and while I had no injuries, I didn’t insist on appealing that I absolutely wanted to play.
Well, no matter that it’s a friendly, it’s not a place just anyone can play, this national team spot.
Aren’t there many excellent seniors besides me?
So I sat on the bench watching the match with nothing but the hope that time would pass quickly and that the seniors would concede plenty of goals.
Still, I couldn’t just let my guard down completely, so I tried to watch the match with focus.
Then, before long, a huge cheer began to erupt.
But on the field, they were just lightly passing the ball around, not in a situation that warranted such cheering.
In my bewilderment, my gaze unconsciously turns to the scoreboard to grasp the situation, and soon I see an earthquake occurring in my own pupils.
That I saw myself, meaning my face had been shown on the scoreboard.
“…”
I wished it were my imagination, but with a strong premonition that it somehow wasn’t… I found myself hoping even more that I wouldn’t have reason to play today.
…As expected, ominous premonitions always come true.