A corridor bustling with people coming and going without rest.
Between the ebb and flow created by those wearing lanyards with blue straps and those in fluorescent vests.
Like a student standing before the staff room with his father, I was roughly estimating the distance from one end of the corridor to the other.
Coach Vincenzo was playing the role of Dad.
The coach and I were waiting in the corridor for a pre-match interview scheduled for the following day.
"…"
The reason that waiting felt a bit awkward was, of course, not merely because I was alone with the coach.
It was largely because the captain usually took care of pre-match interviews.
I'd done plenty of post-match interviews, but pre-match ones like this were few and far between.
I was reminded once again that being captain was a truly difficult role, even if it seemed like no big deal.
Thanks to that thought, I was thinking someone like me who hated troublesome things could never be captain, and was even starting to yawn,
when suddenly—
A door on one side of the corridor opened, and just as some men in fluorescent vests seemed to emerge,
a rather familiar face appeared behind them.
It was Kevin De Bruyne, with his blond, soldier-like hair and a face not flushed today… and the Man City coach with the same hairstyle as our own coach.
They had gone in for their interview before us and were now coming out after finishing.
"…"
I couldn't say why, but seeing those faces up close made it feel as though the match had already begun.
I fixed my eyes on them for no particular reason as they walked down the corridor.
But soon, as the distance closed and they approached close enough to notice my presence,
at the very moment I unconsciously tried to avert my gaze, something unexpected appeared before my eyes—a pale hand.
This… was that a handshake?
"…"
Standing stiff as a bamboo, I awkwardly took it. De Bruyne shook my hand a couple of times, winked one eye, then passed by.
Then the coach with the familiar hairstyle also grabbed my hand and, going a step further, ruffled my hair before walking past.
His touch felt quite affectionate; anyone watching might have thought we were old acquaintances, but of course, today was the first time we'd ever met.
Thus, while I was brushing back my disheveled hair in mild bewilderment, a tongue-clicking sound came from beside me.
It was Coach Vincenzo clicking his tongue, staring at the back of the opposing coach's head as he walked away.
Perhaps because, unlike our coach's scalp that was practically skin itself, the opposing coach had a dark, stubbly head that looked freshly shaven.
…I didn't know the reason, but somehow the air felt uncomfortable.
*
"……As this is the team's first tournament match, I'd like to ask how you are preparing."
"Yes. First of all…"
Sitting before a long microphone with a bent tip, like a straw from a hamburger joint.
Conscious of the cameras hanging before me and the reporters' gazes, I quietly listened to the coach's interview.
Everything becomes familiar with time, and it seemed cameras and microphones were no exception.
Even though I thought there was nothing to be nervous about, things didn't seem to go as smoothly as I'd hoped.
I mean, I was putting on an incongruously composed act above the table, while below it I kept picking at my nails.
Perhaps it was because I was sitting here representing the team.
In a personal interview, whatever I said was my own responsibility and that was that, but this wasn't like that.
Since I'd come as the players' representative, my words would soon become our team's words.
So perhaps that's why my nerves were on edge, as if this were my very first interview.
…Come to think of it, why on earth did the captain send me to this?
He said I had to go so we wouldn't lose face against Man City, but I don't know what he meant by that—wasn't he just too lazy?
"……Therefore, we plan to continue this momentum."
Anyway, while the coach smoothly strung together his answers like a proper adult,
it seemed my turn had come.
"I have a question for Lee."
Based on my experience so far, reporters definitely liked the sensitive type of player the most.
Because sensitive players would spill usable material at the slightest touch.
Had they caught on that I was exactly in such a state right now?
The very first question was so spicy it made my tongue tingle.
"There's been a lot of talk about this Round of 16 match between Fiorentina and Man City being a David and Goliath battle. Which is to say, the objective gap in strength is significant enough that it would be a crushing Man City victory if we excluded just one position. That one excluded position would be you, of course. Man City must know this as well. It seems likely they'll focus heavily on marking you once the match begins—how have you prepared for this?"
I'd studied English here and there, so I could roughly understand what kind of question it was,
but I let the long question filter through the interpreter once more.
The more time I had to think of an answer, the better.
Anyway, while listening quietly to the interpretation, I suddenly thought I could see once more why reporters liked sensitive players.
Because if I spat out my immediate thoughts upon hearing the question, I felt I could write an article myself and hit a few thousand clicks.
Thus, after filtering as much as possible through the several filters installed between my brain and my mouth, I opened my mouth.
"I haven't really prepared anything in particular for that. Because if they do that, it would be welcome."
Come to think of it, what's funny is that if they were going to provide an interpreter anyway, they could have seated a Korean one, but instead it's an Italian interpreter.
Well, maybe that's actually for the better.
"If the marking focuses on me, the other players won't stay idle. It's always been that way. So I don't think it's something to worry about."
After spitting out the words in a row, I leaned back in my chair to signal that my answer ended here.
The interpreter relayed my words, and the press conference was filled with nothing but the sound of clacking keyboards.
But that only lasted a moment.
The next question flew in without giving me a chance to breathe.
"Many experts say that realistically, what Fiorentina should aim for in the first leg is minimizing the goals conceded. They say it's best to lock things down as much as possible and pin hopes on the second leg. Ultimately, defense will be more important than anything in the first leg—have you done more defensive training than usual?"
…Hmm.
Come to think of it, reporters sure loved saying "experts say."
I couldn't help but wonder if those so-called experts even really existed.
Were they just using imaginary figures as a shield to say whatever they wanted? …Was I being too cynical?
Anyway, after taking plenty of time this time as well, I answered with a shrug.
"I did train hard, but I trained as usual. I play an attacking role on the team, and when it comes to defense, I'm nothing but a liability. So I'll focus on what I can do. My role is to make the team win, not to prevent them from losing."
No matter how much I thought about it, winning didn't look easy, but hearing it from someone else's mouth changed things.
How could they call "isn't your goal just to avoid getting beaten badly" a question?
Feeling heat suddenly rise in my body, I resolved to barge into the captain's room first upon returning to the lodgings, and put more strength into my eyes.
It was my way of showing I was angry… but the reporters didn't even blink and moved on to the next question.
"In the interview just now, Man City coach Pep Guardiola said this. He said Fiorentina is like an awl. He said they are a team that is very narrow but therefore very sharp, so they must be careful. Listening to you, you seem quite confident—do you have the confidence to pierce your opponent tomorrow?"
Hmm… well.
I'd only given back answers commensurate to the questions I'd received; I hadn't exactly expressed confidence.
So honestly, I wasn't overflowing with confidence, but I was sitting here representing the team.
Which meant I had to fake it even if I didn't have it.
"It'll hurt quite a bit."
If you get pierced by an awl, of course it hurts.
Of course… if you don't get pierced, it doesn't hurt.
"While we're on the subject, Kevin De Bruyne also said this. When asked how he rated you, he answered, 'A player I'd like to play with.' Could his wish ever come true?"
…Hmm.
This was a rather bewildering question.
To waste your turn asking something so obvious—this reporter must not be very ambitious.
"…We're playing together tomorrow."
I answered with a shrug.
…
February 11, 2023.
Manchester, England. Etihad Stadium.
While a gloomy sky hung over the stadium in the eyes of the guests from Italy, it seemed nothing but bright and sunny to the hosts.
Players with long sleeves, gloves, and even beanies covering their heads appeared one by one on the pitch.
Perhaps because they felt the weather was colder than back home and needed a thorough warm-up, the Fiorentina players were the first to appear.
At a glance, everyone had tense faces, and their stiff shoulders were surely not solely due to the cold.
Amid the noticeable sight of them joking around with each other to relieve tension, the home team players began to appear on the opposite side.
They looked much more relaxed.
It wouldn't be just because they were playing at home today.
Manchester City, last season's Premier League champions and this season's challengers for the treble.
And Fiorentina, just a team doing somewhat well in Serie A.
No matter how much Fiorentina's momentum had risen to its peak last season and through the first half of this season,
only a handful would have predicted Fiorentina's superiority in a matchup between these two teams.
Since ancient times, it has been said that money doesn't lie.
Just looking at the market values of the two squads, this was a fight between incomparable sides.
The Premier League was a league with so much money flowing through it that it was hard to compare with Serie A, and while Man City boasted the highest club value even in such a league,
Fiorentina was a team in a middling position even within Serie A.
It might seem a bit cruel, but according to an article from a daily newspaper that loved to create controversies,
the gap was such that the value of a single Man City player could buy more than a dozen Fiorentina players.
If money didn't lie this time either, one could say the result was more or less decided without even looking too closely.
Right now, the Fiorentina players warming up on one side looked particularly tense,
and the Man City players looked relaxed for much the same reason.
However, there was definitely one issue that needed to be pointed out in that regard.
And when you consider that Man City's coach, Pep Guardiola, had pinpointed that issue with uncanny precision…
in fact, the most despairing thing from Fiorentina's perspective might not even be the difference in market value.
"Some have compared this to a David and Goliath battle."
Having finished their warm-ups and returned to the locker room, changing into their match kits as they prepared, Coach Guardiola spoke to the players.
"Don't be mistaken. The real Goliath is over there. The most expensive player in this stadium right now is wearing the opponent's uniform."
An issue that definitely needed to be addressed.
If money didn't lie, Man City couldn't afford to be complacent either.
Because even if it was still merely a projection, the player boasting the highest market value at present was undoubtedly wearing a Fiorentina uniform, not a Man City one.
"So you are David. Approach this with the heart of a challenger. The victor was David."
The team in this sky-blue uniform, born from the touch of a perfectionist, was truly a formidable team to its core.