Episode 194: Value Judgment -1
May 4, 2023.
Stadio Artemio Franchi.
Just four days after returning from the away trip to Genoa.
It was the kind of hour we'd normally be at the training ground, but we were in the stadium locker room, preparing for the match.
"Help me with the taping here."
"Hey, grab some more bandages from that box."
Having all been eliminated from the cup competitions, the only fixtures left on our schedule were league matches.
However, the season's fixtures had been pushed back because of the World Cup, making the schedule tight, and starting from May, a brutal run of six matches in one month was laying in wait for us.
Thanks to that, even though it was before the match, everyone's faces were drenched with exhaustion.
"Let's go and give it our all. We can do this."
"Cheer up! Let's do this!"
We wouldn't be saying "cheer up" if it weren't hard.
I was no different.
It was a suffocating schedule—one that felt impossible to get through unless I hypnotized myself like this.
Because of that, even during today's tactical briefing, the atmosphere was restless beyond compare. While trying to listen to the briefing, everyone was simultaneously checking their own physical condition, and those who needed treatment were too busy receiving it to focus.
Some were busy getting their entire legs taped up, while others had even pulled out bandages.
Ice packs that should have only come out at halftime were already visible here and there.
Looking at the scene alone, you'd wonder whether this was a locker room or a treatment room, whether it was before the match or after.
"Try moving it. How does it feel?"
"It's not uncomfortable."
"Does it feel supportive?"
"Yes."
"Good. That's fine."
Around my knee as well, athletic tape had settled into geometric shapes.
Well, it wasn't that I was in pain; it was a preventive measure.
I hadn't normally done this, but with the schedule lately and the criticism that my play style could put a strain on my knees, I was being careful.
It wasn't like I'd never been injured before.
There was no harm in being careful.
"Phew—"
The real problem was the other seniors, not me.
For me, it was just a matter of being careful in advance, but some of the seniors were running while enduring actual pain.
Come to think of it, I sometimes wondered if we really had to go this far to win the title.
On the other hand, having gone this far, I also felt that we had to at least try to win it.
...Still, honestly, my personal opinion was that rather than someone getting hurt, it would be better not to overdo it and to only do what we could.
Well, that was just my own thought.
Anyway.
It felt truly cruel to have to play a match when we should be resting, but there was no other way.
You can't expect every circumstance to be understood.
Still, we had to play the match, and there was no one to take our place.
Today, too, many fans had come to the stadium.
They had come to see us.
So we just had to go out onto the pitch and show them what they wanted to see.
"Alright, gather round."
The match was slowly drawing near.
After the manager left the locker room first, the captain called all the players to gather in one place.
Today, just as always, the captain was wearing his match uniform.
I knew how many bandages and strips of tape were plastered thickly beneath that uniform.
And yet, it was that very person who asked us:
"It's tough, isn't it?"
The captain slowly scanned everyone's faces, then flashed a grin as he spoke.
At that, answers poured out in less than 0.1 seconds.
"No."
"I'm fine."
"It's manageable."
"We're grateful."
Everyone knew, not just me, how much the captain was suffering.
How could anyone answer that they were struggling in front of him?
...In the midst of that, Romero seemed like he was about to say something, but fortunately, Saponara, who was beside him, covered his mouth for him.
"Good. Everyone's eyes look good."
The captain nodded, his smile widening.
"Yeah. Honestly, saying it isn't hard would be a lie. But what can we do? We still have to do it. It's not like we're the only ones struggling. The opponents are all just as tired. Right?"
"Right."
"So stay mentally strong, and let's just do our best with what we can do."
"Okay."
As the captain said, everyone looked visibly exhausted.
But strangely, strength could be felt in their eyes alone.
You might say they literally felt alive.
Perhaps that was because we weren't just individuals, but bound together by the single name of Fiorentina.
Come to think of it, a sense of belonging seems truly important.
Something that binds many different people into one.
People bound like that often bring out strength beyond what each individual is capable of.
"Alright, let's go."
"Let's go!"
"FORZA—!"
"VIOLA—!!"
Powerful voices filled the locker room, and as if swept along by that chorus, we headed toward the pitch.
*
Passing through the corridor, emerging from the tunnel, standing on the pitch, shouting our fighting spirit once more, then scattering to our respective positions.
And I stood in the center of the center circle for the kickoff.
"..."
Of all things.
That the players facing us in the opposite half were Inter players felt, in this situation, like a kind of trial.
It was as if the heavens were saying:
Let's see if you truly have what it takes to be champions!
Something like that.
If we could overcome even this, then we had the right to be champions; if not, this was as far as we'd go.
In that regard, I once again felt that today's match should be approached with absolute respect for the opponent.
After all, Inter was a team that had won this difficult title many times.
Breeeeep—!
Bang—!
The whistle blew, and the match began as the ball was sent backward.
And I ran toward the opponent's half with as much vigor as possible.
In a way, today might turn into a battle of acting.
Both we and they were equally exhausted, but if we showed signs of struggle, we'd be torn apart immediately.
We had to pretend to be as fine as possible.
In that regard, I was quite confident.
Pretending not to be tired even when I was was practically my specialty.
...Maybe I should have brought this up when Matteo asked me to boast about myself.
Bang—!
Anyway.
It seemed my teammates' thoughts weren't so different from mine.
Even back in the locker room, everyone had looked drained, yet now passes were circulating actively as if that had never been the case.
Tak-tak-tak—!
In response, the opponents didn't wait either, pushing up with their press.
To help my teammates escape that pressure, I subtly dropped deep.
Tak-tak—!
When I dropped back, our formation naturally shifted from a 4-3-3 to something resembling a 4-4-2.
Saponara and Romero, our two wings, filled the central space I had vacated.
The midfield moved in a way that let us circulate the ball.
Possession was always important, but today it was even more crucial.
Because the opponent's press was so intense, and because the time we spent defending couldn't be allowed to grow.
Tak-tak-tak—!
Even now, the pressure was tremendous.
It clung to us so quickly that it was hard to hold the ball even for a moment.
By dropping back, I had increased the numbers in midfield by one, but the opponent was set up in a 3-5-2 to begin with, so they had more bodies in the center.
And among them, the number one person to watch out for... was this man.
Tak-tak—!
The moment I received the ball, a player with a wiry frame rushed in.
The impressive number on his back was 77, and his name was Marcelo Brozović.
Wasn't he the monster who ran about 12km per match while playing in every game?
Watching him run like this now, you'd think he'd tire out quickly, but apparently he maintained that pace until the second half.
Moreover, they said he was also technically gifted and had a keen eye for transitions between attack and defense, as well as coordination.
I absolutely could not let him take the ball from me.
Therefore.
Today, I had to play with this player all match long.
Tak-tak—!
I evaded the opponent's foot charging straight at me by shifting to my right.
But he followed immediately, so this time I pulled my hips back and shielded the ball with my back turned.
It was manageable.
Central players were usually burdensome to deal with physically, but for now, I was holding my own.
However, what bothered me was his aggressive attitude.
He wasn't just applying moderate pressure; he kept shoving and trying to stick his foot in to touch the ball somehow.
Thanks to that, there was no room to catch my breath.
Honestly, there was nothing bad about this; if I just held him off, he'd be the one expending energy, so there was no downside.
But since Brozović supposedly never tired, I judged that I couldn't tangle with him for too long.
Today, I needed to use my stamina smartly as well.
It wasn't exactly abundant.
Tak-tak—!
I subtly used my hand and hips to push him back, created distance with the rebound, then turned around.
And faced him.
I couldn't wrestle with him physically, but I did have to keep him occupied for a long time.
If Brozović stuck to another teammate, the situation would become dangerous.
So it was right for me to shoulder that risk.
It wasn't that I was ignoring my teammates or trying to take the responsibility all on myself.
Everyone simply had their own roles.
If someone had to protect the ball, that someone had to be me.
Tak-tak—!
Brozović rushed in again.
Having felt it during our brief tussle earlier, he was truly crafty.
Because he stuck to me so aggressively, I had considered trying to draw a foul, but I could sense he was being careful not to ambiguously cross that line, so I quickly gave up.
A clever player.
If I could think of it, Brozović could think of it too.
Perhaps he could see even further ahead.
But I didn't think there was any need to be afraid.
Matteo had given me that assignment.
He had said another team was trying to buy me for 150 billion won, and told me to think about why that might be.
...A funny assignment.
But since I had to do it, I thought about it my own way.
There was only one conclusion.
It must be because others saw that much value in me.
Of course, even if I tried to think that way, 150 billion won seemed like too much.
But if that's what others say, what can I do?
Now, as Matteo had said, I was trying to look at myself more objectively.
Tak-tak-tak—!
As Brozović rushed in right up close, I moved the ball from my right foot to my left to evade his foot.
At the same time, I pushed the ball forward with my left foot, brushed aside Brozović's hand trying to grab me, and broke forward.
Come with me.
Don't bother the others.
Tak-tak-tak—!
I quickly picked up speed and crossed the halfway line in one breath.
Direction: center.
Immediately, I could feel the opposing players surging toward me, closing down the space around me.
There was no need to count them one by one with my eyes.
Every opponent around me was rushing in.
That meant it wasn't just one place that was open, but many places were open.
Without any headache-inducing calculations.
I chipped the ball up with a soft tap toward the space behind the defense.
Bang—!
The defenders approaching me paused and looked up, then soon hurriedly turned and ran back.
At the end of the gently floating trajectory, Romero was sprinting toward the open ground.
The kid seemed to have quite the talent for acting too.
He had been grumbling back in the locker room, yet now he looked full of energy as if that had never happened.
Tak-tak-tak—!
Nodding at that sight, I ran toward the box.
Whether Romero chose to shoot or pass.
Either way, charging in was essential.
If it was a pass, I obviously had to be in a position to receive it, and even if he took a shot, I had to charge in because a second ball could pop out.
Which would it be?
...By now, I felt like I could tell what choice he'd make just from looking at the side of his head.
Let's get ready.
Bang—!
Because the space behind them had been stripped away in an instant, the opponent's defensive line was in disarray trying to cover it.
Romero's pass, bent through the stretched defenders, came toward me.
Something between a cross and a pass.
Twooong—!
I always felt it, but Romero's passes lacked consideration.
If it was a ground ball, he should've rolled it properly along the floor; if he was going to give it high, he should've put it at chest or head height.
But it was coming in bouncing ambiguously at knee height.
Tak-tak—!
Meanwhile, one defender was stuck to my back.
It didn't seem like his momentum would stop; it felt like he wasn't just marking my back but trying to spring forward to intercept the pass.
It was too late to get ahead first.
Then there was no choice but to block him with my body.
Since we were inside the penalty box, it was a fight in my favor.
Peuk—!
I subtly stretched out my hand and secured my position first, and I felt an impact from behind.
However, it wasn't enough to make me fall.
I could feel him urgently reducing his speed.
At the same time, Romero's pass arrived right in front of me.
In that moment, such a thought crossed my mind.
If Matteo were to ask whether I'd thought of an answer to that assignment... it'd be a bit much to explain all of this myself.
So I'd answer like this.
"Did you see the match against Inter?"
"Isn't that where the reason is?"
To do that, I had to show it.
Bang—!
I received the ball with my knee.
The ball bounced up slightly.
As it fell again, I lifted the ball once more with my right foot and quickly spun my body around.
Shwooo—!
The defender could be seen reacting late, watching the ball pass over his own head.
That was human instinct, so it couldn't be helped.
Tak-tak—!
I dug in behind the defender's back and waited for the falling ball.
Calculating the speed and angle, I judged that rather than taking an unnecessary touch, it would be better to strike it immediately with my left foot.
And I carried out that judgment exactly as decided.
Bwooooong—!
The sensation of the ball settling on my instep felt just like a peach.
Refreshing.
Shwooooo—!
Thwack—!!
And of course, the rippling net was no different.