Chapter 214: Perfectionist -2
It was around the time July was turning from mid-month to late.
The faces of the locals I occasionally ran into still hadn't grown familiar, and I was struggling to fix the habit of Italian slipping out before English, but the European football schedule didn't allow me ample time to settle into my new home.
“···.”
Today was the first day of team training.
A day when all the players who had left for vacation were called back, and I too was heading to the training ground in the car with Dad.
“Nervous?”
“···No. Not really.”
“That’s right. There’s nothing to be nervous about. Go and take it easy.”
“···Yes.”
Inside the car heading to the training ground, I shrugged and answered Dad.
It wasn't like I was going to the stadium for a match—just going to the training ground—so what reason was there to be nervous? But the truth was, I was nervous.
How should I put it?
It felt like going to school with a fresh mindset at the start of a new school year.
Along with my fluttering heart, all sorts of thoughts came to mind.
What kind of kids would be in my class, what would my new homeroom teacher be like, would I be able to make a lot of friends this time, and so on.
These mixed thoughts created a subtle tension.
As I'd heard in counseling not long ago, it seemed to be true that an innate temperament never changes.
Seeing as I trembled just the same now as when I was little.
“···”
With my anxious heart, I pulled my gaze away from the window and took out my phone.
Ever since moving to England, a group chat had appeared in my inbox.
[21-23 Fiorentina (25 members)]
It was a bit embarrassing to admit, but I'd turned off the notifications.
They went off nonstop.
Whenever I checked after briefly doing something else, there were always dozens of messages piled up.
It was the same now.
Yesterday, someone had asked what I was doing tomorrow, and when I said team training started tomorrow, everyone had been endlessly meddlesome.
That first impressions were important, so I had to make a strong impression on the first day; that I should grab the toughest-looking guy the moment I stepped onto the training ground; that if anyone messed with me, I should tell them I knew plenty of scary hyungs in Italy.
So much nonsense.
Of course, there were times they cheered me on seriously too.
Telling me to fighting for the new season together; that to those people I represented Fiorentina, so I should always show them my hardworking, best side.
That I should show them my worth—show them why I'd transferred for that kind of money.
And to nudge the coach at every chance that Fiorentina had a lot of good players... Hm. Wait, this is nonsense too.
Turns out it was all nonsense.
Good grief.
“···.”
Anyway, I cracked a slight smile and put my phone back in my pocket.
Now we were truly on different teams, and if you thought about it, we were at a point where we could be enemies rather than strangers.
Yet seeing messages from hyungs who still called me their maknae, I felt strangely emotional for no reason.
Once a maknae, always a maknae, or so they say.
They said even after everyone retired and I became the oldest player on the team, they'd still call me maknae.
Well, they weren't wrong.
I'd think of my Fiorentina sunbaes as sunbaes until the day I died, too.
In any case, reading their messages only strengthened that new-school-year feeling.
It was as if I already missed last year's classmates.
Come to think of it, it wasn't simply a new school year—it was no different from transferring schools entirely—so that was probably why.
I'd only just moved, yet I already wanted to visit Florence. I should think hard about whether that was simply because I was nervous right now.
···Hmm.
The moment the training center came into view in the distance, my stomach began to hurt slightly, so I supposed I really was nervous.
“···.”
I thought the same as my hyungs.
First impressions were important.
When I'd first come to Italy—that is, my first day at the Juventus youth team—I hadn't done well.
Naturally, my first impression couldn't have been good.
Thanks to that—though not solely because of it—the kids hadn't taken kindly to me and hadn't trusted me.
Difficult days had followed.
On the other hand, my first day of first-team training at Fiorentina, I'd done better than I'd expected.
The seniors had looked out for me from the start because they were all good people, but it was probably also largely because the impression I'd made that day had been good.
Thanks to that, I was able to focus solely on football in a positive atmosphere.
Of course, a first impression was just a first impression, and with effort, it could always be changed.
It was just difficult.
I thought making a good first impression was the best way to make things easier going forward.
They'd said it somewhat jokingly, but that was why the seniors' words probably hadn't been entirely in jest.
About leaving a strong impression on the first day and taking charge.
Honestly, having faced them, I knew all too well that the Manchester City players were nothing but geniuses.
Leaving a strong impression on such players wouldn't be easy.
Still, I should do my best.
Because only then would things be easier going forward.
Moreover, I was already... unintentionally the center of attention.
Because of the enormous transfer fee.
Everyone must be curious about me.
In whatever sense, they'd think a guy who'd come for that much money must have his reasons.
So it would be strange if I weren't nervous.
It was far too easy an environment in which to make a bad first impression.
Expectations were already high, so if I failed to leave even a slightly strong impression, that alone would likely become a negative image.
“Alright, get out here. Dad has to turn the car around and head out.”
“···Ah, yes.”
It was definitely about a ten-minute drive from home to the training ground, but today it felt like we'd arrived in less than five.
Grabbing my bag and stepping out of the car, I turned my head to watch the car leaving the training ground for a moment.
Then I turned back toward the training ground where I would be training today.
No matter how many times I saw it, the sheer scale of the facility felt overwhelming.
“···Huu—”
Like right before taking a free kick, I exhaled deeply and moved my feet.
It truly felt like opening the front door of a classroom right before entering a new school.
*
I kept comparing it to school, but Fiorentina's training ground atmosphere had really been like school.
I'd never attended an all-boys high school, but it had exactly the atmosphere you'd imagine one to have.
In the mornings, one or two guys were always bickering; someone was always chattering nonsense and giggling.
A boisterous, all-boys-classroom vibe—that was Fiorentina's training ground atmosphere.
On the other hand... Manchester City's training ground atmosphere was quite different.
“···.”
As the players appeared one by one at the training ground and began preparing for training.
Except for me, even though everyone was meeting after a long time, the greetings weren't boisterous.
Everyone exchanged brief greetings and immediately focused on preparing for training.
I felt sorry to my seniors for saying this, but if Fiorentina's ground had been like an ordinary all-boys classroom, this was like a classroom in a school where only the top students gathered.
An atmosphere emanated that suggested they knew nothing but football.
I'd already heard about it.
They said Manchester City had so many rules to follow that this atmosphere was inevitable.
Because the coach was notoriously strict.
For example, being even a minute late to training was obviously forbidden.
Food was restricted too—carbonated drinks and chocolate were banned, and you could only eat pre-approved items.
Phone use during training was banned, and you could be disciplined for improper attire when entering or leaving the grounds.
There were countless other rules as well.
Hmm.
I was already nervous, but the quiet, somewhat cold atmosphere only made me more nervous.
If Fiorentina had been like a family, this place truly felt like a workplace.
In any case, because of that, I was preparing for training while unnecessarily fussing over tying my cleats when—
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.”
Turning my head at the players' greetings breaking the quiet atmosphere, I saw a man walking through the entrance.
Come to think of it, I'd somehow ended up with coaches who had the same hairstyle back-to-back.
Coach Guardiola was walking over with one hand in his pocket.
Checking the time, it was exactly on the hour—just as I'd heard.
“Line up!”
···His first greeting was extraordinary as well.
As if omitting the usual pleasantries entirely, everyone moved sharply onto the pitch at the low command to line up.
Not wanting to be late, I quickly got up and stood among the players.
I swallowed hard without realizing it.
He seemed like a completely different person from when I'd last seen him.
“···”“···”
While quite nervous, the coach had us stand at attention, listening intently to whatever the assistant coach was reporting.
Seemed there was some kind of report.
“···Okay.”
Only after that fairly long report ended did the coach nod.
“···”
Then he looked around at us.
His gaze felt as sharp as a blade.
He wasn't merely looking; it was like he was performing a precision scan.
Come to think of it, among the rules was one stating that players could be disciplined for exceeding their assigned weight limits.
Fortunately, nothing seemed to stand out, and after looking each of us over, the coach nodded.
Then he clapped once, sharply, and spoke.
“Everything is good?”
To his question asking if everything was fine, the players' answers shot out in perfect unison in less than a second.
···Somehow, I hadn't managed to answer.
I glanced around unnecessarily, but fortunately the coach didn't seem to notice.
The coach nodded and said,
“Good.”
Then, suddenly, his gaze turned toward me.
Our eyes met with no time to avoid it.
Click, click.
The coach beckoned me forward.
As if telling me not to hide in the back.
At the same time, the other players' gazes naturally turned toward me, and feeling that burdensome attention, I stepped forward.
And stood among the players arranged in a circle.
Soon, I felt the coach's hand on my shoulder.
“There probably isn't anyone who doesn't know. Still, I suppose introductions are in order.”
···One of the things I hated most was introducing myself.
Resigning myself to the coach's hand tapping my shoulder, I cleared my throat.
Nothing made me as nervous as this.
Still, I'd prepared.
“···Hi. My name is···”
It was perhaps a bit slow and frustrating to listen to, but I began my introduction in English, even if falteringly.
I'd put my head together with Jiu and crafted the lines.
Jiu's opinion had been that it was better to do the self-introduction in English if possible.
That even if I wasn't good at it, showing effort by speaking English rather than Italian would be better, or so she'd said.
“······pleased to be here. uh··· hope we have a good season together.”
Fortunately, thanks to practicing, I got through all the memorized lines and let out a sigh.
Then I glanced at the players' expressions and thought I'd been right to listen to Jiu.
Clap, clap, clap—
Everyone smiled and clapped.
Since until just moments ago they'd had faces like football-playing machines, I'd been inwardly intimidated.
But I supposed this was still a place where people lived, after all.
“Your pronunciation is better than mine.”
“···Not really.”
Even the coach smiled and cracked a joke.
But that harmonious atmosphere didn't last long.
“Okay. Greetings are done. Let's begin.”
With a clap to end the brief greeting, the coach sent the players moving in perfect unison.
They seemed to be lining up for running, so I too quickly fell into line.
And soon, with the sound of a whistle, the running began.
Tat-tat-tat—!
My first training session at Manchester City had begun.