Chapter 223: His Very Existence Is a Foul – 1
“Ah, so sick of this. He’s on again.”
“...Then watch something else.”
“If I change the channel, he’ll show up there anyway. I might as well watch it like I’m studying English, I guess.”
A late evening draped in a soft, carpet-like silence.
Jiwoo, sitting as if reclining on a plush sofa, spoke with the remote in her hand.
On the TV… a talk show somewhere between sports news and analysis was playing.
[……The goal itself was impressive, but the scene that truly amazed me was the assist. Look here. What a lovely pass. Thierry, what happens if a striker fails to convert a pass like this?]
[Well, I’ve never missed one, so I wouldn’t know. But if I had to guess, he’d definitely be substituted in the second half. Because that’s a chance a striker absolutely cannot miss.]
…Hmm.
The screen was showing a clip from the match—this afternoon’s game.
And the one making that “lovely pass” they were talking about… absurdly, it was me.
[How did he see this path? Let’s rewind the footage ten seconds. Look. Ri receives the ball near the halfway line. And he glances forward once, but up until this moment, you can’t see a path from this position to Haaland in one go. Because the Arsenal defense is positioned well.]
They sure look at it closely.
What’s so special about that.
They paused the screen and went on explaining what kind of situation it was, but I couldn’t actually remember what I had been thinking back then.
I think it was just something like, there’s no space, so I should make some.
[Look. An ordinary player would have simply passed to Grealish or Akanji here. Because the path is already open on that side. If you can send an accurate pass there, you’re an A-class midfielder. But Ri shows the difference between A-class and S-class right here. The thought wasn’t to send it down an already paved road, but that he had to create the road himself. Watch again.]
…Now that I heard it, I thought I might vaguely remember.
The space on the left was open.
I did think about passing there, but I decided it would be better to give it directly to Haaland instead.
It was simply because that would be more lethal, nothing more.
[To create the path, he had to move Ødegaard out of the way. Ødegaard was positioned on the line connecting Ri and Haaland. So Ri advances while exchanging passes. Into the left half-space, that is. Thanks to that, Ødegaard is drawn out. Ri gives the ball back to Kovacic. Since the distance is already close, Ødegaard presses Kovacic. The ball goes back to Ri. Pause right here. Now, what do we see?]
[The path has opened.]
My body itched for no reason.
Space naturally opens up when you exchange passes like that, but they made it sound like such a grand thing.
But I decided not to grumble over nothing.
Because Jiwoo, who had complained it was tiresome, was listening with gleaming eyes before I knew it.
[He immediately demands the ball, and the moment Kovacic gives it, he half-turns forward without hesitation. And immediately threads the pass. What is this? How does this kind of passing timing come out? He turned and just gave it right away. It means the situation ahead was already in his head. When did he grasp it? Let’s go back ten seconds.]
The footage rewound ten seconds again.
[Here. The moment he receives the ball and glances forward once. It was right here. Is it about 0.5 seconds? Literally, he just glanced once. But at this moment, the picture ahead was already fully complete in Ri’s head.]
[Let me correct you about calling him S-class. He’s not S-class, he’s S+. He’s seeing the future.]
It’s not like I’m beef or something.
Being graded like this felt strange, but the fact that it was a good grade—while not bad—made me feel even stranger.
[Well, if he were a 28 or 30-year-old player, you could think he’s really good. But he’s 18, isn’t he? At that age, I was too busy looking straight ahead when I entered the pitch. I couldn’t even see what was right beside me, let alone behind. Yet this young player without much experience has this kind of vision and judgment. It’s simply astounding. How is it possible?]
[It’s innate talent. If you actually asked him about this scene, he’d probably answer like this: that he just saw it and passed. You know. The things we only understand by rewinding replays second by second—some players just know instinctively.]
[Truly astonishing talent.]
…That’s not it.
That’s not right.
I don’t know about the rest, but that part is wrong.
If that were true, then the things I’d told Jiwoo wouldn’t have been lies.
How nice would it be if things like that just happened on their own.
If I could do it like that by simply moving as my body wanted, by instinct alone, it would be so easy and pleasant.
Those are the ones called truly innate geniuses.
But I’m not.
I always have to agonize and think fiercely.
Because nothing comes naturally to me.
For real geniuses, every moment must be enjoyable, but for me, every moment feels like taking a test.
“I’ve always wondered, is what they said true?”
“...What?”
While I’d been lost in thought, unnecessarily gazing out the window, I turned my head at Jiwoo’s question.
Jiwoo asked with an innocent expression.
“Does your body really just move on its own? Like you’re not even thinking?”
“Mm. Of course…”
I have to squeeze it out every single time.
Does she think I’m some kind of born genius?
“…Of course, I just do what my body tells me to.”
…Still, you can just keep thinking that.
Don’t try to dig up the truth.
When I answered with a shrug as if it were obvious, Jiwoo furrowed her brow.
“Anyway, why are all geniuses so kinda annoying? The kids who always get first place always say they didn’t study, but then they get first place. So annoying.”
Seeing Jiwoo pout and focus back on the TV, I let out a small laugh without realizing it.
I pretend to be like that too, but the truth is I struggle and flounder, studying not just during class but all my remaining time as well.
After today’s match, I’d received one piece of homework.
Right when the match ended, I’d felt good thinking I’d done pretty well.
But it seems I didn’t meet the coach’s standards; the moment I returned to the locker room after lifting the trophy, I got an earful.
That I was too passive.
He asked why I was only trying to match others.
…Mm.
Honestly, it was criticism I wanted to meekly refute too, but I was too scared to say anything.
I mean, of course I should be the one to adjust.
I can’t exactly ask my teammates to match me, can I?
Not to disrespect the Fiorentina seniors, but… the teammates here are players who walk on clouds.
Rather than human, they feel more like Taoist immortals.
Whether during training or in a match, there are times when I space out just watching my teammates play.
This is a team where geniuses among geniuses have gathered.
So it was inevitable that I’d become a bit timid.
For example, well, it didn’t happen often, but.
There were times when I wanted to pass left but heard someone nearby tell me to go back, so I passed back.
There were times when I thought about dribbling more, then wondered if I should really hold onto the ball that long, and ended up passing instead.
No matter how much the coach told me before the match to do as I pleased, honestly, wouldn’t anyone do the same?
If you’re taking a test and your answer differs from the top student in the school, wouldn’t you doubt your own answer?
Well, on top of that, stamina had been somewhat of a burden too.
Whether it was because it had been a while since a real match, or because of the fast tempo of the Premier League I’d only heard about.
It was probably both, but anyway, my breathing picked up faster than I thought, so it was a bit tough.
The transitions between attack and defense were so fast, and the moment I tried to receive the ball, pressure came right away, so my stamina drained quickly.
Because of that, in the late first half and second half, I think I tried to play as safely as possible.
I held back from attempting risky passes since losing them would lead to immediate counterattacks, and I didn’t attempt dribble breakthroughs recklessly either.
I suppose those things looked like a passive attitude in the coach’s eyes.
Anyway, since I was criticized, I should try to fix it.
I don’t really know how to stop trying so hard to accommodate others, at least.
It’s like being told to take charge when I’m just a caterpillar—how am I supposed to do that?
“…”
Fortunately, we won today’s match, but.
Today remained a day with worries about tomorrow.
I’d grown somewhat accustomed to this kind of life, but being accustomed didn’t mean it was comfortable.
It was an evening that left me lost in thought.
“Wow, what? He’s on here too.”
In the midst of that.
Right after my segment ended on the talk show Jiwoo had been watching, she changed the channel, and this time a sports news broadcast began airing news about today’s match.
“So sick of it, so sick. I see you every day as it is, do I have to see only your face on TV too?”
…I acknowledge that it’s tiresome, but.
It was a problem that could be solved by watching a channel other than sports, rather than complaining like that.
I had a hard time understanding Jiwoo, who only changed to sports channels while grumbling.
∙∙∙
“How is China? Have you been?”
“No. I haven’t.”
“Really? Why? It’s right next door.”
“…Mm. It’s different from here. Just because it’s right next door doesn’t mean you can go back and forth easily.”
“That’s strange.”
A day three days before the season opener.
After finishing training, which had been hectic as I tried to learn things today, I’d dropped by the treatment room.
While lying on a massage bed receiving a massage, the therapist tilted her head.
She was someone I’d grown close to faster than my teammates because I saw her every day.
“If it’s your first time, you’ll need to prepare more. Your stomach might have trouble adjusting to the water.”
“…Yes.”
“It’s my first time in China too, so I’m a bit scared. Just in case, you know.”
I smiled awkwardly at the therapist, who had grown talkative, unsure if she was scared or excited.
By the way, China.
It was a bit out of the blue, so I was worried too.
As for why China, on the opposite side of the continent, suddenly came up—it was the day before yesterday, I think.
Because of news that had flown in from Korea.
They said my name had been included on the call-up list for a competition called the Asian Games.
And since those Asian Games were being held in China this time, that’s why China came up.
Actually, when I signed the new contract last time, my agent had told me beforehand.
What did he say again.
He said the Asian Games wasn’t a competition with mandatory call-up obligations, so there was a chance I couldn’t go, and that he’d put something in the contract terms about that.
I hadn’t thought much of it then, but since I really had been called up, he said it would proceed according to the contract.
He said it was an important period right after the transfer for both the team and me, but that I still had to go.
Apparently, the team had assumed they wouldn’t call me up, that the association would be considerate.
I don’t really know about such things.
Anyway, thanks to that, I felt a bit self-conscious.
Like I was the only one slacking off during an important time.
Still, the team was very considerate.
They even said they’d send the therapist currently massaging my legs with me…
“That’s what I mean. I am correct about this, right? If you win, you don’t have to go to the army?”
“…Yes.”
I nodded at the therapist’s question.
Honestly, I wasn’t keen on either option, but there was a reason I had to go.
…the military, that is.
They say if you win a gold medal at the Asian Games, you don’t have to go to the military.
If I didn’t have to go… there was a lot I would gain in many ways.
Even if I had plenty of time, it was best to seize opportunities when they came.
Especially… I don’t know why, but.
Jiwoo had said I absolutely had to go.
Absolutely.
“Then you absolutely have to win. If you don’t want to get dragged away.”
“…We have to win regardless.”
“Haha, that’s true.”
Thanks to that, for one reason or another.
Though I really wasn’t keen on it, since I was going anyway, I felt I had to bring back the gold medal no matter what.
But actually, more important than that was the fact that the day after tomorrow was the season opener.
And the coach had told me I’d be starting in that opener.
The real summer, not a fake one, was about to begin.