That Team from Turin -2
The day of the decisive battle had dawned.
I woke up even earlier than my already-early alarm, folded my blanket, washed up thoroughly, and packed my things.
Thinking I was probably the first one out, I came down to the lobby, only to find several kids already there.
We exchanged brief greetings, but the children’s expressions felt a little different from usual.
Clearly, today’s match wasn’t one that held significance for me alone.
Currently, we were second in the group. First place was that team from Turin.
It was only natural that to become first, we had to beat the first-place team. Of course, team rankings didn’t matter much at this youth level, but still, it was good to take first place if we could.
Furthermore, Fiorentina and that team had a derby relationship.
Since yesterday, the coach had told us several times that we absolutely could not lose to that team.
It was the first time the coach had ever said something like that, so even I, who didn’t know the full circumstances, could feel that a derby was indeed a derby.
Perhaps that was why. Everyone had solemn faces, devoid of any playfulness.
I too sat among those children, quietly closed my eyes, and organized my thoughts.
“Let’s go.”
When the time came, we left the lodgings following the coach. The stadium wasn’t very far, so we walked, but the familiar streetscape wasn’t particularly welcoming.
I walked while looking up at the sky as much as possible.
And we arrived at the stadium.
From the moment I spotted the stadium in the distance, my stomach had been churning.
That team used their own training ground as their stadium. The facilities were good enough to serve as one.
In other words, the stadium I had to play in today was the training ground I had hated going to every single morning.
A place without a single good memory.
The moment I set foot there, unpleasant memories seemed to creep up.
But I didn’t hunch my shoulders.
Rather, I squared them proudly.
Because the me of now wasn’t the me of back then.
Now, no one here could touch me, and even if they tried, I wouldn’t stay still.
Repeating those thoughts to myself, I stopped by the locker room, stored my things in the locker that used to be full of trash, changed clothes, and stepped onto the field.
I warmed up following the coach’s commands and awakened my senses with shooting practice. By the time my body was suitably warmed up, the opposing team’s kids began to come out onto the field one by one.
I saw familiar faces.
The guy who never passed to me, the guy who tackled roughly even during practice, the guy who tormented me the worst, and the guy who laughed the loudest beside him.
They were the same faces as ever.
Not a single one had changed.
That was good.
Because it made me think I could carry out my own revenge without my resolve weakening.
*
“Forza!”
“Viola!!”
We gave a cheer and scattered to our positions.
Today, our formation was slightly different from usual.
The 4-2-3-1 formation was our basic one, but today we lined up in a 4-4-2 shape.
Both wingers dropped back more defensively, and Enzo, my partner, and I were also instructed to pay more attention to the first line of defense.
The match against Napoli hadn’t been easy either, but today’s opponent was stronger than Napoli.
I had no choice but to acknowledge what had to be acknowledged.
Moreover, since today was an away game.
The coach’s orders were to maintain a solid defense while looking for counterattack chances.
I thought that was the best approach too.
“Beep—!”
The whistle blew, and the match began with the opponent’s kickoff.
*Thud—*
*Thud—*
The opponent started the match leisurely, passing the ball around.
Instead of pressing up, we held our positions and waited for the opponent to approach first.
The opponent’s formation… seemed to be a 4-3-3.
Both wings spread wide toward the side spaces, while the central midfielders filtered in between us.
How would they attack?
Anyway, since I had experience learning soccer there as well, I knew a few things about their general framework.
But I couldn’t just think about those things blindly. Soccer was a sport with an enormous number of variables.
Therefore, the best thing was to read the opponent’s movements with my eyes and make optimal judgments accordingly.
I stood almost in the center of the pitch, constantly surveying my surroundings without rest, trying to read the flow.
Today, the coach had entrusted me with command authority during first-line defensive situations on top of my usual role.
Judging when to wait and when to apply pressure, line control, and maintaining the left-right balance.
As my role had grown larger, I concentrated and ran endless simulations in my head.
“Maintain the line!”
Since nothing had happened yet, we were maintaining our balance well.
Thanks to that, the opponent couldn’t easily penetrate and merely circulated the ball.
What choice would the opponent make to break our balance?
“…”
Around this point, I briefly shifted my perspective and thought about how I would solve this situation if I were the opponent.
Hmm……
Lost in thought for a moment, I then moved to the left and shouted.
“Close the gaps!”
The moment I judged they would have to use the sides eventually, movement was detected on the left.
The opposing winger moved inside and stood like a central midfielder, while a fullback was pushing up into his original spot.
It was a movement to create a temporary numerical advantage on one side and advance the ball. I had moved to the left to control that.
*Tap-tap-tap—!*
As I moved, my nearby teammates shifted their positions as if drawn by a magnet.
The left space narrowed in an instant, and the opponent, seemingly giving up on developing play in that direction, soon chose a back pass.
Good. We had pushed them back for now.
“Positions!”
Moving back to the center, I shouted to the kids. We quickly reorganized our ranks and regained our balance.
Then, the opponent’s ball circulation around us began again.
“…”
As I tracked it with my eyes, I suddenly made eye contact with someone outside the touchline.
The bald man on the opposing team’s bench.
The unforgettable bald coach. Because he was the coach who had said that being bullied was partly my fault.
He was looking at me with a displeased gaze.
“We’re doing great!”
That gaze felt incredibly satisfying.
*
The opponent was cautious.
No, perhaps we had made them cautious.
Anyway. We occupied space as efficiently as possible and blocked the opponent’s advance, and it was working effectively.
We hadn’t simply waited either.
We had actively attempted counterattacks too.
When the opponent, unable to bear the frustration, pushed up recklessly, we didn’t hesitate to stick tight and defend boldly.
After winning the ball back, rather than maintaining possession, we immediately attempted counterattacks and targeted the opponent’s half.
The coach had ordered that this would complicate the opponent’s thinking even more.
We had faithfully executed that, and it was working quite well.
This was roughly the situation until around the 20th minute of the first half.
“Don’t lose focus!”
Checking the time via a sign from the bench, I shouted to the kids.
Though I shouted it to the kids, it was also something I said to myself.
The period where concentration inevitably dropped bit by bit was approaching. I too had been fully focused for the entire 20 minutes, so situations I was starting to miss were occurring.
That meant… it was also time for the opponent’s concentration to drop.
I thought it would be good to change the tempo around now.
Fast enough to fluster the opponent, and boldly.
“…”
I quietly watched the opponent’s movements and gauged the timing. Since we had been waiting in such a low block, the opponent was slowly circulating the ball in the midfield rather than the back.
Slowly passing the ball in such a high position was clearly dangerous, yet the opponent passed loosely as if unaware of that fact.
Is this what they call a false sense of security?
We had let them do that, so they seemed to be under the illusion that it wasn’t dangerous.
Exactly what I wanted.
I jogged lightly, ready to burst forward at any moment, while tracking the ball with my eyes.
And while waiting for a careless pass…
Now.
*Tap-tap-tap—!*
I burst forward.
It was the moment a horizontal pass from the side toward the center was rolling slowly.
I ran to intercept that pass in the middle.
“Press!”
The captain’s shout came from behind me.
At the same time, I heard the sound of teammates rapidly accelerating on both sides.
“Stick to them!”
From now, it was a press.
Pressing is a team movement. Pressing alone is futile. Pressing only has meaning when everyone goes up with one mind.
So when I went up, everyone started following; it felt incredibly reassuring.
It felt as if they were saying they wouldn’t leave me alone.
“Line up!”
Charging fiercely while shouting, I could see the opponent, who had been leisurely until now, faltering and flustered.
“Back!”
I couldn’t intercept the horizontal pass, but as I rushed the guy who received it, he hurriedly played a back pass.
*Tap-tap-tap—!*
I passed him and continued chasing the ball.
I intended to press until the very end. It wasn’t an emotional decision. The opponent had been thinking only of attack until now, so I could see their backline positioning was sloppy.
“I’m on you! Back!”
As if trying to get away from us rapidly closing in, back passes continued like dominoes.
It was the natural choice. From the opponent’s perspective, it would feel safe. It was instinctive.
But it was common sense that losing the ball closer to the goal was more dangerous.
The more the opponent played the ball backward, the higher our scoring probability would be if we could steal it.
“Close in!”
Of course, if the opponent chose a truly safe method, they could escape our press.
By booting it far away.
But when I had learned soccer there, I was taught to boot it away in such situations only when there were no other options.
I was taught that building up through passes or escaping pressure came first, and that you had to be able to do that to become a pro.
So I thought that even now, the opponent would try somehow to break through this press.
Reading those movements, I continued running toward the box.
“Don’t let up!”
Anyway, the opponent was a strong team. They would have the ability to break out of a half-hearted press.
So a moderate press wouldn’t even send a chill down their spines.
It meant I had to give it my all with the thought that this was the last opportunity.
Fortunately, I could run toward the ball faster than my usual speed.
Especially the moment the ball reached the feet of the opponent’s last defender, the center-back.
My feet moved as if I had ignited a booster.
He was the guy who used to make rough tackles on me and only me during training.
What was his name again?
Was it Jerome?
*Tap-tap-tap—!*
I charged toward Jerome.
For an instant, a troubled expression flickered in his eyes. Perhaps my pressure had closed in faster than he expected; he didn’t seem to have found an outlet yet.
Then he could simply give it easily to the keeper.
But… he didn’t seem to want to do that.
Why? Because the one rushing at him was none other than me.
*Thud—!*
He attempted a pass.
It wasn’t a back pass, but rather a forward pass.
The pass went to my left, and even if I stretched my foot out, it was out of reach.
But Bruno was definitely on the left.
It meant he might get away from me, but he couldn’t avoid the net we had spread out.
*Thud—!*
I turned my head at the dull thud.
It was Bruno. I saw Bruno dart out from behind the defense and intercept the pass.
“Forward!”
While keeping Jerome at my back, I raised my hand.
Then the pass came immediately.
An honest pass right to my feet.
*Tap—!*
Jerome wasn’t one to just watch this.
I felt him rushing at me from behind.
Since I wasn’t inside the box… I had a premonition that he would charge forcefully into me.
“…”
I was scared.
Memories of the past surfaced. Even when I fell hard after colliding with him, I couldn’t say much.
Because no one had made an issue of it.
But… not now.
I had to overcome it. Compared to then, my body had grown bigger, and my physical battles had improved thanks to special training with Coach Luca.
More than anything, now I too was ready to fight back.
I was terribly scared, yet on the other hand, I even wished he would charge into me as forcefully as before.
Because then I would know for certain whether I had improved or was the same as before.
*Boom—!*
“Kgh…!”
An impact reverberated from behind.
He had rammed his shoulder into my back.
But I didn’t fall.
I lowered my stance, pushed his center of gravity away with my hips, and held my ground.
It was a strange feeling.
Was this all Jerome amounted to?
*Thud—!*
While holding my ground like that, I received the pass coming to me with the outside of my right foot and slightly changed direction.
And,
*Tap—!*
Using Jerome as my axis, I turned to the right.
At the same time, I kicked the ball straight ahead with my left foot and drove into the box.
I got past…
“…Kgh?”
The moment I thought I had broken through, I felt an impact at my ankle and the world spun.
*Crash—!*
The ground rushed toward my face, and I barely blocked it with my arms. Had I been tackled and fallen?
This… was a familiar experience. Me falling to Jerome’s rough tackles. Perhaps because it had happened dozens of times, the memories of that time dug into me like it was yesterday.
“Referee!!”
“Foul!”
I heard the voices of my teammates… but I didn’t know whether the referee would call a foul.
So I sprang up.
Getting up and turning around, I saw Jerome on top of the ball, pushing himself up with his arms.
Seemed he had stopped the ball with a sliding tackle.
The guy quickly got up and tried to secure the ball and get out of the box…
*Tap-tap-tap—!*
This time, I charged at his back.
Because I had decided not to stay down even if I was tackled and fell.
*Thud—!*
A dull sound rang out.
I stretched my leg out at the ball from behind.
In the process, it seemed my foot had clipped Jerome’s leg, but I didn’t care and snatched the ball that squirted out.
*Tap—!*
Then I turned back toward the goal, rolled the ball forward with the sole of my foot, and charged with large strides.
There was so much open space in the goal that I didn’t particularly need to aim for a corner.
*Baaaaang—!*
That shot, taken as quickly and powerfully as possible,
*Swooooosh—*
*Thwack—!!*
ripped through the goal net as it was.
“…!”
The moment I saw the net swaying.
Strength surged into my fist. I felt something hot rising in my throat.
I glanced at the referee and saw him pointing to the halfway line. It was a goal.
But today, there was no need for a celebration.
Because Jiu wasn’t here.
So instead of celebrating, I turned back.
“…”
And I looked at Jerome.
When I stared openly at him, Jerome, who had been down on one knee, got up and faced me.
Perhaps finding the situation amusing, he raised one corner of his mouth and said,
“This punk, you’ve grown a lot?”
It scared me, but I didn’t show it on the outside and instead approached him.
And looking down at him, I caught my breath and said,
“I suppose so. Guess I’ve grown a lot. Were you always this small?”
The Jerome before my eyes was much smaller than the Jerome in my memories.
“You…”
The moment Jerome grimaced at my words and tried to say something,
“Waaaaah—!”
“Yeeeee—!”
Our teammates swarmed me.
Because of that, Jerome was pushed aside by the kids before he could even open his mouth, cutting a ridiculous figure.
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