240_Respect –3
Whether you go to school, work, or anywhere.
I think that when it comes to living as a group, what matters most isn't the intensity of the work, but rather who you're with.
No matter how difficult studying is or how hard work gets.
Because if you're with good people, you can endure it.
Conversely, just as work can be painful when the people around you aren't the right fit, even if the work itself is easy.
And I think it's the same for soccer players.
Of course, salary, living conditions, and rankings are all very important factors.
But I think what comes before all that is who your teammates are.
Because while being with good people allows you to enjoy life.
The level of your teammates is also a problem directly connected to my own skill.
A season has at most around 50 matches.
Once or twice a week.
All the remaining time is team training.
What this means is that the opponent you face most often over the course of a year is your teammate.
Even looking at just last year, that was the case.
The defenders I faced most weren't Juventus defenders or Milan defenders, but Fiorentina defenders.
Because your teammates are the ones you train with every day.
You inevitably become the opponents each other faces most.
When you face off against each other that much, you can't help but learn each other's strengths and weaknesses.
In other words, I know all of my opponent's weaknesses right now.
Tatata-t!
I dribble the ball quickly up the left half-space.
The defensive spacing in the center is quite tight, and the layers I have to break through are as numerous as an onion's.
The fact that we know each other well applies to me as well.
Just as I know my opponent well, perhaps my opponent knows me even better than that.
What my strengths are, and what my weaknesses are.
So the opponent must be thinking they can stop me effectively too.
But if I am fully aware of my own weaknesses, wouldn't the story be different?
They say if you know the enemy and know yourself, you will win every battle.
Perhaps in that phrase, what is more important than 'know the enemy' is 'know yourself.'
I know myself.
My weakness lies in my mentality.
I'm unnecessarily sensitive and overthink things, so I often get shaken by matters outside the match.
In short, I lack composure and cannot be bold.
The fact that I was scared and my heart wavered at facing Fiorentina was all because of that.
It was quite a fatal weakness.
Because the difference in mindset is not something to be taken lightly.
Isn't facing a well-fed bear and facing a bear who lost her cubs a difference like heaven and earth?
It's a matter that can make you a completely different person.
That's right.
My weakness is in my heart.
But I believe that weakness just disappeared.
Thanks to the respect the opponent showed me first.
Because they treated me first not as a former teammate, nor as the youngest of the team they cherished so much.
But merely as an opposing player they had to take down.
Now I too can see Fiorentina not as a hometown team I cherish like my own life, but only as an enemy.
Pa-ang-!
I push the ball to the outside of my right foot and play a short pass.
My feet don't stop and keep moving forward.
Pa-ang-!
Bernardo Silva, who received my short pass, plays a return pass.
As I run toward that pass, I feel a hand grabbing the hem of my jersey from behind.
I fiercely brush off that hand with my arm and move forward.
Tatata-t!
The pass is a bit long.
Actually, it was a decent return pass, but the space is so narrow that the opponent being right in front is the problem.
I run as fast as I can, but the opponent rushing out to intercept seems like he'll reach the ball first.
But you have to contest until the very end.
Swhaaa-!
I throw my body forward and stretch my leg toward the ball.
Seeing me, the opponent also throws his body and stretches his leg a moment late.
As a result, we collide at the same time.
Thud-!
The shin guards let out a dull sound.
Whether the guards clashed against each other or hit somewhere else, I feel some pain in my shin.
But I have no time to fuss over the pain.
Because my toes touched the ball first.
That's my ball.
I can't give it up.
Tap-!
I push the entangled opponent away with my hand and use the momentum to spring up.
And after knocking the ball forward, I quickly dribble up before the defensive line can reorganize.
I can already see the defensive line has loosened.
Because the one who just contested with me was Milenković, the last defender.
Milenković has good vision and reads passing lanes well, so his anticipatory defense is excellent.
But if that fails, he has a weakness of conceding space he didn't need to give up like this.
I moved even faster because I knew that beforehand.
Thanks to that, I was able to create this chance.
Tatata-t!
I keep pushing in without stopping.
Opponents trying to grab me with their hands from behind and the side are chasing me fiercely, so I can't afford to stop.
I run looking only straight ahead.
And soon I come face to face with Nastasić.
Tap-!
Nastasić is a really good defender—tall and strong—but his man-to-man marking is a bit weak.
Because his feet are slow.
So without hesitation, attempting a confident dribble breakthrough would be the effective attacking method.
Tap-!
I roll the ball to the right and shift my body weight completely onto my right leg.
Then the opponent's weight shifts that way too, and at that moment I push off the ground with my right foot and bounce out to the left.
At the same time, I pull the ball to the left and take it with me.
Tap-!
Nastasić's reaction is a beat late.
Thanks to that, I easily brush past his side, but it's too early to let my guard down.
Because his legs are so long that he can intercept the ball with a stretched leg from behind.
The fact that I already know this means I'd be an idiot to fall for it.
Pa-ang-!
As expected, a long leg shoots out from the side, but I've already slightly flicked the ball up with my toes.
And I control the ball in mid-air again, dropping it forward without killing my speed.
No matter how many layers an onion has, if you keep peeling, eventually you reach the end.
Before I knew it, I had reached the box, and the only thing in front of me was the goalkeeper rushing out frantically.
Tap-!
In an instant, two choices appear before my eyes.
One is to avoid the rushing goalkeeper and pass to Haaland, who has stormed into the center of the box on the right.
The other is to continue in my direction, drive further left, completely bypass the goalkeeper, and stuff the ball into the empty net.
The second option looks like the better angle.
But honestly, if I had the mindset I had at the start of the match, I might have passed sideways even knowing that.
Because I was scared of something.
If I had done that, I might have been caught by the defense.
But not now.
This is the greatest respect I can show.
Tap-!
I lay my body horizontally to avoid the diving goalkeeper, knock the ball long to the left, and run.
And while running toward the ball, I steal a glance at the goal, confirm the net is empty, and without delay take the shot with my left foot.
Paaaang-!
If I can't score when the goal is empty, I don't deserve to be here.
Swish-!
The ball crosses the goal line and sends the goal net rippling.
"..."
At the same time, the stadium is engulfed in silence.
The silence of tens of thousands.
It presses down on my body more heavily than the pressure of a loud roar.
"Yeah-!!!"
The only ones making sound in that silence are my teammates.
After confirming the goal, I walk with my head down without any celebration, but soon my teammates rush at me and shout in cheers.
"Nice one!"
"Great job!"
I don't know if it's just me, but today my teammates' reactions seem fiercer than usual.
Maybe because it's the Champions League and an away match abroad.
They rush at me even more intensely as if trying to lift the mood, completely surrounding me.
"...Hoo."
Thanks to that, after barely breaking free, my breath bursts out in a sharp exhale.
I roughly fix my hair, disheveled from a few rough hands.
I pull my socks back up to my knees and head back to our half.
"..."
The stadium remains submerged in silence.
...This is why my heart feels strange again.
Until the moment I gritted my teeth and scored while throwing my body into collisions, it felt like my eyes had rolled back.
But now, it's like a corner of my heart is tingling.
I know the Fiorentina fans all too well.
Because for two years, we breathed together and shared joy and sorrow in the same space, I couldn't help but know them well.
The fact that they are silent even though I scored weighs heavily on my heart.
But on the other hand, the fact that they are silent when the opponent scored also pains my heart.
Those people.
They are people with fiery personalities.
They aren't people who only say nice things just because you're on their side.
When they concede a goal, they're the type to curse as if they'll storm onto the pitch.
Of course, they hold no grudges afterward, but their tempers are fiery.
But those same people are now silent without any reaction.
If I think of this as respect and consideration toward me, whom they shared weal and woe with, am I overthinking it?
Well, even if it's just my own delusion, it doesn't matter.
Because what's important is that I felt that way.
"..."
I too silently lowered my head and returned to our half, conveying my own consideration.
*
"..."
"..."
The atmosphere in the stands is heavy.
Except for a very small portion of the away section, the fans in purple jerseys all have their arms crossed with faces full of worry.
Looking at the scoreboard, it's inevitable.
79:33
FIO 0 : 3 MCI
It's almost the 80th minute.
The score is 0-3.
If you think about the less than 10 minutes remaining, and the flow of the match so far.
Not just a comeback, but even scoring an equalizer looks difficult.
So the home fans' faces are inevitably stiff.
But at the same time, it's also unexpected.
It's natural that the atmosphere has sunk heavily, but it's surprising that it's only to that extent.
By this point, you should normally see plenty of fans already leaving the stadium.
Because hope is already gone.
The fans holding their seats should at least be screaming all sorts of things toward the pitch.
Because they need to vent their anger here so no grudges remain, and so the players can come to their senses.
But today is different.
Despite the lack of hope, everyone is keeping their seats, and no fans are expressing extreme anger.
They are simply watching the remaining match with complicated expressions.
Then.
The stadium announcer's voice flows through the stadium.
It's the voice announcing a substitution.
It's a substitution for the opposing side, Manchester City, and looking at the touchline, it seemed a player named Oscar Bobb was being brought on.
And the one leaving the ground is Ijian.
"..."
Is he tired?
Ijian leaves the field with his head deeply bowed.
From the opposing side's perspective, they're leading 3-0, so he could walk out slowly.
But he's running off the ground.
To this, no one needed to be the first.
Because no one was watching others' reactions.
The Fiorentina fans rose from their seats and began to applaud.
Clap, clap, clap, clap-
Applauding a player being substituted off is a kind of formality.
But applauding an opposing team player is almost unheard of.
No, it's such a rare occurrence that you could say it never happens.
Yet applause is pouring out.
And it's not just applause—it's a standing ovation.
A standing ovation is being given to a player who scored three goals against the home team today.
Because everyone knew very well.
They knew why that boy, who had shown a complicated expression from the moment he appeared on the pitch, had left this place.
The boy had left because he loved this place.
So those left behind still couldn't help but love the boy.
We do not hate you.
Florence will always be your home, and we love you.
That message fills the stadium, contained in the applause.
Did that sentiment reach him?
"..."
The boy, who had been walking off the ground with his head bowed, stops for a moment.
Normally he would go straight to the bench and sit, but Ijian stands there instead.
And he raises his lowered head to face the fans.
He also raises both hands above his head and responds to the applause he received with applause of his own.
At that sight, some fans shed tears.
One might call it excessive, but for those who were sincere about this team, tears were inevitable.
Ijian was the first to cry.
Ijian was expressing gratitude with a smile, but tears were streaming from his eyes.
He was so fearsome inside the ground.
But outside the ground, he looks exactly like a child.
He was still just a kid, after all.