The first week of November 2023.
We departed on an away trip to a place called Serbia for the second match of the Champions League group stage against a team called Crvena Zvezda.
It was the first time I had ever been to Serbia, but strangely, it didn't feel all that unfamiliar.
Perhaps it was because I had once spent time with colleagues who had come from Serbia.
Milenković and Nastasić, whom I had gone through thick and thin with at Fiorentina.
Riding the bus through the streets, what I found somewhat amusing was that Serbia seemed to have Milenkovićs and Nastasićs strewn across every street.
What I mean is, everyone was as tall and big as a mountain.
And their faces looked so fierce.
I supposed that was why those two had grown up to be so tough, having been born and raised in a place like this.
But when I felt that, should I have told my teammates about it too?
A day later, in the match against Zvezda, something happened that was a huge loss for us.
De Bruyne, who had started the match, suffered a thigh injury.
It was quite a blow.
There is no good body part to get injured, nor a good time for it.
But De Bruyne's injury was one of the worst possible, both in terms of the location and the timing.
For one, the fact that the injury was to his thigh was critical.
The thigh is not an area that heals easily, and it was a part he had already injured once before.
Moreover, De Bruyne was no longer young, so there were worries about whether he could even make a full recovery.
The timing was also unfortunate—the very next match after the Zvezda game was Matchday 12 of the league against Liverpool.
I had heard that Liverpool was a formidable team, with nine wins and two draws after eleven rounds.
That De Bruyne wouldn't be able to play against such a team—there had never been a bigger emergency.
Either way, I had to fill the void left by his injury.
I had been told I would rest today, since I had played in the last three league matches in a row, but with this unexpected incident, the plans had to change.
Before heading to the pitch, the manager grabbed my hand as I stood on the touchline and spoke to me.
He said it was fine if I just ran around warming up for about twenty minutes, but told me absolutely not to get injured.
He earnestly told me to avoid any 50-50 contests and to minimize my defensive involvement.
He seemed to have a terrible headache.
Though the manager was a perfectionist who prepared for every worst-case scenario, De Bruyne's injury must have been a development he didn't even want to imagine.
The eyes of the ever-charismatic manager looked almost pitiful.
Thanks to that, as I headed toward the pitch, a strange feeling suddenly came over me.
If I had to describe that strange feeling... perhaps something similar to jealousy.
No, if I simply called it jealousy, it might sound very strange.
But with my language skills, there was no other way I could easily explain it.
It wasn't the time for such thoughts, yet I found myself wondering.
If by any chance I couldn't play in a match for an unavoidable reason, like De Bruyne... I wondered if the manager would be as troubled as he was now.
De Bruyne was an irreplaceable player.
Although every player on our team was of the highest caliber, and everyone contributed greatly to the team.
Still, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say there was no one who could exert more influence on the pitch than De Bruyne.
That held true for Haaland, Bernardo Silva, and even Phil Foden.
From watching beside them, even they had moments when they relied on De Bruyne.
When the match wasn't going as well as expected, the first person everyone looked for was De Bruyne.
So, to be honest, I was saying I wanted to become that kind of player too.
The player teammates looked for first.
The player fans cherished the most.
The player the manager loved the most.
Of course, it was a childish thought.
What was so important about that?
Wasn't it enough to just be faithful to the role I was given?
I should make sure I never left my place in the first place; the thought that I wanted everyone to wait for me when I was absent seemed funny even to me.
Wanting everyone to look for me wasn't that a selfish thought—that I had to be the protagonist in every situation?
But I couldn't deny that I felt that way.
And it wasn't strange for a child to think childish thoughts.
The physio had measured my height a few days ago and said I had grown again already.
Though it was only by a few tenths of a centimeter, anyway, I was still a child growing into an adult.
Anyway, with that mindset, I played the match.
The opponent came out rough as expected, so my uniform was stained with mud here and there, but it wasn't unbearable.
If I just used my head a bit, it wasn't difficult to turn the opponent's toughness against them.
I had accumulated my own know-how in dealing with fouls from falling countless times ever since I was young.
Zvezda's rough play, backed by their home stadium, found it hard to intimidate me.
Thanks to that, I, who came on as a substitute in the sixth minute of the second half, played forty-five minutes including stoppage time and recorded one goal and one assist.
Since I had warmed up in a hurry and had the manager's warning, I couldn't do much for the first twenty minutes or so, but after twenty minutes, my body loosened up and the match seemed to go well too.
Of course, the mindset of wanting to show something with my play was the biggest factor.
Because I played with the heart of wanting to create a reason, however small, why they couldn't do without me.
Come to think of it, it was funny.
There was a time when I had hated attention, calling it a burden.
After hating everyone looking at me as much as death, now I was saying the exact opposite.
They say people don't change; it was enough to make me think that perhaps I wasn't human.
But, if I were to make an excuse.
Isn't there a case like this?
When you're young, you can get through summer fine without air conditioning, but once you've tried using it, you can't live without it afterward.
Once you taste something, you develop a desire you don't want to lose.
Before I knew it, I might have been tamed.
The fans' cheers.
The trust of my teammates and the manager.
The need for recognition that was only fulfilled when everyone needed me.
While spending time filled with such things as if they were only natural.
Having tasted them, it seemed they were delicious.
At times the pressure weighed on my shoulders so much I wondered if I could overcome it, but if I put the two side by side and compared them... happiness was definitely greater.
So now, I didn't want to lose it again.
No, perhaps it didn't stop at that.
From the fact that I had such thoughts, it wasn't just that I didn't want to lose what I had—I wanted more.
When Jiwoo went on a diet that she only ever talked about every quarter, she always used to say this.
If you held back too much on what you wanted to eat, you'd develop a compensatory psychology and end up binge eating; your appetite would explode, she'd say.
Thinking about it, I wondered if the same wasn't true for me.
I had been someone afraid of not receiving love.
I had become a coward from fear of becoming a shameful existence.
Didn't that mean I had wanted to receive love and become someone to be proud of?
The time of deficiency had been long.
And as that deficiency began to be filled, while pretending outwardly that it wasn't.
I might have already become addicted to the pouring affection.
The one who let me know that was happiness was Jiwoo.
Because Jiwoo was the one who filled my deficiency like pouring water on dry land.
Thanks to Jiwoo, I came to know the power of support, and I learned that it could become a sturdy pillar rather than a burden.
So, in the end.
It meant such a situation had come again.
"Fuck! Fuck!"
The match against Zvezda ended in victory, but the manager was thoroughly furious.
Rather than the victory, he seemed upset that we had to face Liverpool without De Bruyne, and that we didn't know when De Bruyne would return.
And on the way back, he called me aside and spoke to me.
That it seemed it was my turn to become the hero.
That was what I had wished for.
...
"Oh no, what are we going to do. Did he get hurt badly?"
"I'm not sure, but I don't think it's a light injury."
"That's awful... you be really careful too. I won't cook for you if you get hurt."
D-3 to the Liverpool match, immediately after returning from Serbia.
Jiwoo makes a worried expression at the news of De Bruyne's injury.
I have to be careful of injuries.
Really.
Whether for the team, for the fans, or for myself.
And for Dad and Jiwoo too, injuries were absolutely something I had to avoid.
Because...
"If I get hurt, will you cry again?"
"...What?"
"Back when I slightly hurt my calf, you cried."
I grin and bring up an old story.
The day when I was playing for Fiorentina and missed a match due to a slight calf injury.
When I came home, Jiwoo's eyes were swollen.
"Did I? I don't remember."
"You don't..."
"I really don't? Ah, I remember. Something smells good. Let's see—"
Look at her changing the subject.
I heard everything from Dad.
She even nursed me pretending to be a nurse, and now she's talking like that.
But if that sight feels cute enough to make me want to pinch her cheeks, am I just asking to get cursed out somewhere?
"So what is it today?"
"Today? Just try it first. This is an unconditional pass."
"You always say that, and it's always been a fail."
"Today is different. Today's me has surpassed yesterday's me."
Crazy.
Even that look of hers, where she nitpicks only to forget it the next day, makes me want to pinch her cheeks.
Since when has she been so cute?
I want to pinch both her cheeks hard right this instant, but since I'd clearly receive a one-two punch to the stomach, I hold back.
"Here, try it. A harmony of Korea and Italy. This is fried mackerel, and this might look like regular crab, but I put risotto inside it. You won't be able to give it a fail even if you want to, right?"
Hmm, well.
Every time I fail her, something new keeps popping out, so I'm curious to see how much further she can improve; that's why I want to fail her.
I have to at least try it first, though.
"...Mmm."
"How is it? It's delicious, right? It's maddeningly good, right? Huh? Huh?"
...The taste, well, there's no room for doubt.
Even if Jiwoo only made plain white rice, I could devour it.
I'm fundamentally incapable of objectivity, so I'm simply not qualified to judge pass or fail.
"I'm asking how it is. Huh?"
But I can't give her a pass today either.
Seeing Jiwoo look at me with eyes like a cat in boots, hoping the word "pass" would come out of my mouth.
Because I can't resist the desire to see her look frustrated.
"...Fail."
"Ah, why! What now! What, what, what! What's the fail for this time, again!"
At the single word "fail," Jiwoo jumps up and down.
At that sight, I bury my nose in my plate for no reason, holding back my laughter.
If there's one thing more delicious in this world than a meal cooked by Jiwoo, it's Jiwoo's reaction when she's being teased.
"Ughhh! Not even this works anymore!"
I'll say it again: she's so cute I want to pinch her cheeks and stretch them out like cheese.
But I wouldn't be able to handle the aftermath, so I just restrain myself.
...But wait.
We're dating now. It's a bit embarrassing, but anyway, we're in a relationship.
Then even if I can't pinch her cheeks, shouldn't I at least be able to tell her she's cute?
I mean.
Couples say "I love you" to each other all the time.
I think it should be fine to say she's cute.
"Hey, this won't do. Say 'ah.'"
"...Why?"
"Let me check your tongue. I think your tongue has been off since some point. Otherwise, there's no way it would be a fail."
"Yeah, it's definitely a fail."
"Wait a moment. Let me grab a wrench from the toolbox. I'll pull that tongue right out and do a thorough inspection. Maybe even jump some rope with it."
...If I call a violent girl like this cute, everyone would think I'm weird.
But what can I do, she's cute.
She's cute.
Cu...
"...You're cute."
...Huh, wait a minute.
"...What?"
It slipped out.
My thoughts escaped my mouth before I knew it.
Jiwoo, having heard it clearly, suddenly opens her eyes wide and looks at me.
"Did you just call me cute?"
Jiwoo puffs up her cheeks.
No, but wait.
This much should be fine.
We're not just friends anymore.
So I hide my flusteredness, pretend to put on a poker face, and nod.
"Yeah. You're cute."
Then the funny thing was... something even more flustering unfolded.
"...What the heck, all of a sudden."
Jiwoo, who had been jumping around ready to pull my tongue out just moments ago, suddenly became docile.
She suddenly avoids my eyes, which she had been looking into just fine.
Her ears turn red as if they've been scorched.
Unable to resist that sight, my inner thoughts burst out again.
"What do you mean what. I said it because you're cute."
"...What are you saying all of a sudden. Y-you don't want your tongue pulled out either? Did you think I'd let you off if you called me cute?"
Even in this situation, her mouth is still so Jiwoo-like.
Even though under normal circumstances it would feel threatening, I don't feel that at all.
Rather, her acting shy while saying that makes her seem even cuter.
I found it.
Jiwoo's weakness.
Jiwoo is weak to compliments.
Did she actually have a side similar to mine?
"If you pull my tongue out, I won't be able to tell you you're cute."
"Wh... what do you want me to do about it. Who asked you to?"
"Well, you didn't ask me to. It's just because you're really cute, so I said it..."
"...Weird. I didn't put anything strange in the food. The kid suddenly lost his mind."
"That's probably because you're cute."
"...I'm going crazy."
Perhaps dumbfounded, Jiwoo bursts into a hollow laugh and fans herself, but her ears keep getting redder.
This is fun.
I can't help it.
I'll tease her every chance I get from now on.
...
The weekend of the first week of October 2023.
Countless crowds fill the streets, heading somewhere.
The sky is dark, as if it might rain at any moment, making the already gloomy buildings look even gloomier.
Yet the streets take on a lively atmosphere thanks to people singing and heading somewhere excitedly.
Police officers stationed here and there are also visible.
Police in fluorescent clothing control citizens with tense faces, and seeing police on horseback here and there, it seems something is happening today.
Like a river.
Tributaries joined to become tributaries, and people pouring out from alley after alley merged to create ever larger currents.
Where are they all heading?
All dressed in matching red clothes.
Well, the destination is obvious.
Where does a river flow?
It merely advances toward their ocean.
Chh—
"This is Venmore Street..."
A police officer speaking on the radio is visible, and the red march passes in front of him.
This is Liverpool.
And where this red march is heading is Anfield, the home stadium of Liverpool FC.
Walk on, walk on—!
With hope in your heart—!
And you'll never walk alone—!
The red army was marching toward the arena to face their strongest foe.