Tap, tap, tap.
And then, bang.
Including the first touch and the shot, only four touches in total.
In that narrow space at the front of the arc, four magical touches were made, and the moment Tottenham's net rippled.
[What a······!]
[Oh my···!]
The commentators were left speechless.
Waaaaah─!
The Manchester City fans, occupying a small corner of the away section, leaped into the air and roared.
In contrast, the tens of thousands of home fans fell silent.
A rare scene unfolded where just a few thousand voices overpowered tens of thousands.
In a flash.
A shot fired like lightning from the left foot of Manchester City's number seven, Yi Ji-an, tore through Tottenham's net.
[What a strike! Lovely, lovely goal!]
[One-nil! 43rd minute of the first half! Manchester City takes the lead! Yi's left foot has exploded!]
[It went in so quickly it was almost futile, in the blink of an eye!]
[Rejoice! The Man City fans who came to Tottenham Hotspur expecting to be let down are getting their reward!]
Being happy about the team's goal was only natural.
The reason the fans were shrieking with joy more than usual was obvious.
It was a scene they were seeing for the first time in four whole years.
["The first goal at Tottenham Stadium has finally come. There's still a long way to go for a first win, but at least one frustrating jinx has been broken."]
["Tottenham Stadium opened on April 3, 2019. That's four years and eight months. It's the first goal in a whopping four years and eight months."]
["The protagonist of that first goal is Manchester City's number seven! Ji-an Yi!"]
Truthfully, one could argue it was hard to call it a jinx.
Four years and eight months.
Though a very long time, in terms of matches, it was five games without scoring.
Seen that way, one might think it wasn't quite a jinx.
But the subject was Manchester City.
Manchester City failing to score in five matches was another matter entirely.
It was a story perfectly worthy of being called a jinx.
And that jinx had just been broken.
Ironically, by the foot of a player completely unrelated to that jinx.
As if he were saying exactly that.
That the reason there had been no goals in the last five away games was because he hadn't been there.
Since he had scored on his very first appearance.
["Manager Guardiola seems very pleased."]
["He's celebrating with childlike purity. It's only natural he'd be happy, relieved even, since a goal that simply wouldn't come has finally arrived."]
A reaction rarely seen from Manager Guardiola erupted.
Normally, even when a goal went in, he at worst showed no reaction at all, or at best smiled and clenched his fist.
But just now, he had reacted as if it were a comeback goal scored in the 90th minute.
He ruthlessly pummeled a transparent punching bag hanging in midair.
Such an intense reaction was an extremely rare sight.
["His recent interview makes sense now. He said De Bruyne's recovery is proceeding smoothly, but there's no need to rush his return. Because they have Yi."]
["I wonder if there are still opinions that 100 million pounds (approximately 200 billion won) is an overpayment."]
A transfer fee exceeding 200 billion won was an enormous amount, enough to burden even Manchester City.
It wasn't an amount you could recoup just by playing well in a few league matches; it was an amount that demanded you prove yourself all over again the next season even if you had soared through the current one.
Yet the goal just now had felt like a lump-sum payment.
Because this was exactly what they had brought him in for.
Because they had brought him in to break through that blocked vein, to tear through those unsightly obstacles.
More than anything, anyone could see at a glance that this wouldn't be the end.
This wasn't the kind of talent that shone for just a few early-season games or for a single season before fizzling out.
Anyone could see that.
If he had that kind of limited talent, he could never have seized a starting spot at his age.
["Thanks to Yi's goal, Manchester City takes a 1-0 lead!"]
While the cheers of the City fans carried a long aftertaste.
A few Taegeukgi flags fluttered cautiously.
*
Scoring the opening goal against a defensive team was a very pleasant feeling.
Because nothing felt as good as watching the opposition grow increasingly troubled over their options.
Whether to continue defending despite trailing by a goal.
Or to open their door and come out to fight.
They had to choose an answer.
And watching them fret over which answer was correct was quite delightful.
The first half ended 1-0, and the second half followed.
The opponent's answer after pondering during halftime seemed to be "maintain."
In other words, they appeared determined to stay defensive in the second half as well.
Their defensive line remained low, their posture still set on aiming for counterattacks as before.
Honestly, it felt like a wise decision. I thought I would have done the same were I the manager.
Opening your door and coming out against our team's players was the same as letting thieves into your inner chamber.
Moreover, they likely didn't think we would seek change just because we were ahead by one goal.
Because no matter the situation, we were a team that played our football.
And indeed, unchanged in the second half, we continued to trap the opposition below the halfway line and hammer away to open the goal.
But the home team, backed by tens of thousands of home fans, certainly had depth.
Having conceded late in the first half after defending well, their concentration could have broken.
Instead, they built their defense even more solidly and occasionally attempted counterattacks that sent chills down our spines.
Then, in the 15th minute of the second half.
Perhaps it was the price of ignoring several warnings.
The precursory signs that had been flickering for the preceding 60 minutes finally exploded.
It began with Walker losing the ball on the right while pushing up in attack.
The opposition immediately sent a long pass forward upon stealing the ball, and it reached their number seven.
A one-on-one situation with the defense in an instant.
He carried the ball to the left side of the box, performed a crisp step-over, drove inside, and struck a left-footed shot that passed between the goalkeeper's legs and sent our net rippling.
The game had returned to square one.
It was instantaneous.
We had been attacking the whole time, yet seeing the opposition score with far fewer chances left me feeling hollow.
But just as they had done.
We didn't need to react greatly and be shaken.
We told each other to just keep doing our thing, and restarted the match.
We had faith in our football, so there was nothing to shake us.
It was the opposition who moved quickly.
Around the 25th minute of the second half, they made the first substitution to force a change.
The right winger went off, and a player who looked to cover central midfield came on.
It was a substitution to bolster defense.
However, even so, they couldn't stop being conscious of the space behind them.
Because the spear as fast as light was still on the pitch, so it was impossible not to think about it.
As we had seen throughout, their counterattack was threatening enough with just one man.
Time continued to flow.
The opposition's defensive numbers grew ever greater, and our attempts grew increasingly simple as time went on.
Rather than making things complex, risky attempts with higher uncertainty increased.
I suddenly felt like I understood why jinxes were born.
I could also see how powerful the force of memory and experience was.
Memories etched into the body were something that could not be ignored, no matter how hard one tried.
Where did I feel it? In the demeanor of my teammates, who had somehow become slightly cautious, almost imperceptibly so.
It was a strange feeling that everyone was a step behind.
I didn't know if it was just my imagination, but if my senses weren't lying, it was definitely the case.
Overall, everyone was positioned a beat back, and Walker in particular looked afraid to push forward.
The experiences accumulated from past matches.
The jinx built from those accumulations.
The players currently on the pitch were the same ones who had been on the ground while that jinx was being built.
That seemed to be making them take a step back instinctively.
The teammates I knew weren't players who could be satisfied with a draw.
Yet the fact that they were acting this way meant that bodily memory was a realm beyond the mind's control.
In that respect, I felt the responsibility had to be mine.
Because I was the only one among us who had no such memories at all.
I was the only one who had no experience of losing here.
Therefore, I was the only one with no reason to be cautious.
As time flowed mercilessly, when the scoreboard clock was drawing near the 90th minute.
To be exact, it was when the board indicating four minutes of added time became visible.
Paaang-!
Taking a switching touch, I received the ball on the left side, facing the goal.
Then the opposing full-back lowered his stance, keeping his eyes on my feet as if to take me on one-on-one.
For some reason, in that posture, he seemed to be asking if I couldn't make a bold choice.
Why?
There was no reason I couldn't.
The uniform I was wearing right now was Manchester City's uniform.
This uniform wasn't something just anyone could wear.
One had to have the proper qualifications.
A desire to show that qualification suddenly surged up within me.
Tat-at-!
I raised my head and looked to the right, bringing my right foot up.
As if to pass with the outside of my right foot.
But my right foot sliced through the air, and instead of passing, it planted on the ground as a step.
And I knocked the ball with my left foot and ran.
The opposing full-back had already lost his center of gravity and fell a step back.
Tat-a-tat-!
We both wore the number seven, but I didn't have as much speed as the opposing number seven.
So I needed a bit more trickery.
Of course, the pressure from my teammates' reputations must have helped too.
Bernardo Silva had approached as if to receive the ball from me, so the opponent likely fell for it because he knew the ball absolutely must not go to him.
If that was the case, I decided to keep using it.
Glancing here and there.
Even as I drove along the left byline, I kept my gaze inside the box.
Each time I did, I could see the defenders' gazes quaking.
As if playing a game of musical chairs.
Haaland and Foden seemed to worry about whether someone was behind them.
Thanks to that, only one defender came to cover the space in front of me.
And even that wasn't a quick reaction, so it seemed best to strike before he arrived.
Having come in from the flank, the angle was tight.
In moments like this, it was better to aim at the goalkeeper's head and strike hard.
I pulled my leg back greatly, until my left foot nearly touched my hip.
Swhaaaa-!
But then, I changed my mind.
Because the defender, realizing he was a beat late, had hurled his body with all his might.
His legs were so long it seemed my shot would get blocked.
Tat-at-!
So I feinted.
I had genuinely intended to strike, but because of that, I was able to deceive the opponent.
Now, a greater right-foot angle opened up.
Pssshhhhhh-!
With my body opened to the right, I looked at the far post and struck.
But looking at the far post was only a matter of my gaze.
What my right foot was actually aiming for was the near post.
Swoooooosh-
I could see the goalkeeper caught in a wrong-footed motion.
The distance was so close that once deceived, there was no chance of stopping it.
Thwack-!
The net rippled.
At the same time, my heart pounded as if it would burst.
Waaaaaaaah─!
It was a random thought for such a moment, but I suddenly recalled what the counselor had said.
That many players experienced lethargy and depression after retirement.
I could understand why.
If you lived steeped in moments like this and then suddenly retired to live peacefully, wouldn't everything feel lethargic?
It was a moment where I felt alive.
"YEAH-!!"
I wanted to roar like Haaland, but my voice didn't quite reach that level.
*
Beep, beeeep, beeep-!
The whistle signaling the end of the match blew.
"YEAH!"
My teammates shouted as if we had won a cup tournament.
2-1.
We had won.
"Hey!"
Everyone rushed toward me and overwhelmed me.
What was more overwhelming was that the manager even ran to me and embraced me.
Yet for some reason, feeling as though I had been acknowledged, I felt better than ever.
"Hoo."
After having my hands shaken by this person and that for quite a while.
I finally regained my freedom, smoothed my disheveled hair, and let out a sigh.
Then I saw someone walking toward me from afar, hand extended.
The opponent's number seven.
No, now that the match was over and hostilities had ended, should I call him the national team captain?
He approached me and held out his hand, and when I awkwardly took it, he hugged me.
"..."
We exchanged a few brief words.
But in that brief conversation, I ended up feeling the dignity of a captain.
He had every reason to be emotional after painfully letting victory slip away.
Yet what he said was so steadfast that it didn't seem to fit such a situation.
He said we should join forces when we got to Qatar.
···
With the Tottenham match behind me, I once again had to pack my bags and passport and head to the airport.
The destination of the flight was Qatar.
I was heading back to a place where those scorching memories were still vivid.
It was under the pretext of a national team call-up for the Asian Cup.
Come to think of it, I felt fortunate that I had been able to gift three points in the final match before leaving.
I had already left the team once because of the Asian Games, and now I was being called away again.
Well, it wasn't exactly up to me anyway.
In any case, after a relatively short flight, I arrived in Qatar and joined the national team.
We trained lightly, and began preparing for the tournament with physical training under the scorching sun.
It was a shame that I ended up spending Christmas apart from everyone again.
Instead, I promised Ji-u that we would go on a date for a day when I returned after the tournament.
Thinking about that made me not want to play all the way to the final, but I was a proper professional.
I could exercise enough patience to wait for the day I would return.
And so I welcomed the new year in Qatar.
And on January 4th.
The Qatar Asian Cup began, and we started the tournament by facing a team called Bahrain.
I had felt it during the match against Tottenham: we were a team that couldn't lose.
Our team—that is, a team whose captain was a player capable of breaking through Manchester City's defense alone—how could we lose?
3-0.
In the first match, we easily secured victory against Bahrain and claimed the first win earliest of all.
And four days later, in the second match.
We played a match against a team called Jordan.