“Hoo, hoo—”
“Huff, huff…!”
The late afternoon bore down with scorching sunlight.
The training ground, where team practice was in full swing, was filled with nothing but the rough, ragged breathing of men.
Everyone had become human sprinklers.
Sweat poured like rain through the shimmering heat haze, and the more it rained down, the more the haze rippled with intensifying heat.
Beep—!
“Haa, haa!”
At the whistle that sounded like salvation, they stopped running and collapsed wherever they pleased.
The feeling of lying on burning-hot grass could hardly be called pleasant, but there was no leisure to care about such things.
My body no longer felt like my own.
“……Whew.”
After lying there for a long while, catching my breath.
By the time my heart rate had more or less returned to normal.
I raised my upper body with effort and sat up, looking around soullessly; everyone wore the same expression.
They didn’t look like living people.
They looked like empty shells with souls long ascended.
“Okay, relax! Drink water!”
…Let me think.
So, what day is it today, and where was I, what was I doing again?
Ah, right.
Yesterday we played the third group stage match against Malaysia, and now we’re doing recovery training.
It was so hard it felt like my soul might slip out, so for a moment I had forgotten, since it didn’t feel like recovery training at all.
But clearly, recovery training was underway.
“…Kah!”
The cold liquid ran down my throat and let me know exactly what my esophagus looked like.
Exhaling hot breath, I came slightly to my senses.
Usually on recovery training days, the atmosphere of the training ground would flow much more lightly.
Recovery training is, after all, literally recovery training.
We would exchange jokes and talk about how yesterday’s match went.
Rather than focusing on the training itself, it was a day to focus on recovering body and mind—a day for refreshment, so to speak.
But today, the training ground’s atmosphere was far removed from that of a normal recovery day.
Everyone was focused on training without a single joke, without a trace of laughter.
Judging by the atmosphere alone, it seemed like the final training day before a final match.
The reason was simple.
The opponent for the Round of 16 had been decided, and that opponent was somewhat unexpected.
In yesterday’s match against Malaysia, we had won 2-0, successfully advancing to the Round of 16 as first place in the group.
First place in Group E.
Therefore, the opponent we would face in the Round of 16 was the second place from the preceding group, Group D, and if things had gone according to original predictions, it should have been Iraq.
Because Japan was in Group D.
Japan had been counted among the tournament favorites from the very beginning, and they were evaluated as being on a whole different dimension compared to the other teams in Group D.
I recalled the seniors joking early on that if the final became a Korea-Japan match, they might have to fight with their nationalities on the line.
Because on the bracket, the stage where we and Japan would meet if both finished first in our respective groups was the final.
But such a thing did not come to pass.
Japan had advanced to the Round of 16 not as group winners, but as runners-up.
In other words, our Round of 16 opponent had become Japan.
That was why the training ground atmosphere was like this.
A feeling that if anyone laughed or joked around, something terrible would happen.
A feeling of facing a single do-or-die match with the fate of the nation on the line.
Well, it wasn’t entirely wrong.
A tournament is a stage where you fight with your fate on the line in every single match.
Win, and your life is extended once; lose, and it’s over.
Mistakes are not permitted, and second chances are not given.
That is the terrifying nature of the tournament stage, so to have our very first opponent be our rival…
If one’s heart could remain entirely carefree, would they even deserve to wear the Taegeukgi upon their chest?
“Okay. If you’ve rested enough, everyone gather around for a moment.”
Around the time the training session was winding down.
The captain called everyone together.
At that, everyone dusted off their bottoms and rose from their spots, and I too sprang up and moved to stand before the captain.
I stood shoulder to shoulder with my seniors, listening to what the captain had to say.
The existence known as the captain is an incredibly important one for a team.
Though the captain is no different from anyone else and is ultimately just one player, he is also the one who creates the atmosphere for the entire team.
When waiting in the tunnel before heading out to the pitch.
The one standing at the very front of the waiting line is the captain.
The rest of the players follow behind, watching the captain’s back.
The team moves in the direction the captain leads.
In that sense, I couldn’t help but think how fortunate we were to have a person like that as our captain.
Because he is someone you can follow without a shred of doubt, wherever he leads.
As a person, and as a player.
There is no doubt that he is an excellent captain.
Come to think of it, I seem to have good luck with captains.
I’ve only met good ones.
The national team captain was like that, and the Biragi captain was the best captain.
Walker, the captain of my current club, is the same.
They all had something in common.
When I quietly watched them fulfilling their roles as captain, it made me imagine things.
Imagining whether I too could become that kind of captain someday.
Even as I thought it might be difficult with a personality like mine, I had only met captains who made me want to become like them.
Well, I don’t know if that day will come.
It is still a story of the distant, very distant future.
What is immediately before my eyes is the Round of 16 against Japan.
“Let’s keep going with focus. Hey!”
“Hey!” “Let’s go!”
Shouting encouragement together with my senior hyungs, I felt a heavy sense of responsibility.
The door to the golden generation that the captain had opened with such difficulty—I had somehow ended up being the one to close it behind me and step through.
So at the very least, I shouldn’t be the one to kick that door down.
∙∙∙
January 16, 2024.
The day of the Qatar Asian Cup Round of 16 match between Korea and Japan.
Al Thumama Stadium, where the match would be held, was packed with spectators.
A matchup that felt too early to occur in the Round of 16.
A matchup that suited a final more than anything, so the stadium atmosphere had been heightened to the maximum even before kickoff.
With a red wave on one side and a blue wave on the other already engaging in a war of nerves.
What stood out slightly was that spectators belonging to neither team’s supporters were easily found.
There were just as many spectators—identifiable as locals or people from nearby by their distinctive attire—as there were organized supporter groups.
The reason they had come to the stadium to watch another country’s match was obvious.
Rather than coming to see who would win, they had come to see stars they couldn’t easily see up close.
You could tell as much from the jerseys clutched in their hands here and there.
Tottenham jerseys.
Bayern Munich jerseys.
Paris Saint-Germain jerseys.
Liverpool and Arsenal jerseys.
And even Manchester City jerseys.
Though it was unmistakably an Asian Cup match today, the stands alone evoked the atmosphere of European football.
And the players warming up on the pitch could not help but notice the state of the stands as well.
“…”
“…”
The Japanese players appeared to be focusing on their warm-ups, yet kept stealing glances.
Across the stadium.
Toward the opposing players warming up side by side.
It is natural to be conscious of the opposing players before a match.
Since they would be facing off in mere tens of minutes, there was no way not to be conscious of them.
That is always the case.
But the atmosphere in the Japanese players’ gazes today was somehow different.
It was too subtle to be described as simply looking at an opponent.
In those eyes, one could see similarities to the gaze of the spectators sitting in the stands, clutching jerseys as they watched the players.
Korea and Japan were traditional rivals.
Of course, there were times when neither side acknowledged the other as a rival, but it would be hard to claim they weren’t rivals, for no two teams were more conscious of each other.
Perhaps they were even like sworn enemies beyond mere rivals.
A relationship where they hated losing to each other more than anyone, and hated acknowledging each other more than anyone.
In such a relationship, it was not easy to look at the opponent with eyes of admiration.
But today, that could be seen in the Japanese players’ eyes.
It could not be hidden, even though they seemed to be trying to.
And it was understandable, because on the opposite side of the field were Asia’s best players, whom even sworn enemies could not deny.
There was a player running alongside Kylian Mbappé, and a player running at Bayern Munich with the title of Serie A’s best defender.
There was a player who was the first and only Asian Premier League top scorer, who also served as his team’s captain.
Most of all, what drew the most attention was an 18-year-old young talent playing for the world’s best team.
An existence that even fellow players could not help but admire.
Even to those playing in Europe—no, precisely because they were players in Europe—he was an existence that seemed all the more amazing.
Because they knew how full of monstrous geniuses the place called European football was.
With very few exceptions—no, dare I say.
Everyone must have experienced a giant wall at least once.
About competing to survive on the European stage as an Asian.
It was an incredibly grueling fight.
Because struggling to keep climbing in a place where some limit seems visible is no easy thing.
It was also a fight where one could not help but look below rather than above.
Before such a battle for survival, national rivalries took a backseat.
Whether one’s nationality was Japan or Korea.
In Europe, they were treated equally as Asians, nothing more.
So it was not strange to feel a sense of kinship before competitiveness.
Even when, over there, the Korean captain won the Premier League top scorer title.
It would be more accurate to say they saw hope rather than felt competitiveness.
Because someone had shattered the ceiling right before their eyes.
He had shown them that the limit was not as low as they had thought.
In that regard, the 18-year-old young genius over there held great meaning for the Japanese players as well.
Before being a rival, he was hope.
Setting aside age and nation, he could not help but become an object of admiration.
That was exactly the gaze they could not hide right now.
“…”
“…”
After warming up, the players headed to their respective locker rooms.
And as preparations were wrapping up in the locker room—changing into uniforms and checking equipment—the Japanese captain called the players together.
And told them of one thing they needed to be careful and wary of before today’s match.
It was a talk about mentality, one that took precedence over strategy and tactics.
“Let’s abandon admiration, at least for today.”
You cannot look at an opponent you must fight with eyes of admiration.
Because admiration and respect, though seemingly similar at a glance, are clearly different in meaning.
If you look up at your opponent, you cannot fight properly.
At this, everyone nodded and steeled their resolve with determined expressions.
There were indeed many stars over there who could not help but be admired, but as a team, we are better.
Nodding like that, they exited the locker room and headed for the pitch for the match.
Soon all the players gathered in the tunnel.
Shortly after, the players of both teams headed out to the pitch side by side.
Once everyone had lined up in a row, the national anthems began.
The players of both nations sang their anthems with voices that seemed ready to tear their throats.
Their determined expressions were just like warriors facing a real war.
Then the players of both teams passed by each other and exchanged handshakes promising fair play.
One by one, hands filled with respect and competition brushed past.
But the Japanese players felt it.
That mindset they had steeled and steeled again when leaving the locker room.
A doubt as to whether they could carry it to the end without losing it.
They must not look with admiring eyes.
They should look at them as enemies to be trampled and crushed.
“…”
“…”
They were shaking hands with a boy who looked ordinary, who merely had a gentle face.
But because of the aura radiating from that very ordinariness, all the Japanese players unknowingly swallowed hard.
It may simply be an illusion, but.
It definitely seems to exist.
You can feel it.
The aura possessed only by those who play at the world’s highest level.
That was the feeling that was already stiffening their bodies before the match had even begun.