I tend to believe in the power of desperation.
Some might treat desperation, mental strength, and fighting spirit as little more than stale relics of an older generation, but.
No.
I believe the difference between having it and not is like the distance between heaven and earth.
Because I am the living proof.
I suppose people can't help but see the world through the lens of their own experiences.
In that sense, I can't help but believe in the power of desperation.
After all, it was desperation that brought me this far.
Looking back, it was everything.
That I, who couldn't even make the U17 starting lineup, eventually joined it; that I could play in a match in front of Ji-u; and that I scored a goal in that match.
And also making it to the first team, surviving the matches I played, and standing here right now.
Without desperation, all of this would have been impossible.
Remember my time in Torino, and right after I came to Fiorentina, and you'll understand.
Because back then, without desperation, I was a mess.
That's how I know.
Just how great the power of desperation is.
But, if I were to express that word 'desperation' a little differently.
Hmm... if I changed it to something a bit more blunt.
Maybe I could say it like this.
"If we lose, we're fucked."
Just before the match began.
While we gathered in a circle on the pitch, arms over each other's shoulders, listening to the captain.
At the captain's blunt words, I involuntarily swallowed hard.
It wasn't just me; similar sounds came from here and there.
"We're fucked. Really fucked."
I haven't watched the captain up close for very long, but I know he's not the type to have a foul mouth.
He has a playful side, but he's basically a gentle, nice guy.
But hearing someone like the captain mention that word several times drove the sense of urgency home even more.
Losing would be a disaster.
After burning that into my mind once more, a wave of tension washed over me, yet at the same time.
On the other hand, confidence began to swell.
Why?
"One, two, three!"
"Let's go!" "Let's go!"
We shouted our fighting spirit louder than usual and scattered to our positions.
I too shook off my tense body and headed to my spot.
Standing in the center of the field, I faced the blue uniforms.
"Huu—"
I said that people see the world through the experiences they've had.
Perhaps that's why, even amid the tension, I felt confidence rising on the other side.
Losing would be a disaster.
Whenever I approached a match with this mindset, I had never once ended up in disaster.
Today, somehow too.
I had a feeling that a strength I didn't even know I had would show itself.
*
Having somehow ended up meeting many successful people up close.
If I felt there was something like a commonality among them, I think it would be that they all have a cold side in some corner of their being.
Things that could be expressed as calm composure, cold rationality.
My presumptuous thought is that when they need to be hot, they're hotter than anyone, but when they need to be cold, they grow colder than anyone.
"As a team, the opponent is better."
A few days before the match, on the training ground.
The captain had said something to us quietly.
That if we compared team against team right now, the opponent would likely be better than us.
The captain laid it out plainly, saying that right now, we weren't in a well-organized state as a team.
He said we weren't fighting with good tactics, our chemistry wasn't perfect, and our squad depth wasn't thick.
On the other hand, he said the opponent was different.
They had been building their chemistry for years under one identity, so their organization was a notch above ours, and the level of their bench members was high as well.
It was a statement cold enough to feel chilling, coming from the captain.
Moreover, the opponent was Japan, our rival team.
Singing the opponent's praises while cutting us down didn't seem like something the captain would do at first glance.
But did he look like a strange person because of that? Not at all.
Rather, he looked incredible once again.
Because it was difficult to refute the captain's words.
Thwack—!
Thwack—!
The match began with the opponent's kickoff.
Near the left flank of the midfield, the opponent connected passes.
I had heard the opponent favored a short-passing game, and today seemed to be no different.
Short passes zipped back and forth rapidly.
Tap-tap-tap—!
We didn't just stand and watch, either.
Even though it was the opponent's half past the halfway line, we quickly chased the ball and applied pressure.
However, even I could tell it didn't look very effective.
Thwack—!
Was the opponent's passing game that outstanding?
Or was our pressing organization lacking?
We could barely get the ball, and the opponent didn't even seem to feel much pressure compared to the effort we were putting in.
Since no one is listening, to be honest... I think the latter reason is the bigger one.
The opponent's passing play wasn't bad, but the fact that our pressure wasn't working to this extent meant the problem lay with us.
Tap-tap-tap—!
The problem was that we were playing separately.
We learned about pressing since elementary school.
That you don't move as individuals, but as a team, all together.
We learned as elementary schoolers that you can never succeed in pressing otherwise.
But that's what we're doing right now.
If you ask why... well.
It's not like the players on the national team don't know that.
I suppose it's probably because we didn't have enough training time.
We focused on physical training and conditioning, not tactical training.
Tactics are what bind eleven players into one and make them move; for us, that is in a hazy state.
Thwack—!
The opponent's pass penetrated the midfield and was sent into our half.
In that process, no real disruption was achieved.
A forward pass was completed comfortably, easily.
The opponent who received the ball in our half easily turned and advanced once more.
Thwack—!
Thwack—!
It even continued near the penalty box.
Clearly, it wasn't that our absolute defensive numbers were few.
Yet even I couldn't feel that those defenders were being used efficiently.
...Several heart-stopping moments passed.
Angles that would have made for a perfect chance had they passed there, or the opposite way, flashed past.
It was fortunate the opponent didn't see those paths, but I wondered if I should really call this fortunate.
The truly fortunate thing, at least, was that we had players who transcended tactics.
Thwack—!
The moment a decisive pass penetrated the box, the monster from Bayern Munich sprang out like a madman and stretched his leg.
Thwack—!
The ball, its trajectory warped by his foot, bounced and rolled under the feet of one of our players.
I quickly ran down.
Successfully defending was fortunate, but the question was whether we could get out quickly.
It was a dangerous position where if they re-pressed, we could concede an even more dangerous opportunity.
Unfortunately, our preparation for that was also terribly shoddy.
Thwack—!
Fortunately, the ball escaped the danger zone.
And by the time I had dropped back to the defensive area, a slightly delayed pass trickled to my feet.
Swoosh—
After checking the approaching ball, I quickly scanned my surroundings and pondered my next play in advance.
Unlike us, the opponent's press seemed pre-planned and quite organized.
I could feel them closing in from three directions to prevent me from turning any one way.
I recalled the captain's words once more.
The captain had spoken so coldly not, of course, to break our morale.
It was because we needed to know our strengths and weaknesses, and the opponent's, to form a strategy.
The captain said that while we might be below them as a team, if we looked only at individual ability, we were above them.
So he said we should aggressively, confidently try individual tactics.
That was part of it.
There was also the fact that there wasn't really a good place to pass.
By the time the ball reached right before me, I quickly decided I would break out alone.
Thwack—!
I received the ball near the center of our half, in the defensive midfielder position.
At the same time, the distance between me and the opponents rushing at me closed to about three, even two steps.
From the opponent's perspective, it was a position where if they stole the ball, they could connect to a shot in one or two passes.
Perhaps that's why they rushed at me with near full speed.
It was threatening.
But that meant I could shake them off easily with just a slight change of direction.
Tap—!
When I feinted as if turning my body to the right, the trajectory of the rushing opponent shifted that way.
The moment I confirmed that, I wrapped the ball to the left and turned.
Tap-tap-tap—!
And after knocking the ball forward long, I quickly ran to escape the opponent's pressure.
Since the opponent had rushed in so fiercely, they couldn't help but take time to brake and turn back around.
Thanks to that, I was quickly freed.
Tap-tap-tap—!
Without slowing down, I continued to dribble the ball up.
I decided not to overcomplicate things.
Even with only the options that came to mind immediately, there were several, but I quickly narrowed them down.
I personally don't like dragging the ball out.
Especially in a counterattack situation, holding the ball alone for a long time is inefficient.
Because no person can be faster than the ball.
But nothing is ever absolute.
There is only play suited to the situation.
A play that's bad in one situation can be good in another.
I think the same applies now.
Recalling the captain's words once more, I remind myself that there are times you must grow cold to win.
My judgment was that right now, taking it all the way alone would be better than continuing with a pass.
I think so, coldly—rationally.
Tat-tat—!
The opponent's defensive midfielder blocked the way ahead, but stopping me, who had already hit top speed, was no easy feat.
Just by slightly shifting direction while running, I easily bypassed the opponent.
Tat-tat—!
Because of this, the defenders couldn't rashly rush out either.
Because they had seen their teammate get beaten right before their eyes, and also because Europe's finest strikers were penetrating the box.
Then there was even less reason to stop.
Tap-tap-tap—!
Reaching near the box, I slowed down.
And after glancing at the goal, I pushed the ball slightly farther ahead.
It was a signal that I would shoot immediately.
The defender was keeping his distance and just holding position, so there was no reason not to shoot.
Tat-tat—!
The defender sprang out as if throwing his body.
I released the power in my right foot, which I had drawn far back, and slightly changed the ball's direction with the instep.
With that, I left the defender throwing his body into empty air, then burst into the space that opened up.
Next, I threw away pretense.
No more acting was needed.
Baaaaam—!
The sensation of the ball meeting the instep was heavy.
The shot, aimed at the left goal, cut across the inside of the box.
Whoosh—
Snap—!
And shook the goal net.
...Hm.
See.
This is the power of desperation.
*
'As a team, we are a notch above.'
Before the Round of 16 began.
The Japanese players thought coldly—rationally.
No matter how they looked at it, they were a notch above as a team.
It was true that Korea had many good players.
A monster was embedded in defense, and especially in attack, there was an array of talents one wouldn't want to face.
Korea was a team possessing such good talents that they couldn't help but admit it, even if they didn't want to.
But soccer was a sport where eleven people became one team to fight.
It wasn't a one-on-one game.
No matter how outstanding each individual was.
In the end, soccer was a game decided by the total sum of power when all eleven were combined.
It didn't matter what their club teams were.
Whether they played for Bayern Munich, Paris Saint-Germain, Tottenham, or Manchester City.
The players they would meet on the field would all be wearing red uniforms anyway.
So they decided to set aside fear and admiration for a moment.
The Japanese players believed that team against team, they were a notch above.
But around the ten-minute mark after the match started.
The Japanese players found themselves staring at sky-blue uniforms instead of red.
And began to harbor doubts themselves.
They had said no player was greater than the team, clearly.
It had been obvious common sense that no matter how good one's individual ability was, two or three people combining strength couldn't be stopped.
Yet, that obvious common sense was shaken.
It couldn't be helped.
The power, structure, order, and control that eleven created.
Because they had seen with their eyes and felt with their bodies that all of it could become scraps of paper before the overwhelming might of a lone individual.
"..."
"..."
The moment the ball rolled inside the goal.
Without even thinking to express dissatisfaction, the Japanese players simply gazed at one person.
All eyes turned to the boy passing leisurely by them.
Their resolve to throw away admiration might have succeeded.
However, the problem was what lay within those gazes staring blankly at the boy.
It wasn't admiration; the problem was likely a sense of awe surpassing admiration.
"..."
"..."
The faces of the Japanese supporters, who had been cheering enthusiastically just one minute ago, turned as blue as the uniforms they wore.