You can't compare which tastes better between apples and tangerines.
The same goes for pizza and chicken, pasta and instant noodles.
Which one tastes better is merely a matter of personal preference.
Because they each possess distinct flavors and charms, determining superiority is impossible.
But you can compare kimchi stew with kimchi stew.
Kimchi stew with kimchi stew, doenjang stew with doenjang stew.
Things that share the same taste and charm can certainly be compared.
That's why Jiu said they've only been going to Italian restaurants lately.
Because the signature dish of the store Jiu is preparing is Italian cuisine.
Well, Spanish or French specialty restaurants are of an entirely different class, so there's nothing to feel threatened by.
But if it's the same Italian cuisine, comparisons are inevitable, so they can't help but be mindful of it, apparently.
So Jiu said they're going around tasting here and there and racking their brains to create a tastier menu.
And now.
I find myself in a situation similar to that.
"Haah—"
The player tunnel leading to the pitch.
While waiting, tapping my legs, my nerves keep drifting to the side.
Because of the opposing players lined up to our right, and among them, the blond-haired man.
...Why did he have to have the same squad number, too?
This just makes it easier to compare us.
Who had the edge at number 7, which number 7 stood out more.
Useless worries are already creeping in—what if I end up being the one who comes up short?
I've had many intimidating opponents.
Too many to count on one hand.
Every time I stood in the tunnel like this, I was swept up in worry that today's opponents might be the detectives who would expose my true self.
But today, it's especially so.
The reason is probably because an opponent who cooks the same dish as me is standing right beside me.
...Hmm.
Honestly, it's embarrassing to even say that out loud.
To classify such an amazing player in the same category as myself feels presumptuous and out of line.
But just like the kimchi stew my father boils and the kimchi stew Jiu boils—though the taste may be heaven and earth apart, they're still the same kimchi stew in the end.
What I'm talking about isn't level, it's type.
As I confirmed in the first leg, Griezmann was a player with a similar playstyle to mine.
To be exact, it's probably more accurate to say I've been trying to become like him, but anyway.
Above all else, you could say he's the type whose main weapon is reading the game.
So I can't help but be conscious of him.
Because it's so easy to draw comparisons.
Thanks to that, I'm especially more nervous and worried.
Because I can't shake the feeling that he might be the one to blow my cover.
Wouldn't anyone feel the same?
The person I envy and fear the most is the one walking the same path as me.
Because nothing hurts your pride more than becoming someone's "inferior copy."
"..."
Playing the drum and the gong all by myself.
Unlike me, pulling together every worry from the real to the imaginary, Griezmann looks nothing but relaxed.
He simply stands with his hands on his hips, staring ahead, as if waiting for the entrance to begin soon.
Yet from his expressionless face, devoid of any expression, I sense something.
It might just be my imagination, but what is it?
He looks like he's thinking so much that you can't tell what he's thinking.
It's like looking at the face of someone playing three games of Go simultaneously across three boards.
Our manager has exactly that vibe.
A feeling where you can't read what he's thinking.
That's why it's scarier.
"Okay, let's go!"
"¡Vamos, vamos!"
At any rate, time is never late to its promises.
The inevitable moment draws near, and I start walking out of the tunnel after my teammates.
Truthfully, this isn't the time to be worrying about such things.
It's an away match, and even before kickoff, we're already down by a goal.
Moreover, their defense is renowned throughout Europe as one of the hardest to break down.
So worrying about being compared to someone might be an extremely selfish act that only I care about.
No, that's exactly right.
But if it ends up helping the team, wouldn't that be okay?
Constantly worrying myself sick isn't about making myself feel small or eroding my own confidence.
It's about struggling with everything I've got, even a little more.
Because worry and anxiety have always been my greatest motivation.
Waaaaaaaah—!
As soon as I exit the tunnel, the cheers of the Spanish crowd begin to pour down.
Of course, they weren't cheers for us.
*
[One goal—honestly, you might think it's no big deal. And you'd be right. Goals can happen in just five seconds. But being down by one goal against Atletico Madrid is a different story.]
[The weight of that one goal becomes like a rock. Facing Atleti while they hold that one-goal lead must feel suffocating, like something is lodged in your chest.]
The Metropolitano, home stadium of Atletico Madrid.
The Round of 16 second leg of the Champions League has just kicked off at this massive stadium that seats around 70,000 and boasts a long history.
The first leg ended 1-0.
AT Madrid stole a 1-0 victory at the Etihad Stadium and returned here.
It was a hard result to predict.
Of course, AT Madrid isn't a team that's treated as an underdog wherever they go, but their opponent was Manchester City, the defending champions.
Few would have predicted that AT Madrid would enter the second leg with the lead.
[Atleti's performance in the first leg was reminiscent of the mid-2010s.]
[It certainly felt like those days. The era when they reached the Champions League final twice in three seasons. Defensively, they completely shut down Man City's attack, and in midfield and attack, Griezmann overwhelmed everyone.]
Not many words are needed to explain AT Madrid's football.
Just two sentences—brief ones at that—are enough.
A defense that moves as one body.
And Griezmann.
The first leg was the match that showed the quintessence of that.
The defense, aligned ruler-straight, gave up no space in front of the box, and not even the combination of De Bruyne and Haaland could create a crack.
And in front of them, Griezmann soared.
Every time he touched the ball, he threatened Man City's back line and eventually made a goal, making Man City even more desperate.
It was a devilishly effective cycle.
Suffocating defense forces opponents to pour more energy into their attack, thereby easily inducing them to expose their back lines.
In that space, Griezmann freely roams, scattering his influence, and through scoring, makes the opponent more frantic.
The frantic opponent's attack only becomes easier to stop.
[Man City in the first leg made unusually many mistakes in the attacking area.]
[Well, it was probably around the average for other teams, but for Man City, it was disappointing. They couldn't show their creative side.]
[Atleti's defense was so good. Everyone must have seen the video that made waves after the first leg.]
[You mean the footage taken by a drone, showing Atleti's defensive movements from above.]
After the first leg, what made waves in various analyses was the footage of Madrid's defensive movements shot from above.
When Man City worked hard to create gaps by switching the ball from side to side in midfield, the players' movements following the flow were like one body without a single inch of error.
Their spacing and positioning.
It was an organizational strength that even convinced fans who couldn't understand Man City's frustrating attack.
[That's Simeone's football. The organization born from intense control has made Madrid the team that suits the term "one team" the best.]
[I agree. Making different players look at the same place, think the same thing, and run. Simeone is one of the managers who does that best.]
[But actually, if there's another master in that field, it's Manager Guardiola.]
[He's an iconic manager. When it comes to making players run for the team.]
Restricting individual players' creativity and making them play for the team's colors is Simeone's style.
By that measure, Manager Guardiola is the same.
Because he obsesses over and dictates even the tiniest movements.
[A match between these two teams led by those two managers should be a tactical battle, a battle of wits.]
[But ironically, what decided the first leg was, in a sense, the tip of a player's toe, outside the manager's grasp.]
[What do you mean by that?]
[All of Atleti's players run as predetermined under Simeone's control. They move as promised. But one player is the exception. He's the only one given freedom. That's Griezmann.]
Though Manager Simeone controls everything, one player alone is the exception.
Griezmann alone moves freely outside of control.
Limiting his creativity would be a massive loss, and from the start, he's not the type to play in a way that degrades the team's organization.
As they say of someone who'd live fine without laws, Griezmann is a player who can show the correct answer in every situation even without tactics.
The first leg was where that showed clearly.
[Then what about today? Man City has Griezmann's mirror image too, don't they?]
[It's the same. Manager Guardiola also has a player like Simeone's Griezmann, one who is given freedom. Coincidentally, they wear the same number 7. It's him who didn't play in the first leg. Manager Guardiola once said that the only thing he tells him before a match is to do what fits the situation.]
[We should pay attention. Among those who've been given freedom on this pitch where everything is controlled, whose creativity will shine brighter?]
While the commentators' analysis continues, the clock on the scoreboard is quickly approaching the 5-minute mark.
During those 5 minutes, nothing much had happened.
Having had the ball for most of the time, Man City slowly circulated it and probed, while AT Madrid, as expected, firmly built their defensive wall and showed no cracks.
Thanks to that, the fans in the small away section were already feeling a hint of impatience.
No matter how much it's only just begun, their opponent is AT Madrid and they are down by a goal.
Every minute and every second is precious to break through that thick barrier.
They should have been storming from the start, yet they're feeling things out, so the fans are starting to burn with anxiety wondering if this is okay.
But it was exactly when the scoreboard clock passed the 5-minute mark.
Pa-aang—!
One Man City attacker dropped down from the front line near the halfway line and received the ball.
Then he looked around and started exchanging short passes with his teammates, increasing his number of touches.
Pa-aang—!
Pa-aang—!
It's something De Bruyne often does.
Receiving and giving passes while mainly holding the ball and initiating the attack.
It was De Bruyne's role.
But today, De Bruyne is positioned higher up in a more attacking position.
It seems that role has been handed to someone else instead.
To Lee Jian.
Pa-aang—!
Pa-aang—!
Sometimes moving horizontally, sometimes moving vertically.
Weaving between opposing players, Lee Jian exchanges passes with his teammates.
The traces of passes kept drawing the sides of a triangle, but one vertex never changed—it was always Lee Jian.
And then, in the midst of that.
The moment arrived when a spark flew in the otherwise ordinary flow.
It was when Rodrigo De Paul, Atletico Madrid's midfielder, approached Lee Jian, who had received the ball just over the halfway line, near the right half-space.
Tat—!
The instant De Paul's sudden individual press came in, Lee Jian—who seemed to have been waiting—showed a burst of footwork and bypassed De Paul.
Tatat—!
And he begins to step one more time into the advanced space.
It's the space De Paul vacated.
But with De Paul bypassed, the remaining players begin to close in a step.
In an instant, the space narrows.
But Lee Jian's next choice is instantaneous as well.
Thwooooom—!
Without looking, Lee Jian strikes the ball with his right foot.
It's a lobbed pass headed to the left.
Where that pass is headed, Jack Grealish stands alone in a suddenly spacious area.
And in that instant, in the scene that just unfolded.
The Atleti fans filling the 70,000 seats of the Metropolitano fall under an illusion.
The illusion that Griezmann was playing for the opposing team.