Human senses are strange.
There are times when you feel that another sense, distinct from the five senses, clearly exists, even though it cannot be explained scientifically.
There is a time when you especially come to believe it—when you have an ominous premonition.
To the point that there is even a saying that ominous premonitions are never wrong.
Because whenever you feel something is off, it always comes true, leaving you no choice but to believe that humans possess a sixth sense.
[De Bruyne brings the match back to square one! 1-1! We are starting over from the beginning!]
[Atletico's goal has finally been opened. It's still early, too. There are still over 60 minutes remaining!]
The 25th minute of the first half.
The air at the Metropolitano was like that when De Bruyne's goal went in.
"···"
"···"
The moment De Bruyne's shot, appearing suddenly inside the box, shook the net.
The fans filling the stands at the Metropolitano couldn't help but feel something was off.
Of course, it was only natural for anxiety to creep in when they had conceded an equalizer before even half of the first half had passed.
But there was something beyond that, something people commonly call an 'off' feeling that enveloped the stadium.
This season, Atletico Madrid had only a handful of matches where they conceded two or more goals.
Most of the games they lost or drew were 0-1 or 1-1.
Their defense was so solid that they had never given up a large number of goals.
But just now.
The moment De Bruyne's goal went in, such anxiety crept over the crowd.
Somehow, today.
The feeling that it wouldn't be easy to hold off Manchester City with just one goal. No, the anxiety that it might be impossible.
[That just now, wow. This pass. This pass pierced the heart of Atletico Madrid. It peeled away two layers at once!]
[What on earth did he see? It's not to the level of having eyes in the back of his head, but eyes in the sky.]
[An assist from Phil Foden, and a goal from De Bruyne. However, if we were to pick who had the biggest share in this goal, I think it would have to be Ri! It was a pass to that degree!]
[It was a pass that collapsed Atletico's system.]
The scene of the goal conceded just now was being replayed on the screen.
In truth, it wasn't a situation where one could point to a single individual's mistake in defense.
Everyone was positioned in their places, and the attack hadn't started from a dangerous area either.
It was near the halfway line.
An area just slightly below the halfway line.
Striker Griezmann was applying the first pressure, so it wasn't a dangerous situation at all.
But suddenly, a pass cut across the pitch, drawing a line.
That single pass created the worst situation from a situation that had been nothing.
Even watching the replay again, it was incomprehensible.
Clearly, Griezmann had been diligently applying pressure well, and thanks to that, he had made the opponent turn his back.
Right, he had his back turned.
But how could he spray such a pass the moment he turned around?
As if he were looking down from above.
"···"
"···"
And with that single pass alone.
An intensely unsettling anxiety suddenly crept in.
The anxiety that somehow, today would not end with just one goal conceded.
[The game is back to square one. The Round of 16 between Manchester City and Atletico Madrid starts anew from this moment.]
[The meaning of the interview Coach Guardiola gave before the match is being revealed right now. The remark that Ri wasn't there in the first leg.]
[Now that he is here, it's different. Definitely different.]
They say ominous premonitions are never wrong.
Moreover, if it wasn't just one person's feeling, but a feeling shared by tens of thousands simultaneously, what would the accuracy rate be?
It was something to find out by watching.
*
Usually, if there is one player on the opposing team who stands out exceptionally on a given day, the common response is to assign a dedicated defender to mark him.
They attach one man, expecting nothing else but solely to keep the opponent's ace in check.
Because if you play the game counting it as one man missing on each side, the side that loses its ace suffers far greater losses.
"···"
Coach Simeone looked at the pitch with a fearsome expression.
Watching the match.
Coach Simeone was sensing that it was time to make some changes.
Should he assign one man to mark?
Maybe De Paul or Koke in midfield, or bring up Llorente to assign a dedicated man-to-man mark.
It was the opponent's number 7.
He was completely uncontrollable.
He kept dropping down to the lower areas, receiving the ball, and looking forward, and each time, a chill ran down one's spine.
Whenever he looked at this side's camp, how should I put it, it felt like having one's secret diary discovered—anxious and uneasy.
Everything was starting from the tips of his feet.
So somehow, those feet and eyes had to be blocked.
The problem was that the opponent was Manchester City.
It wasn't a problem that could be solved by simply shutting down just one person well.
Grealish was over there, and Phil Foden was over here.
In the center stood Erling Haaland, and behind him were De Bruyne and Bernardo Silva providing support.
Even Rodri behind them was not someone you could leave with peace of mind.
A modified 3-4-3 formation.
The opponent had come out with an extremely attack-oriented formation, determined to overturn the game somehow, so it was already a situation where leaving all personnel in the defensive zone felt uneasy.
In such a situation, pulling one man out for dedicated marking placed too much burden on the others against the remaining players.
Moreover, to be honest.
It was questionable whether assigning one man would suppress him at all.
Of course, Coach Simeone believed in his players terribly.
He was absolutely not the type to doubt his own players.
But he was simply looking at the situation coldly as a coach.
If he attached one of De Paul, Koke, or Llorente, could he control the opponent's number 7?
Could he block his vision so that he couldn't find their weaknesses?
He wasn't confident.
The reason he couldn't bring himself to act despite intellectually feeling that a change was needed—perhaps it wasn't just that he lacked confidence, but that he already knew.
In many ways, it couldn't be anything but a dilemma.
It was all because of the opponent's number 7.
Because of that player who was like Griezmann's doppelganger.
There was a story Coach Simeone used to say like a habit.
Whenever a match ended in which Griezmann had put on a good performance, he would always say in interviews.
That he was thankful a player like Griezmann was on their team.
"···"
Coach Simeone recalled the moments he had given those interviews.
And he felt what the opposing team managers must have felt when he said those words—he put himself in their shoes.
Was this what it felt like when Griezmann played for the opposing team?
Though he couldn't be sure, it felt like his fists were trembling.
*
First half, 1-0.
And when we stepped back onto the pitch for the second half, our expressions weren't exactly bright.
It was because we had come out after hearing every bitter word in the English language from the coach during halftime.
He said that today, we had come here to win, not to draw.
That we had come to show what a champion is with the qualifications of the defending champions, not to perform miracles.
Honestly, since that was a remark aimed at me, I couldn't help but think that I just had to work harder in the second half.
But my teammates seemed to be feeling different emotions.
Their faces seemed somehow wounded in pride, yet at the same time, they seemed to be filling with a sense of self-respect.
In any case, what was clear was that even though time was no longer on the opponent's side, nor on anyone's side.
None of us approached the second half with our guards down.
We still ran as if we were being chased, and didn't rest to run one step more than the opponent.
Of course, that was easier said than done.
You could see that the opponent was also pouring everything they had, their determination to avoid the worst-case scenario of being overturned at home palpable.
Beep—!
In the second half, the match became a bit rougher.
The referee's whistle blew noticeably more often.
Yellow cards, which rarely came out, were frequently pulled from pockets.
Most of them were for the opponent.
Because we possessed the ball for much longer.
Since there was almost no cause for attacking fouls, most were fouls committed by the opponent.
As the atmosphere grew rougher, some players were getting excited.
There were many falls.
The new uniform changed into at halftime quickly became a rag.
Perhaps because I had fallen quite a lot, Rodri even came to talk to me.
He said we wouldn't just stand still either, so there was no need to be discouraged, and to taunt them more.
Well, I wondered if I had been taunting the opponent.
In any case, it meant to do it with confidence.
But despite being subjected to rough fouls, despite having my face planted in the grass, I didn't get discouraged.
This wasn't an experience I had once or twice.
Since I had become familiar with the grass from a young age, there was nothing new about it.
Rather, I took it only as evidence that the match was going well.
Especially, that conviction grew thanks to the irritation revealed on Griezmann's expression.
Gesturing to his teammates, shouting.
There was nothing more assuring than his gestures that seemed mixed with frustration.
It wasn't that I had watched him for a long time, but even from briefly observing him, I could tell he wasn't a player who misread situations.
The fact that he was annoyed meant that we were definitely doing well.
"Hey-!"
But satisfaction in doing well was utterly useless.
The only thing useful on the pitch was one thing, and one thing only: scoring.
There is something the coach always says.
Soccer is a sport of putting the ball in the net, and everything else exists solely for the purpose of scoring.
Playing against a team called Atletico Madrid, what I felt was how great a power is displayed when eleven men run looking in one direction.
How fearsome a strength emerges when everyone runs with a single goal.
If that were the case, I thought our team wouldn't be a pushover either.
Someone said they had never seen someone so crazy about victory as the coach, but in my opinion, everyone except me was like that.
Someone might look at this team called Manchester City and say it is a team gathered from the people who play soccer best in the world.
That, too, is certainly correct.
But I think there is one thing before that.
It is that it is a team gathered from the people most crazy about victory in the world.
And when you eat with such people every day and train together, even someone like me naturally changes.
You can't help but feel anxiety that you must become more ruthless in order to survive among these ruthless people.
Even if you want to slack off, you can't.
Thinking about it like that, coming to such a team couldn't be anything but good fortune.
Because every week, they create that situation for me, someone who only does something when pushed to a dead end.
Thwack—!
Around the 30th minute of the second half, with my whole body covered in dirt.
Exchanging one-two passes with De Bruyne, I break through the left half-space.
The opponent's midfield is all yellow.
They had all received a yellow card each.
Thanks to that, you could see they were all suppressing their tempers.
So there was nothing to fear even when driving the ball forward.
Thwack—!
Without dribbling long, I send the ball forward.
Haaland traps it with his back to the defender, and seeing his intention to buy time, I quickly pick up speed.
Tap-tap-tap—!
And the moment I get past the opponent's last defensive line.
Haaland, who had been holding the ball until then, lays it back, and De Bruyne stabs that ball back in with a one-touch.
Thwack—!
That ball slips between the defenders and flows into the box.
It's in front of me.
Many thoughts come to mind, but in this moment, I decide to leave it to instinct.
Haaland had said so.
That inside the box, you have to leave it to instinct.
Bwooom—!
The shot struck with my left foot fires out.
Shoooo—
The course is the far post, the upper right corner.
Swish—!
That shot buries itself in the corner of the net.
Honestly, I usually can't relate.
To why everyone shows such ruthless competitive spirit, why they're so crazy about winning.
But in moments like this, I can't help but become similar.
Because if you can feel this sensation, you can't help but be so obsessed.
"YEA-!!!"
I shouted toward the silenced stands, a courage I didn't know I had bursting out from somewhere.
···
"Eat in moderation, in moderation."
"Good morning."
"What's with your face. It's even harder to look at today."
A pleasant morning with warm sunlight shining through a large window.
Sitting early in a corner of the cafeteria, the players, the coach, and the coaches reveal themselves one by one.
An ordinary mealtime.
But today, the TV in the middle of the cafeteria is turned up loud.
Because an important event is about to take place.
[······Shall we begin shortly? The Champions League quarterfinal. We will proceed with the draw.]
Two days ago.
We had returned alive from the hell called Madrid.
Winning 2-0, we had avenged the first-leg defeat and survived the tournament.
But there is no end.
If you survived, you must prove it once more.
Prove how you survived.
"Who will be the protagonist of misfortune?"
"Do you think someone will meet us?"
"That's right."
The atmosphere is relaxed.
Everyone is smiling as they watch the TV and chat.
The coach, too, is keeping an eye on the draw while joking with the coaches.
But shortly after.
The angle of the smiles everyone was wearing lowered slightly.
[······Manchester City FC's opponent is... Yes. From the Bundesliga, FC Bayern Munich.]
It couldn't be helped.