When the Champions League quarterfinal bracket was finalized, it was my phone's inbox that caught the sparks.
To be exact, the group chat with my Fiorentina hyungs had gone up in flames—nothing but messages venting frustration.
The reason was that Fiorentina, who had advanced to the tournament with us, had faced Bayern Munich in the Round of 16—the same team we were set to meet in the quarterfinals.
According to the guys, well, they said they lost regrettably.
If that were the case, first leg 0–2.
Second leg 1–4.
It was a scoreline that looked far from "regrettable," but I didn't bother nitpicking.
Because I knew all too well how immense the regret is when you're eliminated from a tournament, regardless of the goal difference.
"We have to get revenge."
"...We have to."
The guys threw tantrums like little kids, begging me to get revenge for them.
From now on, they said they were Man City supporters or something.
No, they said they were one body—beyond mere supporters.
Fiorentina and I are one body, and I belong to Man City.
It was a logical structure stating that Fiorentina and Man City are one body.
The logic was sufficiently persuasive.
So I promised.
That for this quarterfinal, I would play with the heart of a Fiorentina player who came to Man City as a mercenary, all for Fiorentina's revenge.
Of course, I'd keep it a secret from my current teammates and the coach.
Anyway, I had packed away the purple undershirt I'd worn during my Fiorentina days.
But it wasn't time to take it out and wear it yet.
The Champions League quarterfinals were still a month away, and there were things that needed to be done first during that month.
Important as the Champions League is, it's not the only competition we have.
There's the League and the FA Cup as well.
And we can't afford to give up a single one of them.
The moment you join a team called Manchester City, you become a body that mustn't be satisfied with just one trophy.
Now was the time to be greedy.
No, perhaps that wasn't greed, but simply the natural order of things.
...
"It's still a distant dream."
Mid-March 2024.
The day before the Premier League Round 28 match.
Coach Guardiola was answering a reporter's question during a pre-match interview.
"There are still ten matches left in the league, and we're preparing for the FA Cup quarterfinals. We're in the Champions League quarterfinals as well. It's not time to talk about consecutive trebles."
Guardiola's expression as he answered looked somewhat tired.
Perhaps because he was giving an answer he had already given countless times.
You could tell from his tone alone—utterly flat, as if reading from a pre-written script.
Manchester City, having achieved the treble last season, was leading the league this year as well, had advanced to the FA Cup quarterfinals, and had secured a spot in the Champions League quarterfinals.
It was the perfect situation for the media to fixate upon.
First in history, unprecedented, unheard of, one of a kind.
They slapped on every impressive-sounding word they could find, fueling expectations.
Even though there were still more than two months left in the season, an atmosphere had already formed where failing to achieve back-to-back trebles would be seen as failure.
A situation where anyone would be sufficiently exhausted.
But Guardiola carried on with the interview like a professional.
"You can't always walk with your head held high. What's more important is walking while keeping a close eye on the ground. If you only look up, you can trip over even a small pebble. Right now, my head is only filled with how to approach the match against Chelsea. I'll focus only on winning, winning, and winning every week. If we do that, the trophies simply follow."
But the reporters didn't back down easily either.
They needed a narrative arc.
They had no use for a boring picture of false humility and contentment.
What they wanted to see was a hero challenging a great achievement, or a villain whose ambition for world conquest made him a laughingstock.
"But if you do succeed in back-to-back trebles, what would the next goal be? It seems there's nothing left to achieve."
The higher you lift someone, the more satisfying their fall.
In sports, sometimes a team becomes a public enemy simply for being too good.
"Then we'll have to challenge for three consecutive trebles. Because that's what you all want."
Guardiola answered with a snicker.
A smile that seemed to say he realized it was already hopeless to get questions about tomorrow's match.
Did that smile please them?
The reporters' target shifted to the boy with an innocent face sitting beside Guardiola.
He had a face that certainly looked more rewarding to attack than the bald old man who had been through the wringer in the industry.
A question pretending to be innocent flew at the innocent boy.
"Lee, what do you think? How confident are you about back-to-back trebles? Are you confident that you'll become the protagonist of an unprecedented achievement?"
At this, the boy glanced at Guardiola, then slightly bowed his head and brought his mouth to the microphone.
His answers had become so fast that the salary paid to the interpreter was starting to feel like a waste.
"I believe it will be impossible."
As soon as the first words left his mouth, the reporters' brows furrowed slightly.
It was neither the answer they wanted nor the one they didn't want.
Even Guardiola, sitting beside him, glanced at the boy—whether the boy knew it or not.
The boy simply continued his answer.
"Not only do I believe it's impossible, but I also imagine losing every week. Somehow we won until the last match, but tomorrow I imagine losing."
The boy furrowed his brows.
"Then I have no choice but to work hard. Because losing is a terrible thing. I can't think of anything but wanting to win. I want to win; I don't want to lose."
When the boy's answer flowed out to that point, only then did the sound of keyboards clacking—one beat late—fill the press room.
Perhaps the way he spoke followed the style of how he played the ball.
He made even the sly reporters think once or twice more.
The boy shrugged and finished his answer.
"It's worked until now. But tomorrow we might really lose. Because Chelsea is a strong team."
Clack, clack.
Almost simultaneously with the boy finishing his answer, the reporters finished typing.
Because they had taken down his answer exactly as it was.
Truthfully, it was an answer perfect for twisting and conveying however they pleased.
It was material that could be processed more provocatively than anything if they wished.
But they didn't particularly feel like doing so.
Because there was nothing everyone wanted to see more than a boy with such pure desire becoming a hero.
"Thank you."
Eventually, the press conference ended.
Both Guardiola and the boy sighed as they stood up and left the press room.
In the midst of leaving, Guardiola put his arm around the boy's shoulder and said with a smile.
"You speak well. Hm?"
At that, the boy hunched his neck and fidgeted awkwardly, as if embarrassed.
He looked more nervous beside Guardiola than he had in front of the many reporters.
"It's nothing..."
Guardiola burst into laughter, finding the sight adorable.
...
Premier League Round 28.
Etihad Stadium.
The early weekend afternoon sunlight bathed the grass in gold, while on the pitch, sky-blue jerseys and less-blue jerseys engaged in fierce battle.
Chelsea FC had come to Etihad Stadium.
This season, Chelsea was a team producing results that fell short of their reputation.
At the point when 27 rounds had been played, they were 10th in the league table.
When the term Big 6 didn't exist and only Big 4 did, Chelsea had belonged to the Big 4 even then, so 10th was inevitably a disappointing ranking beyond mere regret.
Some said the players' attitudes were the problem, others said the coach's tactics were the problem, that everything was a problem—Chelsea's current situation was one where they only talked about their problems.
But still, Chelsea is Chelsea.
They have pride.
Regardless of their ranking, they are classified as a big club, a team with players whose market value ranks in the top ten across all of Europe.
For such a team, continuous outside criticism sometimes works as a catalyst.
Shattered pride is forged into unity and cohesion.
People call that resilience.
The Chelsea that came to Etihad Stadium today was proving that what Guardiola had said at yesterday's press conference was no exaggeration.
"..."
Guardiola, standing in the technical area watching the pitch, was biting his nails.
Just from that expression, you could tell the match wasn't flowing the way he wanted.
Swoosh—!
A pass being circulated from the back under Chelsea's press was cut off.
A ball handled somewhat hastily hit an opponent's body and went out over the touchline.
Why were there so many mistakes today of all days?
The players seemed burdened.
They were all exhausted as well.
After surviving the hellish winter of the Premier League, there were actually no players in perfect condition around this time of year.
Especially for players like Rodri, who had played every single match, simply standing out there was nothing short of remarkable.
On the other hand, the Chelsea players exuded strong will.
An intense desire to win seemed to burst out from their very beings.
The problem was clear.
They were losing not in tactics or anything else, but in will and momentum.
But that was precisely why it was a headache.
Fixing tactics would be far easier; touching the players' will was far harder.
And then, around the 5th minute of the second half.
An incident occurred that made the opponent's momentum burn even brighter.
Thwack—!
The moment the swish of the goal net rang out, Guardiola touched his forehead and turned around.
Defensive concentration had broken down.
These were opponent players who wouldn't miss that.
The stadium fell silent, and only the cheers of the away fans faintly echoed from afar.
A moment where he didn't know anything else and just wanted to sigh.
Guardiola, walking toward the bench with his head down, raised his head.
And after looking over the bench, he made a decision.
He decided to stop keeping the player who hated losing the most on the bench in the name of looking at the long season.
Ooooooh—
Shortly after, strange cheers and applause began to rise from the stands.
It was partly to encourage the losing players to show more fight, but also expectation sent to someone who could change the situation.
Lee Ji-an began warming up, slowly moving near the touchline.
At this, the players on the pitch sensed the change in the air.
They couldn't help but notice, since they all had ears and eyes.
As a strange wind began to blow through Etihad Stadium, the Man City players encouraged one another, while the Chelsea players refused to let down their guard.
And around the 15th minute of the second half.
Boom—!
A Chelsea shot went past the goal line, giving Man City a goal kick.
But the referee had them wait a moment, then pointed to the touchline.
Mateo Kovacic ran out with a tired face.
At the same time, applause poured out for his dedication, followed by even louder applause raining down onto the pitch.
That applause instilled even greater tension in the Chelsea players watching the scene.
They had led the match well for the past 60 minutes and had done enough to think it couldn't get any better than this against a team like Man City.
But seeing the opponent player's face entering the pitch with such vigor, they couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning.
But it didn't end there.
The Chelsea players, who had been raising their tension again and adjusting each other's positions, swallowed hard upon seeing the opponent similarly reorganizing their formation.
It was actually a common sight.
A substitute coming on and briefly talking with existing players to adjust their formation.
Simply passing on the coach's instructions or talking about changes.
There was nothing particularly special about it.
The substitute had merely approached De Bruyne, and hadn't even exchanged more than a few words.
But that sight made the Chelsea players feel fear beyond mere tension.
They simply had a premonition.
An ominous premonition that the Man City they faced from now on would be completely different from before.
The opponent's number 7, who came on as a substitute, had headed straight for De Bruyne as soon as he came on, and the two seemed about to say something.
But they simply gestured at each other a few times, nodded, and scattered to their respective positions.
They didn't engage in any separate discussion.
As if they were already thinking the same thing, they simply exchanged glances and nodded.
That sight was enough to make the opposing side feel fear.