I don’t think being a soccer player is a great profession.
It’s not that I’m looking down on my teammates or other players. Hmm. How should I put it.
I’m talking about the job itself—I just don’t think it’s a profession that does anything so great or amazing.
What I mean is, well, it’s just playing with a ball.
A ball game.
Nothing special about it.
We simply play this ball game that even children can play, only a bit more professionally, as our job.
Whether I, or someone else, plays the ball better today won’t make the world a better place tomorrow.
If farmers work hard, food is produced. If sanitation workers work hard, the world becomes cleaner. If office workers work hard, better products are made.
But if I score three goals today, what changes tomorrow?
Nothing changes.
Because soccer is nothing more than a ball game.
So sometimes, I’m grateful to the point of bewilderment.
I’m just playing a ball game.
And yet I receive this much money, this much cheering.
“···”
On the way back to Manchester from Munich, riding the bus to the Etihad Campus.
While checking the messages piled up on my phone, the corner of my mouth curls upward.
There are so many videos uploaded in the group chat with the Fiorentina hyungs that it’s hard to watch them all.
Well, they were all clips of them jumping up and down so much that you could barely make them out.
Anyone would think Fiorentina beat Munich.
We were the ones who won, so why are they celebrating while singing the Fiorentina chant?
What’s funny is that even people passing by on the streets did the same.
It looked like Senior Saponara filmed it—there was even a video of him jumping around with citizens wearing Fiorentina jerseys.
Singing the chant I used to hear when I was at Fiorentina.
“···”
How could I not be grateful?
Just because we spent a short two years together, there are people who cheer for me wherever I go, wherever I am.
It makes me think once again.
What exactly is this ball game?
Is it really just a simple ball game?
If so, why do so many people laugh and cry, get angry or become happy over such a mere ball game?
Honestly, I don’t really know.
But one thing is certain: there are people who cry or laugh depending on how I kick the ball.
There are definitely people in this world who become happy because of me.
When I think that way, I can’t afford to be lazy.
Along with feeling grateful, I also grow anxious in proportion to that gratitude.
I’m consumed by the thought that I have to keep doing well, and do even better.
“···”
A wry laugh escapes.
In the past, when I had these thoughts, my heart would pound and thump, and I’d feel queasy.
It’s not to that extent now.
It’s just—if that’s how it has to be, then that’s what I’ll do.
That’s the thought that prevails more.
If I can receive this much love from something as trivial as this ball game.
If I can’t endure even that much, wouldn’t I be unable to do anything?
Vroooom
Looking out the window, familiar scenery begins to greet me.
The bus seems to have reached near the campus before I knew it.
I pick up my phone again to send a message to Jiu.
Jiu: Hurry up and get here!!!
Jiu: I miss you!!!
I always feel this, but Jiu is really like a dog.
···Hmm. No, I mean.
Not “like a dog” in that sense, but literally like a dog.
No, no matter how I say it, it sounds weird.
Ah, right.
Like a puppy. A puppy.
Always fidgeting busily, getting happy when you mention a walk, trying to rush in when there’s something delicious, wagging her tail to greet me even after being apart for a short while.
I shake my head and reply that I’ll arrive soon.
But then, at a voice that suddenly comes from beside me, I hunch my shoulders without thinking.
“Who is it that makes flowers bloom across your face?”
“···Huh? Ah.”
“What? Why so surprised. Is it your girlfriend?”
“Ah, haha···”
I laugh awkwardly and evade the question from Grealish, who is sitting in the seat beside me.
···Flowers blooming across my face.
Was I smiling that much?
I wasn’t.
Anyway, I turn my phone slightly so only I can see it and finish sending my reply.
Me: Almost there
Me: I miss you too
Then I turn my head back to the window, and soon nod in understanding.
My reflection in the glass was grinning foolishly.
*“Didn’t you buy any souvenirs? Like German sausage or beer.”
“···I didn’t.”
“You didn’t?”
“When would I have had the time?”
“Wow, you really know how to hurt someone’s feelings. Can’t you choose your words a little nicer?”
“You know what they say, kind words beget kind words··· Ack!”
“You just had to get hit. Seriously, you’ve been so full of yourself lately. Annoying.”
···Geez.
Rubbing my stinging shoulder, I roll my suitcase off to a corner of the living room.
To think the first thing I do after coming home is get hit.
It’s infuriating that there’s no referee at home.
“Go wash up and eat. You haven’t eaten, right?”
“···Yeah.”
“I’ll just whip something up with what’s in the fridge, so just eat whatever. Is that okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure? That’s not what your face is saying.”
“···It’s because someone’s going to break my shoulder.”
“Stop talking nonsense and go wash up.”
I shake my head and head to the second floor.
Ever since leaving for Munich, and even just earlier, she was saying all kinds of cringeworthy things over text.
But now that we’re face to face, she’s nitpicking again like we’re back in elementary school.
It’s always like this.
When we don’t see each other, we say everything we want to say, but when we’re face to face, we act like we used to.
Well, actually, I’m worse than Jiu in that regard, so I have no room to talk.
Maybe because we’ve known each other since we were so young.
It’s just more comfortable and familiar that way.
I can say childish things over text, but I can’t do it in person because it’s too cringeworthy··· it’s just like that.
Honestly, it might be because the way I feel when I see Jiu is exactly the same as before.
It’s not that I only see her as a friend now··· more accurately, I don’t think I ever saw her as just a friend.
All this time I was just stubbornly insisting it wasn’t like that on my own.
Thinking that, a smirk escapes again.
Is this what it means to be becoming an adult?
When I think of my past self, I feel like such a fool.
Doesn’t that mean I’m changing too?
Of course, I’m sure I’ll look back on my current self and feel foolish later too.
But I hope so.
Because that too would mean I’ve become a more mature adult.
*“···Hey, you said you’d make do with whatever was here.”
“Huh? What?”
“This isn’t ‘making do.’”
“But it is?”
After washing up and roughly drying my hair, I come down to the kitchen and am speechless at the table overflowing with food.
She said she’d just make something with what was in the fridge.
No one would call this “making do.”
“Anyway, thanks for the meal.”
“What do you mean ‘anyway.’ Hurry up and eat.”
Honestly.
The moment I see the table, my stomach thunders, so I quickly shovel in a bite.
The moment it enters my mouth, the taste I’ve been longing for spreads from my tongue throughout my body.
Aah, it seeps in.
“Is it good?”
“···It’s good.”
“Then that’s all that matters.”
She has no idea how much I suffer because of Jiu.
Every time we go on away matches.
Our team isn’t poor, so we eat good food wherever we go, but nowhere tastes like this.
Thanks to that, whenever we go on away matches, it feels like the weight I barely put on falls right off.
Eating is the hardest part of away matches.
It’s all because of Jiu.
Why did she have to get my palate used to this?
“You must have been really hungry. Eat slowly.”
How can she tell me to eat slowly when there’s so much delicious food?
I ignore the nonsense and push more food into my mouth.
“Haa.”
And just like that, in an instant.
After finishing my storm-like meal and coming to my senses, all I see before me are empty dishes.
It feels like I’ve just fought a war; only now can I see my surroundings.
“···”
Maybe my frantic eating looked funny—I feel awkward under Jiu’s gaze as she sits across from me, watching me intently.
I study Jiu’s face and ask.
“Did you go out somewhere?”
“Today? No? Why?”
“No, I just. You look like you’re wearing makeup.”
“Makeup?”
When I nod, Jiu opens her eyes wide and touches her face.
Then she puts on a coy act, pretending not to know.
“I didn’t? Do I look like I’m wearing makeup?”
“Yeah. Or not?”
“I just put on sunscreen and lip balm. Well, I guess. My bare face doesn’t look that different from when I have makeup on, to the point people confuse them.”
Swish.
Watching Jiu flip her hair back and shrug her shoulders, I let out a snicker.
Well, it’s not wrong to say she looks the same with or without makeup.
I’ve watched Jiu for years—I’m not so lacking in observation that I can’t tell whether she’s wearing makeup or not.
And to begin with, Jiu wears makeup even when she’s just staying home. Not as much as when she goes out, but she seems to be applying something.
From what I hear, women don’t consider that makeup, but I don’t really know about that world.
Anyway, I don’t know why she does it, but when I ask like this, pretending not to know, Jiu likes it.
Like now, asking if she put on makeup when she didn’t.
“Sigh, hold on. I’ll bring a simple dessert.”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll give you something good for your body. I’ve managed your diet for how many meals—surely you haven’t forgotten.”
“···”
Her face is smiling.
But her words are nitpicking again as she gets up, and I end up smiling again.
She has no idea how wonderful it is that Jiu is someone so easy to make laugh.
She cheers up quickly even at compliments that don’t sound like compliments, so even a fool like me can make Jiu laugh.
···Surprisingly, it’s true.
My sudden remark about her makeup was my way of roundabout saying thank you.
I want to say thank you for always making delicious food, always cheering me on, always being by my side.
But I’m too embarrassed to say such things.
Come to think of it, how on earth did I ever confess?
I really wasn’t in my right mind back then.
That’s why I was able to lay my heart bare.
If I went back, I probably couldn’t do it.
Of course, I don’t regret it one bit.
“Here. Gelato. It’s been a while, right? It’s not very sweet, so enjoy the refreshing taste.”
“···Did you make this yourself?”
“Of course.”
Taking a spoonful of the gelato in the pretty bowl, a refreshing tartness spreads through my mouth.
I used to never understand the saying about having a separate stomach for dessert.
Now I think I get it.
Scooping up the gelato bite by bite like that.
Jiu, who had been sitting across from me watching intently, suddenly speaks.
“Is it hard?”
“···What?”
“Just, these days. You barely have rest days, you’re going here and there and can’t sleep properly. It must be hard.”
I shrug at the somewhat out-of-the-blue remark.
If I had to say, yes, it’s hard.
But I don’t want to unload that on Jiu.
“Hard? Not at all.”
“Hey, it’d be weird if you weren’t. It’s hard just watching from the side.”
“···It’s not hard. Don’t worry.”
“Well, I’m not exactly worried.”
We look at each other, let out wry laughs for no reason, and look away.
Honestly, it’s partly childish bravado too.
Not wanting to show weakness in front of Jiu. Wanting to only look cool.
But on the other hand, I also mean it.
That even if it’s hard, it’s not really hard.
If I can make Jiu smile brightly with something as trivial as this ball game, wouldn’t it be wrong of me to complain about how hard it is?
Still, Jiu says to me.
“Cheer up. Don’t forget that this noona is always watching you. Got it?”
“···That’s scary.”
The moment I start to feel tired, I feel like running far away.
···
“Huff··· Huff···”
An uncharacteristically blazing sun.
There haven’t been many days like this in the months since I came to England.
Why does the dazzling sunlight have to cut off my breath right now?
“Hoo···”
I exhale deeply, straighten my back, then frown heavily as I look up at the scoreboard.
87:42
MCI 2 : 2 NEW
The FA Cup semifinal against Newcastle United.
Unable to take the lead, with 3 minutes left until the end of regular time.
I don’t want to make excuses, but today is the fourth day since returning from Munich.
Having only done simple recovery training before playing another match, both I and my teammates feel groggy and out of it.
We were like that from the start, so how much worse must it be now that we’ve reached the final minutes.
What’s even scarier is that today’s match is a single-elimination tournament.
A tournament match that goes to extra time if a winner isn’t decided within 90 minutes.
I don’t have the confidence to run anymore. What do I do?
It’s not just this match—there’s another league match in three days.
“Hoo, hoo-”
I try to regulate my breathing as much as possible, forcing my back straight despite its constant urge to hunch.
But no matter how hard I try to get a grip, my breathing won’t return easily—it’s killing me.
To top it off, it’s a daytime match with uncharacteristically clear weather—the perfect environment to lose myself in.
Thwack-!
Thwack-!
Around me, passes keep circulating.
At some point, the opponent has been only defending, and we’ve been struggling anxiously to break through.
The fact that today feels harder than the match against Munich—is this why soccer is fun?
But I’m not having fun at all.
I know in my head that I need to keep looking around and moving my feet, but my head won’t turn and my feet won’t move.
Should I have trained harder for stamina?
I did work hard enough.
But I guess I should have done even more.
When the body stops, the head doesn’t work either.
Limp, limp.
Is this what it feels like to become a zombie?
Thwack-!
Huh.
Amidst all this, a pass comes to me.
At a time like this, even if I get the ball, I feel like I can’t do anything.
Securing peripheral vision is delayed, and though I saw with my eyes how the defenders were positioned, I can’t remember.
For now···
Thwack-!
I receive the ball and turn toward the opponent’s field.
The amazing thing is, the moment I receive the ball,
a hallucination rings in my head, and upon hearing it, my body suddenly begins to move on its own.
“Cheer up.”
I heard Jiu’s voice.
There’s no way Jiu’s voice shouting from the stands could reach all the way here.
I don’t know what it is, but at that voice, my body that wouldn’t move until just now begins to move on its own.
Tap-tap-tap-!
I get past one player.
Thwack-!
Thwack-!
Then I exchange one-two passes and dig even deeper.
Just one more layer to break through?
I don’t know.
For now, I just go forward.
Tap-tap-!
I lightly chip the ball, avoiding a deep tackle and hopping over it.
And the moment I land, I see the goalkeeper rushing out.
Let me chip it once more.
Thwack-!
I strike the bottom of the ball, sending it over the goalkeeper’s height.
That shot, wobbling like I was until just now, heads toward the empty goal—perhaps because everyone else is equally exhausted.
They can’t even think of chasing it, only staring blankly.
Swish-!
And that was how we advanced to the FA Cup final.