May 26, 2024.
Wembley.
“Hoo, hoo—”
Under the sun beginning to blaze, I wipe the sweat dripping down my jaw and catch my breath.
The sky, which had been deep blue, is gradually being dyed a golden hue, and the surroundings are filled with an oppressive, crushing noise.
Suddenly, I think of a year ago, and I’m struck anew by how fast time flies.
To think that was already a year ago.
Wembley Stadium.
This massive stadium was the start of the season.
The Community Shield, the match against Arsenal.
Wearing a new kit, standing before new fans, I’d run around this place feeling like I was stepping onto a testing ground—it felt like just yesterday.
Before I knew it, neither this kit nor the fact that they are our fans felt unfamiliar anymore.
It’s still vivid.
The faces of the spectators looking at me, brimming with anticipation.
They were faces like children who had just received Christmas gifts.
What could be inside?
The game console they wanted? A cute puppy? A toy their friends didn’t have?
They were expressions of children tearing into wrapping paper with bated breath, wondering what was inside.
So I was scared, too.
I feared that when the child tore that paper and met me, they might be disappointed.
I worried that the child full of anticipation should be jumping up and down smiling, but might instead cry, saying this wasn’t what they wanted.
Because failing to live up to someone’s expectations was what made me feel the most miserable.
So.
As for how the child felt after tearing the wrapping paper and checking the gift.
Well.
Couldn’t I know by looking at the fans now?
“LEE! LEE! LEE! LEE!”
“LEE! LEE! LEE! LEE!”
This isn’t the Etihad Stadium; it’s Wembley.
Only half of the massive stands that can hold ninety thousand are our fans.
Yet, in this stadium, I can hear my name being called.
It’s the sound of tens of thousands calling my name together, not just a few.
87:23
MCI 2 : 0 CHE
The scoreboard clock is already heading toward the ninetieth minute, and we’ve opened up a two-goal lead.
There is no such thing as a goal scored alone.
No matter who scores, a goal is something made only when everyone combines their strength.
Still, the reason they’re calling my name is simply because I was the one with the final touch.
It’s only that, yet everyone is cheering for me.
Doesn’t that mean that, at the very least, I wasn’t a disappointing gift to them?
At least.
And that’s enough.
Before the match, the coach said:
Don’t look up or down, only look forward.
Don’t look back at the path we’ve climbed, and don’t look at the path we still have to crawl up.
He said to only focus on the match in front of us, the opponent in front of us.
He said nothing has changed.
If there’s a match, simply do your best to win that match.
He said we were only here to fulfill that duty, not to attempt some grand challenge or accumulate achievements.
He told us to forget everything else and only remember that we came here to beat Chelsea.
So I approached the match that way.
But as the time neared ninety minutes and I ran around frantically to the point of having no stamina left.
Without realizing it, I ended up looking back again, and looking ahead as well.
Is this human instinct?
I suppose it can’t be helped.
And now, I don’t want to stress over things that can’t be helped.
Because I’ve learned that what cannot be helped is, quite literally, something that cannot be helped, and accepting it is easier.
I’ve climbed higher than I thought.
At this unimaginable altitude, I can barely breathe. The air is thin. My head is spinning.
If the match ends like this today, we become a team that has won the league and the FA Cup.
And in that state, we’ll face Real Madrid to contest the Champions League title.
If we win there too, it’s the Treble.
In the football world, it’s the highest honor a single team can achieve.
It means becoming the team that dominated the season.
We are one step away from such an achievement.
We’re almost there.
But being one step away from such a high goal.
Means that I’m standing in a high place, and if I slip and fall at the last moment.
It also means receiving a shock as great as the height from which I fell.
There is no parachute.
Because I didn’t know I would make it this far.
Since I never imagined it, I never thought to prepare.
When I first set foot here, I was only thinking of climbing to the peak of that hill over there.
How could I have thought to pack a parachute?
So I’m scared.
If I had a parachute prepared for when I fall, I’d be less scared and feel more secure.
Since I don’t, my feet tremble and I keep looking down.
And I imagine.
If I fall from here, how much would it hurt?
It wouldn’t just hurt; I’d die.
If I fall, how could I face the people waiting below?
I don’t think I could.
People watched expecting me to pluck stars from the sky, and if I return empty-handed, they’ll be terribly disappointed.
With what face could I face them?
I’m afraid of falling.
I hate being afraid.
So, I don’t want to fall.
Looking back, that was the only thought I had from the beginning.
I desperately climbed because I was afraid of falling.
And so, before I knew it, I ended up here.
Nothing has changed between then and now.
Rather, that fear has only grown worse.
Because I’ve come so high.
It’s scarier.
So the desire to not fall has also grown terribly stronger.
Not falling, but safely descending on my own two feet.
Of course, while holding the stars from the sky that people wanted in my hands.
“5 minutes left!”
“Focus on!”
I come to my senses at my teammates’ shouts and focus on the match again.
In five minutes, another match will end, leaving only the final ninety minutes.
Honestly, I feel a bit resentful, too.
If you were going to give me the strength to crawl this far, you should have given me a heart that isn’t afraid to look down from this height.
Then I might have been able to enjoy this trembling.
Of course, it’s an absurdly greedy thing to say.
Simply having come this far makes me the luckiest person in the world.
If I ask for more, I’d have nothing to say even if I were struck by lightning tomorrow.
“Keep the line!”
“Here they come!”
I align with my teammates and engage in the final defense.
From now on, this isn’t football.
I just have to somehow, even if I have to headbutt it, stop the ball from reaching our goal.
That’s all.
Bbaaaaaang-!
Paaaaaang-!
It sounds like a bullet whizzing past my ear.
It’s the sound of blocking the opponent’s shot with my body.
People earning fortunes every week throw themselves at the ball like rags, and without even time to feel pain, they spring back up to defend.
I feel anew why this team became the best.
Before being good at football, wasn’t it made possible by hearts that so desperately didn’t want to fall?
And time flows.
“3 minutes!”
The scoreboard clock stops, and it goes into three minutes of added time.
Just like when I first started football, I simply run after the ball.
Block.
Block.
Block.
With only that thought in mind, I throw my body while panting like a puppy.
And the reward for that is the whistle signaling the end of the match.
Beep, beep, beeeeep-!
At the sound of salvation, I collapse right there on the spot.
Collapsed, I simply look up at the sky while my chest heaves.
It’s not just a stamina problem.
It feels like all my energy is drained.
I feel like I’ve burned through everything, from physical strength to mental strength, and I don’t even have the energy to lift a finger.
Rather than the joy of winning, I only feel the relief of having overcome a hurdle.
But there was still one more hurdle left, and the most rugged one at that.
. . .
June 2, 2024.
Wembley.
“...”
Wembley, revisited after just a week.
However, the atmosphere today is completely different from a week ago.
It has become a completely different place, unimaginable as the stadium where I stood a week ago.
Hala Madrid-!
Hala Madrid-!
In the stadium, only the sound of people shouting Madrid can be heard.
Clearly, half the stands are occupied by our team’s fans.
Our cheers aren’t heard at all; only the sounds praising Real Madrid are heard.
It’s as if Wembley has become Real Madrid’s home stadium.
It can’t be helped.
If you look at the numbers on the scoreboard over there, dripping tears.
66:66
MCI 0 : 5 RMA
0 to 5.
This is the Champions League final.
Forget the league—even in a friendly match, such a scoreline would be a disaster, yet such a score is displayed on the scoreboard in the Champions League final.
Suddenly, the voices of the fans shouting Madrid disappear, and great wailing begins to fill the stadium.
Waaaaaah-!
It gives me chills.
It’s like hearing the wails of ghosts.
It feels as if I’m lying in a coffin, watching people mourning our death.
Half the stands are completely empty.
The side where our fans should be, opposite the side occupied by Madrid fans, is starkly empty.
The few remaining fans are crying.
They cry as if the world were ending.
Seeing that, I want to cry, too.
Tears begin to stream down from my eyes.
The match isn’t over yet, so I don’t want to cry, but there’s no way to stop the flowing tears.
Then, suddenly.
I see people beginning to come back into the stands.
Huh.
They’re definitely our fans.
They’re definitely our fans, yet they begin to occupy the stands shouting Hala Madrid.
Could they have betrayed us?
Having been disappointed in us, did they decide to abandon us and cheer for the opponent?
My heart is torn.
Abandoned by the fans.
But I can’t even call it betrayal.
Because I’m the one who disappointed them.
It’s all my fault; who else could I blame?
It’s all my fault.
It was my fault that everything became this mess.
7th minute of the first half, a chance for the opening goal came and I sent it flying into the air.
In a one-on-one chance with the goalkeeper, I took an absurd shot.
In the 12th minute of the first half, I even scored an own goal.
When I should have made it 1-0, I made it 0-1 instead.
That mistake I made became the first domino and began to topple our team.
At the absurd mistake, my teammates were bewildered too, and the opponent didn’t leave us alone while we were shaken.
And that led to this.
Because of me alone, everyone is disappointed, everyone is clicking their tongues.
“We lost because of him?”
“Right?”
My heart drops.
All my teammates glance at me and whisper with the opposing players; they’re talking about me.
That we lost because of me, why someone like him is on our team—those kinds of things.
I sink down and cover my ears.
But even covering my ears, I hear it.
Is it the voice of my mind?
I want to hide, but there’s nowhere to hide.
I struggle to get up and try to run, but there’s nowhere to run.
All sides are blocked.
Everyone surrounds me and looks down at me.
Their eyes are terrifying.
It feels like I could suffocate and die from their gazes alone.
They’re all cursing me.
“Why are you here?”
“This is the Champions League final.”
“So how are you playing here?”
“You’re someone unqualified to stand on this stage.”
“What a disappointment.”
“I expected something.”
“It was a misunderstanding. They said you were a football genius?”
“Why did you deceive people with such lies?”
“In the end, it’s been exposed.”
“You’re not needed now. Get lost.”
I’m scared.
Please don’t do this.
I feel like I’m going to die.
It’s not like I wanted this to happen.
It just happened... it just ended up like this.
I’m scared.
Please.
Please......
Bzzzzt-
“Hurk?!”
I bolt upright.
Wh-what?
It’s pitch black before my eyes.
The people tormenting me have disappeared, and I can see nothing but darkness around me.
I can’t hear any sounds; only my heart pounding like crazy fills my ears.
Thump, thump, thump!
“...”
Fumbling.
As I fumble around, I feel the sensation of a fluffy blanket and soaked pajamas.
This is... my bed in my room.
I was definitely at Wembley until just now.
In the middle of a match.
What happened?
Bzzzzt-
Startled by the sudden sound, I turn my head.
My phone was ringing.
I carefully reach out and check; it’s the alarm.
June 2, 2024, 7:00 AM
“...”
After checking the time, I try to gather my blank mind for a moment.
June 2nd.
The day of the Champions League final.
The match is an evening match.
It’s 7 in the morning now.
...So, I haven’t played it yet.
“Huuuu...”
I clasp my throbbing head with both hands.
I had a damned nightmare.