July 2034.
Manchester, England.
“Whew—”
He perches on the edge of the bed for a moment, catching his breath.
Why is there so much to organize?
Looking at one corner of the room, cluttered and chaotic, he feels nothing but overwhelmed.
Housework is truly no easy task.
“...Right.”
He wants to just sprawl out, but once you rest, you only end up slacking off more.
Shaking off the temptation, he gets up and dives back into organizing.
First, he needs to put all the clothes laid out into boxes.
“Whew—”
He folds the clothes one by one and stacks them neatly into the box.
If he may offer himself some praise out of nowhere, thanks to having lived in group settings since he was young, he is fairly good at organizing.
If you tossed your uniform or equipment around carelessly, you would get scolded without fail.
Thanks to that, the habit of getting everything done even when it’s annoying has been drilled into his body.
“Once you get going, it’ll be quick.”
As he organizes bit by bit, it quickly dwindles.
Is this why they say a journey of a thousand li begins with a single step, and starting is half the battle?
He had wondered when he’d ever finish this, but now that he’s actually doing it, it’s no big deal.
It’s making up your mind that’s the hard part.
“Okay, done.”
The pile of clothes is quickly stuffed into the box.
Did I really have this many clothes?
Even so, I only wear a few of them.
They must have piled up because of my habit of being unable to throw things away.
To be honest, while organizing, he had tried to sort out things to discard, but somehow he ended up putting everything in.
Anyway.
Next, he opens the drawer, takes things out, and moves them into the box.
“There’s all sorts of stuff.”
Even in the items inside the drawer, he can see his habits.
It’s full of things he’s not even sure he bought, let alone when he bought them.
They’re that old and unused, but strangely, he still can’t bring himself to throw them away.
Somehow it feels like he might need them again later.
But really, there is all kinds of stuff.
An old notebook from the past, a scarf, a wristwatch, a folding umbrella, books... What the. Why is there a single sock here?
Well, anyway.
While taking out everything that made him wonder why it was there, or why it was *here*, and moving them to the box—
“...Huh?”
Deep inside the drawer, he discovers something he hasn’t seen in ages, and his mouth falls open.
Wow.
This is a phone from ten years ago.
One he used when he was a teenager.
So he had put it here.
It’s really been a while since he’s seen it.
“...Does this still turn on?”
Pushing aside the cleaning for a moment due to a suddenly sparking interest.
He plugs the charger that had been in there into the outlet and connects it; shortly after, the phone lights up.
Though it is incredibly slow, it is simply amazing that it is charging at all.
Leaving the charger plugged in, he presses the power button and tries turning on the phone.
“...It turns on.”
As if hoping to be used again, the phone powers on and the lock screen appears.
With an inexplicably fluttering heart, he unlocks it and goes into the gallery.
And scanning the stored photos, his mouth falls open before he knows it.
“Wow...”
When were these taken?
Literally, photos from ten years ago remain perfectly intact.
Truthfully, he hadn’t been one to enjoy taking photos, then or now, so there aren’t many.
Still, it is more than enough to bring old memories flooding back vividly.
“...”
Riding the photos that have encased the time called “ten years ago.”
From where he sits, he is sucked into a journey through time.
Is this the power of photographs?
He feels as though he has returned to his teenage years, ten years ago.
Just that alone puts him in a strange mood.
At the face of someone present in almost every photo, he quickly falls deep into sentiment.
No matter how rational a man may be.
Could there be any man who wouldn’t feel a sting in his heart when faced with photos containing memories of his first love?
In this moment, anyone would feel as though they have become the male lead of a drama.
First love.
Faces that made him feel strange with the word itself alone were embedded in each and every photo.
“...”
The regret of why he hadn’t enjoyed taking photos was only momentary.
Several memories rising with each photo fill the gaps between the photos seamlessly.
As if something unfurls smoothly.
Memories he had briefly pushed to a corner in the midst of a busy daily life, but never thrown away, unfold vividly before his eyes.
As if carefully enshrined inside a drawer, they had been away from the gaze of daily life for a time.
Had they actually been stored away preciously, so very preciously, in his unconscious?
All the memories rise as if they were yesterday; it feels as if he is not I Jian at twenty-nine, but I Jian at eighteen.
Back then... it was like this.
In many ways, he had truly been immature and so young.
Going through many things, laughing and crying, he who had been nothing but a fledgling gradually became a man, an adult.
Those times.
Looking back now, nearing thirty, they were truly short.
Yet they were a time that left so many memories that it still felt like more than half of his life.
Was it because it was so brilliant despite being short?
It was the period when the fiercest waves of his life crashed, when he experienced the lowest and highest points.
So how fondly must the person who had been with him during those days remain in his memory?
My first love.
While swimming in the time called “ten years ago,” lost in that sentiment.
Burst—!
The door bursts open.
Startled, he turns his head to see a cute face gripping the door handle higher than its own height.
“Dada...”
Pitter-patter.
Rubbing sleepy eyes, the little one runs over with short steps and plops into his arms.
Usually at this hour, he would still be in dreamland.
The house must be so noisy that he woke up early.
Accepting that sleepy fuss and patting his head, the little one asks.
“Whatcha doooin...?”
“Dad? Um... I was just thinking about the old days.”
“Old days? Why old days?”
“Just suddenly thought of them.”
“Why did you think of dem suddenly?”
Watching a child in that stage of finding joy in talking, there are times he thinks journalists are nothing.
Because there is no creature as persistent and curious about everything as children.
And you can’t lie to a child.
“I was looking at old photos.”
“Photos? What photos? Show me too.”
...Hmm.
Can he show him this?
Somehow it feels like he shouldn’t.
Because the kid might get confused.
But his own opinion isn’t really important.
“Show me! Show me! Show me!”
“Ah, okay.”
Driven crazy by the whining, he has no choice but to show the phone screen.
The little one opens his eyes wide, holds the phone with both hands, and looks at the photos.
Then he points with his finger and asks.
“Who’s this?”
“...Dad.”
“Liar. Not Dad. Not Dad, it’s oppa.”
“...Right. It’s when Dad was oppa age. It’s an old photo.”
“Whoa.”
See?
He told you the kid would be confused.
It wouldn’t be easy for a four-year-old to understand that Dad had a childhood too.
The little one tilts his head for quite a while, whether having given up or understood.
He points next to him and asks.
“Then who’s this?”
“That’s...”
He won’t understand this either anyway.
“Dad’s first love.”
“First love? Is her name First Love?”
“No. It means the first person Dad loved.”
“Ehh— then is this Mom?”
At that innocent face asking, he smirks and pats his head.
Then answers with a deep sigh mixed in.
“It’s someone else.”
“Someone else? It’s not Mom?”
“Why? Does she look alike?”
“I dunno.”
“Right? You can’t really tell, can you?”
As the little one nods, a giggling laugh bursts out.
Hugging him tightly, he speaks.
“Actually...”
He doesn’t know if this guy will understand, but just as he is about to explain the whole story.
A presence felt from the fully open door stops him from continuing.
Actually, it might be closer to a chill than a presence.
“What are you doing?”
“...Huh?”
“Are you done organizing?”
“Uh, well... there’s a little left.”
“Really?”
It’s his wife.
His wife, sleeves rolled up, enters the room and looks at the boxes he had been organizing.
Hopefully she didn’t hear.
“Yunho.”
“Mmh?”
“If you’re up, you should wash your face first.”
“Mmh...”
“Go wash up quickly.”
“Mmh!”
...Something feels a bit cold.
His son, who never listens to Dad but hangs on his mother’s every word, pitter-patters out of the room.
His wife watches their son, then folds her arms and looks at him.
“What were you talking about just now?”
“...What.”
“You were saying something about a first love?”
“...Huh?”
“First love what? That she was someone else?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“What do you mean that’s not it. I heard clearly. Some. one. else.”
...So she heard.
Emergency.
“No, listen to the end.”
“Go on.”
“Well, by someone else, I don’t mean it literally. I mean she’s gotten prettier than before.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying the person in front of me now is prettier than my first love from ten years ago.”
“...Are you sure?”
His wife pouts.
Am I a genius at improvisation?
Seizing the moment, he quickly gets up, approaches his wife, and embraces her.
“Of course.”
“Alright. Now that I know, hurry up and take the luggage downstairs. Once we move the stuff from this room, we’re done.”
“Okay. Got it.”
His wife can sometimes be frightening, but she is weak to hugs.
When he hugs her tightly like this, her anger quickly dissipates and she soon feels better.
“Don’t mess around and hurry up.”
“Yeah.”
His wife smiles as if she can’t be helped even now, shakes her head, and turns around.
To her retreating figure, he speaks.
“Jiu, I love you.”
“Me too.”
After Jiu leaves, he sits back on the bed and looks at the phone again.
Jiu was really young back then.
But what’s amazing is that even now, ten years later, Jiu has hardly changed.
That she had actually gotten prettier wasn’t an excuse, but the truth.
It’s just that she’s become a different person... hmm.
Maybe it’s because she is becoming progressively scarier.
Of course she was like that when she was young too, but now that she is a wife and mother, Jiu has a different vibe.
“...”
Smirking, he turns off the phone and tosses it into the box.
In the middle of cleaning the room to move, he had gotten lost in old memories rather abruptly.
Anyway, well.
Even if she has changed a little, he feels grateful that his first love from ten years ago is still by his side.
Having been together for two-thirds of his life, there are times he becomes inattentive.
But when he thinks about it like this, it can’t be anything but amazing and something to be thankful for.
That his first love was also his last love—now that was truly something.
* * *
August 2034.
Florence, Italy.
Stadio Artemio Franchi.
[To the left! The away team Juventus won’t stop attacking!]
[Fiorentina seems to need to change the atmosphere somehow. It looks like they need to refresh the flow through a substitution.]
While the sun threw a tantrum called sunset, unwilling to go home, the stadium was in the midst of the 2034/35 season Serie A opening match.
The match between home team Fiorentina and away team Juventus.
The scoreboard clock was approaching the 60th minute, and the score written below was 0-1.
The away team was leading by one goal.
[Today’s Artemio Franchi is packed with a full crowd. Since this is a match that has gathered enormous expectations in many ways, if it ends up just showing a frustrating game like this, it will be hard to avoid criticism.]
[Coach Tony Luccio. It’s his first match of his first season since taking charge, so he needs to make a good impression.]
On the Fiorentina bench, Tony, newly appointed this season, does not look pleased either.
He has a serious expression, seemingly displeased with the players’ movements.
Moreover, since today is his debut as a first-team coach, it seems he absolutely cannot stay like this.
Thus, Coach Tony calls a coach and gives some instructions.
The coach named Luca, having received the instructions, goes back to the bench and calls a few players out.
The called-out players put on bibs and begin warming up.
[The bench is moving. It seems they’re preparing substitutions.]
[Now, the stadium atmosphere is heating up. An enormous roar is beginning to fill the air.]
[The players on the field may be a bit bewildered, but the crowd’s reaction is understandable!]
Not because an equalizer went in or Fiorentina had a good chance.
The stadium atmosphere suddenly shifts and begins to rise into an enormous roar.
For that moment alone, everyone’s gaze is not on the pitch but outside, toward the touchline.
It was because of a player slowly beginning to warm up.
His back number is 10.
A player who had been playing in the Premier League until last season and joined the team on a free transfer this summer.
One might think the cheers are anticipation for such a new face, but the scale is so great it cannot be mere anticipation.
When the hope-filled cheering had continued for a full ten minutes.
[Ah, he’s coming out! Fiorentina is preparing the substitution!]
[Here he comes, here he comes. I heard his condition isn’t 100%, but in this situation, the coach has no choice but to put him in.]
[Now, he finally reveals himself.]
The substitute takes off his bib and changes into the number 10 uniform, standing at the touchline.
At this, all the home fans rise from their seats.
[He left as a boy and returned as a man. The promising boy has already become a legend. But that legend is still in the present continuous tense.]
[Leading Manchester City’s Champions League victory last season, and winning his sixth Ballon d’Or in total, the world’s best player has returned to his spiritual home, Fiorentina, in top form.]
[We see the figures of old Fiorentina teammates who were with him in those days. Do they still see him as the youngest in their eyes?]
[We can also see his father and wife. They were in those seats ten years ago as well. However, now we can see their bell-like son too.]
[Coach Tony, who discovered him in the U-17 team, is now the first-team coach, ordering his substitution.]
[Welcome back. Fiorentina’s number 10, I Jian, has returned to his first love, Artemio Franchi.]
The moment the match is briefly stopped.
As a standing ovation pours down, one player exits the ground holding the captain’s armband in his hand.
And passes that armband to I Jian standing at the touchline.
I Jian, who had been the youngest just ten years ago, has now become a veteran and wraps the armband around his arm.
And just as I Jian was about to run onto the ground, he halts for a moment as if forgetting something.
He turns back and speaks to Coach Tony.
“...But you didn’t give me any instructions.”
At this, Coach Tony slaps I Jian’s back and answers.
“Run as you please!”
At that order, I Jian smirks, nods, and powerfully heads toward the ground.
Though ten years have passed.
Nothing had changed.
I Jian stepped onto the grass bearing the enormous expectations of tens of thousands, and simultaneously began to display his prodigious talent without reserve.
-The End-