The Fear of Desperation -1
"I'm hooome..."
"Yeah, you're back? Why do you sound like you're dying?"
"Well, what do you think? It's because I'm coming back from training."
"...Looks like it was especially tough today? Want to wash up before dinner, or eat before washing up?"
"I'll wash up first."
Trudging.
After getting home and greeting Dad, feeling like my body isn't my own, I sluggishly put down my bag, grab some underwear, and head to the bathroom.
*Splash*
"Phewww..."
Drenching my whole body in hot water gives me goosebumps. A strange feeling that's hard to put into words—tough, yet refreshing.
It's been so long since I've felt this.
Not bad.
Even if the situation I'm in is bad.
"Uuugh..."
I finished washing in three minutes, then stood blankly under the running water for ten minutes after that. Wiping away the water and stepping out of the bathroom, the smell of food wafts into my nose.
"Let's eat."
"Okay."
Draping a towel haphazardly around my neck, I sat at the table.
Let's see.
Today's menu is galbijjim and risotto with shrimp.
I wonder what kind of combination this is supposed to be, but...
"Is it edible?"
"It's delicious."
It really is delicious.
Meat and rice are a combination that's hard to mess up in the first place.
Though Dad's hands are mystical ones that can occasionally make even foolproof combinations fail.
Still, today it's actually pretty good.
As expected, everything tastes good when you're hungry, huh?
"Eat plenty. You need to gain some weight."
*Smack* "Yes."
"Have some salad too."
"I just ate some, though."
He's telling me to eat more when I'm already eating plenty.
Well, I do want to gain some weight too.
I was already on the skinny side, but I've lost even more weight since coming to Italy.
I'm the type who can't swallow food well when I'm stressed.
Ah, to be exact, my weight has gone up.
But that's because I grew taller.
On the outside, I look skinnier now than I did three years ago.
At the physical exam a while back, was it 176 and 63?
Even if I'm not the type to play football with physicality, my current weight is almost at the absolute minimum.
If I lose any more, I'll probably end up flying around like a sheet of paper.
I can't show such a ridiculous sight to Jiu, so I should start eating plenty from now on.
"Ji-an."
Dad asks while I'm focusing on my meal.
"Today, did you do any particularly hard training or something?"
"No. I just did the same as usual."
"Really? But you look really tired. And you're eating well, too."
"..."
At Dad's question, I lift my head slightly before burying my face back in my plate.
Something in his very careful tone made me feel an expectation of sorts, and my stomach churned uncomfortably, but I didn't stop shoveling food.
Dad is fine.
I know he's just clumsy at hiding his emotions, not trying to pressure me.
"I worked hard."
"...Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Good job. But don't overdo it. You know not getting injured comes first, right?"
"I know."
"Good. Eat some salad too."
"I just told you I ate it."
*Sigh.*
With that, Dad and I focused on cleaning our respective plates.
...
"Alright, put on the bibs on this side. I'll give you five minutes, so have a tactical meeting around the captain."
"Yes!"
Today, following yesterday, I sweated at the training ground.
Boring fundamental drills.
But there was no stamina training today.
Because Thursday is the day for mini-games instead of stamina training.
"Talk to each other a lot, run a lot. Don't forget to keep the triangular shape, and also..."
Rustling into a fluorescent bib, I listen to the briefing of the guy acting as captain.
The reserve group plays mini-games, but the first team plays an official 11v11 match.
Usually two people get called up from the reserve group for that match, but I wasn't one of them.
I'd been hoping a little on the inside, but well...
It'd be shameless to expect that after just working hard for one day.
For now, let's just try hard in this mini-game.
"...And, Ji-an?"
"Yeah."
"You're the seconda punta (second forward), but Coach said you can just run around however you want."
"Yeah."
I nod at the words of the captain, who's younger than me.
A role assignment no different from usual.
Every mini-game, the only instruction I get is "run around as you please."
Probably because the coach doesn't have any particular interest or expectations for me.
Even now, my Italian is so poor that if sentences get longer or difficult words are mixed in, I can't understand them.
It must be a hassle to explain things so I'd understand, so he's basically telling me to just figure it out myself.
Normally this was really comfortable and nice.
Because I could just do as I pleased, running around lackadaisically enough to blend in.
But now it's different, so I need to be more proactive.
Seconda punta, that is, a withdrawn striker, so in a way that aims for attacking opportunities.
"Beep!"
The whistle blows, and the 8v8 mini-game begins.
Each team has seven field players, and the coaches take turns in goal.
The pitch is a quarter the size of an official ground.
Because there are many players for the size of the pitch, the game proceeds under rules prohibiting excessive physical contact.
Meaning it's a good environment for me to make an impact.
*Thud*
*Thud!*
The match starts with our team's kickoff.
The ball moves quickly in circulation from the back.
Space is tight, so defenders inevitably stick close, and the overall tempo inevitably speeds up.
That means even when I don't have the ball, I always have to be thinking.
What play I'll make to continue the move when the ball comes to me.
I glance around checking the situation, and the moment the ball circulating from the back flows left, I move that way and shout.
"Hey!"
*Thud!*
I called out roughly because I couldn't remember my teammate's name, but fortunately a quick ground pass rolls in.
Instantly, instead of looking at the ball, I quickly turn my head to check the surroundings.
I see one defender sticking tight to my back.
...Okay.
The moment I finish calculating quickly, the ball touches my right foot.
*Thud*
*Tak-tak!*
Controlling the ball to the right with the outside of my foot, I quickly turn.
With that one turn, I opened up more than three steps of distance from the defender who was sticking close.
It was possible because I'd shifted my weight to the left just before receiving the ball.
It was a body feint in itself, and at the same time, the run-up that let me burst quickly to the right.
*Tak-tak-tak!*
I drive the ball into the right half-space.
I pulled a defender out of the line and shook him off with a good turn, but.
Space is still tight, so a defender quickly blocks my path.
They're closing in from almost every direction.
As I said before.
Because I was continuously thinking of the next play in advance, I could make a quick decision before the defenders completely surrounded me.
*Thud!*
I connect a pass forward.
There, our team's prima punta (center forward) has taken position with his back to the defender.
*Swoosh*
As my pass heads forward, the heads of the defenders rushing toward me turn.
It's obvious, but the ball draws the gaze.
Especially when the ball moves.
Defenders' gazes instinctively follow the ball.
And that fleeting moment when the defenders' gazes fixate on the ball becomes a window where an attacker can turn invisible.
Simply put, they get distracted by the ball and lose track of the man.
*Tak-tak-tak!*
Like stepping on shadows, I run past behind the defenders' backs.
And,
*Tuk!*
The moment the attacker who received my pass pokes in a short through ball.
*Tak-tak!*
I spring out from behind the last defender.
Penetration using the blind spot of vision.
Maybe that's why a withdrawn striker is called a shadow striker.
*Vroooom!*
*Swoosh-*
*Thwack!*
Finished with a right-footed shot piercing the far post.
Since the coaches deliberately don't make aggressive dives, I easily took a goal.
"Phew."
Clenching my fist lightly, I return to the halfway line.
Honestly, I wanted to jump up and down, but I don't show it.
Because this is a goal anyone could score in the first place.
Meaning it's not a goal I scored because I'm particularly good.
Nothing is more pathetic than making a loud celebration after scoring a nothing-goal.
Besides, goals come frequently in mini-games to begin with.
So it's too early to celebrate just one goal.
Let's score more.
Still, I gained confidence from that goal.
Of course, not the kind of confidence that I might be a real football genius.
It means I confirmed once again that when a person is desperate, they can produce abilities beyond what they have.
When I was at my previous team, I couldn't even pull off easy plays like this.
In fact, it was similar even after coming to this team.
Probably because, complacent and full-bellied, I wasn't desperate.
On the other hand, now, like when I was in Korea... it's a situation where I absolutely have to do well.
"Left!"
"Behind you, watch out!"
Come to think of it, it feels a bit amazing.
Then and now, the situation is clearly the same in terms of results, yet my feelings are different.
Back then every day felt truly blood-curdling...
Now I just think that I have to pull through.
Well.
What could be worse than making a complete fool of yourself in front of a friend?
*
Mini-games proceed divided into four quarters instead of halves.
Ten minutes per quarter.
When a quarter ends, players rest briefly and sometimes swap, or teams get mixed.
It was when the second quarter ended.
"Ji-an."
"Yes?"
"Can you take off the bib?"
"Oh, yes."
The coach told me to take off the bib.
He seemed to be sending me to that team.
I thought this might be quite a positive sign.
I scored one goal in the first quarter, and another in the second quarter.
That's two goals in twenty minutes.
Thanks to those two goals, our team was leading 6-4, and the performance was clearly better from our side.
Sending me to the other side in this situation?
Mixing teams is obviously to balance things out.
Thinking that sending me to the losing team means they recognized our team was winning because of me... is that counting my chickens before they hatch?
Anyway.
As I was taking off the bib and moving to the other side while running through my own hopeful scenarios.
"No, no. Ji-an. Come out here."
"...Yes?"
The coach called me over with his hand.
Meaning, he was telling me to get off the pitch entirely.
Uh... I didn't see this coming.
Not sending me to the other team, but taking me out entirely?
What does this mean?
Did I get too greedy?
With the thought that I had to show something, I played quite selfishly.
There were even a few times I took shots in uncertain situations.
Did he judge that I was ruining the team chemistry?
While imagining all sorts of things and leaving the ground.
"Ji-an. Go over there."
"...Yes?"
The coach says, pointing to the adjacent training ground.
"...There?"
"Yeah."
The adjacent training ground the coach pointed to.
That was where the first-team players were having their practice match.
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