Single-Minded Devotion -3
No matter how much of a coward I am, I haven't had many experiences of my body freezing in terror.
But just now, my body had truly frozen stiff.
"Yaaaaaaah!"
It was the first time I'd seen the captain run that fast.
To make matters worse, he had a half-crazed look on his face and was charging right at me, so it was truly terrifying.
L-let's just calm down a bit...
"Uh-uh—"
"Yeahhhh! Yeahhhh!"
Ugh.
The captain hoists me onto his back.
And he walks right in front of the stands, letting out strange noises as if showing me off.
I... I know you're in a good mood right now.
But could you please put me down?
The spectators are staring at me like they want to kill me...
I honestly can't lift my head.
"Nice! Nice!"
"Great job, Jian!"
Fortunately, other teammates rush over and pull me down from the captain's back.
Soon countless hands ruffle my hair, and at the same time, innumerable congratulatory pats are directed at the captain too.
Thwack! Thwack!
...It's not hitting. It's definitely congratulations.
Watching that, I feel grateful for my position as the youngest. If I were about three years older, I think I'd be getting hit like that too...
"Go back now. Before the atmosphere gets any worse."
As the celebration drags on, the referee approaches and stops us. Thanks to that, the captain seemed to regain some of his reason, but... seeing him approach me with gleaming eyes, I guess not yet.
"Forza! Viola!!"
"Ugh..."
After shaking my shoulders violently and shouting one more time, the captain finally headed back toward the halfway line, and I watched his retreating figure, letting out a sigh... and smiled without realizing it.
A thought suddenly struck me.
How hard must it have been for him to be that happy?
How long must he have nursed that ache in his heart, to be so joyful over just one goal?
I can only guess; I can't speak carelessly about that joy.
Pain is the same. Some might not understand, asking what the big deal is, but in the first place, only you can truly understand your own pain. It's not something others can arbitrarily claim to understand or fail to understand.
The important thing is simply that the captain, too, had memories that had wounded him deeply enough to be this happy.
I remember when I first came up to the first team.
The first impression I had of the captain then was that he looked very solid.
As if he were someone who had never faced a crisis in life, the captain was simply someone who looked peaceful.
But even such a captain had this kind of pain.
That means... perhaps there is no one in this world who lives without a single pain.
I don't know.
I don't really know, but somehow thinking that way feels a little comforting.
Like I'm not alone.
"Wow, must be nice having long legs. If it were me, I wouldn't have reached that."
Senior Torreira offers me his congratulations.
I answered with a smile, jokingly.
"I definitely think that would have been the case."
"This punk?"
Now I've become someone who can exchange jokes on the pitch too.
"Hey, you!"
I ran away from my senior trying to poke my back, sprinting toward our half.
*
We had scored the opening goal, but there was still plenty of time. Even if this were our home and the opponent were the bottom-placed team in the league, it would be a situation where we couldn't let our guard down.
Not to mention, this is the Giuseppe Meazza, and the opponent is Inter, running third in the table.
As long as the ball is rolling on the ground, there's no room to relax.
Whoaaaaa-!
"Uh... phew."
I held my breath at the opponent's shot, then let out a sigh after confirming it had gone wide.
In many ways, the situation is deteriorating.
Ten minutes had passed since we scored, and during those ten minutes, we had already allowed four shots.
Ah, including that one just now, it's five.
During that time, we hadn't managed a single shot.
It wasn't a strange situation to begin with.
That it would be a difficult match was a given, and even against a weak team, we can't control an entire match at our pace for ninety minutes.
It's natural to have moments where we're pushed back.
So we're just holding out as best we can, but...
The problem is that our response doesn't seem adequate.
"Hold your positions! Positions!"
After conceding the opening goal, the opponent changed their style slightly. As if determined to equalize before halftime, they became much more aggressive.
In particular, the rate of long passes coming from the back increased.
Whenever the opponent's defenders got the ball, they immediately launched long kicks toward our box.
More than the accuracy of those kicks, the problem was the opposing number 9's aerial dominance.
Our defenders are tall enough to not be outmatched anywhere in terms of height... but the opposing number 9's aerial ability is too good.
What was his name again?
Ah, I think they said Edin Dzeko.
Basically, whenever the ball went up, four out of five times it reached Dzeko's head.
The ball that Dzeko knocked down... was swept up by opposing players running like mad.
"Hold your ground!"
Especially threatening was the opposing number 10, with his sturdy build and warrior-like appearance.
They said his name was Lautaro, and he was quite aggressive.
You could say he had a style completely opposite to mine.
Moving constantly, colliding bodily with our defenders at every opportunity.
Watching him, I wondered if he simply couldn't feel fear.
It was impressive.
Crashing his body in for every second ball, and whenever he got the ball, unconditionally trying to advance.
Most of all, the way he didn't seem to care even if those advances failed was somewhat fascinating to me.
That is, even if his pass was cut out or his dribble blocked, he showed no self-blame whatsoever.
Far from self-reproach, he didn't even show any sign of being sorry to his teammates.
Even in a situation where a teammate was clearly in a much better position, he had attempted a dribble instead of a pass and failed, ruining the attack, yet he just shamelessly gave a thumbs up.
The problem... is that from our perspective, that felt really troublesome.
No matter how many times we stopped him, he wouldn't give up and shamelessly kept pushing forward; it was exhausting, to say the least.
I can't do that.
It's not just the aggressiveness; more than that, I don't have the confidence to be that shameless.
If the attack fails because of my mistake, I'm sorry to my teammates... and more than anything, I don't want to show my inadequate side.
But the opponent was different.
Waaaaaaah-!!
Just before halftime ended, the stadium erupted as if an earthquake had struck.
In the end, we conceded a goal to the opposing number 10.
We had defended well, but allowing just one breakthrough led to a goal.
"——!!"
Having tried seven or eight times and succeeded once, I could see him proudly thumping his chest.
And the opposing fans cheered for him.
That sight felt truly refreshing to me.
*
The fact that we conceded the equalizer at the end of the first half might have been fortunate.
Because if there had been a little more time, the atmosphere was such that conceding a reversal wouldn't have been strange.
"Focus! Now! Let me explain again! If you let them have this space..."
Throughout halftime, the coach shouted right into Senior Torreira's ear.
As a defensive midfielder, him failing to respond properly had caused the defense as a whole to waver...
Listening, there were a few times I flinched.
Because the problems the coach pointed out were similar to what I had been thinking.
Even knowing that, the reason I hadn't brought it up during the match was because I thought the seniors must have their own ideas.
I'm not a defender, and I don't have more experience than the seniors, either. Even if I didn't quite understand, I just figured there was still a lot I didn't know and let it go.
But seeing the coach say exactly what I'd been thinking, how should I put it...
It felt a bit confusing, too.
"Also, be bolder when transitioning from defense to attack! Don't just play it safe! Why do you all look for Jian first as soon as you get the ball? Stop thinking about just dumping it off to him!"
The coach, who had been berating Senior Torreira for a while, now spoke to all of us.
My name came up too, so I quietly gauged the atmosphere.
"I know it can't be helped. But don't show such an ugly sight of relying only on the youngest! If you think you can do it, do it yourself! Drive forward boldly! Then Dušan will hold onto the ball, and then you can build again! Throw away this notion that he'll take care of things for you!"
His face flushed red with anger, the coach clapped and encouraged us before leaving the locker room.
Then the captain gathered us.
"I believe you all know why the coach is so angry. If there's anyone thinking a 1–1 draw in this away trip to Milan isn't bad, raise your hand and get out right now. This is a winnable match. Let's focus more and go at the second half."
"Let's go, let's go!"
We shouted our fighting spirit once more and left the locker room.
*
The atmosphere from the end of the first half continued exactly as the second half began.
Long pass buildup, aerial duels, second ball contests.
Having found success with this simple attack, the opponent kept targeting us with the same method.
Our defense, which had been scolded harshly during halftime, was responding, but it didn't look easy.
Once a long ball came into our half, it was already an unfavorable fight from there... No matter how much we prepared, situations arose where we faced danger.
Wasn't there more I could do here?
Racking my brains as much as possible, I approached Vlahović when the ball briefly went out and said:
"The coach said how about we switch positions. With me pressing from the front."
"Hmm. Got it."
Vlahović is a center forward, and I'm an attacking midfielder playing beneath him.
So even when defending, I stand behind him, but now I was suggesting we switch places.
Meaning I would defend further up.
Vlahović is the type to conserve energy during defense to focus on attack.
Thanks to that, the opponent's defenders seemed to have relatively free rein to play long passes.
I thought I should disrupt that instead.
Actually, it wasn't the coach's order as I'd just said.
Before the second half started, I had asked the coach first if something like this would be alright.
Of course, the coach had said it was a good idea, so it wasn't completely a lie.
It just felt funny to dare talk to the seniors about tactics myself, so I borrowed the coach's authority.
Thwack-
Thwack-
The opposing defenders slowly passed the ball at quite a high position, targeting our half.
From the stands, the opponent's chants rang out louder and louder, hoping for a goal.
Pazza Inter──!!
The expectation of a comeback filled the stadium and the atmosphere intensified.
It felt like a goal could come at any moment.
But I know.
This moment is also the scariest for the opponent. When high expectations crumble, that's when it hurts the most.
Opportunity and crisis always go hand in hand.
Tatatat-!
I ran toward the opposing defenders passing the ball.
Honestly, it would be hard for me to steal the ball pressing alone.
But that's not the goal, so it's fine.
Stealing would be great, but even if not, just making them feel the pressure is enough.
Because the purpose of pressing is to lower the accuracy of passes played toward the back.
Thwack-
Thwack-!
I could feel the tempo of their passing gradually quickening.
Still, it seems my pressing is annoying enough.
Well.
If it were me, a mosquito buzzing around would be quite annoying too.
Whoaaaaa-!
In the end, a somewhat hasty long pass heads toward our half.
I turn my head to watch that pass floating through the air... then run to position myself between the opponent's defensive lines.
I had to prepare for a counterattack.
Thwaaack-!
Senior Milenković wins the ball in the air.
The pass was so inaccurate that Dzeko couldn't even jump for it.
Thwack-
Milenković immediately plays the ball to Torreira,
Whoaaaaa-!
Torreira floats a pass forward.
Our coach is definitely scary. When he scolds them, the players listen well.
Taaat-!
Vlahović leaps with all his might toward the ball floating in from above.
At the same time, a defender jumps with him, but I quietly loop around behind.
It's just that I can't do it like the opponent's number 10; our number 9 doesn't lose to theirs at all in the air.
Thwack-!
Vlahović snaps his head around and meets the ball with his forehead.
At the same time, I make an L-shaped run.
Moving horizontally was to avoid offside, and then moving forward was because Vlahović's headed flick went forward.
Thwack-!
I pick up the ball, knock it forward, and run.
Tatatat-!
I sprint toward the wide-open space.
Really, there's no one in front of me. Except the goalkeeper.
It's a sight that should make my chest feel refreshed, but it doesn't.
I can feel defenders sprinting at full speed from behind, and more than anything, this is a chance where not scoring would be strange.
I haven't acquired a heart that doesn't fear failure like the opponent's number 10.
So I just focus even more.
To imitate perfection.
Tatatat-!
Why does the box feel so far?
I can feel the defender practically right on my heels.
At this rate, I'll be caught near the box...
"...!"
I see the opposing goalkeeper hesitantly coming forward.
An unavoidable movement to narrow the shooting angle.
That's the textbook move, but instead, I find the onrushing keeper welcome.
Because it's created a way to finish the shot without going all the way into the box.
Behind, I'm on the verge of being caught by the defender.
Ahead, the keeper is rushing out.
And when I've reached near the box and am so out of breath I can't run anymore.
After slightly adjusting my strides, I lightly chip the underside of the ball with my right foot.
Fwooo-!
The ball floats up softly.
And clearing the keeper's head, it slowly flies toward the empty goal.
Shuuuuung-
That ball which floated so slowly,
Fwooom-
Swish-!
Went into the empty net.
I could imagine how the opponent felt at this moment, and it put me in quite a good mood.
*
Around the 75th minute, I was substituted and left the pitch.
It was a defensive substitution, with a defensive midfielder coming on in my place.
The opponent's attack continued, but it didn't feel as threatening as before.
It had been like that since my second goal.
Of course, I knew the reason.
Because they conceded when they were expecting to score; their morale must have dropped significantly.
"——!!"
In the distance, I could see Captain Biraghi yelling fiercely, controlling the defensive line.
Seeing that, I somehow felt like we wouldn't lose.
The will to win seemed stronger on our side.
"Three minutes..."
When the scoreboard showing added time went up, I bit my nails without realizing it.
Never had three minutes felt so long.
The completely desperate opponent kept launching long balls, and we spared no effort to somehow knock the ball away.
We weren't playing football; we were just defending, but it didn't matter at all since we were already ahead by one goal.
Those three blood-curdling minutes passed.
"Beep, beep, beeeeeep-!"
We beat Inter 2–1.
"Waaaaaaah!"
I don't remember well what happened after that.
The moment the whistle blew, everyone on the bench rushed onto the pitch, and all the players ran to the captain to embrace and celebrate the victory.
I wondered if I should go too, but the coach stopped me, saying I might get hurt.
"Uehehehe!"
When I came to my senses, the locker room party was slowly winding down.
The locker room was a mess and nothing but bare skin.
Sitting quietly in the corner sighing among them... the captain, wearing only his underwear, came out to the center and began a speech.
Having expressed his gratitude regarding today's match and victory, and toward his teammates, the captain added this at the end:
"I think this way. True love is not the person who stands by me when I'm doing well, but the one who stays by my side when I'm struggling. That's why I ran giving my life for Viola today, and thanks to all of you, we could win. Thank you so much!"
It was a truly good thing to say, but boos poured out.
Because he had been talking too long.
I smirked watching those seniors, then suddenly chewed over the captain's words.
The person who stayed by my side when I was struggling...
A face suddenly came to mind.
At the same time, I felt sorry to Dad.
Because the face that came to mind wasn't Dad's.
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