"Cute, right?"
"Oh my, he is cute. He's six?"
"Yeah. He'll be starting school soon, this one. Feels like his baby days were just yesterday."
"Time really flies."
"Tell me about it. When you watch kids grow, you can't afford to rest even when you're sick."
While preparing for training with stretches, I overhear the seniors' conversation.
As always, it's nothing but more kid talk.
"My son started soccer yesterday. Registered him in an academy."
"Oh, really? He wants to do it seriously?"
"Seems like it. Well, who knows how long he'll stick with it."
They talk about their kids so much that even though I've never met them, I know how old the seniors' children all are.
That's how much all the seniors talk about is soccer, and their kids.
Truly... simple people.
These people called soccer players.
Soccer, and family.
Most of them have only these two interests.
Well... I'm not much different.
"In a few years, he might be playing with our youngest. Wow."
"Well, if the kid has talent, maybe. My son is eight now. Come to think of it, the youngest really is young. The age gap between the youngest and my son is smaller than the gap between me and the youngest."
"If I'd had kids a bit earlier, I'd have a child as big as the youngest."
"If my son grows up to be like the youngest, I'd have no other wish."
The seniors who had been talking while looking at me chuckle.
Come to think of it, it's fascinating—everyone got married so early.
You know, back in elementary school, when they'd have those parent observation classes, the parents would come.
The parents who came then really looked like parents, no matter who saw them.
But it's hard to believe these guys are someone's dad.
They just feel like neighborhood older brothers.
Suddenly curious, I asked.
"By the way, you know."
"Hmm?"
"Why do soccer players get married so early?"
"The reason for getting married early? Well, that's..."
Senior Bonaventura answers my question.
"It's preparing a safety mechanism so you can't fool around."
"...What do you mean?"
"When you get married, you gain a sense of responsibility. You're not a free man anymore. So you always end up being careful. I was quite the troublemaker when I was young, but I completely reformed after marriage."
"Hmm. Is that so."
"Also, you inevitably end up working harder. Think about your wife and kids waiting at home for you. You can't help but work hard."
"And soccer isn't a job you can do forever. Thinking about your future, you have no choice but to work harder."
Well... hearing it, I suppose that makes sense.
Anyway, there must be advantages, which is why most players marry early.
But to be honest, I'm a bit negative about it.
About marriage, that is.
Of course, it's partly because I'm not at an age to be thinking about that yet... but that's just how I feel.
I don't think marriage is something you absolutely must do.
Sorry to say, but it was because of my dad.
Of course, I'm grateful that thanks to Dad getting married, I was able to be born as his son, but...
Honestly, when I think about whether Dad was truly happy because of marriage... I don't really know.
If he hadn't gotten married, couldn't Dad have lived a bit more comfortably, a bit more enjoyably?
I suddenly recall something Dad once told me.
He said, when you grow up and meet someone you think is "the one," try holding back once.
If even after holding back, you truly feel they're the one, then it's fine to get married. But if you don't meet such a person, you don't have to get married.
And yet, Dad also said it's fine not to get married, but that you should definitely have a child.
...I still don't understand those words.
How do you have a child without getting married?
It's like saying don't take a shot, just score a goal.
"Hey, youngest. You'll probably do it as soon as you become an adult, right? Get married?"
Senior Bonaventura asks.
Instead of answering, I ask back.
"...Are you happy?"
"...H-huh?"
"...? Why are you flustered..."
"Ah, no. Of course I'm happy, you little rascal."
...Even as he says he's happy, I can't help but notice how awkward his smile is.
*
"I'm Chiellini."
"I'm de Ligt."
"We are the invincible center-back duo."
"Try to get past us if you can."
Ahead of tactical training.
Our team's center-back duo, Senior Milenković and Senior Nastasić, arms linked like twins, speak to me.
With them like this, I feel like a nephew playing with uncles who volunteered to be the villains.
"..."
When I silently stare at those seniors, perhaps feeling awkward, they scratch their heads and head to their defensive positions. Seeing their backs, a slight chuckle escapes me.
Anyway.
"Okay, everyone ready. Beep-!"
Full-scale training in preparation for the Juventus match begins.
A team in purple home uniforms and a team in white away uniforms.
The training proceeds divided into two teams, but...
I alone put on a fluorescent vest over my uniform.
The coach said I should ignore team affiliation; when the purple team attacks, I play the striker role for purple, and when the white team attacks, I play the striker role for white.
In other words, today's training means "double the workload for me alone."
Thud, thud-
Right after the whistle blew, I walked slowly, focusing on taking in my surroundings.
That sensation that had suddenly come to me in the last match.
I mobilized every nerve to reawaken that feeling.
I had been in very good condition during that match.
It was the match after I'd sat out the previous one entirely.
With various things overlapping, the fact that I had been slightly not in my right mind also played a part.
I had experienced what people commonly call an awakened state.
It had felt truly incredible.
A feeling like I could do anything.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say it was the first time I'd played a match with such confidence.
Therefore, until the match against Juventus, I planned to focus on maintaining that sensation during training.
From that perspective, this kind of training now seemed like it would be of great help.
"..."
My feet moved slowly, but I constantly turned my head, grasping the positions and movements of the players.
I have to watch this side and that side.
Because I belong to both teams.
Honestly, hearing it, it feels like I'd have to use my head twice as much as usual, but that's not the case.
Because in a real match, it's the same—you have to read both your team and the opponent.
"..."
As I kept raising my focus, a map began to form in my head.
But simply drawing a map is meaningless in itself.
You have to be able to read and interpret that map.
Currently, the purple team has the ball.
In other words, I now have to analyze the white team's defensive shape and devise a strategy to break it down.
"..."
The back four's spacing is wide.
Probably because the purple team's wingers are the starting wingers, so they're preparing for the sides.
Then I... targeting the half-space is the right move for now.
Tat-tat-tat-!
I move into the right half-space, observing the opponent's reaction.
The fullback and center-back narrow the distance between them.
It seems like a movement conscious of me.
However, if they do that, the gap between the center-backs inevitably widens.
If the left winger cuts into the center toward that space, we can penetrate the gap.
But not sensing that kind of movement, just as I was about to point to the center with my hand—
Fwaaang-!
The ball flows to me.
The moment I see the ball, I feel my body slightly stiffen.
It was a feeling of my brain sounding an alarm.
Doing three things at once is impossible.
Grasping the players' positions, requesting movement from a teammate, and simultaneously preparing to receive the ball... even I can tell that's too much.
I'm not at that level yet.
I make a quick decision.
What comes first?
Obviously, accurately receiving the ball comes first.
Fwaaang-!
I lower my gaze and accurately receive the ball first.
Then, turning around to check the movement ahead... but no clear path is visible.
Every route for teammates to penetrate is already blocked.
I should have done it before the ball came; now it's too late.
The difference between a timing that works and one that doesn't is but a split second.
Tat-tat-tat-!
Having no choice, I drive the ball up myself.
Soon I face Senior Milenković with his massive build.
Seeing his face, my resolve momentarily weakens, so I paint black stripes on his white uniform.
Tok, tok-!
To maintain speed, I put away flashy individual skills and shake off a Juventus stand-in defender with a simple change of direction.
Entering the box, I lightly take a shot, wrapping up the first attack.
FWOOOOSH-!
Thwack-!
"Ha, thank goodness the youngest is on our team."
Leaving Senior Milenković's grumbling behind, I immediately turn back toward the halfway line.
Now it's an attack on the opposite side.
"Hoo-"
As I exhale, I immediately feel my breath grow hot.
Honestly, it's tough.
But training is supposed to be about doing what's difficult.
The harder it is in training, the easier it becomes in a match.
So rather than complaining, I raise my focus again.
Moreover... I felt it was more fun than simply difficult.
It was a difficult problem, and there was joy in solving it.
...
"..."
Vlahović, wearing a Juventus training kit, quietly gazes out the window.
The club bus carrying the Juventus players was entering Fiorentina's home stadium, the Artemio Franchi, and the bus was currently surrounded by Fiorentina fans.
"──!!"
"──!!"
Angry Fiorentina fans shout something at the bus.
It can't be heard, but it's not hard to infer what they're saying.
They're probably pouring out every curse they can muster.
Even most of them, worried their voices wouldn't be heard, were expressing themselves with their fingers.
How considerate of them.
If not for the massive police presence, the bus might have been overturned right on the spot.
Swish-!
Vlahović drew the window curtain, blocking the view. His face was expressionless, but his heart couldn't remain calm.
Before being a professional, he is a human being.
It couldn't be comfortable to watch fans who had been sending him cheers just a short while ago suddenly turn and hurl curses.
It stings badly.
But it doesn't become a wound.
He doesn't regret anything watching those fans.
If he were going to feel sorry or regretful, he wouldn't have chosen the transfer in the first place.
Vlahović had no regrets whatsoever about transferring to Juventus.
Naturally.
Within Serie A, the fame and popularity Juventus holds are unmatched by any other team.
Even teams like Milan can't compare, let alone Fiorentina.
Having escaped a small pond and finally reached the ocean, there was no reason to regret.
Because he was a whale meant to live in the ocean.
"Let's get off."
Eventually, the bus that had barely made it inside the stadium stops, and the players get off one by one.
Vlahović, clutching a bag under his arm, also gets off the bus and takes in the familiar air.
Then he immediately heads to the locker room to finish preparations, goes out to the stadium, and warms up.
And coming back, he puts on his uniform neatly and reties his cleat laces.
Having finished all that with a coldly expressionless composure, Vlahović left the locker room with the Juventus players.
Exiting the locker room, passing through the corridor, and entering the tunnel waiting to go out, familiar faces caught his eyes.
Players who had been his teammates just months ago.
Comrades who had been closer than family just a few months ago.
"..."
"..."
But no one meets his eyes or greets him.
It's only natural.
Today's match is a derby.
There are no foolish players who get chummy with opponent players all cheerful before a derby match.
Vlahović was grateful for that.
Because his former teammates' attitude helped him maintain his composure.
He thinks of nothing else.
He doesn't regret.
He simply does his best to ruthlessly crush the opponent today as a Juventus player.
With such thoughts, while Vlahović was still standing there maintaining his expressionless face—
"..."
Someone quietly stands beside him.
As Vlahović turns his gaze slightly, the figure of I Jian enters his eyes.
I Jian stands in the Fiorentina players' line with a rather calm face.
"..."
In that moment, a small ripple arises in Vlahović's cold heart. Soon that ripple becomes a wave and spreads through his mind.
He doesn't regret anything else.
Only that guy lingers in his mind.
It was strange.
Until now, he had felt nothing, yet seeing I Jian's face made him uncomfortable.
Why on earth?
"..."
Vlahović shakes his head as if trying to shake off the emotion.
He probably won't admit it.
Even if someone were to tell him what this emotion he feels right now is.
But it was a clear fact.
The emotion Vlahović felt was fear.
The fear that he might end up regretting his transfer today because of I Jian.
Vlahović, who had seen I Jian from the closest distance and received the most help from him, was feeling it instinctively.
That face may be so young and cute, but...
When standing as an opponent like this.
I Jian was a player who inspired fear.
< Regretting~ It~ -2 > End