“──!!”
“──!!”
Standing in the center circle for the kickoff, I hear harsh words raining down from the stands.
Most of them are curses that make me want to wash out my ears just from hearing them.
It’s all too clear who every last one of those curses is aimed at.
“···”
Senior Vlahović… no, I glance at Vlahović.
Despite the torrent of abuse pouring down on him, he simply maintains a blank expression, merely waiting for the match to begin.
On the outside, he looks like he couldn’t care less.
But he has ears too; there’s no way he can’t hear the voices of so many fans.
What must his mood be like right now?
If it were me… I think I’d feel like crying. Maybe I would’ve told the coach I didn’t think I could play this match and hidden away at home.
Of course, he’s different from me.
He’s a far more professional player than I am, a far more mature person.
He wouldn’t be standing here with such a weak heart.
Even so, I don’t think he can be completely fine.
If you imagine facing the sight of fans who used to love you turning their backs and cursing you now… it’s a terrible thing.
Of course, he was the one who turned his back first, but perhaps that’s exactly why the fans’ resentment stings him even more.
“···”
I wish the referee would just blow the whistle already.
The referee seems to be waiting for something, whistle held between his lips as he stares at the watch on his wrist.
Honestly, it’s not easy watching him endure curses verging on hexes.
Because I still like him.
When I was first dragged to the first-team training ground, when everything felt scary and I was withdrawn, he was the one who approached me first.
That single sentence saying he liked me had unknowingly become an enormous source of strength.
It was the same when I played my first match.
When I faced defenders stacked up like mountain ranges, I couldn’t muster the courage to charge in, but the moment I saw his face among them, I found the courage to run at them.
Whether on the training pitch or in the stadium.
Just him standing in front of me made me feel secure. His already broad back felt like an ocean to my eyes.
When he was absent from a match and I stood in his place, I felt it even more.
Only after running in his position myself did I realize that he had been fighting a much harder battle than I’d thought.
But he never once showed his hardship.
That’s why he was always a reliable senior.
“──!!”
“──!!”
And tens of thousands of chanted curses are being hurled at him like that.
I understand the fans’ feelings, but honestly, I wish they’d stop the swearing.
Actually, I’m the one who most wants to ask him.
Why did it have to be Juventus?
Why did he have to leave for Juventus and end up facing us as an enemy like this?
More than anyone else, I’m the one who wishes he would regret it.
So I don’t think there’s any need to shower him with curses.
Even without hurling abuse, we’ll make him regret it through the match anyway.
Peeeeeeep-!
The referee, who had been stalling for some time, finally thrust his hand skyward and blew the whistle, and as if I’d been waiting for it, I kicked off.
At the same time, Vlahović ran toward the Fiorentina half, and I ran toward the Juventus half.
And so, brushing past each other, the match began.
*
Ta-ta-tat-!
I chase the ball diligently, hassling the opponent.
The kickoff was ours, but it didn’t take long for possession to switch to the opponent.
Pa-aang-!
Pa-aang-!
I diligently chase the opponent circulating the ball from the back.
But just as it seems within our grasp, just about to be caught, the ball spitefully slips through our fingers.
At the ball drifting far away beyond my assigned zone, I sigh, stop running, and look around.
We had been applying heavy pressure from the start.
It was the coach’s order.
For the first 15 minutes of the first half, exactly.
The coach’s order was to fight back fiercely and fluster the opponent.
We’re pressing according to that order, but it’s questionable whether it’s actually working.
Our pressure was quite well-structured.
No one was overcommitting, and no one was overly passive.
At times we spread the net wide, and at times we stood narrow to drive the opponent into a corner.
But even so, the opponent slipped through our net like a swift fish.
Fundamentally, the opponent felt one step faster than us.
Of course, they were superior in technical aspects as well.
Not that I want to admit it.
“···”
It’s nothing short of amazing that we beat this team last time.
We even did it at their home.
What’s different between then and now?
……Ah, Vlahović was on our side back then.
Pa-aang-!
I track the circulating ball from afar with my eyes, nerves on edge.
Based on visual information, I map the positions and movements of the opponent’s players in my head.
And then… I realize.
There were other reasons the opponent could easily escape our pressure, but decisively, it was because they had more numbers.
Pa-aang-!
I see the opponent’s number 10 receiving the ball in a low position to evade the pressure.
Having shaken off the pressure with smooth footwork, he finds an open space, delivers a pass, and moves again.
He’s there at every crucial link.
Number 10, Dybala.
His jersey is at my house.
After the last match, he took my jersey and gave me his in exchange.
So he’s a familiar player, but that’s not important… what’s important is that he’s playing as an attacking midfielder today.
In other words, he was taking the play to a position that wasn’t his own.
By leaving his position and dropping down to add another number, we were inevitably losing the numbers battle.
So shouldn’t we just push one more player up from defense…?
We can’t do that easily.
Because Vlahović firmly stationed in our half is burdensome.
He’s a player too dangerous for one man to mark.
Because his individual ability is outstanding, and more than anything, he’s a player who knows how to utilize his teammates.
So we have to stop him through cooperative defense or shut down spaces with team-wide movements.
To do that, we obviously have to keep plenty of defenders back, making it difficult to send one forward.
In short, the reason our pressure wasn’t working well was ultimately because of Vlahović alone.
That’s what I thought.
“Push up!”
“Run one step more!”
The voices of my teammates defending our half come from behind.
But those voices somehow sound so desperate that I feel a moment of anxiety.
From the position of watching from behind and just cheering, they must feel sorry too, and so frustrated that they want to help.
But if anyone leaves their post to come forward, space will open up.
There’s no way Vlahović and the opposing attackers will just watch that happen; they’ll definitely exploit that space.
Then we’ll be in danger.
It was the moment that anxiety rose instinctively.
Dybala, holding the ball, glanced toward the front and drew his left foot back.
Pbeooooong-!
The lofted pass headed toward our half, and naturally my gaze turned to follow the ball.
I saw that defensive midfielder Senior Torreira had left his position, and in that space stood Vlahović.
Having dropped into the open space, he pushed away Senior Nastasić who was closing in, using his back, and readied himself to run onto it.
Pa-aang-!
He sprang up and took the ball with his chest.
After landing, he shielded the ball with his back and arms, then pushed Senior Nastasić with all his might to secure space before turning and opening up the passing angle.
Paaaang-!
The pass goes to the right.
That exquisite through pass piercing the space behind the defense connected with the opposing winger…
What followed was a scene I didn’t want to see.
Thwack-!!
We conceded the opening goal.
*
After conceding, we made a tactical change.
We had no choice but to fall back.
Since we couldn’t win the fight in the opponent’s half, we adjusted our direction to shut our own half down more tightly.
Pa-aang-!
Pa-aang-!
But even so, it doesn’t feel like the match has gotten any easier.
Having given up the press, the opponent holds the ball more comfortably while probing our gaps.
Thanks to that, dangerous scenes occurred in succession.
Pa-aang-!
Dybala receives the ball in a high position.
Once again, the space Vlahović opened up.
Receiving the ball in front of the penalty arc, he lines up a left-footed shot without hesitation.
Pbeooooong-!
Fortunately, the shot goes over the crossbar, but it was a dangerous moment.
The shot itself was sharp… and above all, it was a moment where if another pass had been played, an even more dangerous scene could have unfolded.
Because Vlahović was infiltrating the box.
If it were me, I probably would’ve given it to him……
“···”
“···”
In that instant, our eyes meet.
It was very brief… but our eyes definitely met.
He looked at me.
…Suddenly, I feel an inexplicable desire swelling up.
I want to make him feel regret.
Just as it’s hard for me without him in front of me, I want to make him feel that it’s hard without me behind him.
In that instant, my head spins rapidly and all my senses stand on edge.
Something flashed like a camera flash, and I dropped down while shouting to Romero.
“Get up there!”
At that shout, Romero moves up, and I continue dropping down.
Meanwhile, play resumes with a goal kick.
Goalkeeper Senior Terracciano, having checked my movement, seems to give a signal to the defenders with his eyes, and instead of a long kick, he builds from the back with short passes.
Pa-aang-!
Pa-aang-!
Immediately, the opponent presses.
We had been resorting to long kicks because of that press, but this time it’s different because I’ve dropped down to add another number.
Pa-aang-!
A quickly connected pass flows to me.
In that next moment, I did three things at once.
“Right side! Run!!”
I check the positions of the opponent’s players and shout for Romero to penetrate.
At the same time, I smoothly receive the pass on the outside of my left foot and turn my direction.
My brain, which had clearly warned me during training that three things at once were too much, was silent this time.
Pbeooooong-!
As I turn sideways, I stab the pass.
I fired the pass before even locating Romero’s position with my eyes.
The difference between a timing that works and one that doesn’t is mere milliseconds.
It’s that way in training, and even more so in a real match.
And all the more so when the opponent is a strong team.
I just fire the pass hoping that Romero is running in the right direction at the right time.
With the maximum precision I can muster.
Swwoooooosh-
To the right half-space, that is, the space roughly between the opponent’s left center-back and left full-back, the pass stretches out.
Romero was running around behind the defense toward that pass.
Romero isn’t big like Vlahović, but he’s quite fast.
Also, his balance is good enough to strike it immediately without trapping the pass.
So it should be enough to lead to a goal.
I hope it is.
Pbeooooong-!
Romero reached the ball one step ahead of the defender and immediately struck it with his right foot.
What followed was a scene I wanted to see.
Thwack-!!
In that instant, I felt like I understood why people have expectations, and a laugh suddenly came out.
Because seeing Romero fulfill those expectations brought immense exhilaration.
*
Ta-ta-tat-!
Vlahović tries to infiltrate the space behind the defense but soon stops his steps and turns back.
“Hey!”
Ta-ta-tat-!
After a moment, the same scene repeats again.
This time he shouted and even raised his hand while trying to penetrate, but the pass didn’t come.
The infiltration timing was clearly visible, but it seems the midfielder with the ball couldn’t see it.
“Huu-”
Vlahović shakes his head as if frustrated and lets out a sigh.
The first half ended 1-1.
And now it’s the second half, already past the 10-minute mark.
Having been rubbing bodies with opposing defenders alone to create space, and busily attempting line-breaking runs, Vlahović was quite exhausted.
In that situation, with teammates failing to see the passing timing, it’s natural to feel annoyed and frustrated.
“···”
Vlahović subtly glances at I Jian.
Suddenly, the scene of that conceded goal in the first half comes to mind.
That beautiful pass that split the defense and connected to the attacker in one pass comes to mind.
And memories from a few months ago when that pass had flowed to his own feet come to mind.
As those memories resurfaced, his current teammates looked nothing but annoying to Vlahović.
“──!!”
From the stands, the voices of spectators still pouring curses at him could be heard.
But he didn’t care about any of that.
Nothing had made him regret his decision to transfer.
However, just one thing.
If there was one thing that made him feel regret… it was the fact that he could no longer link up with a player like I Jian.
Pa-aang-!
As if gouging at that wound.
I Jian, having taken the ball, shows smooth body movement, then escapes the pressure and breaks out of the tight space to begin the attack.
Watching that sight, Vlahović thought.
If he had been in front of him at that very moment…
He would have added one more goal to his career.
< Regretting~ It~ -3 > End