From what I hear, it’s been a whopping thirteen years since our team last appeared in the Champions League.
Thirteen years ago… I was three years old.
For thirteen years, we haven’t made it to the UCL, which means none of the senior players have ever played in the Champions League, or so I was told.
The Captain and Torreira were the only ones with any Champions League experience at all, and even that was with other teams, not ours.
“···What was it like?”
At my question about how it felt to play in the UCL, the Captain looks at me with a bewildered expression.
At the same time, the seniors around us burst out laughing.
…Why are they laughing?
When I tilt my head in confusion, Bonaventura speaks.
“You’re probably the only one who can bring up the Champions League in front of the Captain.”
“Why…?”
“He has some pretty painful memories. Captain, is it okay if I tell him?”
At Bonaventura’s question, the Captain shrugs as if to say, “What can you do?”
Bonaventura continues.
“It was the year before last, right? When the Captain abandoned us and went on loan to Inter. That’s where he played in the UCL.”
“Yeah.”
“But he got torn apart. Completely ripped to shreds. Like this.”
Bonaventura makes a scary face and mimes tearing a jersey.
The other seniors burst into laughter again, while the Captain’s face turns like he’s bitten into something foul.
I can’t believe the Captain got destroyed like that, so I ask,
“What do you mean, torn apart…?”
“Who was the opponent, Captain?”
“…Dortmund. Hakimi. I got it bad. He still shows up in my dreams sometimes.”
The Captain says, furrowing his brow.
As if the memory of that day is still vivid, he even shudders as he speaks.
“He was disgustingly fast, that kid. Like a Ferrari or something. He’d just tap the ball and go, and I couldn’t catch him at all. I’d turn my head, and he was already way off in the distance. Since I’m not exactly fast, I was easy pickings.”
As the Captain goes on, he visibly deflates in real time.
“Our forwards scored two goals that day, but I kept getting blown past, and we conceded three and lost. Two of them were Hakimi’s. We lost because of me, basically.”
The Captain speaks bitterly, and Bonaventura pats him on the shoulder.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Thanks to that, you couldn’t even last a year before coming right back to our team. Inter must have been so impressed that they signed Hakimi the very next season.”
“Thanks, bastard.”
The seniors laugh.
But I feel a little chill run down my spine.
The Captain is the leader of our team, and the leader of our defense.
I’m not a defender, so I don’t know all the details, but I’ve seen him giving all sorts of advice to the other defenders.
More than anything, at least up until now, I’ve never seen him get beaten without even getting a hand up in a match.
Whether against Juventus, Inter, Milan, Napoli, or anyone else.
He might have looked a little overwhelmed at times, but he was never a hole in the defense.
Yet there was a player who ran circles around a captain like that… I can’t even imagine how good he must be.
The world really feels vast.
How much harder do I have to work?
“That player, he’s famous, right?”
“Hakimi? Of course he’s famous. Last year—ah, you probably don’t know since you haven’t faced him. He’s in Paris now, right?”
“Yeah. If it’s Hakimi, he’s comfortably in the top ten in his position.”
“Ah…”
Top ten in his position…
Hmm.
Well, I guess that makes sense.
If it was against one of the top ten wingers in the world… I suppose anyone could get beaten.
Strangely, I feel a little relieved.
“I can’t believe I didn’t know about a forward that good.”
I’m such an idiot. I’ve only been playing football; I don’t know a damn thing.
To think I’m only now hearing the name of a winger ranked among the top five in the world.
I really need to start studying up on players going forward.
While I’m thinking that, Bonaventura tilts his head.
“A forward?”
“Huh?”
“Hakimi isn’t a forward. He’s a fullback.”
“…A fullback?”
“Well, he is a fullback who’s better than most wingers. Don’t tell me you didn’t realize the Captain got completely shredded by a defender, not a winger?”
“…”
I’m speechless.
A defender, not a forward…?
A defender tore apart our captain, who can handle Serie A wingers just fine?
“Ah…”
…The world isn’t just wide, it’s terrifyingly vast.
And there are terrifyingly many geniuses out there.
“What? Why’re you making that face?”
“Huh? Ah, no…”
“You’re not scared, are you?”
“I just… feel like the world is a big place, that’s all.”
At my words, the seniors smile faintly.
I wonder what those smiles mean.
The Captain speaks.
“The world is wide. I’m feeling it more and more the older I get. When I was a kid, I thought I was the best. Because I was the best in my neighborhood. But then I joined a youth academy full of only the best kids from their neighborhoods, and I was nothing. And then there’s the pro level. Only the ones who survive that academy make it up, so me even lasting this long is basically a miracle.”
Bonaventura picks up where he left off.
“Becoming number one in Italy itself takes a divine miracle, and outside Italy there are even more monstrous guys swarming around. The world really is wide.”
When I nod, the Captain puts a hand on my shoulder and says,
“But don’t be scared. We’re barely scraping by here, but you’re different, maknae. You’re a world-class talent. A waste to keep cooped up on this little peninsula.”
I offer an awkward smile, and the Captain speaks as if asking whether I doubt him.
“I’m serious. Not just Hakimi—we faced Barcelona back then too. Messi, Suárez, Griezmann. I’ve seen all those guys whose names alone give you chills. But when I look at you, I don’t think you’d lose to them. I mean it.”
At the Captain’s words, I glance at the other seniors, and none of them are laughing.
The Captain continues with a serious expression.
“Among the ones I’ve faced—Hakimi, Griezmann, and Ansu Fati’s been hot lately too. But do you know who’s a lot harder to stop than them? You, in training. Next season, everyone will find out. That the real deal is you.”
The Captain has gone this far, so I can’t help but nod.
I say,
“Um, that player Hakimi… If we face him next time, I’ll get revenge for you.”
“Revenge? Hahaha! Alright, I’m counting on you. Please tear that bastard to shreds. You’re the only one who can do it.”
“In front of our maknae, even Hakimi will become like the Captain did in front of Hakimi. Talent is all relative.”
“Shut up, man. There are guys who can say the exact same thing and still sound obnoxious. You lot, go get ready for training!”
At the Captain’s kick, Bonaventura and the other seniors snicker and head toward the training ground.
I snicker as I watch them, then a thought suddenly strikes me.
To be able to tear apart a fullback ranked in the top ten in the world, what rank would I have to be in my own position?
Could I even break into the top hundred right now?
I don’t know.
The world is just too big.
With what monsters might be waiting across the ocean, I’m still far too ignorant to judge so lightly…
“Shall we get going too? If we want revenge, we have to make it to the UCL first. And that starts with winning this week’s match.”
“Yes.”
Thinking of the vast, vast world, I can’t afford not to give it my all.
I used to think that once I found my footing, things would get easier, but the higher I climb, the more I realize I have to stay humble.
I nod and get ready for training.
* * *
“Just what is the problem?”
“It’s a problem across the board.”
“No, I know that. Everything’s a problem, but let’s get into specifics now.”
“Ha, man. Where do I even start…”
Inside a cozy studio.
Two men sit facing each other in front of a ring of cameras.
With somewhat gloomy expressions, they scratch their foreheads—the hosts of a talk show called ‘Totally Football.’
Totally Football covers football news from all across Italy, and today’s topic was… the complete elimination of Serie A clubs from the Champions League.
“Well, everyone knew Juventus wasn’t in great form lately. Still, nobody expected them to lose to Villarreal and get knocked out.”
“Much less a 3–0 thrashing at home.”
“I don’t even want to talk about AC Milan and Inter’s elimination when they’re sitting first and second in the league.”
“That’s the reality. The fact that our Serie A’s first- and second-place teams don’t have the strength to get past the round of sixteen—this is Serie A’s reality.”
As if to suggest that Italian football is in crisis, even the studio lights turn red.
A crisis it was.
AC Milan, currently leading the league, finished dead last in their group stage, suffering a shocking elimination.
Inter barely made it to the knockout stage only to fall to Liverpool, and even Juventus lost to Villarreal, meaning every Serie A team had been wiped off the bracket.
Above all, the biggest shock was Juventus’s round-of-sixteen exit—a team that had been on the final stage and considered a title contender just a few years ago.
“Their international competitiveness has completely collapsed. I’m worried we might even lose our status as one of Europe’s Big Four leagues.”
“No. We should lose it. It’s only right. That’s the only way everyone wakes up. What kind of damn Big Four league can’t get a single team into the Champions League quarterfinals?”
“Please, calm down for a moment.”
“How can I calm down? Come on. What’s the point if Milan and Inter are only dominant in the league? They can’t show any authority outside of it. They’re all frogs in a well.”
“We all know that. We need to identify the problem. Here, have an espresso.”
The hosts simultaneously sip their espressos and let out a breath.
“Well, for starters, I think the biggest problem is the structure where a handful of teams monopolize all the promising talent.”
“You mean the concentration of players toward Juventus and the two Milans?”
“Yes. Any player who shows a bit of promise gets funneled there. Look at Vlahović this time. When all the players gather on one side, those teams get fat while the rest wither away. What happens then?”
“You get a deformed league structure—a big head on a skinny body.”
The panelist nods vigorously.
“Think about it. Sorry to some fans, but let’s say there’s a match between Juventus and Spezia. Are you excited for it? Are you looking forward to seeing who wins?”
“Not at all. Juventus is going to win anyway.”
“That’s the problem. Aside from a few top clubs, there’s no competitiveness within the league itself. When those are the only teams you face domestically, how can you compete against Europe’s elite? Hell, if you go from playing Venezia to facing Real Madrid, is that even a fight?”
“The gap is massive.”
The host chimes in, nodding along with the panelist’s speech.
Then the host raises a counterpoint.
“But isn’t it the same in Germany or Spain? They also have structures dominated by Bayern, Real, and Barça.”
“That’s true, but the weight class itself is different. Isn’t this the perfect example? Villarreal is currently eighth in La Liga. That same Villarreal beat Juventus. Who’s eighth in our league right now?”
“Eighth… That’s Atalanta.”
“Could Atalanta beat Bayern? Could they beat Real or Barça?”
“It wouldn’t be easy.”
“Let’s be honest. They’d get destroyed.”
This time, both the panelist and the host nod.
The host says,
“Then is there no hope? Among the teams that didn’t reach the Champions League this season, there are quite a few making waves, right? Napoli, Lazio, and Fiorentina. Especially Fiorentina—they’re right on Inter’s heels in second place. They’ve beaten every top team in their recent head-to-heads.”
At that, the panelist nods.
A faint smile spreads across his face, which had been filled with anger this whole time, at the mention of Fiorentina.
“Honestly, I’m not sure if they’d be competitive either. It’s a matter of experience. Napoli is one thing, but Fiorentina is basically making their first-ever appearance, isn’t it? They don’t have any players with Champions League experience.”
“That sounds like a ‘we won’t know until we try,’ but then tell us honestly.”
“What?”
“The hottest player in Serie A right now. How competitive do you think I Jian is? Is he a player who only looks good in Serie A, or can he become a player counted among Europe’s elite?”
At the mention of the name I Jian, the panelist—who had been speaking his mind freely—suddenly becomes cautious.
“Uh, well, he’s a sixteen-year-old player. How can I judge a kid this young already?”
“That’s exactly why we invited you.”
“Damn. So I should just say what I really think?”
“That’s your job. That’s what we’re paying you for.”
“Well, aren’t you smooth with your words.”
The panelist lets out a sigh and continues.
“Well, like Ansu Fati, there are cases where a player debuts too young and then struggles with injuries, so it may be premature to judge…”
“Assuming no injuries.”
“Then he’s obviously one of the best talents in the world.”
“Regardless of age?”
Pressed by the host’s assault, the panelist takes a step back.
“I can’t say that with absolute certainty, but of the players classified as young, I think he’s the best. I mean, he’s sixteen.”
“So if Fiorentina qualifies for the Champions League next season, do you think I Jian could perform just as well against teams like Bayern, Real, or Manchester City?”
To the question of whether I Jian could become Serie A’s hope, the panelist answered.
“I think so. I Jian is no frog in a well. He’s a whale in a well. Right now he’s only in the well, but he’s a talent destined for the ocean someday.”
As he speaks, the panelist suddenly spreads both hands.
Ten fingers bloom like flowers.
“This is just my personal opinion, but I already think that I Jian is a talent who ranks within this range in his position.”
“He’s in the top ten even in Europe?”
“Yes.”
“Even in that position, where the most talented of the talented play? Players like Messi, Griezmann, or even Thomas Müller come to mind…”
Famous names pour out of the host’s mouth one after another.
But the panelist shakes his head firmly.
“All of them included. Ten fingers.”
Then he adds words contrary to his resolute face.
“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong.”
The two hosts cackle and raise their espresso cups.