There is a word called "sinabeuro."
At first glance, it sounds like English or Italian, but it's a pure Korean word.
It's a word I quite like.
Perhaps I just like the way it sounds.
Sinabeuro, sinabeuro.
They say it means "little by little, without realizing it."
And little by little, spring has come to Florence as well.
"Hmm."
I push the fresh spring air deep into my lungs as I head toward the training ground.
Florence, which had been entirely gray throughout the winter, is now mottled with blue-green.
"Hey. Work hard today too."
"Hello."
The faces I pass every time I walk this path are the same as always, yet today they feel different.
That's just how spring is.
Because spring is a new beginning.
Of course, the European season starts in summer and ends in summer, but to me, spring is something new.
Actually, that's why I never really liked spring.
New things. A fresh start.
To others, they might be words that make their hearts flutter just to hear them... but not for me.
To me, they were words closer to fear than excitement.
If I think about why, well.
It was like that even when I was in Korea.
Back then, spring meant the new semester would start soon. Whenever spring arrived, I'd worry myself sick at the thought of going to school and having to fit in with new friends again.
Maybe I learned it from that.
I didn't like spring.
And it was the same around this time last year.
Right around now, when winter was turning to spring, I came to Florence.
My first spring in Florence wasn't welcome either.
Back then, I only saw the gray scenery; I had no leisure to notice the budding greenery.
Such a beautiful city looked black and white in my eyes, that's all.
But now it's different.
It's still chilly, and aside from the red bricks, the scenery is predominantly gray...
Still.
What reaches my eyes first is the greenery sprouting in small shoots.
I was feeling quite glad to see spring.
"Buongiorno! It's a fine morning, isn't it?"
The regular fruit shop owner greets me with a spring-like hello, and I respond with a smile.
Outside, spring is still wavering, but here, spring has definitely arrived early.
The fruits, now much more colorful, each boast their freshness.
"Here, take this today too."
"What is it?"
"The first naturally grown strawberries of the year. I hid them instead of putting them on display, just for you."
As always, I pack some bananas and other fruits, and the man hands me a bag of strawberries.
He hid them just for me—I really didn't have to go to such trouble.
I'm scratching my head, wondering how to express my thanks, when the man speaks.
"Huh? Don't you like strawberries? Too much sugar? Not good for your body management?"
"Ah, no. I like strawberries."
"Really? That's a relief. Haha!"
When I say I like them, the man beams.
Truth is, I don't particularly like them, but there was something in his eyes that made it hard to say I disliked them.
I do have that much tact.
"Spring came awfully early this year."
The man stands in the doorway, hands behind his back in a good mood, looking outside.
After taking a deep breath of spring air, he turns to me and says:
"At this rate, even the lilies will bloom early. Ah, no—they already have. Right here, such a beautiful lily. Haha! Thanks to that, the strawberries were fooled and came out early too. The summer-blooming lilies are in full bloom, so they must have thought they overslept."
"..."
As he places his hand on my shoulder, I marvel inwardly.
Right now he just looks like a pot-bellied neighborhood uncle, but he is an Italian man, after all.
If I were a woman, my heart might be pounding.
...I'm really glad I'm a man.
"How's your body? Tired?"
Be that as it may, as always, the man starts talking about soccer with me.
How we're preparing for this week's match, whether everyone is in good condition.
I do my best to answer, repaying him for always looking out for me and giving me extra.
"Ah, by the way. Did you catch that Total Football show this time?"
"...What's that?"
"You don't watch much TV, do you? You know, those pot-bellied guys coming out and talking about soccer. Your name came up there."
"...About me?"
The man nods.
I somehow feel a sense of pride in that nod.
"The pride of our Florence, they say you're the league's greatest talent in the world. It seems the eyes of these so-called experts aren't so different from mine."
"Haha..."
"They say you're in the top ten strikers in the world, but ten fingers? In my eyes, you're in the top five."
The training ground is close enough to walk to.
But thanks to the man praising me to the skies, I just smile awkwardly and scratch my head.
But the plane has only just taken off.
"Amazing, amazing. To be counted in the top ten in the world. That means you've been chosen by God. I'm the same, you know. Because someone chosen by God always visits my shop."
...My whole body itches.
"I've been seeing a lot of talk about how Serie A is in crisis because of the Champions League, but I don't think so. If the Serie A representative went out and got beaten, then it'd be a crisis. But this time, the representative didn't go out, did it? Without us, this year's Champions League is invalid."
...The man is saying the exact same thing as Jiu.
"You have to show them next time. Got it? That Fiorentina is Italy's best team."
"...I will."
"Let's both work hard in our places. I'll let everyone know that Florence has the best fruit, so you let Europe know that Florence's lily is the most beautiful. We can't be the only ones who know this."
I scratch my head and nod at the man, who flashes a toothy grin.
"Oops. I've taken too much of your time. Well, take care!"
"I'll come again tomorrow. Thank you for the strawberries."
After bowing to the man, I tuck the heavy bag of fruit under my arm and head to the training ground.
I mull over what he said.
Chosen by God.
I was half-nervous he was going to tell me to start coming to church.
"Hmm."
Anyway, I should put these strawberries in the training ground fridge and give them to Jiu when I get home.
Jiu likes strawberries.
* * *
Waaaaaaaah—
By the time the spectators' clothing had noticeably lightened, we had brought AS Roma to our home ground.
"Let's take control and play our game! Let's dominate!"
"Let's go to the Champions League!"
"Okay!"
"Forza—!"
"Viola—!!"
We shout our fighting spirit and scatter to our positions.
Everyone seems especially motivated today.
They all want an overwhelming victory.
In the first half of the season, we'd had a very difficult match against AS Roma and barely managed a draw.
I remember it too.
It wasn't an easy match.
Somehow, I ended up clashing frequently with their ace and had an incredibly hard time.
Because of that, I remember being furious at myself.
It wasn't simply that I couldn't play my game—I was angry because I felt ugly, making excuses and blaming my age for not being able to play my game.
That was probably the first time I'd been so disappointed in myself while playing soccer.
Thanks to that, the memory remained vivid, and today, I strongly feel the desire to show a different side.
Once, the coach scolded a senior and said something like that.
Once is a mistake, but twice is skill.
I don't remember what situation the words came from, but for some reason, they stuck with me deeply.
Once is a mistake. From the second time, it's skill.
The league is split into the first and second halves, and the system of playing each team twice—perhaps that's exactly why.
I like that system.
Not just because there's a chance to make up for mistakes... but more than anything, because when you face an opponent you've played before, you feel a lot.
Just like how I couldn't feel it when I saw Jiu every day, but after three years, I could feel what had changed.
Facing an opponent again after several months makes me realize how much I've changed.
It's hard to feel time passing little by little, but through today's match, I want to confirm that time has passed.
Beep—!
The whistle blows, and the match begins as the ball is sent backward.
*
The captain of AS Roma, Lorenzo Pellegrini, remembered the 11th round of the league clearly.
Roma, having started the new season with the brilliant tactician José Mourinho, was off to a great start and building momentum at the time.
Pellegrini himself was also boasting his best form.
The injuries that had plagued him for a while were all healed, and his physical condition was at its peak.
Going by how he felt then, he thought he could take on anyone.
No, he thought he could crush them.
That was how confident Pellegrini had been at the time.
And in that state, he had brought Fiorentina to their home and played them.
And Pellegrini received a tremendous shock.
He had been full of confidence that he could beat even world-famous players, yet he had struggled immensely against a player whose name and face he didn't know.
No, calling it a "struggle" might be too subjective an assessment.
The match ended in a draw, but when comparing their individual performances one-on-one.
His defeat was clear.
But what was even more shocking was that the player was only sixteen years old.
Moreover, he later found out that it was the player's third match since his first-team debut.
Just what kind of talent was this?
It was enough to make him feel fear.
But what truly frightened him was how noticeably different the kid's first and second halves had been.
Yes. Well, in the first half, he could say he had won on points.
He had consistently won the ball contests, maintained control, and led the game.
In the first half, his honest impression was simply, "This kid plays better than his baby face suggests."
But after the second half began, the kid had become a different player.
He had become much faster, more clever, with a wider field of vision.
And Pellegrini conceded the second half to the kid.
In that brief interval, the kid had grown in real-time and overwhelmed him.
So today, Pellegrini's fear was a little greater.
If he could grow that much in the short break between the first and second halves, how much more had he grown over the past few months?
That day had left such a deep impression that he had watched him closely from afar and knew.
At the time, few people knew the kid, but now everyone did.
So he could guess that he had grown tremendously.
However, once the match began.
When Pellegrini first confronted Ijian with the ball, he could know even more clearly.
From the 11th round until now.
That quite a bit of time had passed.
Tatatat—!
Ijian stuck the ball to his foot as if magnetized and brushed past him, and Pellegrini could only watch.
He couldn't use his feet, nor could he use his hands.
He couldn't believe that the gap had widened this much in just those few months.