The day of the decisive battle had dawned.
I woke up even before the alarm I'd set earlier than usual, folded my blanket, washed up thoroughly, and packed my things.
Thinking I might be the first one, I came down to the lobby, but a few kids were already there.
As we exchanged brief greetings, I noticed their expressions were a bit different from usual.
Indeed, today's match isn't just important to me.
Currently, we're in 2nd place in the group. That team from Turin is in 1st.
To become 1st, we have to beat 1st—that's obvious. Of course, team results during the youth period aren't that important, but if we can finish 1st, it's better to do so.
Also, Fiorentina and that team are derby rivals.
Since yesterday, The Manager had said several times that we absolutely couldn't lose to that team.
It was the first time he had said something like that, so even I, who didn't know the full story, could feel that a derby is truly a derby.
Maybe that's why. Everyone had determined expressions without a hint of playfulness.
I too sat among those kids, quietly closed my eyes, and organized my thoughts.
"Let's go."
When the time came, we followed The Manager and left the accommodation. The stadium wasn't far, so we walked, but the familiar scenery of the streets didn't exactly feel welcoming.
I walked while looking up at the sky as much as possible.
And then we arrived at the stadium.
From the moment I spotted the stadium in the distance, I felt my stomach churning.
That team uses their training ground as their stadium. The facilities are good enough to be used as a proper stadium.
In other words, the pitch I had to play on today was the same training ground I had dreaded going to every morning.
A place with truly not a single good memory.
As I set foot there, unpleasant memories seemed to crawl up one by one.
But I didn't shrink my shoulders.
Rather, I squared them confidently.
Because the me of now is not the me from back then.
No one here can mess with me anymore, and even if they try, I won't just take it.
Repeating those thoughts to myself, I stopped by the locker room, stored my belongings in the locker that used to be full of trash, changed clothes, and stepped onto the field.
Following Coach's commands, I warmed up and did some shooting practice to awaken my senses. Around the time my body was properly warmed up, the opposing team's players started coming out onto the field one by one.
I saw familiar faces.
The guy who would only not pass to me, the guy who tackled roughly even in training, the guy who bullied me the most viciously, the guy who laughed the loudest beside him.
Their faces were the same as ever.
Nothing had changed at all.
And I was glad for it.
Because it meant I didn't need to feel soft-hearted, and I could carry out my own revenge.
*
"Forza-!"
"Viola-!!"
We shouted our cheer and scattered to our positions.
Today, our formation is slightly different from usual.
4-2-3-1 is our basic formation, but today we're going with a 4-4-2 shape.
Both wingers dropped back more defensively, and Enzo, my partner, and I were instructed to pay more attention to the first line of defense.
It wasn't easy when we faced Napoli, but today's opponent is even stronger than Napoli.
I have to acknowledge what needs to be acknowledged.
Moreover, since today is an away game.
Manager's instruction was to set up a solid defense while looking for counter-attack opportunities.
I thought that was the best approach too.
"Peeeeet-!"
The whistle blows, and the match begins with the opponent's kickoff.
Thwump-
Thwump-
The opponent starts the match by passing the ball around leisurely.
Instead of pressing high, we hold our positions and wait for them to come in first.
The opponent's formation seems to be... a 4-3-3.
Their wingers spread wide toward the flanks, while their central midfielders try to slip through the gaps between us.
How will they try to break us down?
Anyway, since I learned over there, I know a few things about their general approach.
But I can't just think about those things blindly. Football is a sport with an enormous number of variables.
Therefore, the best thing is to read the opponent's movements with my eyes and respond with optimal judgment accordingly.
I stood almost at the center of the pitch, constantly scanning my surroundings and working to read the flow without rest.
The Manager gave me command of the first line of defense today, in addition to my usual role.
Deciding when to wait and when to press, line control, balancing left and right.
As my responsibilities had grown, I focused intently and kept running simulations in my head.
"Hold the line!"
Since nothing had happened yet, we were maintaining good balance.
Thanks to that, the opponent couldn't penetrate easily and just kept passing the ball around in circles.
What choice will the opponent make to break our balance?
"..."
At this point, I switched my thinking—if I were the opponent, how would I solve this situation?
Hmm...
After thinking for a moment, I moved to the left while shouting.
"Tighten the gaps!"
The moment I determined they had no choice but to use the flanks, movement was detected on the left.
The opposing winger came inside to stand like a central midfielder, and the fullback was moving up to take his original spot.
It was a movement to create numerical superiority on one side to advance the ball. I moved to the left to control that.
Tattat-!
As I moved, my teammates around me also shifted positions as if drawn by a magnet.
The left side tightened up instantly, and the opponent, who had been trying to develop play this way, gave up and chose a back pass.
Good. We pushed them back for now.
"Positions!"
I called out to the kids while moving back to the center. We quickly reorganized and balanced ourselves again.
Then the opponent's circular passing resumed.
"..."
As I followed the ball with my eyes, I suddenly made eye contact with someone outside the touch line.
The bald man near the opposing team's bench.
The unforgettable bald coach. The one who said it was partly my fault that I was being bullied.
That coach was staring at me with a displeased look.
"We're doing well, guys!"
That look felt really good.
*
The opponent was cautious.
No, perhaps we made them have no choice but to be cautious.
Either way, we occupied the space as efficiently as possible and blocked the opponent's advances, and it was working effectively.
It wasn't like we just waited either.
We actively attempted counter-attacks too.
When the frustrated opponent pushed up recklessly, we didn't hesitate to close them down and defend aggressively.
After winning the ball, rather than keeping possession, we immediately attempted counter-attacks and targeted the opponent's half.
Manager's instruction was that this would make the opponent's heads more complicated.
We executed that faithfully, and it was working quite well.
This was roughly the situation until the 20th minute of the first half.
"Don't lose your focus!"
I checked the time through signals from the bench and called out to the kids.
The words I shout to the kids are also words I say to myself.
The time was approaching when focus inevitably starts to slip. I too had been giving my full concentration for 20 minutes straight, so little by little, I was starting to miss some things.
Which means... the opponent is also at a point where their concentration is dropping.
I thought it would be good to change the tempo here.
Fast enough to catch the opponent off guard, and decisively.
"..."
I quietly watched the opponent's movements and measured the timing. Since we had positioned ourselves low and waited, the opponent was slowly passing the ball around in midfield rather than in their back line.
Passing the ball slowly in such a high position is definitely dangerous, but the opponent seemed unaware of this and just passed loosely.
Is this what they call complacency?
Since we let them do it, they seem to think it's not dangerous.
Just what I wanted.
I bounced lightly on my feet, ready to sprint at any moment, while tracking the ball with my eyes.
Waiting only for a careless pass to come out...
Now.
Tattat-!
I burst forward.
It was the moment when a cross-field pass from the flank to the center was rolling slowly.
I ran with the intention of intercepting that pass midway.
"Push up!"
I heard the captain's shout from behind me.
At the same time, I heard the sounds of acceleration on both sides of me.
"Press!"
From here, it's pressing time.
Pressing is a team effort. Solo pressing is futile. Pressing only means something when everyone moves up together as one.
So when I went up, everyone started following me up, which was really reassuring.
It felt like they weren't going to leave me alone.
"Push the line up!"
As I charged in fiercely while shouting, the opponent who had been so relaxed until now started hesitating and looking flustered.
"Back!"
I couldn't intercept the cross-field pass, but when I rushed at the player who received it, he hurriedly sent a back pass.
Tattat-!
I passed that player and continued chasing the ball.
I planned to follow all the way and keep pressing. It wasn't an emotional decision. It was because I could see their positioning in the back was sloppy since they had only been thinking about attacking.
"Pressing! Pass it back!"
As if trying to get away from us as we closed in fast, back passes followed like dominoes.
It was the natural choice. From the opponent's perspective, that would feel safe. It's instinctive.
But losing the ball closer to your own goal is dangerous—that's common sense.
In other words, the further back they move the ball, the higher our chance of scoring if we can win it.
"Tighten up!"
Of course, if the opponent chooses the truly safe option, they can escape our pressing.
That is, by clearing it long.
But when I learned over there, I was taught to clear it only when there was no other option in situations like this.
Building up through passing or escaping the press comes first, and you need to be able to do that to become a professional player—that's what I was taught.
So I figured they'd try to break through this pressing somehow.
Reading the opponent's movements, I kept running toward the box.
"Don't lose it!"
Anyway, the opponent is a strong team. They'd have the ability to work their way out of sloppy pressing.
So half-hearted pressing wouldn't rattle them.
This meant I had to give it everything as if this were my last chance.
Fortunately, I was able to run toward the ball faster than my usual speed.
Especially when the ball reached the feet of the center-back, their last line of defense.
My legs moved as if I'd activated a booster.
That guy is the one who would only tackle me roughly during training.
What was his name again?
Jerome, I think. (Of course it's Fckin jerome LMAO)
Tattat-!
I charged at Jerome.
For a moment, I saw a look of hesitation in his eyes. Either my press came faster than he expected, or he hadn't found a passing option yet.
In that case, he could just give it to the keeper.
But... he didn't seem to want to do that.
Why? Because the one charging at him was just me.
Thwump-!
He attempted a pass.
Not a back pass—a forward pass.
The pass went to my left, a distance I couldn't reach even if I stretched my leg.
But Bruno was definitely on the left.
Meaning he might escape me, but he couldn't escape the net we had spread.
Thwump-!
I turned my head at the dull sound.
It was Bruno. I saw Bruno emerge from behind the defender and intercept the pass.
"Forward!"
I immediately raised my hand while keeping my back to Jerome.
The pass came right away.
An honest pass to my feet.
Tatat-!
Jerome wasn't going to just watch this.
I felt him rushing at me from behind.
Since my position wasn't inside the box... I had a feeling he would come in hard.
"..."
I was scared.
Memories from the past came flooding back. Even when I fell down after colliding hard with him, I couldn't say anything.
Because no one questioned it.
But... not now.
I have to overcome this. Compared to back then, my body has grown, and my physicality has improved through special training with Coach Luca.
Above all, I'm now ready to fight back.
I'm really scared, but part of me actually wants him to come in hard like before.
Because then I'll know for certain whether I've improved or stayed the same.
Thwack-!
"Kugh...!"
The impact came from behind.
He rammed his shoulder into my back.
But I didn't fall.
I lowered my stance and pushed back against his center of gravity with my hips, holding my ground.
It was a strange feeling.
Was Jerome only this much?
Thwump-!
While holding my ground and keeping my position, I received the incoming pass with the outside of my right foot, just nudging the direction slightly.
And then,
Tatat-!
I spun to the right using Jerome as a pivot.
At the same time, I pushed the ball straight ahead with my left foot and burst into the box with long strides.
I broke throu—
"...Kugh?"
The moment I thought I'd broken through, I felt impact on my ankle and the world spun.
Crash-!
The ground came rushing toward my face, and I barely blocked it with my arms. Did I get tackled and fall? This... was a familiar experience. Me falling from Jerome's rough tackles. I'd been on the receiving end dozens of times, so the memories came flooding back like they were from yesterday.
"Referee-!!"
"Foul!"
I heard voices from my teammates... but I didn't know if the referee would call it or not.
So I jumped right up.
When I got up and turned around, I saw Jerome sitting on top of the ball, pushing himself up with his arm.
It seemed he'd stopped the ball with a sliding tackle.
The guy got up quickly and tried to get the ball out of the box when—
Tattat-!
This time, I charged at his back.
Because I'd decided not to just take it lying down anymore when I get tackled and knocked over.
Thwack-!
A dull sound rang out.
I stretched my leg from behind toward the ball.
In the process, my foot apparently kicked Jerome's leg, but I didn't care and cleanly stole the ball that had poked out.
Tatat-!
And I turned back toward the goal, rolled the ball forward with the sole of my foot, and charged in with long strides.
I could see so much open space in the goal that I didn't even need to aim for the corners.
Pwooooong-!
That shot, taken as fast and hard as possible,
Swooooosh-
Smack-!!
Ripped straight into the net.
"...!"
The moment I saw the net bulging.
My fist clenched tight. I felt something hot rising up my throat.
I glanced at the referee and saw him pointing to the center line. The goal was confirmed.
But today, there was no need for a celebration.
Because Ji-woo wasn't here.
So instead of celebrating, I turned around.
"..."
And stared at Jerome.
When I openly stared at him, Jerome, who had been kneeling on one knee, stood up and met my gaze.
Maybe he found this situation amusing—he lifted one corner of his mouth and spoke.
"This bastard, you've grown a lot, haven't you?"
I was scared of that, but I didn't let it show and instead walked toward him.
And looking down at him, I caught my breath and said,
"Yeah. I guess I've grown a lot. Were you always this small?"
The Jerome in front of me was much smaller than the Jerome in my memories.
"You..."
The moment Jerome scrunched his face and was about to say something,
"Waaaaaah-!"
"Yeaaaaah-!"
My teammates came piling onto me.
Because of that, before Jerome could even finish opening his mouth, he got pushed aside by the kids and ended up looking ridiculous.