The 100 Millionth Shot
One hundred million. The moment that had seemed like it would never come was now just a single shot away.
So it's finally here.
Just how much time had passed in here? Even at a conservative estimate, decades must have gone by — perhaps far more. The one thing I knew for certain was that I had spent longer here than in any other stretch of my life.
The soccer balls scattered across the pitch had come to feel like old friends. After tens of millions of kicks shared together, the weathered balls lying around me had even developed a strange sense of kinship.
Maybe I should have named one of them Wilson, like in Cast Away.
A hollow laugh escaped me. Whether it was a good thing my mind hadn't completely rotted away yet, I couldn't say.
The final shot. If it was going to be the last, I wanted to make it special. I picked up a ball and walked to the halfway line, setting it down at the center mark, the empty goal looming in the distance.
Halfway-line shots do have a low success rate...
I drew a deep breath, shook off every stray thought, and trusted the hundred million shots that had come before. A powerful run-up, then my right foot connected at the perfect point of impact.
Thwaaang—!
A crisp, ringing crack. The ball sailing off my boot from the halfway line traced a flawless parabola without the slightest wobble — and then it was sucked precisely into the top corner of the goal.
"YES!"
I'd done it. It had been a low-percentage shot for a final attempt, but seeing it fly cleanly into the net flooded me with satisfaction. I slowly lifted my head and checked the scoreboard.
One hundred million. Exactly one hundred million — not one more, not one less. Precisely one hundred million.
"So... is that it?"
I'd half expected fireworks to erupt once the counter filled, some special effect to trigger, a status window to pop up — but unfortunately, nothing of the sort appeared. I glared at the scoreboard for a long while, then finally let the tension drain from my whole body.
"Whew..."
I looked around. The scenery was exactly as it had always been. Now was not the time to get lost in sentiment. Smack! I slapped my own cheek to snap myself back into focus. There were things to confirm.
The balls and training equipment strewn about... there was nothing really worth taking. No — there was no room for that anyway. Only one thought filled my head.
Get out.
I took a long, deep breath and started toward the stadium entrance. With every step, my heart felt like it would burst. That door, always locked fast. I stopped in front of it.
What if... it doesn't open?
A horrific thought flickered through my mind. What if the hundred million on the scoreboard had been nothing but a number — meaningless? What if I was simply trapped in an infinity of time?
No. That couldn't be. I shook my head. With trembling hands, I slowly turned the door handle.
Creeeeak—
A dull, heavy sound — and unmistakable. It turned. The handle turned!
"...It's open!"
The cry burst out of me before I knew it. I shoved the door with all my strength, and the iron gate that had been sealed shut for so long finally began to swing open. The world outside came into view through the widening gap. I threw the door wide and stepped out.
Sshaaa—
Decades — or was it centuries? I couldn't say for sure — but when a scent that was not the familiar grass smell I'd always known brushed past my nose, every hair on my head stood on end. I inhaled hugely, savoring the feeling of release.
I stood dazed at the entrance for a moment. This is no time for that. I pulled myself together and took my phone out of my pocket. What had become of it? Would it even work now? The phone's clock caught my eye — and the carrier's signal bars looked perfectly fine.
2:50 PM. The date was the same. The very day I had been trapped. Almost no time at all had passed in the outside world. Ten minutes. In the time it took me to shoot one hundred million balls, only ten minutes had flowed by out here.
Thank God... really, thank God.
I let out another breath of relief. But I couldn't afford to relax yet — there were things that needed handling. All those plans I had simulated endlessly in my head while dreaming of escape. The biggest problem was my own body. In the span of mere minutes, an ordinary part-timer had transformed into a hulking mass of superhuman muscle. How was I supposed to explain that? Steroid suspicion would be the least of it — like I'd said before, in the worst case I could end up a lab rat in some biological experiment.
First, I needed to cut ties with everyone who knew the old me, as quickly and cleanly as possible. I opened my phone's messaging app, found the entry for "Convenience Store Owner," and pulled up the chat window. There was no point explaining at length — and no need. I typed out the sentence I'd prepared long ago.
The moment I finished typing and was about to hit send, my finger hovered over the button. Quitting unilaterally — by text, no less — was plainly rude. But I had no choice.
I'm sorry, Boss.
I did feel guilty, but my own survival came first. The hesitation was over. I pressed send.
And finally, the most important call of all. With shaking fingers, I dialed Mom's number. What was I supposed to say? During all those long years locked away, I'd rehearsed this conversation hundreds of times — yet now, when it mattered, not a single word of it came back to me.
Rrring... rrring...
After a few tones, a familiar voice answered.
"Hello?"
I hesitated slightly before speaking. "H-hi, Mom. It's me, Hanbin."
"Oh, my son! What's got you calling at this hour? Is something wrong?"
I answered quickly. "No, nothing's wrong... Something just came up suddenly and I needed to tell you. Don't be alarmed, okay, Mom?"
"What is it?"
I brought out the words I'd prepared. "Well... I got a really good opportunity. A job! The terms are actually pretty great."
Mom sounded puzzled. "A job? Out of nowhere? When you left this morning you never said a word about it. What kind of job is this?"
I hurried on. "Yeah, it all happened really suddenly — it was only just decided. So for a while... a few months, maybe? I'll be working down in the provinces. It all came together so fast I couldn't tell you in advance. I'm sorry."
Worry thickened her voice. "What? The provinces? You're telling me this changed in a matter of hours? Where exactly? What kind of work is it? You're not getting mixed up in anything shady — crime or anything like that, are you?"
I waved it off. "No! Mom, absolutely not! I'm telling you, it's a genuinely good opportunity. It's just... the work is kind of specialized, so it's hard to explain in detail."
I paused for breath. "I'm calling ahead because if things get busy when I get there, I might be hard to reach for a while. Once I get some time off, I'll explain everything then. Okay?"
"Still, though... you decided today and you're leaving today? That doesn't make sense. I'm worried..."
I swallowed my guilt and spoke firmly. "Mom, you trust me, right? It's really fine, and it really is a good opportunity. I can do this. So don't worry too much — just take care of yourself, okay? I'll send money, so hire a caregiver for Dad. Got it? Don't push yourself like last time. I'll check in when I can. Say hi to Dad for me."
Mom let out a sigh. "All right. I trust my son... but you take good care of yourself. Don't skip meals. And if anything happens, you call me right away!"
"Yes! Of course! Sorry for worrying you, Mom. And... I love you."
Even to my own ears, my voice seemed to tremble a little.
"I love you too, my son. Get there safe, all right?"
"Yeah! Gotta go!"
Click.
The moment the call ended, the tears I'd barely been holding back spilled over. It was a mercy that I'd hung up before Mom could press any further. Yes — this was the best I could do for now. Later... once everything was settled, I'd give her the real explanation.
No, would she even believe me if I did?
One hundred million shots in a space where time stood still. Even for a mother who believed in me unconditionally, this story was on another level of absurd. Could she actually bring herself to believe it? Honestly, I had no confidence.
Still, having finished every call, I felt the turmoil in my chest settle a little. All right. From here on out was the true beginning of my life as a footballer.
Three months later.
"Hey, Kim! Less yapping, more flying those bricks over here!"
The construction site was as busy as ever today, dust swirling thick in the air. Vehicles rolled past kicking up clouds of dirt, and the whine of grinders biting into rebar echoed from every corner.
Foreman Choi pushed up his slipping hard hat, wiped the sweat streaming down the back of his neck, and swept his eyes across the site. Then his gaze snagged on a young man in one corner, locked in a wrestling match with a stack of cement bags.
Kim Hanbin.
Two months back, a big strapping kid — tall as anything, and built like he'd clearly put in some serious iron somewhere — had walked straight up out of the blue and said he was confident in his strength and stamina, and asked to be put to work.
Guys who showed up at a construction site without even going through a labor office, like this, were usually the type to coast for a few hours and bolt the moment it got rough — the so-called runaway workers. So the foreman had deliberately assigned him the most brutal job on site: hauling hundreds of cement bags and bricks up and down the stairs on nothing but back and shoulders. The work everyone called "gom-bang."
But once he actually put the kid to work? Well, what do you know... he wasn't a runaway worker at all. He blew clean past the foreman's every expectation — this kid was a born-and-bred manual labor machine!
"Hanbin, yah! You'll do yerself an injury, boy! Pace yerself!"
The words of worry and awe slipped out of Foreman Choi before he could help it. Hanbin was striding up the stairs with four 40-kilogram cement sacks stacked on his back frame, big easy steps, not a shred of fatigue showing after hauling all that weight. Was that stamina natural-born, or had the kid trained somewhere?
And even when break time came, he never flopped down in the shade to shoot the breeze like the other workers. He'd drain a bottle of water alone in a corner, then start moving again before the work bell even rang. Nobody had to tell him — the moment a nasty job turned up, he'd step forward first with "I'll take it!" He just quietly handled his share — no, two or three men's share.
Kid's got the whole site moving different since he showed up, that's for sure.
He worked so sharp and fast that the whole operation's tempo had picked up, and the other workers clearly felt spurred on too. Thanks to him, even the schedule that rain had thrown behind looked like it would land on the delivery deadline after all.
Maybe I'll ask him out for a company dinner after we knock off today?
He'd worked alongside the kid long enough to know he was the quiet type. But today — today, Foreman Choi was going to share a bottle of soju with that Kim Hanbin and have himself a proper talk.