Father's Farewell Kickoff
If you're scared, just drop dead. The opposing team's early morning soccer members had gathered, and the match began. As expected, Dad dominated the dawn game. He'd already read ahead in the biography of greats about what would happen today. But seeing it unfold stirred up memories he'd even forgotten. Closing his eyes, it felt like the day's events played out right in front of him. He remembered this day crystal clear—the depth of Dad's disappointment. And why he'd come to love soccer...
Dad, who sacrificed everything for the family. Yet he'd carved out this one day just for himself: dawn soccer. And all because of that... Today, Dad had taken the day off, only to leave midway for work in utter dejection. Even so, amid all those people, Dad stood out alone, looking so cool—that's why he'd played soccer too. A burly man approached from afar and called Dad aside for a talk.
Just as in the destined future, Dad received the notice. To stop coming after today. The one big difference from the past? Dad was grinning with relief now. That uncle was a good guy at heart. The reason he wanted Dad to quit was the massive skill gap. Even if Dad just passed the ball, his team always won. But to Dad, the guilt of not paying dues or even buying a uniform must've weighed heavier.
Unlike him, who'd blamed his parents. Dad never resented anyone and just headed back to work. And so, Dad folded up that dream today. He never kicked a soccer ball again after. The game kicked off, and the family cheered Dad on. Unlike the past he knew, Dad showed an even more overwhelming gap in skill.
Griping voices rose from the opposing team. "You trying to show off the skill difference or what?!" "Let it go—he's quitting after today. Kicked out for not paying dues... We should just take it."
I wanted to tell them it wasn't about dues. But it wasn't entirely wrong either. "Fuck this. No fun when it's this bullshit. We're not just fillers."
Truth was, Dad's skill was too overwhelming for neighborhood dawn soccer. He toyed with them, plain and simple. Sweating as he demonstrated the gap, Dad even used the techniques I'd taught him. Clumsy, sure, but threatening enough to them.
"Ease up! Take it easy!" "He's going hard today... But damn, Kim's the best. Can't even touch him when he gets serious." "If you're broke, at least have some conscience! What're you doing among rookies?" "Hey! We've played together awhile—what kinda shit-talk is that?"
High-level play should've earned gratitude for raising their game, not complaints from scrubs. Tempting to plant a flying knee into those juicy napes, carve an Apple logo... But then he noticed Mom beside him. Eyes closed, swallowing her anger. Even hearing their voices, Dad crushed them mercilessly, oblivious to limits.
The score gap widened to 9:0. Right after Dad netted another, the burly uncle called timeout. He approached Dad, they talked, and the uncle nodded before walking off. Then the beatdown resumed. By the second half, more gave up, but Dad pushed to the end. He racked up 29 points total.
After the second half, the humiliated opponents flushed red. Dad greeted them with a smile. Then, in the group huddle, he pulled out cash. "Actually, I'm going pro now."
"For real!?" "Knew you could, Kim! Which team? Seoul, right? We root for them!" The mood brightened instantly at Dad's pro news. Playing against a future pro, they accepted the gap. Most even chatted him up, save a few.
"Yeah, but it's K2 League." "With your skill, K1's no problem! That shot wasn't amateur hour!" "Thanks... And it was a blast. This is the back dues I owe."
The thick envelope made them flinch. Thicker than imagined, they looked stunned. "Thanks for putting up with me. Get some beef for the afterparty." "If you do that... what does it make me, the one who told you to quit?" "Nah. You guys gave me strength. Thank you."
Sweat-soaked, Dad bowed deeply with a beaming smile. He'd shown off everything today just to say those words. Wanted them to see the pro he was becoming. "You'll cheer me on, right?" "Of course!!!" They refused the money, but Dad forced it on the burly uncle. Said to take care of him next time, dues-free.
Light steps, like he'd unburdened everything, as Dad came to us. Now he was sure. The stubborn him hadn't taken after Dad. Today, Dad looked even bigger as he led us home. Unlike the past, not to work—but home.
"Oh, this is the way home?" "Think we don't know you sneak to the bookstore after work, Dad?" "Hahaha."
Soon as we arrived, Dad and he showered together. Dad's back was broader than expected. He lathered a washcloth and scrubbed it. "My boy's all grown up~" "Dad."
Calling while scrubbing, Dad turned. "Yeah?" "Gotta succeed out there, right? World Cup's a pipe dream, but K1 League in half a year?" "...Obviously. But teach me dribbling? Your ankle doesn't twist in real games." "Heh. I'll show you every time you come home."
Dad chuckled heartily, took the cloth, and scrubbed his back raw. "Gotta visit often." "Duh."
He was confident he could crush those dawn soccer guys in this body too. So he'd mold Dad into the best with countless future training methods and footwork. "Huh... even your little pecker's grown."
Dad aimed a knuckle-flick at his pride and joy. He dodged lightly. "Oh?" He whipped the cloth like a lash at Dad, who grinned and charged. "Kyahaha!"
The bathroom door opened; Mom shoved Min-ji in. "Wash Min-ji too~" "Our baby girl~ Want Daddy to wash you~?" "No... I'll make oppa do it." "Whyy~ Daddy'll do it~"
Dad's washing was too rough. Once saw him shampoo Min-ji like laundry. So she came to him instead. With the computer, his first plan—writing a novel—faded. Lottery cash was huge, no need for stocks... But problems to fix weren't few.
Above all, he owed Nostradamus payback. The Korean branch of the overseas-derived Nostradamus org. They had "saints" called troubleshooters. He'd been mentioned for the spot but refused. Park Il-gyu probably wasn't solo; the org ditched him for rejecting, or a saint moved. The bastards who crippled him... He'd turn them into useless wrecks. Everyone in Nostradamus. Legally, laced with illegality.
"First, need a bank account." He eyed the smartphone loaded with stock info. "Cheat key's right here."
Time flew; the 2002 World Cup neared. The era dubbed "Korea gone mad." Soccer fan like him watched games he'd rewatched endlessly—live. Desperate to go in person, but no tickets. Three months prior, parents phoned, he used the PC to book. Popularity exceeded imagination. They begged sponsors too—impossible. Dad could've; pro pals scored two tickets. But leaving him and Min-ji? Family watched at home.
Dad sat in the shabby house before the TV. They ordered chicken, prepped to watch. No move yet—for the luxury villa near Hanlim Elementary School in a ritzy area, close to Yu-bin's. Mom scouted value; now complete, they'd move in.
Smartphone showed skyrocketing land, but Mom wouldn't listen or believe. Bluntly, she had pointless stubbornness. Any house would've risen anyway—no biggie. "Son, bet with Dad?" "Bet? What kind?" "How many goals we beat Poland by."
Dad boldly wagered cash with his kid. Betting made cheering real, he added. He smirked and nodded. "2-0 win, 400,000 won. Scared? Then drop dead."