The Holy Prince
Beeeeeep—!
The sound ringing in Yohan's ears was not the referee's whistle.
It was tinnitus — the kind that comes just before your mind blanks out entirely, or when you plunge into a state of extreme tension.
And yet Yohan was concentrating harder than anyone on the pitch.
Without even registering that the ringing had started, he was absorbing every detail of the match unfolding before him. The frantic shifts between attack and defense. The intricate individual movements of each player that flickered out amid the chaos… He was taking it all in — until,
Thwack—!
—Yeeeeaaaaaahhhh!!!
Roma scored the opening goal, and only when a massive roar erupted from the stands did he finally snap back to himself.
Huh… how long has it been?
Yohan shook his head hard and looked up at the scoreboard above the pitch. It had felt like barely five minutes, but the clock was already showing the twentieth minute of the first half. He must have gotten so absorbed in the match that he'd concentrated far too hard.
"Yes!"
The substitute sitting next to him locked Yohan in a headlock and ruffled his hair with pure delight. Still half-caught in the hold, Yohan clapped several times — then tilted his head when a midfielder on the pitch, while the rest of the team celebrated, jogged over near the touchline, said something to a coach, and pointed at his own leg.
An injury?
Judging by the way the medical staff were examining him, it didn't look serious — more like he was complaining of mild discomfort. Manager Ferraro walked over, checked the player himself, exchanged a few words, then cast a sidelong glance toward the bench.
Yohan had no idea, but Ferraro was wrestling with a serious dilemma.
The player nursing the discomfort was the backup for Alessandro Rossi, currently sidelined with a hamstring injury — a mezzala operating in the third line. His role was to push aggressively through the half-spaces between the center of the pitch and the touchline, supporting Lorenzo Lucca in the second line. He claimed he was fine for now, but if the muscle tightened up later and he demanded a substitution, the midfield would be completely gutted.
They were currently edging Sassuolo in the midfield battle by the thinnest of margins. Dropping a clearly inferior substitute into the mezzala role would tip that balance the other way.
Gio's tactical understanding is high, though…
Exactly as that thought suggested — there was a player perfectly suited for the position: Yohan. Ferraro had long judged that Yohan fit the third line far better than the first or second, and had frequently experimented with him there in training. The results had been more than satisfying, which was precisely why Yohan had made the squad in the first place.
There was one other third-line substitute besides Yohan, but the kid was so poor that he'd fallen completely out of Ferraro's favor, and his contract was set to expire next season. Even so, a player like that — however limited — still had a better chance of holding up than Yohan, whose experience was desperately thin.
A First Team match was a different dimension from anything at Primavera level or below. The gap in match experience, technique, and physicality was incomparable, and the weight of fifty-thousand-plus pairs of eyes and the roar of the crowd only compounded the pressure. Because of that, Ferraro was also considering the common managerial fallback: sending on a player of proven quality, even if his position and tactical role didn't perfectly match.
Hmm…
If this had been the second half, he might have given Yohan at least a taste of his debut. But it was still the first half — anything could happen — and that made him hesitate. Under normal circumstances, putting a fifteen-year-old kid on in the first half was unthinkable.
But the manager reminded himself that Yohan's training performances had been outstanding — almost too outstanding. And the flashes of genius Yohan had shown in those sessions were burned deep into his memory. That was why he couldn't settle on a decision.
If Yohan had only just been called up, Ferraro would have firmly chosen someone else. But enough time had passed, and Yohan's learning ability was sharp enough that he'd had ample opportunity to absorb the tactics. So Ferraro decided to have both players warm up and see how the situation developed.
Having made up his mind, Ferraro headed back toward the bench and fixed his gaze on Yohan.
In that instant, Yohan couldn't help but swallow hard. He had a gut feeling — a sense that he was about to be told to warm up.
"Gio, Dante. You two — start warming up."
Exactly the words he'd expected. Yohan shot up from his seat a little too eagerly, pulled on the fluorescent mesh bib the coach handed him, took a deep breath, and began stretching in the designated zone just outside the touchline.
And the cameras found him.
"Hey…! Hey!! He's out there!"
Ciro, who had been stuffing his face with the snacks he'd bought before kickoff, spotted Yohan and tore himself off the back of his seat, his whole body trembling. The way he started jostling the friends on either side of him was the kind of thing Haley normally found completely unbearable — pure, shameless fussing, to put it bluntly.
But today was different.
"Holy shit…! Is he actually going on!?"
Haley had already been swept up in the electricity of the crowd's roar after the opening goal. The thought of someone who was practically family stepping onto that pitch, doing something, and hearing the stands erupt for him — it sent her into the same kind of frantic excitement as Ciro.
"Hey! You mutt! Is Turtle actually playing!?"
Haley almost never called Ciro by his name. It was usually "rascal," "mutt," or whatever insult sprang to mind in the moment — and Ciro usually just ignored her. But just as Haley was drunk on the atmosphere, so was Ciro, and he answered her rude question from several seats over with surprising generosity.
"I don't know yet! But he's already warming up, so I think we can get our hopes up!"
"You said it!? I'm getting my hopes up, then??"
"I said I don't know yet!!"
"If he doesn't play, you're dead!"
"I said I don't know, so why are you freaking out!?"
The two of them bickered at full volume for a while — and then the Roma bench grew restless. The player who had complained of discomfort about ten minutes earlier was signaling for a substitution.
Beep-beep—!
The referee briefly stopped play and signaled both the substitution request and the need for medical staff. The fourth official relayed the information to Manager Ferraro and the coaching staff, and Ferraro pointed a coach straight toward Yohan.
"Tell Gio to come over. Brief him on his role."
Of the two players he'd told to warm up, he had chosen to send on Yohan.
"Gio! Gio!!"
The coach shouted, gesturing for him to come over. Yohan, who had been lightly jogging while watching the match, spotted him and his eyes went wide.
Thump—!
His heart dropped hard in his chest — a surge of excitement and nerves all at once. He knew, instinctively, that he was about to go on.
He sprinted over to the coach.
"You called for me?"
"Yeah. You're going on. Take the bib off."
"Ah — yes."
Yohan stripped off the bib in a hurry and locked every ounce of his attention on the tablet the coach held out.
"Basically, play from the left-central area. When we're defending, press from the third-line position. When we attack, move through the half-spaces — but if you need to open a passing lane or you see an opportunity, you're free to leave your spot. Ricci and the others will cover for you."
"Yes."
"Think about the tactical movements you showed in training. Don't be afraid to dribble — do it often, shake them up. Just don't sit on the ball and drag it out. Got it?"
"Understood."
"You'll be fine, kid. Don't overthink it — get ready by the fourth official."
Third-line midfielder. It wasn't a position Yohan particularly preferred. But he had no complaints. He wasn't in a position to be picky about cold leftovers or hot ones — the thought of complaining never even crossed his mind. He simply took meaning from the unexpected chance to play, and resolved to do it well.
"Gio's going on!"
Ciro, who had been watching Yohan rather than the match, pointed his friends toward the touchline where the fourth official stood. At the same time, the stadium announcer delivered the news in a clean, concise voice.
AS Roma substitution. Number 16, Kasper Olsen, is coming off. Replacing him — number 39, Yohan Lee.
A youth academy product's debut. Under ordinary circumstances, the stands should have erupted in thunderous applause and encouragement. Instead, a brief silence settled over the crowd.
"His face…"
"I-is he okay? He looks so pale…"
"Is this right…? Did they mess up the sub…?"
On the big screen, Yohan's face was projected large — and the extreme tension written across it was unmistakable. Those eyes that usually drooped half-lidded were twice their normal size, and his nostrils were already flaring as if his breathing had gone ragged.
"Oh, we're screwed."
Even Ciro muttered it under his breath without thinking. Yohan's condition looked that bad.
The silence didn't last long. Since a substitution was happening either way, the fans clapped for Kasper Olsen as he left the pitch — and for Yohan, who was still trying hard to steady his breathing.
Ugh… he can't go on like that…
Haley, too, was flooded with worry the moment she saw his face.
Get your breathing under control. Pull yourself together.
She was mentally whipping him into shape when Yohan drew in a deep breath — and let it out. Then Kasper Olsen high-fived him, pulled him into a quick hug, and Yohan sprinted onto the pitch.
Watching him alone on the screen, Haley felt a measure of relief. She could see his face settling into composure almost immediately. Through her personal screen, she caught the back of him as he turned — the deep red jersey with YO-HAN marked across it in the Korean style — and thought his back looked surprisingly broad.
Objectively, Yohan's frame was smaller than the other players. But through her eyes, he looked big. She didn't know why. It just felt that way.
I should take a picture.
This was the debut of the little kid who used to run around singing football songs. A day this monumental deserved to be captured specially. With that thought, Haley quickly pulled out her phone and opened the camera app.