The Standout Gem #2
Look at that kid.
The coach assigned to Group D had his eyes fixed on just one child — none other than Yohan.
Even by the most generous measure, his fundamentals were nothing to praise. He might have held his own in a neighborhood kickabout, but set against the youth players who trained with the club day in and day out, he was rough around the edges. The coach, however, couldn't have cared less about any of that. Fundamentals could be polished through training and time — that much was always true.
Spatial awareness was a different matter entirely. It could be developed through practice, yes, but the ceiling was clear and not particularly high. Climbing past a certain level was nearly impossible. And yet Yohan's gift for it far outstripped anything his peers could manage.
"I'm open!"
Thump!
Just now, again. He had drifted into a position that made receiving the ball effortless — a spot so well chosen it looked as though he had calculated the through-ball's path in advance. And he hadn't even strayed too far from his teammates. Another boy had been too greedy to play the pass, so Yohan never got the ball — but the positioning itself had been excellent.
It wasn't only that. Whether the play was in front of him, behind him, or off to either side, his ability to read the movement of the other children and create space was outstanding. Even on the ball, he exceeded every expectation. He was thinking properly about whether a pass would be more efficient, or whether he should drive forward himself or take the shot — and then he was executing those decisions. He saw the pitch wide, and his judgment was both precise and bold.
That was innate talent.
With only six outfield players a side, reading the game might have seemed easy enough — but these were children. Expecting kids with underdeveloped decision-making to possess that kind of vision was unrealistic, and the others on the pitch proved it. Most of them were locked onto the ball itself, and little else.
Fundamentally selfless, yet ruthlessly selfish the moment selfishness was called for. That was how Yohan played. Players who used their heads like that tended to enjoy long careers — longer and more distinguished than those who relied primarily on their physique. And if the body kept pace as well, the odds of becoming a world-class name people talked about for years were high.
No. Too early to say.
Talent was a deeply uncertain thing. Perhaps Yohan Lee's mental gifts — so far beyond his age — had already hit their ceiling. But what if they hadn't? What if there was still room to grow under the right coaching?
That hope was exactly why clubs across the world gathered promising youngsters the way people scratched lottery tickets. If the potential ever truly exploded, the payoff was enormous. When even one ability stood clearly above the peer average, the value of signing a player was more than enough — it overflowed.
Ordinarily, promising kids were approached through scouts. This boy, though, had walked into the club of his own accord through a football camp — a system weighted more toward recreation than rigorous training. Of course, the camp itself had been organized partly for club publicity and partly to unearth raw talent. Still, a gift this luminous rolling in on its own two feet was hardly a common occurrence.
He was operating on an entirely different plane from the other children. Letting this opportunity slip away would be absurd.
He stands out.
There was nothing else to say. Even if the boy had gone to some other club, the coaches there would have thought the same thing — and would have been drooling over a recruitment offer.
The coach glanced over at the man running Group C, the side they were currently facing. That coach, too, kept finding his gaze drawn to Yohan. Through another coach's eyes, the boy was every bit as conspicuous.
I'll keep watching for now.
The camp had been underway for less than half a day. Drawing conclusions this early was premature. It could still be coincidence — a handful of lucky moments stacking up into a single flash of brilliance. But the coach was certain it was no coincidence. A light the other children simply couldn't see was radiating from Yohan.
He would keep watching. And even if the boy ultimately fell short of the expectations forming in his mind, they would bring him in regardless. Passing on a kid with that kind of ability was something even a fourth-division club wouldn't do. First, he needed to look at Yohan's paperwork and get a handle on his personal details.
Having settled that much, the coach cast off his thoughts and turned his full attention back to the match.
"Haa… hoo!"
Yohan grabbed his sweat-soaked uniform and flapped it back and forth, and a rush of air swept across his neck. The wind itself was warm, but it was still far better than nothing. Following the coach's instructions, he sipped water in tiny amounts and cooled himself down.
The final score of his first club match was 6–5. Group C, the opposing side, had taken the win. Yohan had recorded two assists. He had taken three shots during the game; the Group C goalkeeper had stopped every one of them, so he finished without a goal of his own.
I can actually do this…?
To his own surprise, Yohan found the matches against these kids more than manageable. Thinking about it simply, the answer was obvious. The children who came to a football camp like this were a step below the official youth players on a club roster — which was precisely why he had been able to hold his own.
That was how he saw it. Completely unaware of the coaches' eyes fixed on him, he still believed he fell short of a true youth-academy standard.
Thud!
While Yohan was cooling off, another boy his age dropped down beside him. It was the same kid who, before kickoff, had demanded that the passes go through him.
"Out of breath already?"
"Yeah. I'm wiped."
"I could go another forty minutes."
"That's impressive. You played really well, though."
Just as Yohan said, the boy who had lined up as a striker had been genuinely good. His ankle strength, in particular, was remarkable. Even the shots that looked casually struck carried real power.
"I know."
A boy who had clearly heard plenty of praise and taken it in stride. Watching Yohan nod along, he seemed to take a liking to the way Yohan played, and introduced himself.
"I'm Oscar. Oscar Gutierrez."
Yohan tilted his head at the name.
"Are you Spanish?"
"No. Argentine."
"For real? Your Italian's really good."
"So is yours. Where are you from?"
"Korea."
"I know that place."
"Have you been?"
"No."
"Got it. Are you a Roma fan too?"
"I… yeah. I like Roma."
Hearing Oscar's slightly hesitant answer, Yohan decided not to press any further. Everyone had their own club. There was nothing wrong with Oscar not being a dyed-in-the-wool Roma supporter. The one lingering question was why Oscar had signed up for a Roma camp in the first place — but if the reason was simply that he wanted to play football, and if he liked Roma well enough alongside whatever other clubs he followed, it made perfect sense. Yohan let it go and settled into his rest.
Using a telephone set up at the club, Yohan called the convent and spoke quietly with Sister Caterina. These days most children carried at least one mobile phone, but Yohan didn't have one. The convent's lack of money was part of it, certainly — but so was the fact that Yohan himself simply didn't feel he needed one.
"Haley called. She's heading to America now, and she asked whether you'd already left for camp. She was a little hurt that you went without so much as a word."
"Was she? Haley likes me way too much — that's her problem."
It was the kind of line that would have made Haley furious, and Yohan delivered it without a hint of shame. On the other end of the line, Sister Caterina let out a warm, gentle laugh.
"How is it there? Are you having fun?"
"Yes — a lot of fun."
"I'm glad. What did you do today?"
"I got a tour of the club, learned fundamentals from the coaches, played a match, had a meal — a bit of everything, really."
"And the other children? How are they?"
"Everyone's kind, and they're good at football too."
"Is that so? I have a feeling Yohan will be the best of them all."
"That's the plan."
"A little competitive fire is fine, but you must not get hurt. Understood?"
"I understand. What are the other sisters doing?"
"The Mother Superior has to be at the Vatican early tomorrow, so she's already gone to bed. As for the other sisters… I'm not sure what they're up to right now. They were at prayer a little while ago."
"Please tell them I miss them."
"I will. And don't stay up late just because you're excited — get to bed early for tomorrow's sake."
"Yes, Sister."
After hanging up, Yohan returned to his assigned room with the coach who had been watching over him. Once the coach left, he climbed onto the top bunk and sprawled out flat on his back.
"When do we get to meet the players?"
"Dunno. I heard a few First Team guys are coming this week, though…"
"It's international break, so it'll probably just be the ones who aren't that famous."
"Still exciting, though."
The chatter of the boys sharing the room drifted over. Yohan had meant to take Sister Caterina's advice seriously, but listening to the excited voices of kids his own age, he found he couldn't sleep.
"Did Lorenzo Lucca get called up for the national team too? He hasn't left yet, right?"
In the end, Yohan poked his head over the bed rail and joined the conversation.
"Are you hoping Lorenzo shows up?"
"Obviously."
"We are too, but… better not get your hopes up. He picked up a hamstring injury in the last round of matches, so he might be recovering and not make it."
"I hope he comes."
"Same."
Yohan talked with the other boys for a very long time. He couldn't help it. Being here was the stuff of dreams — simply falling asleep would have felt like a waste.