Hale End (4)
"Hey, aren't you nervous?" Clarke asked a stupid question while I was tying my boots in the changing room.
Asking if I was nervous—to someone who had trodden the pitch of a Champions League semifinal and the World Cup proper.
"What's there to be nervous about? It's just another game."
"You and your big mouth..."
Clarke shook his head at my response. Yet, even as he did, his face was practically dripping with tension. It was painfully obvious how desperately he wanted to prove himself in today's match.
For the record, Clarke was the only friend I had made since I started training at Arsenal. The reason was simple: I already knew him.
Back when I played for Ipswich Town in the Championship, our captain had been a certain 'Harry Clarke.' Seeing that he was still 'Harry Clarke' here, I couldn't help but pay attention to him.
To find out if this Clarke was indeed that Clarke, I had no choice but to get close to him. After observing him for three days, I confirmed he was the exact same person.
Especially that habit of chewing with his mouth open—he had it even as a kid. I once threw a spoon at him because of that annoying habit, so there was absolutely no doubt this was him.
Starting with Clarke, I had searched the names of players I had faced in the Championship or played alongside in the Portuguese league. Sure enough, players with the exact same names as in my memory existed here too.
At first, I wondered why these players had identical names, unlike the famous stars whose names were slightly altered. But I soon figured out the reason. The author of this manga probably didn't even know such obscure players existed.
The players with altered names were probably like dummy data in a video game. My brain's big data, honed by countless YouTube Shorts, concluded that the author had changed the famous players' names by a letter or two, intending to introduce them later, and that setting had simply carried over into this reality.
Seeing how the Champions League and league winners hadn't really changed, it was likely because the author hadn't bothered to write detailed settings for them, leaving them exactly as they were in reality.
Well, knowing that didn't change anything. Pondering whether I had become a manga character, what this world was, or who I truly was... those existential questions were utterly meaningless to me now.
The only thing that mattered was football. Specifically, the fact that I could play in the same era as legendary players. By the time I retired, this period would undoubtedly be remembered as the golden age of football.
And it was only natural that the player who conquered this era, packed with the greatest talents in history, would become the undisputed G.O.A.T. I could only thank the manga author—the god of this world—for giving me the chance to become that player.
"Tachibana, Tachibana. You know how important today's match is, right?" Just as I was about to offer a silent prayer to this god, Gillard, the head of youth development, approached me in a flurry of excitement.
The reason Gillard, who had looked down on me when we first met, was making such a fuss was simple. He had realized that our dynamic of power had completely flipped in just three days.
Three days was more than enough time for anyone with working eyes to see my true caliber. And surely, someone with blind eyes who couldn't recognize a gem wouldn't be sitting in the youth director's chair of a massive club like Arsenal.
"Tachibana. Honestly, your signing is practically a done deal. There's absolutely no need to be nervous."
Contract talks were already underway through my father, but because I hadn't given a definitive answer yet, Gillard was on pins and needles, terrified I might go on trial at another club. I didn't actually plan on going anywhere else, but his terrible first impression made me want to tease him a little.
However, before I could play along, Gillard dropped a bombshell that caught even me off guard.
"Luka, Manager Wenger is coming to watch today."
The first-team manager, Arsène Wenger, was coming to watch this match! Wenger—a manager who needed no introduction, the very embodiment of Arsenal. To me, he was a figure from nearly a decade ago, but even I knew his name and his achievements. He was undoubtedly at the pinnacle of the managerial world.
...Wait, is he? Thinking about his contemporaries like Ferguson, Guardiola, Ancelotti, Mourinho, and Klopp, maybe he isn't quite at the absolute peak?
Regardless, he was close enough to it, and he was the main reason I had knocked on Arsenal's door first out of all the big clubs. Wenger's love for nurturing young prospects was legendary even in my era.
And though this world was slightly different, Wenger was still producing results with youth here. Players under twenty-three like Fàbregas, Wilshere, and Van Persie were regularly starting for the first team, keeping the squad's average age remarkably low at around twenty-four.
The current Premier League was practically in a warring states period, with legendary managers commanding the top clubs. Ferguson at Manchester United, Mourinho at Chelsea, Klopp at Liverpool, Guardiola at Manchester City... in my memory, every single one of them had lifted the Champions League trophy at least once.
However, Chelsea had Hazard, which meant the opposite winger had to track back constantly to cover defensively. Besides, Mourinho was a notoriously defensive-minded coach, which didn't suit me.
Manchester United utilized traditional wingers rather than wing-forwards, and Ferguson's infamous temper—which even I, from a later generation, knew about—didn't appeal to me either. Klopp's Liverpool, with its extreme physical demands, also clashed with my style.
That left Guardiola's Man City and Wenger's Arsenal. But Guardiola's Manchester City, which prioritized intricate passing over a winger's individual brilliance, wasn't my style either. If I had to pick a weakness in my game, it was passing.
During my prime, I was too busy tearing apart opposing flanks with my dribbling to ever care about passing. After my injury, when I transitioned to a striker, I learned to link up play to some extent, but it was never a standout strength. I was just average for a forward.
But Wenger's Arsenal was different. While they also built their play on passing, they always deployed a winger on one of the flanks who could tear defenses apart with explosive, direct runs.
Currently, that role at Arsenal belonged to Theo Walcott. There was no reason I couldn't beat out a guy famous only for his pace. Combined with Wenger's penchant for youth, Arsenal was the place where I could break into the starting lineup the fastest.
And now, I had a chance to catch Wenger's eye in a friendly match I had dismissed as trivial?
I can't let this slip. First impressions are everything.
To be fair, it was a high-pressure situation. I had only been training with Arsenal for three days. I hadn't received any proper tactical instruction, nor had I built any chemistry with my teammates. Any ordinary player would likely struggle to adapt to the match.
Yes, any ordinary player. But of course, I was anything but ordinary. If I were, my family and Joo Cheol-hyung would be crying in heaven.
"Tachibana, you know what I'm getting at. The boss can never look away from a talented young player once he spots them."
He was telling me that if I showed my talent, making it to the first team would be a breeze, so I should sign with Arsenal.
"But isn't there a first-team match coming up soon?"
"He's probably here to check on Mustafi and Kolašinac."
Mustafi? Kolašinac? I felt like I'd heard those names somewhere. They sounded incredibly familiar.
Naturally, I hadn't heard them during any pre-match tactical analysis. There was no way they'd do a tactical breakdown for a friendly between the club's own U-18 and U-23 teams.
The sole purpose of this friendly was to maintain match fitness. It wouldn't even be surprising if the teams mixed in the second half, so there was no need for tactical analysis.
Of course, performing well without any tactical preparation or analysis would only boost my stock, so it wasn't a bad thing. But more importantly, Wenger was here to check on those two players.
Before coming to London, I had checked Arsenal's recent matches. Unlike their bloated attack, their defense was practically a revolving door between Bellerín, Touré, Campbell, Chambers, and Monreal. That meant the two players Gillard mentioned were highly likely to be defenders.
"They're defenders, right?"
"Huh? Of course. It's not like Arsenal has another Mustafi and Kolašinac running around."
I knew it. Though I couldn't recall the details, the fact that their names sounded familiar meant they were players who had spent a few years in the Premier League with Arsenal. Getting to showcase my skills against established Premier League players in my very first match was a stroke of luck. And right in front of Wenger, no less.
"Anyway, the club has high expectations for you."
Seeing Gillard speak as if I had already signed with Arsenal, I let out a slow smile. No words were needed. A footballer always did his talking on the pitch.
"Shall we go show them what I can do, then?"
Mustafi and Kolašinac. Playing several seasons in the Premier League, especially for Arsenal, meant they possessed a decent level of skill. Yet, they were ultimately mediocrities who hadn't left much of an impression on me. They were the perfect stepping stones to catch Wenger's eye.
I warmed up while scanning the U-23 team's lineup. Since both teams utilized tactics similar to the first team, their formations were identical.
"Hey, Clarke. Which one is Mustafi and which one is Kolašinac?"
"You came all the way here without even knowing that?"
Clarke looked at me like I was an idiot as we traded passes.
"Just tell me who they are."
"...The left-back is Kolašinac, and the center-back next to him is Mustafi."
I might have been a few years younger than him in this body, but a footballer's authority is determined by his skill. Clarke, who was barely clinging to a starting spot in the youth team, couldn't withstand my sheer footballing aura. He meekly answered my question.
"Really? Good. No need to switch sides then."
In my memory, Bukayo Saka was a right winger. But currently, he was playing on the left, which meant my position today was on the right, directly matching up against Kolašinac.
No matter how superior my footballing ability was, pushing out the youth team's brightest talent after just three days was a bit much.
If I wanted to, I could have demanded the left wing, where I had played during my prime, but I didn't particularly care for it. Considering that bastard lurking on the left wing of the Portuguese national team, I needed to adapt to the right side anyway.
Sure, I was definitely better at football than him, but the guy was a master of self-promotion and held a status akin to a national hero in Portugal. It was better to show that I was versatile first.
Frankly, I would probably end up playing as a striker for the Portuguese national team anyway. After all, the right wing was occupied by a twenty-seven-year-old legend named Luís Figo.
But trying to make my mark as a striker at Arsenal right now was equally impossible, given that Thierry Henry, the legend of legends, was ruling that position.
But to become the best player in the world, they were all obstacles I had to overcome eventually. My plan was to establish myself as a winger at Arsenal—the easiest path to first-team minutes—gradually transition to playing as a forward, and eventually claim the striker spot for Portugal.
For now, I would build experience on the unfamiliar right wing and increase my versatility. Even to myself, it sounded like a flawless plan.
"Oh, Clarke. I've been meaning to tell you this since we first met."
I figured I might as well throw a bone to an old acquaintance.
"Huh? Out of nowhere?"
"You're much better suited as a right-back than a midfielder."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
As expected, my old teammate reacted fiercely. To young players, fullback was a position reserved for losers who lacked the talent to be wingers and the physicality to be center-backs.
Just as the saying goes that no one starts their career wanting to be a fullback, being told to play fullback was practically a death sentence to an aspiring youth player. Hence, Clarke's hostile reaction.
But the Clarke in my memory was a fullback. And it was thanks to that transition that he managed to play in the Championship until late in his career.
Fullback was a position where you could survive even if your footballing IQ was a tier or two lower than the rest of the pitch. If he stubbornly clung to being a midfielder, he would have ended up rotting away in League One or League Two.
Besides, the earlier you changed positions, the better. Naturally, unless you possessed a monstrous talent like mine, switching positions was no easy feat. If he changed now, he might at least make the bench for a lower-tier Premier League side.
Yet, despite the massive favor I was doing him, Clarke stared at me with a stiff, icy expression, as if he had just been deeply insulted.
"Tsk. I literally gave you the answer key, and you still react like this."
"God, I swear, if I could punch you..."
But opportunity is bald at the back. Ignoring the fuming Clarke, I turned my gaze to Kolašinac, who was warming up with the ball. He was the man I would be clashing with all day.
Okay, level confirmed. It looked like I didn't have a single thing to worry about.