Japan? I'm Not Going, No Way! (2)
"Wow, this piece of shit coach completely put a target on my back."
The article was clearly aiming at me. Looking at the comments, half were cursing me out, and the other half were cursing out the coach.
'Coach Uchihama? I remember him...'
In Luka's memories, Coach Uchihama had treated him quite well. My father's legendary status played a big part in that, of course.
But for a coach like that to flip his attitude overnight...
Well, it wasn't particularly surprising. Getting blamed whenever the national team lost was par for the course. Still, it was amusing to get trashed like this when I hadn't even played.
Actually, the insults didn't bother me at all. If Koreans were cursing me, I might have felt a tiny prick of conscience, but the people bashing me were Japanese. They had absolutely nothing to do with me, so I could just laugh it off.
The real problem was the article ranked number one on the portal.
"Fucking hell, they wrote a whole damn novel."
Reading this, you'd think I was some traitor who sold out his own country. No wonder it was sitting at number one on the portal's news rankings.
To make matters worse, I clicked a link in the comments that led to social media. One of the guys who had likely been rejected by Shinomiya High School because of me had posted on his story using his real name, confirming everything and putting me on blast.
'Seriously, the worse they are at soccer, the pettier they get.'
The reason for this article was obvious. The Japanese Football Association was probably pulling some strings, terrified that I might choose a different nationality. Since there were already a few guys bitter about missing out on Shinomiya High School because of me, they didn't even need to try hard to fabricate the interviews.
It was almost funny how transparently they were trying to manipulate public opinion to pressure my father and me. Since it gave me a good laugh, I could easily forgive them for writing such a slanderous piece.
"Wait, actually, now that I think about it, I'm pissed. Who the hell was that last interviewee? I seriously want to kill him."
But claiming I liked Ronaldo? That was a bridge too far. I absolutely could not let that slide.
I quickly opened Instagram. No long-winded explanations, just short and sweet.
'How dare they print such ridiculous lies about me liking Ronaldo?'
This was the absolute peak of yellow journalism, a complete work of fiction. I linked the article in my story, posted it, and waited for the reactions.
My most recent post was already flooded with Japanese insults. But within moments, the spamming stopped there and moved to my newly posted story, with Japanese hate comments pouring in.
"Ha, these bastards really don't learn, do they?"
Just as I was thinking of warming up my fingers—honed by years of keyboard battles—my phone rang.
"Hey! What's up with your story?! What the hell were you thinking?!"
"What do you mean?"
The caller was my younger sister, Luna. Her frantic voice was laced with worry.
"I'm asking what that story is!"
"How do you even know? What time is it in Japan?"
"Around one in the morning. Why?"
"Shouldn't you be asleep? Looks like you're still awake staring at your phone. Does Mom know?"
"That's not what's important right now! People are contacting me because of you! Is this really okay? What about Dad?"
"I told you, it's fine. I had a plan when I posted it."
"A plan? What plan? You live without a single thought in your head, big brother! Take it down right now!"
"Uh-uh. Just wait and see."
I heard Luna's desperate voice screaming right before I hung up on her.
'Always nagging.'
Truth be told, just as Luna said, I didn't really have a grand plan. But seriously, how was I supposed to just sit back and take that kind of abuse? Besides, a man has to speak his mind.
If I were the type to keep quiet, my past comments wouldn't have been dug up and mocked when I got injured. If I had been that quiet, my nickname would probably be something like "The Tragic Genius Whose Wings Were Clipped by Overwork."
But this was who I was. Even after my injury, I always said whatever the hell I wanted. I was already in a state of mind that could drive anyone crazy; if I couldn't even speak my mind, I probably wouldn't have survived.
'...Time to do what needs to be done.'
I opened Instagram again, still overflowing with hate comments. Just as I was about to pick out one bastard who insulted my parents and give him a proper education, my phone rang again.
"Luka?"
"Father?"
This time, it was my dad.
"What is the meaning of this? Did you really post that?"
"Yes, I did."
"Luka!"
My body flinched at his stern, booming voice. It wasn't that I was scared. It was just Luka's physical memory reacting.
"Well, there were too many comments insulting you in that article. I couldn't just stand by."
An excuse slipped out of my mouth reflexively. Luka, you really hated getting scolded too, didn't you? Luka and I were cut from the same cloth. Well, since I was Luka and Luka was me, it made perfect sense.
"This... this... Sigh. What on earth are you planning to do after pulling a stunt like this? You might never be able to set foot in Japan again!"
"I care about you more than any of that, Father. You dedicated so much of your life to Japanese soccer, and they write an article like this just because I missed one match? It's completely unacceptable."
I kept spinning excuses, my brain working at high speed.
"This isn't about me... Think about your future, Luka. At this rate, you might never play a single match for the national team. Quickly, say you were hacked or..."
'Wait, hold on.'
Hearing that I might never play for the national team made my mind spin even faster.
Was this... an opportunity?
Yes, this was a golden opportunity. A natural way to escape the Japanese national team. I had been stressing over how to break it to my father when I eventually chose the Portuguese national team, but now I didn't have to worry about that at all.
"No. I still have other options, don't I? I'm sure Mother would prefer it too."
If I were the Japanese Football Association, I would permanently ban a player who posted such an arrogant story. The opportunity had presented itself at the perfect moment.
"......It seems you've made up your mind. We'll talk at home."
"Yes. I'll head straight home after training."
Fortunately, my father's tone softened slightly. Of course, he still sounded incredibly angry.
In Luka's memory, his father was a man truly devoted to Japanese soccer. While he was usually gentle, he possessed the fiery temper of an athlete. I might be in for a beating with a switch for the first time since elementary school.
'Maybe I should just show him some of the hate comments targeting my parents? Nah, I'm fully grown now, surely he won't actually hit me.'
A slight wave of anxiety washed over me, but for now, I had to focus on training.
However, at that moment, I had no idea.
I had no idea that in a few months, a far more serious crisis would hit me—one that would make getting whipped by my father look like child's play.