I Have Arrived (3)
A body blessed by the gods.
Did it need any other explanation?
I already knew it, but as the protagonist's rival, Luka was a character showered with the author's blatant favoritism. Wasting such physical gifts on playing rival to some Japanese high schooler was practically an insult to this body.
It had been quite some time since I became Luka and Luka became me, but coming to this training camp made me realize that fact all over again.
"First place... is Luka again."
I ranked first in the team in almost every physical category, including speed, agility, muscle function, and flexibility.
While I fell slightly behind monsters like Vieira and Campbell in terms of endurance, jumping power, and raw strength, even those stats were easily within the team's top five.
I couldn't help but marvel at this superior physique myself.
Hearing the coach's announcement, the players who considered themselves my rivals couldn't hide their sour expressions.
Especially those who didn't know me personally.
The reserves and youth academy graduates, who had played with me for a few months and knew my athletic abilities, just accepted it.
But the first-team players like Walcott, Ljungberg, and Van Persie—as well as those returning from loans like Nelson, Nketiah, and John-Jules, who knew nothing about me—glared with fierce intensity.
Van Persie, in particular, looked ready to murder me.
Honestly, it was understandable.
Van Persie's position in the team was roughly a '1.5-tier' player—the first option off the bench when one of the starting front three needed a rest.
He was instinctively identifying which of his many positional rivals posed the greatest threat to his spot.
In my memory, Van Persie was the legendary striker who listened to the 'little boy' inside him and went on to win the Premier League Golden Boot.
But the young Van Persie standing here wasn't in a position to be picky about his playing time.
He was just a greenhorn, bristling at the arrival of a new rival.
"Hey."
"What?"
"Don't get cocky."
Hmm... Seeing how he went out of his way to pick a fight unlike the others, it seemed there was more to it than just positional rivalry.
Is it because of that?
Come to think of it, Van Persie had been giving me those death glares since the second day.
And I remembered what happened the day before.
During dinner, Bellerín had heard I was from Portugal and warmly greeted me in Spanish.
At first, I hadn't recognized Bellerín, but looking closely at his face, the melody of a certain popular song popped into my head, making it hard to suppress a laugh.
Right then, our captain, Vieira, had called a meeting for the players who dropped out of the shuttle run.
The excuse was extra training after dinner to build stamina.
I wondered how on earth they were going to build stamina in a hotel meeting room, but since I wasn't summoned, I naturally didn't go.
And the outcome was obvious.
According to Saka, who had attended, Vieira had whipped them into shape.
He didn't go into details, but looking at Saka's shell-shocked face, it wasn't hard to guess what had happened.
Honestly, this primitive 2010s approach was laughable.
Back when I was playing in my past life, we didn't have stuff like this.
Vieira's outdated method of enforcing discipline and preaching about mental strength was ridiculous enough, but what made it even more absurd was that Fàbregas, who had definitely dropped out of the shuttle run, skipped the meeting entirely to hang out with other players.
Well, seeing how the players' eyes sharpened the next day, I did wonder if that kind of shock therapy actually worked.
Anyway, Saka said Vieira brought me up a lot while chewing them out.
He apparently scolded them, asking how they could give up when the youngest kid on the team was still running.
Thinking about it now, that was definitely when it started.
The moment Van Persie began looking at me like he wanted to kill me.
"Look at those eyes. Keep your head down and don't get cocky, kid. You're not stupid enough to think you're good at football just because you came first in a few fitness tests, are you?"
And I wasn't the type of player nice enough to just take that lying down.
"You talk too much. Are you scared?"
"Sc-scared? You little punk...!"
"Whoa, whoa. Rob, what's gotten into you all of a sudden?"
Just as I was debating whether to unleash my Taekwondo spirit, Saka rushed over and stepped between us.
Glancing past him, I saw Vieira, boasting his naturally massive frame, standing nearby.
"Haha, looks like the young lads have some energy to spare?"
He slung his arms over my and Van Persie's shoulders.
Fuck, the body odor...!
Since we had just finished the fitness tests, the dizzying stench hit me like a truck.
I almost threw a punch instinctively, but the immense pressure clamping down on my neck froze me in place.
Naturally, Van Persie was in the same boat.
"I like the competitive spirit. But remember you're on the same team first, okay?!"
"Ugh..."
"Ack!"
As he finished speaking, Vieira squeezed his forearms, forcing groans out of both Van Persie and me.
Fortunately, I had been holding my breath, but Van Persie must have been inhaling because he started coughing uncontrollably.
"Haha. Real training starts tomorrow, so save the competition for the pitch. If your blood is boiling so much you can't stand it, come see me."
Vieira slapped both of our backs and walked away.
Only then could I finally breathe.
Still, the lingering scent left me feeling lightheaded.
Looking to the side, I saw Van Persie waving his hand in front of his face, gasping for air just like me.
You too, huh?
A silent understanding passed between us.
Without a word, we both burst into laughter at the same time.
Of course, it didn't last long.
"...Anyway, don't mess around."
"Worry about yourself, asshole."
I flipped him off, and he promptly returned the gesture.
He was still trying to pick a fight, but I didn't feel as annoyed as before.
Well, like Vieira said, the real deal starts tomorrow.
Once tactical training began in earnest, he would have no choice but to acknowledge the gap between us.
Losing to a 21-year-old Van Persie, who wasn't even in his prime yet?
If I were going to let that happen, I wouldn't have come to England in the first place. I would have just stayed in Japan and played king of the hill.
Since I was aiming for the starting spots held by Walcott and Ljungberg, a 21-year-old Van Persie wasn't even on my radar.
With the fitness tests out of the way, the real training camp began the next day.
"Luka! Use the fullback more!"
"Rob! Great movement just now! Keep running behind the defense!"
"Luka! Wilshere was open there! You need to keep practicing the passing patterns inside the penalty box!"
"Rob! Good pressing! You're working hard today!"
"Luka! Press harder! The team has to press as one unit! Didn't they teach you that in the academy?!"
In tactical drills, it wasn't easy to outperform Van Persie, who had spent a year building chemistry with the squad and fully absorbing Wenger's tactics.
But once the mini-games started, it was a different story.
"Stop him! Stop him!"
"Wow, that Luka kid. He's definitely the real deal."
Since rough tackling was banned during training, even the starting back four struggled to stop my dribbles.
"Rob's got it!"
"Heh, not against me!"
"Ah! Kolo! Get out of the way!"
On the other hand, Van Persie was busy whining after getting shut down by Touré, whom he was close with.
I didn't know what the coaches thought, but in training, it was practically my victory by decision.
Tactics were something I could get used to as the camp progressed.
Well, even in my prime, I was never the type of player to press hard or track back constantly, so the defensive tactics were a bit tough.
But I was a striker. Defense didn't really matter to me.
"...Now, here is the starting lineup for our first match against the Colorado Rapids."
"Macey in goal. A back four of Chambers, Mavropanos, Holding, and Tierney. Elneny and Torreira in central midfield, Cottrell as the attacking midfielder. Saka on the left wing, Maitland-Niles on the right wing, and Greenwood as the center forward."
Just as I expected, my name was missing from the starting lineup for the first match.
One might ask if being left out of the starting lineup was a bad thing, but this was a pre-season friendly.
As you could tell from a starting lineup packed with youth players and reserves, the key players would come on later just to check their condition.
In that sense, being left out of the starting lineup meant I had already surpassed most of the youth players!
I'd prefer to come on near the end.
The long-awaited first-team match began.
Dominating Colorado from start to finish, our team took the lead with an opening goal from Saka.
Around the 15-minute mark, Wenger gestured to the coaching staff.
Please, not me. Not me. Or at least, let me come on later than Van Persie...!
"Nketiah! Nelson! Coyle! Get ready!"
"Yes, boss!"
Fortunately, Wenger's first call wasn't for me.
The players on the bench warmed up and entered the pitch shortly after.
Seeing that Saka was still on the field, it seemed he had made a strong impression with his opening goal.
Even though he started, he was the team's top prospect before I joined, so they were bound to guarantee him at least 45 minutes.
Prrrrt! Prrrrt! Prrrrt!
The whistle blew to signal the end of the first half.
We headed into the dressing room.
"Martínez, Bellerín, Xhaka, Wilshere, Van Persie, Tachibana. The six of you will be subbed in at the start of the second half."
Nice! Wait, actually, it's a bit of a shame...
Since my name hadn't been called by the end of the first half, I thought I might be subbed in with the core starters, but it seemed that wasn't the case.
Still, considering I had just signed a professional contract and joined the training camp, this was pretty good treatment.
According to Wenger, the second-half lineup would feature Martínez in goal; a back four of Bellerín, Mustafi, Touré, and Kolašinac; Guendouzi and Xhaka in midfield; Wilshere as the attacking midfielder; Van Persie and me on the wings; and John-Jules as the center forward.
Aside from John-Jules, this was a squad strong enough to compete with lower-tier Premier League teams.
That meant I was already in Wenger's plans for the season.
And since I had already caught his eye, all I had to do now was perform.
Starting with this friendly against Colorado, followed by the pre-season cup matches against Bayern Munich, Fiorentina, and Real Madrid.
"Luka, are you ready? Just show them what you've been doing in training. Okay? Don't be nervous."
One of the coaches patted my shoulder, likely trying to ease the tension for the youngest player on the team.
"Nervous? Of course not."
"...Good. Go out there and show them what you've got."
"Naturally."
Considering the starters needed their fitness checked, I would probably get about 25 to 30 minutes of playing time.
—Waaaaaaah!!!!!!
Up until now, I had only played in unofficial matches with virtually no spectators.
Seeing the decent crowd gathered in the stands, even if it wasn't packed, made me feel like I had returned home.
How long had I looked forward to playing football in an official stadium like this?
And wearing the shirt of a giant club like Arsenal, no less!
I still didn't know how I ended up in this strange world, but nothing had changed since the day I first opened my eyes here.
All I wanted was football.
And even though it was just a pre-season friendly, this match was my first step.
First, should I start by putting that guy in his place?
As a sacrifice for that first step, crushing Van Persie—who was currently glaring at me with burning determination—seemed like the perfect place to start.