I Have Arrived (7)
"Luka! Luka! Luka! Luka!"
Ah, now I feel alive.
Seeing the packed stadium chanting my name washed away all the frustration I’d been bottling up. A decent crowd had chanted for me back during the Colorado Rapids match, but hearing your name echoed by a sold-out stadium was something else entirely.
How long had it been since I last felt this thrill? I had to trace my memories back at least ten years to find it. The last time I’d heard a chant like this was during the 2030 World Cup.
After that, injuries kept me sidelined for so many matches that even when I did score, the cheers were never this deafening. Soaking in this roar now, I finally felt truly alive again.
I wished this moment could last forever, but the sharp blast of the referee's whistle shattered the spell. Bayern Munich kicked off their attack.
Orchestrating Bayern's attack was Thiago Alcântara. I wasn't entirely sure, but I vaguely recalled him retiring right around the time I entered middle school. True to my memory—and the match footage I’d studied—he possessed exquisite footwork and vision.
Right on cue, he was practically toying with Guendouzi, who was playing alongside Fabregas today, dancing around him with effortless skill.
It might seem shocking that a player of his caliber wasn't a guaranteed starter for Bayern, but considering their main midfield duo consisted of Toni Kroos and Bastian Schweinsteiger, it wasn't that surprising after all.
Alcântara shifted his hips and sprayed a long diagonal pass out to the right. From his perspective, that meant the right flank—which meant the ball was heading straight into my territory.
I sprinted toward their right winger, Arjen Robben, aiming to intercept it. But Alcântara's pass was pinpoint accurate. Robben cushioned the ball on his chest, effortlessly slipped past the double-team from Tierney and me, and laid it off to Joshua Kimmich, who was overlapping from deep.
"Block him!"
Tierney shouted, but fast as I was, I couldn't teleport. Kimmich collected the ball in space and whipped in a deep cross. Despite the distance, his delivery curled into the box like a whip, proving exactly why he was practically treated as a first-team regular.
Ivan Perišić rose to meet the cross. With Kolo Touré and Sol Campbell occupied marking Bayern’s two strikers, Perišić easily out-jumped Bellerín to connect with a powerful header.
Clang!
Fortunately, Perišić’s header rattled off the crossbar. It didn't go in, but it was such a close call that even the Korean fans back home—who used to joke about wanting him executed during my childhood—would have gasped. I let out a deep sigh of relief.
"Luka!"
"Huh?"
I turned around to see who was calling me and saw Tierney walking over.
"That was dangerous just now. You should've held your position!"
"Ah, sorry."
Well, if a full-back said so, who was I to argue? Full-back was often considered the final destination for players lacking elite talent, so to survive in the pros, they had to possess a high football IQ. When it came to defending, a full-back was usually right.
If he had dared to lecture me about attacking, I would have chewed him out for four days straight. But regarding defense, his advice was worth listening to.
Tsk, but no matter how I look at it, he was definitely going to get beaten by Robben.
Of course, I hadn't rushed over to help Tierney without thinking. Robben was a superstar even I knew well. When it came to raw speed, calling him the GOAT wasn't an exaggeration. His signature move—cutting inside from the right wing to score—was something I’d studied repeatedly.
Tierney, on the other hand, was a player whose name I barely recognized. He looked decent enough in training, but in a one-on-one against Robben, the outcome was painfully obvious.
Honestly, shouldn't he be thanking me for helping? Allowing a cross from Kimmich is way better than letting Robben cut inside for a shot. Then again, he's just a full-back, so maybe he doesn't see the bigger picture.
For a full-back—a position where intelligence is key to survival—his football IQ didn't seem particularly high. But then again, that was typical for a position filled with average players, so I let it slide.
Anyway, with Perišić’s header bouncing off the crossbar and out of play, it was our turn to attack again.
The ball was played to Fabregas. Whenever Bayern's midfielders pressed him hard, he calmly exchanged quick one-twos with his teammates, gradually advancing the play.
The ball didn't come to me during this build-up, but I wasn't annoyed.
I could tell he wasn't freezing me out; he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Fabregas drifted toward the right, drawing the defenders' attention. The moment he laid the ball off to Wilshere, my instincts screamed that this was the time.
Wilshere was playing as an attacking midfielder—a position designed to act as a dagger against Bayern's rigid 4-4-2 double bank of four. As soon as Wilshere received the ball, Bayern's defensive lines momentarily fractured.
Now, if Wilshere just played a return pass and Fabregas threaded the ball through to me...!
Just before peeling off the defender, I locked eyes with Fabregas. Right on cue, I sliced through their defensive line and made a darting run inside.
But the ball, which should have landed right at my feet, was nowhere to be seen. A player of Fabregas's caliber could easily have delivered that pass on a silver platter.
Did a world-class player like Fabregas really get sulky over a few words? Wondering what happened, I turned my head—only to see Wilshere holding onto the ball and trying to dribble through himself.
Wilshere showcased impressive two-footed dribbling—unusually refined for an English player—as he tried to break through. But he was quickly halted by the center-back, and under immediate double-coverage, he had no choice but to recycle the ball backward.
Naturally, having missed the split-second window for my blind-side run, I found myself stranded under the watchful eyes of the defenders once more.
We mounted another attack shortly after, but Bayern intercepted the ball, sending it out of bounds for an Arsenal throw-in.
Was I the only one who saw that angle?
Wilshere was undeniably talented. He loved playing one-twos in training and clearly had an eye for a pass, so there was no way he missed the opening that Fabregas and I had spotted. Yet he chose to force a reckless dribble right into the center-back.
Just as I began to wonder if Wilshere and Fabregas—who were close friends off the pitch—were teaming up to freeze me out, Robin van Persie started driving down the right flank. He forced his way forward and unleashed a curling left-footed shot from outside the penalty box.
Off-balance and heavily pressured by defenders, his angle was completely predictable. The shot was comfortably gathered by the Bayern goalkeeper. For a striker, having a shot caught cleanly by the keeper was an absolute embarrassment.
"Fuck!"
Hearing Van Persie curse out loud made it abundantly clear just how furious the hot-tempered striker was with himself.
Seeing both Wilshere and Van Persie playing so selfishly, the penny finally dropped. I realized exactly what was going on.
These guys are desperate.
In my memory, Van Persie was a legendary striker who won the Premier League Golden Boot. But right now, he was just a squad player rotating between the front line and attacking midfield. Wilshere, too, mostly played as an attacking or central midfielder, but occasionally started on the wing.
The arrival of a new rival—me—had rattled both of these rookies, driving them to force plays just to prove themselves.
"Sigh..."
Watching Fabregas shake his head and let out a heavy sigh as he jogged back to our half confirmed it. They were definitely overcomplicating things out of sheer impatience.
I glanced toward the bench. Manager Arsène Wenger had a slight frown on his face, his brow deeply furrowed. He was a man who rarely showed emotion, but it was obvious he was displeased with how our attacks were unfolding. Selfish solo plays were the exact opposite of the football Wenger preached.
This is a golden opportunity.
If I were an established starter, I might have tried to showcase my own skills with flashy dribbles. But right now, I was still a substitute fighting for a spot. Why take the hard route against formidable defenders like Kimmich and Jérôme Boateng when there was an easy way to score points with the manager?
Realizing my rivals were panicking, I adjusted my approach for the rest of the half. Instead of forcing risky dribbles, I focused on holding my position and making smart, safe passes.
The back-and-forth battle continued. Even with both teams fielding rotated squads, this was still a clash between European giants, leaving little room for major mistakes. Before long, the whistle blew to signal the end of the first half.
"Luka, excellent counterattack."
"Ah, thank you, boss."
"Your passing was crisp as well. I take it you've adapted to our tactics now?"
"Yes, well... we've been training together throughout pre-season, after all."
"Good. Well done today."
Thanks to my disciplined play, I finished my match today with praise from Manager Wenger, subbed off at halftime.
Being taken off at halftime during the regular season would have pissed me off, but this was just a friendly.
In a pre-season friendly, getting subbed off early—provided you hadn't made any glaring errors—was actually a positive sign. It meant the manager had seen enough to be satisfied. In fact, Fabregas received praise from Wenger and was rested for the second half as soon as we entered the locker room.
Wilshere and Van Persie stared intently at Wenger, hoping for validation, but the manager completely ignored their gazes.
That alone made it crystal clear who had won this round of competition.
What are you looking at, scrub?
The moment my eyes met Van Persie's, I flashed him a smirk. He quickly looked away.
Scoring the opening goal against a giant like Bayern Munich and taking the upper hand in the positional battle...
Ah, if there was one regret, it was that I hadn't forced Fabregas to admit defeat just yet.
Well, there are plenty of friendlies left, and it's going to be a long season.
For now, my goal was to secure at least the third-choice spot in the attacking rotation before the season officially kicked off. And fortunately, achieving that goal didn't look difficult at all.