Kickoff (1)

"Argh!"

A sharp cry echoed across the pitch, and the players instantly froze. As they gathered around the fallen player, their faces grew grim.

"Thierry!"

"Are you okay?!"

And for good reason—the player lying on the grass was none other than Henry. To see Henry, the team's top scorer from last season and arguably the best forward in the Premier League, go down during a simple training match was a nightmare scenario. My eyes immediately locked onto him. He was clutching his calf, grimacing in pain. A player of Henry's caliber wouldn't fake it. This was a real injury.

"Ugh, wait. My calf..."

The trainer rushed over to assess the damage. But judging by Henry's reaction and the trainer's tense expression, this wasn't the kind of injury that would heal in a day or two.

We only have five days until the season opener...

If there were two irreplaceable players in this squad, it was Henry and Fabregas. With the kickoff just five days away, Arsène Wenger watched the scene unfold with a deeply worried look on his face.

"For now, we need to get him to the hospital for a proper scan," the trainer said.

"Hmm... Right," Wenger muttered.

While the manager, coaches, and players all stared at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Henry with concern, I noticed one player who had a completely different look on his face.

What are you looking at?

As if he felt my gaze, his eyes locked onto mine. There was no need to explain who he was. The owner of that insolent stare was none other than Robin van Persie, my direct rival for the second striker position.

His expression was a strange mix of worry and anticipation. If Henry was out, he was the prime candidate to take that starting spot. Of course, so was I.

But seeing how the anticipation seemed to outweigh his worry, did he already assume the spot was his?

"Hey, you should try earning your spot fair and square with your skills," I called out.

"What are you talking about?" Robin snapped.

"You don't honestly think Henry's spot is going to be yours just because he's out, do you? Not with me here. Besides, he walked off on his own, so it doesn't look that serious."

Henry was indeed walking off, albeit with some support. It didn't look like a catastrophic injury. Since he was holding his calf rather than his thigh or knee, it was likely just a muscle strain. In the best-case scenario, he could be back in a couple of days.

"Hmph. I'll handle my own business," Robin grumbled.

As I pointed out the reality, the hope faded from his face, replaced by a sour grimace.

"Of course you will. I'm just worried you'll get your hopes up and end up disappointed. Think of it as big brotherly concern."

"Big brother? You're a wet-behind-the-ears kid..."

"Does age matter on the pitch? I'm better than you, so obviously I'm the big brother."

"What a load of bull..."

"Oh, but then again, even if Henry has to rest for a while, the opportunity probably won't reach you anyway, so you shouldn't expect much. Once Henry is out, I'm obviously next in line."

"Are you looking for a fight?"

He really was easy to rile up.

"Whoa, whoa."

As I was teasing Robin, Saka stepped between us. But even his face looked a tiny bit brighter than usual.

"...Why are you looking like that?" I asked.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"No, you look kind of happy."

"H-Happy? Our teammate just got injured, why on earth would I be happy?"

"Hmm..."

Under my suspicious gaze, Saka scratched the back of his head and laughed awkwardly.

"Well... if a spot opens up in the attack, I might at least get to sit on the bench..."

What was so great about sitting on the bench? Then again, from Saka's perspective, it made sense. Despite showing good form during the US tour, he had been spending more time training with the fullbacks since our return.

While we had Tierney and Kolašinac on the left, Tierney still needed to prove himself after coming from the Scottish league, and Kolašinac had spent last season as a backup. Because of the thin squad depth, the club seemed to be using Saka as a utility player to plug any gaps.

I could understand the club wanting to test a promising seventeen-year-old in multiple positions, but to Saka, being told to play fullback must have felt like a death sentence.

But in this situation, if Henry's injury meant either Robin or I took the central role, a spot on the wing would open up. Since Saka could play on either wing, it was only natural that he felt a glimmer of hope.

"Didn't you say Henry was the player you respected most?" I asked.

"W-Well, that's that, and this is this. And his injury doesn't look that bad anyway..."

"Tsk. Know your place and dream within your limits, kid," Robin scoffed, reprimanding Saka. It was amusing how he and I were thinking the exact same thing.

"Exactly," I said.

"...Huh?" Robin blinked.

"That's exactly what I feel when I look at you."

"Why, you arrogant little...!"

"Stop, stop! Robin! Calm down!" Saka pleaded, desperately trying to hold Robin back.

But he was barely managing to contain him. Suddenly, a hand grabbed the back of Robin's neck.

"Honestly, you kids. You get along so well," a voice said.

"Who gets along with a guy like him...!" Robin grumbled, but he couldn't finish his sentence.

Even with his hot temper, he couldn't act up in front of Bergkamp, a senior national teammate and one of the most respected veterans in the squad.

"Sorry, but the feeling is entirely mutual," I added.

I had no desire to be associated with someone like him either.

"Our teammate just got injured, and here you two are bickering. Keep this up, and I'll have a word with the boss," Bergkamp warned.

"Huh? About what?" I asked.

"That I'll play as the lone striker."

Hmm... Bergkamp was technically an attacking midfielder, but he essentially played as a shadow striker. The role wasn't that different, and as a veteran, he certainly had experience playing up front. If he went to Wenger and asked to play there, my starting spot really would vanish. I quickly backed down.

"Oh, come on, there's no need for that. You need to play in your natural position for the team to win, especially since it's the opening match."

If Bergkamp moved up, it would leave a vacancy in the attacking midfield, but that was a position I had never played. Sure, I'd play there if ordered, but there was no need to ruin my debut by playing out of position.

"Haha, we get along great. Right, Luka?" Robin laughed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠awkwardly, trying to throw an arm around my shoulder.

I know you want to play, but this is a bit much...

Naturally, I dodged him immediately.

Still, I was better than him. I wasn't desperate enough to fake a friendship.

"Haha. Right, work hard, you two. Play nice," Bergkamp chuckled and walked away.

"Yes, sir!" we replied in unison.

Answering at the exact same time as him annoyed me, but the fact that Bergkamp had singled us out meant the coaching staff was indeed considering us to fill Henry's void.

Football minds usually think alike.

And if they did, the choice would obviously be me.

"Hyaaaah!"

"Robin! Great intensity!"

When training resumed, that petty bastard was shouting and working harder than usual, but it didn't bother me at all.

"Oh! Luka! Working harder than usual, are we? Great defensive contribution just now," the coach praised.

"...I'm just playing like I always do," I replied.

"Haha, good, good."

The coach accused me of working harder on defense, but pressing the opponent's defenders to disrupt their build-up is a basic duty of a center-forward. I definitely wasn't tracking back harder just to outshine that guy.

Anyway, as training drew to a close, Henry returned from the hospital.

"Well... they said I strained my calf muscle and need to rest for one to two weeks. But depending on how it feels, I think I might be able to return to training sooner," Henry reported.

"No," Wenger shook his head. "The season is long. Take your time and recover fully."

"Ah... Understood," Henry replied.

A two-week recovery. Listening to Henry and Wenger, I quickly calculated the upcoming schedule.

First was the opening match against Wolverhampton, second was the UEFA Super Cup against Bayern Munich in Turkey, and third was Huddersfield. Since it would take about two weeks, he might return for the Munich game at the earliest, but they wouldn't rush an injured player back for the Super Cup.

And since the fourth match was against Manchester United, they would likely play him against Huddersfield to help him regain his match fitness.

That means I have about two or three games...

One day, two days, three days.

The opening match drew closer.

"Alright, here is the starting lineup for the opening match. Leno in goal. Bellerín at right-back, Campbell and Touré as center-backs, left-back... Fabregas and Vieira in midfield, Ljungberg and Walcott on the wings. Bergkamp as the attacking midfielder, and up front... Robin."

"What?! Not me?!"

The lineup Wenger announced completely defied my expectations. I bolted upright, shouting in disbelief.

"Luka!"

"Tachibana!"

My sudden outburst drew everyone's attention, and a few ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠players called out my name in warning. But even with the pressure from my teammates, this was unacceptable!

"Luka," Wenger called my name, locking eyes with me. His sharp, intense gaze pierced right through me.

"...Yes, Boss."

"Robin has Premier League experience, and he performed well as a center-forward last season. Do I need to say more?"

Based on our training performances and friendly matches, starting me was the logical choice. But the decisive difference between us was experience.

"...No, Boss."

I had no choice but to nod. Wenger had chosen the player with at least some experience for the opening match. Throwing a tantrum here and getting on the manager's bad side before I even made my debut would be incredibly foolish.

"I was impressed by what you showed in pre-season, so don't be impatient."

"Understood."

Come to think of it, most of my impressive performances had been on the wings. Furthermore, Robin was better at linking up play than I was, so it wasn't entirely incomprehensible when I thought about it calmly.

Considering Robin had been given the number 9 shirt during the squad number assignments, the club clearly had high expectations for him as well...

Sigh, if only Walcott or Ljungberg had gotten injured instead...

I shouldn't have been thinking like that, but the thought crossed my mind anyway. Regardless, with Robin starting, I was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the clear first-choice option off the bench. As Wenger said, there was no need to rush.

If anything, it only motivated me more.

Fine. When I get subbed on, I'll prove his choice was wrong.

However, there was one highly annoying detail...

Luna was teasing me mercilessly about the bench news.

"Hey, big bro? So, are you actually playing in the opening match?"

"Luna-chan, that's rude to Luka," Haruka chided gently.

"Oh, come on, Haruka. You heard him too. He was bragging so much while we were studying about how he was going to start in the opening match."

"W-Well, he did..."

"Wow, and he got all hyped up when he's not even playing? I wonder if we can refund the tickets," Luna teased, referring to the family season tickets the club had provided.

"U-Um, Luka. Don't worry too much. I'm sure you'll get to play. I-I'll be cheering for you!" Haruka said, trying to comfort me. She had received the last of the four tickets allotted to each player. But her pity only made my face burn hotter.

Damn it, just wait till I get on the pitch. I'll show everyone exactly who I am.

And so, amid a slight sense of embarrassment, the opening match of the season drew near.