I'm Heading Overseas (2)
“What? What did you say?”
“Luka! What do you mean by that?!”
The moment I declared my intent to go pro overseas, my parents' faces turned to shock. Especially Mom—her already big eyes seemed to double in size.
Honestly, I couldn't quite understand their reaction. Dad, Tachibana Yuichi, had been a national team player. He should know better than anyone how crucial it was to experience overseas life at this age.
“Ahem. Luka. So, what about high school?”
“High school? Do I really need to go?”
What does a soccer player need to learn besides soccer? To be honest now, my highest education was middle school. After going to Sporting as an exchange student, I attended school there briefly, but once I made the first team just six months after signing, I barely went to classes. I trained exclusively with my adult teammates. And that time was what skyrocketed my skills.
I already had a proven path to success—if only for the damn injury—so why stray from it? Plus, hanging around with high school kids who couldn't keep up would just dull whatever match sharpness I had left.
“You still need to go to high school, right?”
But Dad wanted me to graduate. Guess the thirst for education was a shared Asian trait.
“Yes, Luka. And it's not just any school—it's Shinomiya High School, Japan's top private high school.”
Mom, full-blooded Portuguese, chiming in made it seem like a universal thing.
I could see how desperately they wanted me to go to high school.
“I'm sorry, but I've made up my mind.”
Truth be told, moments like this were a big reason I wanted to go overseas. A hefty chunk of my motivation.
Their eyes on me brimmed with worry and love. But it was for Luka, not me. Even if Luka and I had come to an understanding, I still felt uneasy and guilty conversing with them from inside his body—like I'd stolen it overnight.
Maybe it was best for everyone if I left soon. For them, and for me.
“Come on, if that's what Oppa wants, why not let him try? I don't know much, but he's good at soccer, right? Dad was grinning about it too.”
“Luna.”
“What? I'm not saying anything wrong. Oppa must have his reasons.”
“Ahem. Luna, have you finished eating?”
“Ugh... you're sidelining me again? Fine, fine. I'll leave, the clueless one.”
Luna slammed her chopsticks down and bolted upstairs. Mom almost called after her, but Dad stopped her with a hand.
Damn, she's practically full Japanese now.
Her looks screamed foreigner, but her reactions? Pure Japanese. Seeing Mom pissed off made me feel a twinge of guilt toward Luna. She'd tried to back me up because of what happened that afternoon, only to draw Mom's ire.
With Luna gone upstairs, their gazes locked onto me.
“First off, this is something I've been thinking about for a while.”
“But you were thrilled when Shinomiya High School contacted us.”
“Dear, let's hear Luka out first. He's speaking more formally than usual—he must have a plan.”
Huh, so they weren't the type for polite speech with family. Yeah, maybe leaving this place was best for all of us.
“I think it's better to learn advanced European soccer as soon as possible. Before bad habits set in. You said the same thing, Dad.”
“Mm, I did say that once.”
Dad nodded. I'd looked up his career after that drinking session, and it seemed to have worked.
Tachibana Yuichi was a famous Japanese player who'd represented the national team until 2014, retiring after the World Cup. Online, some trashed him for Japan's 8-strong exit in the first post-retirement Cup, calling it a dark age. But he was still a legend.
He'd done tons of interviews. Though he returned to Japan with his family later, he'd spent years in the Bundesliga with Mainz, experiencing cutting-edge systems firsthand. How could a guy like that not criticize Japanese soccer? Even I, a failure, had done it without personal bias.
So Dad couldn't refute me...
“But Luka, going abroad will be tough. Plenty of people have cut you slack because you're my son, knowingly or not. And sure, Japan has subpar coaches, but Shinomiya High School is different. You liked Seiran Middle School when I recommended it, right?”
...or so I thought. He was just gearing up to counter.
“But it's not enough anymore. Learning here would just make me a Japanese-style striker. You know Japan lacks coaches who can develop forwards like me.”
This wasn't me throwing a tantrum. My old world or this one, Japan always struggled with strikers. They produced solid midfielders for the world stage, but no finishers. A huge flaw.
“...”
Score—this counter landed. I pressed the advantage.
“Has any coach in Japan ever handled a player like me? The guidance has been good, but I've felt something missing. To quench this thirst, I need to go overseas. It's not weird for kids my age. You lived in Germany young too.”
“Hmm... How about attending Shinomiya High School first? They have ties to Mainz, where I played. Build your skills for a year, then head there. That's what they pitched when they scouted you.”
Didn't see that coming... But a man rides momentum. I didn't back down.
“That's the loser's way.”
“...Pardon?”
“If there's a fallback, you'll make excuses. I want to challenge with no retreat. It'll force me to fight harder.”
“Well...”
Dad stared straight into my eyes. I met his gaze unflinchingly.
“Dad, no one's ever pushed me this hard. Staying here will drag me down.”
“Haha, now that's my Luka. You spoke so well, I thought you weren't my son. You've prepared to convince us. Fine. A warrior doesn't speak twice. The path ahead may be rougher than before. My name won't carry weight overseas. Are you sure you won't regret it?”
“Of course.”
“Haha, that's my boy.”
Classic 80s-90s athlete—bold as hell.
“Dear! Even so, he needs some education! It's Shinomiya High School! Japan's best. Even if he switches paths later, a Shinomiya grad...”
“Dear, I don't think our son will stray. He's Tachibana Yuichi's boy.”
“But still...”
“Trust him. He's ours.”
Mom grumbled a bit, but Dad was head of the house, and this was soccer. She eventually nodded along with us.
“Luka, you've grown up. I saved some sake for when you became a man... Dear, fetch it.”
“Dear, but alcohol...”
“Your first drink is with Dad. Right, Luka?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“Heh, at your age, I'd drink with teammates. But just one today.”
“You...”
Mom glared, but brought the sake and cups anyway. Their chemistry was solid.
“So, Luka. Any clubs in mind?”
“Yes.”
“With your talent, a youth team should take you. Where?”
“Well...”
I sipped the sake Dad poured, and we bloomed into talk of the future.
*
I had a dream. In it, I was a blond kid celebrating a goal, running toward my parents—not my real ones, but the Tachibanas.
Ah, shit. What kind of dream is this? The booze? Luka must've been a lightweight.
We'd agreed on one cup, but soccer talk got heated, and I kept accepting refills. Drank more than planned.
First time, didn't know my limit... yeah.
That thought lingered, then puzzled me. Why think it was my first drink? Late-20s me knew my tolerance.
But tracing memories, Luka's flooded in—ones that shouldn't exist.
Family days in Germany as a kid. Joining elementary soccer, Dad's joy at my first game. Thrill of my first youth national team kit. Middle school league wins, family memories.
A panorama of Luka's life. No anime had this, so it was real—his memories.
...Am I Luka? Then who’s Kim Taehyun?
Luka dreaming Kim's life? Or vice versa? Head aching, I pondered, but my core insisted: Kim Taehyun.
Doesn’t matter anyway.
What mattered: a healthy body to play soccer. Show the world my true skill, unmarred by injury.
One worry down, though.
I'd worried our deal killed Luka, but waking to his memories surfacing? Nah. Kim or Luka, it was all me.
Soccer world was the same—legends from different eras, but here I breathed, so I was me. Kim's self felt dominant, but whatever. I was I.
No time for middle school soul-searching. Waste of precious days.
Time to train.
Clock said five a.m. Earlier than usual, but fine for a light jog. I threw on a windbreaker and headed out.
Cool wind hit me, like missing a routine. My hand patted the pocket instinctively.
Ah, smokes.
Nothing there, of course.
Good chance to quit. Off to train.
First smoke-free morning in years, but no cravings.