Jealousy at the Etihad Pub

Near Manchester City's home ground, the Etihad Stadium, stood Merry Dis—a traditional pub that had been pouring pints since the 1970s. Close enough to the stadium that Cityzens had long since claimed it as their own, a place to gather, argue, and talk football.

"The next match is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠going to be something else. God, how long has it been since it felt like this?"

A gray-haired gentleman in a classic City kit lifted his pint, beaming. The City scarf around his neck looked about thirty years old, and it told you everything you needed to know about how long he had been coming here.

"If we keep this up, we can be the City we loved most all over again."

"Couldn't agree more. We've been getting better ever since Peter Guardian walked through the door."

The old gentleman drinking beside him smiled and nodded along.

"The Red Devils... those bastards won't be strutting around much longer."

"Damn right. Crystal Palace spent a fortune this time, and we still beat them three-nil. Paid them back for last season's humiliation."

"Ha—I couldn't stand how they were cheering like they'd already won from the first whistle. And when the match ended? Crying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their eyes out."

"Serves them right. They think buying players makes you a big club. You need history, like us. History!"

Laughter rolled through the pub. On the faces of men who had supported City for decades, pride sat easy and bright.

"And those four Peter Guardian brought in this time—they're the real deal."

"You're telling me. That madman scored a brace on his debut, and Sanchez's passing... it took me right back to City midfielders from the old days."

"What about that defender, Castillo? Watching him flatten people with that physique of his—god, that felt good."

"The one who reminded me of Leo was that young keeper we just signed."

The pub went quiet.

Leo was City's legendary goalkeeper. And the old gentleman who had spoken his name had been there for all of it—the glory years and the long fall after. He had cheered through the triumphs and through the dark stretch when the club scraped along at relegation level, and he had never once looked away. A word from him carried a different kind of weight. Invoking Leo was as high a compliment as anyone in that room knew how to give.

"Just seeing him between the posts puts the fans and the players at ease. It took me right back to the day Leo first arrived at City."

"Cheers! To Tae-woo—our second Leo!"

Pints went up at every table. The name Tae-woo rang through the room, glasses knocking together in a bright, messy chorus.

"Still, I worry about Ederson and Tae-woo. If you think about it, Tae-woo took Ederson's place."

"What are you on about? Took his place? The starter is whoever's playing better. That's how it works."

"Even so—Ederson had a rough season, sure, but losing the shirt to a kid that young? How do you think that feels? I don't like the look of those two."

"Could be. But if they did get along, and Ederson passed his experience on to Tae-woo, the boy could become a symbol of this club the way Leo was."

The old gentlemen fell silent and looked at each other.

"Peter Guardian will sort it out somehow."

"Right. Worrying won't change a thing. Enough of that—let's have another round."

The day after the league match against Crystal Palace.

On a normal morning I would have been taking it easy with Chan-kyu, just the two of us. Today, though, Mom was in the house. She was already busy in the kitchen, and the rich, savory smell of her homemade doenjang-jjigae—a Korean soybean-paste stew—filled every room.

I'd grown up watching her like this over breakfast in Korea. I never thought I'd see it in England.

"Tae-woo, it's almost ready. Set the table for me, would you?"

"Please, ma'am, let me! That's my job—you're already doing so much. At least let me handle this."

Chan-kyu called it out toward Mom and headed for the kitchen. As he passed me, he dropped his voice.

"You rest. You played yesterday."

"Thanks, hyung."

A small smile tugged at my mouth. With a moment to breathe, thanks to him, the Divine Letter from the Soccer Goddess drifted back into my mind.

I made my debut and I didn't get a single achievement? That's weird...

"That bastard. Don't tell me he's off gambling again and didn't even watch my match."

I muttered it under my breath and headed for my room. The moment I stepped inside, a faint light was leaking from the bag I always took to the club.

Last time it glowed like that, the letter had changed.

If it was gambling talk again, I was going to find a way to chew her out. I opened the bag and unfolded the letter.

"What? My teammates think I'm a lunatic? Guerrero, not me?"

My voice jumped before I could stop it. I couldn't believe what I was reading. Where were you supposed to find a more model, well-mannered teammate than me—and they were lumping me in with Guerrero, the world's officially certified madman?

"Tae-woo, is something wrong?"

Chan-kyu's worried voice carried in from the other room.

"No, I'm fine. A bug just crawled out..."

I dropped my voice in a hurry and looked back at the letter.

"Right. That's not the point. Hey, Soccer Goddess—I unlocked three achievements. Where's the reward, like last time?"

If I pick up an ability the way I did before... Man of the Match next game is mine for sure.

It was not because Guerrero getting MOTM and strutting around would get on my nerves. Not at all. Call it professionalism. I just wanted to look better out there as Manchester City's goalkeeper.

"Don't tell me you gambled away every point I saved up. You swore it wasn't you..."

The instant I finished reading, a single pill appeared on top of the letter.

Huh... so I just swallow this and I grow?

Honestly, my height had never gotten in the way during a match. But the average Premier League goalkeeper stood at 188 cm. By that measure, I was undersized. At this position, you didn't even count as tall until you cleared 195.

How much is it going to add...? If I suddenly shot past 195, that might be a bit...

Three centimeters didn't feel like too much to handle.

Come to think of it, if I sold this pill to a conglomerate, I'd make a killing...

Height-growth drugs existed on the market, sure, but most ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of them were just overblown advertising. This goddess had no dignity and a gambling problem—but a god was still a god. A height pill with a divine guarantee would fetch a number beyond imagination if a major company got its hands on it.

Not that I was actually going to sell it.

I was about to take it on the spot when my hand stopped.

Come to think of it, you're supposed to take medicine after a meal. I'll have it after breakfast.

The next morning.

"Hmm..."

I stood in front of the mirror for a long time. On a normal day I would have given it a glance and moved on; today I turned this way and that, hunting for a difference. I had definitely grown. I just couldn't feel it. It should have happened overnight. Was this really three centimeters?

"Tae-woo, you're going to be late!"

Chan-kyu's voice hurried me into my clothes.

Did I actually get taller? I still can't tell...

I scratched my head and let it go. There was no point standing here overthinking it. I could get measured at the training ground.

I picked up my pace and headed in. When I opened the door to the indoor pitch, green turf stretching out under the lights, the captain was there as always—first to arrive, already warming up.

"Captain!"

Mathias turned at my call.

"Oh, Tae-woo—you're here."

He started toward me, then frowned, puzzled. He set his palm level with the top of his own head and moved it across as if he were measuring me.

"Tae-woo... did you get taller?"

So she wasn't lying after all.

"Wow, so you're still growing? At this rate you're going to hit two meters."

"Come on, it's not that dramatic."

We were still talking when someone behind me drove a shoulder into mine and shoved past.

"Agh!"

Who was that? Guerrero?

I turned. It was Ederson. He flicked a look over me, expression blank, and walked on without a word of apology.

"Ederson, what do you think you're doing? You hit his shoulder—you apologize."

"It's fine, Captain."

"Hah... I'm sorry. I'll talk to him later."

Not that I didn't understand. He had been the undisputed starter for a long time, and then some kid from nowhere had taken the number one shirt off him. On top of that, even he had to admit the debut had gone well. His pride must have been ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in pieces. He had probably been measuring himself against me ever since, and every comparison had only made it worse.

But if he keeps this up, one of us is going to have to leave the club...

I watched Ederson's retreating back with cold eyes.

And that someone isn't going to be me.