The Most Special Victory Yet
The locker room hummed with an electric tension as the final whistle blew. The scoreboard read 2-3 in favor of Chelsea, but the atmosphere had already tipped heavily toward Manchester City. Their defense had held rock-solid through the second half, and every breath felt like victory was within reach.
Chelsea launched another wave of attack, only for Lucan to snatch the ball and launch a pinpoint long kick toward the midfield line.
Sanchez received it, and instead of the expected safe pass, he chose to dribble.
Guerrero spotted the opening instantly and sprinted straight at Chelsea’s goal.
“… Ha… ha… ha…”
Guerrero pumped his arms, lungs burning as the thoughts raced through his head.
When he first joined Manchester City, he’d been certain he would become the club’s new king. No, he’d been absolutely certain.
Even now, as he chased the top-scorer title, the true king of the team remained Jung Tae-woo.
He still received the fans’ love. Everyone knew that. But the wild, fanatical devotion City fans poured out for Tae-woo? It made Guerrero’s own applause feel like nothing more than polite clapping.
Normally, the jealousy would have driven him to the wall.
His personality would have exploded.
‘Why am I not burning with it?’
Yet strangely, there was no resentment.
Tae-woo had long since stopped being just a teammate or friend.
When watching him play, Guerrero felt something strange, like witnessing the very essence of football itself.
“I’m still not good enough… I can dribble more cleanly like Tae-woo and shoot harder.”
Chelsea’s defenders closed in. The ball Sanchez had passed was rolling toward Guerrero’s feet.
‘How would Tae-woo have handled this?’
The memory of that training-ground dribble flashed through his mind.
The elegant touch that bloomed from the keeper’s feet. The instant he recalled it, Guerrero’s own steps grew smoother.
A smile unconsciously curved his lips.
Guerrero had always walked his own path. He had no nickname like “the second someone” and no idol to admire. Soccer had been Guerrero, and Guerrero had been soccer.
But since meeting Tae-woo, he had finally begun to envy someone’s playing style.
Even as a goalkeeper, maybe especially because he was one, Tae-woo’s football was something else entirely.
A guardian standing in front of the goal, yet sometimes more artistic than a striker, bending the pitch into something almost divine. The freedom that broke every positional boundary.
The very romance Guerrero had always craved had existed right in front of him, in Tae-woo.
[Manchester City’s last attack opportunity. Lucan’s long kick, Sanchez takes it… Oh! Guerrero launches himself forward!]
[89th minute of the second half. Guerrero has the ball! Chelsea’s defense is closing in…]
[Ooooh! A single perfect touch completely fooled the first defender! Follow-up phantom dribble! Unbelievable technique! Two Chelsea defenders sit down like it’s nothing!]
[Guerrero! The movements of the top scorer! Now a one-on-one against the goalkeeper! City fans shoot to their feet!]
[At this exact moment, 89 minutes into the second half… possibly the final chance of the match… Guerrero finds himself face-to-face with the goalkeeper!]
Through Guerrero’s eyes, the Chelsea goal loomed. Kepas crouched low, staring him down.
World-class goalkeepers like Kepas pressed forwards with crushing pressure.
But even Kepas, universally respected, could never match the pressure Jung Tae-woo exerted.
The memory of their one-on-one training session surfaced. The unpredictable saves Tae-woo had shown. The body language that seemed to read the future. Could Kepas replicate that?
‘You’re not Jung Tae-woo.’
Kepas took one step forward.
Guerrero lifted his foot just a fraction.
Tuck.
The ball rose slowly, impossibly slowly, into the air.
Time seemed to stop. Every eye locked onto that tiny speck.
Kepas’s desperate fingertips scratched the empty space, but the ball slipped away with elegant grace and nestling into the net.
“… … … … … …”
The silence was absolute.
Then—
“WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!”
The explosion that followed shook the stadium.
Ten thousand voices merged into one roar that rattled the city itself.
Like the climax of a symphony, every emotion crested and broke.
3-3. 89th minute of the second half. Guerrero had finally created his own perfect moment.
And it might very well have been the most beautiful, the most meaningful goal of his entire football life.
But there was no time to savor it. In the blink of an eye, Guerrero was carried away by his teammates’ cheers beneath the human tower they had formed.
“Ah! Save me!”
“Pull him down! Pull him down!”
* * *
[With only Brentford and Nottingham left, Manchester City’s 35-match unbeaten streak now rests on the final two games.]
[Lucan’s miraculous transformation—three goals conceded in the first half, flawless defense in the second. The 15-year veteran goalkeeper who stepped in to protect the City goal when Tae-woo was absent.]
[Two games remain. A new history awaits Manchester City as they challenge for an unbeaten title under the final command of Manager Peter Guardian.]
[Lucan’s growth story: from reserve team to first team, from mistakes to perfection. The father’s fighting spirit shown right in front of his son Oliver.]
[Guerrero’s late equalizer goal explosion—Manchester City’s miracle worker!]
Yet the headlines did nothing to lift their spirits.
Instead, the players dug deep. Even at the start of the season, they trained as if it were still the first day.
The only sounds filling the training ground were the patter of sweat and the steady rhythm of breathing.
“Ha… ha… ha…”
“Final sprint! Stay locked in until the very end!”
Peter Guardian’s voice echoed across the pitch.
Sweat-soaked shirts moved in perfect unison.
No matter how grueling the end-of-season situation, the players’ movements showed not the slightest crack.
“I know it’s hard. But we’re going to fill the last two pieces of this puzzle no matter what. That’s the respect and repayment we owe the fans who waited for us.”
The players’ eyes sharpened with every word from the manager. Each sentence sank deep into their muscles.
Their footsteps toward the dream of an unbeaten title could never be reversed.
That was when it happened.
Mike, the coach, sprinted up from the far end of the training ground, chest heaving.
His face was not the usual calm one.
“Coach…”
Mike leaned in and whispered something urgent in Guardian’s ear.
Guardian’s expression changed instantly.
The usual composure vanished. Shock flashed across his normally steady eyes.
“Wait… pause the training for a moment. Stay in place and wait!”
The sudden command sent every player’s gaze flying to the manager.
It was something that had never happened before.
Guardian was legendary for never calling off training.
The players instinctively exchanged glances, breathing in sync.
“What the hell happened?”
Guerrero asked, and Sanchez answered while catching his breath.
“If the coach is this shaken up, it must be something huge.”
“Shaken, sure, but there’s no anger in it. So maybe it’s not that bad.”
But the players’ curiosity refused to die.
The coach who never lost his poker face under any circumstance…
‘Could it be that daughter he mentioned last time?’
Whispers flew among the players.
Although Guardian kept his private life quiet, they suddenly remembered the day he had casually brought up his daughter.
Captain Mathias noticed the unusually bright look on the manager’s face and asked cautiously.
“Coach, is there something good happening today?”
“Haha, does it look like that? No, it’s our Elizabeth. She got accepted to Oxford University’s medical school—”
And that was the moment the legendary poker-face owner’s hidden side was laid bare.
“Our Elizabeth… she’s always been incredibly smart. Since she was five, she’s been carrying books around… and she plays the piano amazingly…”
Ten full minutes passed.
No tactical analysis. No strategy meeting. Just pure “daughter bragging time.”
A private conversation that usually lasted less than thirty seconds had stretched to ten.
The players stared at their normally stoic coach in disbelief, yet they could feel the light in his eyes—the same light he probably wore when raising a trophy.
The man who had been called “tactical maestro,” “poker-face artisan,” “wisdom manufacturer” now had one more title added.
“Daughter-obsessed Guardian.”
At that exact instant, the training-ground entrance swung open.
Beside Guardian stood a young woman with neatly tied golden hair.
Her smile, sparkling in the sunlight, instantly brightened the entire field.
“Elizabeth, we’re still training—”
“No way! I missed you too much! Dad keeps bragging about you guys on the phone every single day…”
Guardian cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed.
“Our Elizabeth… so…”
“Daddy, I’ll do it.”
Elizabeth stepped forward boldly.
The DNA of Peter Guardian was unmistakable in her confident stance.
“Hello. I’m Elizabeth. It’s an honor to finally meet the players Dad always talks about.”
“But… we’re still training…”
Guardian tried to protest, but Elizabeth was already blinking at the players with sparkling eyes, asking questions one after another.
“Player Guerrero, Dad said your finishing is incredible… especially that equalizer against Chelsea was absolutely amazing!”
“Haha, I’m the best!”
“Player Sanchez, you’re so cute! How do you play soccer so well?”
“Uh… thank you.”
Sanchez’s face turned scarlet in an instant.
‘As expected, a beautiful girl walks into a room full of men and the atmosphere comes alive.’
Elizabeth walked from player to player, shook hands, and praised each one, lifting their spirits.
“Haha, you’re too kind.”
“It makes sense now why the coach brags about his daughter so much.”
Finally, Elizabeth walked straight toward me.
Up close, she looked like a painting come to life.
Golden hair, soft as silk and shimmering in the sunlight, framed a pair of crystal-clear blue eyes that reminded me of the pristine lakes of Northern Europe.
“I’m really your fan, Player Jung Tae-woo.”
Of course I had Jang Da-min.
I thought Elizabeth was beautiful, but I only saw her as the manager’s daughter.
“Yes, nice to meet you too.”
“Hehe, will you date me?”
The entire training ground froze solid.
“Waaaat?!”
“Eh?”
“Huh!”
Shocked voices erupted from every corner of the pitch.
“Jung Tae-woo! That bastard!”
For the first time, Peter Guardian’s legendary poker face completely shattered.
His usually calm face flushed crimson in an instant.
He started sprinting toward me.
“Coach, wait! It’s nothing, I didn’t—”
Mike and David coaches grabbed him urgently.
“Calm down, Coach!”
“Tae-woo did nothing wrong…”
Elizabeth was still laughing brightly, as if this whole situation were the funniest thing she had ever seen.
‘Is this the American style I only heard about…?’
I kept glancing between the running manager, the coaches trying to hold him back, the players struggling not to laugh, and the innocent, cheerful Elizabeth.
‘As his daughter, how do I even reject him…’
A heavy sigh escaped me.