Chapter 1
Chapter 1
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Return
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The sensation on the instep of my foot.
The beautiful arc I drew.
The roar of cheers pounding in my ears.
The sweltering heat and the scent of the stadium.
It's a happiness I can no longer feel.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ My first memory of playing soccer as a kid was, naturally, the moment I scored a goal.
Even accounting for my age back then, I was a born goalscorer.
"I wanna score too! Let's switch spots!"
When a friend said he wanted to score as well, I became a winger.
"My kid wants to play offense too. Would Si-eon mind switching? That's what friends do—they take turns and make concessions."
A parent's suggestion to share and rotate positions turned me into a midfielder.
"Si-eon, just play here today, and I'll put you back up front tomorrow."
Before I knew it, all that yielding had me settled into one position for good.
I'd become the player for that spot, regardless of my talent or preferences.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ In soccer, your position is your identity.
For players, it's the job within the job—harder to change than the career itself.
Once it's set, it's rarely altered, and even attempting it is incredibly tough.
So when does it get decided?
Usually in childhood.
What experience makes a young kid fall in love with soccer?
A miraculous fingertip save?
Perfectly holding the line and stealing the ball on defense?
Chaining together endless passes?
Of course not.
It's nearly impossible for kids that young to pull off those plays.
And even if they do by chance, they usually have no clue what they just accomplished.
No, it's simply scoring a goal.
That's the spark that hooks most soccer players for life.
They start as strikers right from the get-go.
But soccer is an 11-on-11 team sport.
You can't build a team of just strikers.
Someone has to play midfield, someone defense, someone goalkeeper.
Goalkeepers are often the tall kids who naturally end up there—or the opposite, but they're rarely forced into it.
Those who stick with it are kids destined for it, unless they fight tooth and nail against it.
So, setting goalkeepers aside, where do you end up after getting pushed around over and over?
Fullback.
Even among world-class fullbacks, hardly any dreamed of the position from the start.
They get displaced from winger, center back, or midfielder and settle there naturally.
That's why it's the least popular yet most versatile spot.
Yeah. I got pushed around until I landed on fullback too.
Why lament my fate now? Because I didn't end up there due to a lack of skill.
Back in elementary school, I was a striker.
I hadn't started serious training yet—just neighborhood games—but I remembered bagging at least a goal or two every match.
Then I accommodated a friend who wanted to score, and I shifted to winger.
By middle school, parents' not-so-subtle pressure made me a midfielder.
In high school, the coach cited "tactical needs" and stuck me at fullback.
Later, I found out that coach was notorious for taking bribes from parents.
"Sigh... Regretting it now won't change a damn thing..."
Of course, it wasn't entirely blameless on my end—I went along with it all and stayed quiet.
But I thought it was what teams were about: sacrificing for the greater good.
I figured everyone else thought the same, so there was no reason to feel hard done by.
That said, it's not the fullback position itself that's the issue.
Obviously.
It's one of the eleven spots on any team.
The problem is getting trapped as a fullback while harboring the soul of a goalscorer.
After high school graduation, I signed pro right away.
Versatile fullbacks who just grind it out are always in demand, popularity be damned, so finding a team was easy.
But every team I joined, I failed to adapt and got shipped out like yesterday's trash.
The reason?
"It's so fucking frustrating!!"
"Ugh... damn it. Even thinking about it now pisses me off."
Playing fullback, I found almost every player—regardless of position—agonizingly slow.
Up through high school, I figured it was youth level and pros would be different, so I kept my head down and did my job. That got me scouted as a pro prospect, and I waltzed into a team.
But the first pro game? No nerves, no fear—just bafflement.
Everyone says the gap between pro and amateur is massive, but from my view, it wasn't that huge.
So I started with one or two teammates, offering "advice" disguised as pointers, until it was practically the whole squad.
At first, folks cut the newbie some slack, thinking I was just adjusting.
But it soured fast.
Skill aside, pros have sky-high pride.
A fresh-faced prospect—barely an adult, different position to boot—acting like they were dragging their feet? No one's taking that well.
Soccer players can get ridiculously petty in situations like that.
Soon, it went beyond training: deliberate no-passes in games, ignoring my calls.
After burning time like that, no clubs came knocking anymore.
My skills held up, but hopping teams short-term for "adaptation issues" and "teammate conflicts" branded me a problem child.
With no offers and exhausted from the grind,
I skipped two transfer windows under the guise of "rest."
In the end, I accepted it.
My soccer career was over.
What did I achieve in ten pro years, minus youth days?
For any player, it's money and glory.
Money? Even as the lowest-paid fullback, ten years of starter contracts meant financial security for life.
But what's the point? Constant transfers meant no roots, no one to share it with.
Glory?
Not entirely absent, but bench-warming while bouncing clubs? Meaningless.
It felt like the soccer player I'd been was erased entirely.
"Let's end it..."
I'd never imagined life without soccer,
so facing a normal existence without it terrified me.
I didn't want to wake up.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Si... Si-eon..!"
"Si-eon... you have to get up.."
'Did I not take enough?'
I thought it was plenty, but maybe not.
'But who's waking me up?'
"Get up.."
"Ugh.."
As my mind cleared, a numb ache spread through my arm.
"What the...?"
"Still half-asleep?..."
The moment I opened my eyes, a girl who looked like a high schooler filled my vision.
Her uniform confirmed it.
Sure enough, this was a school classroom.
Incredibly, I'd woken up not in bed, but slumped over a desk.
My wrist came into view, sleeve familiar.
I was in uniform too—my old high school's, no less.
"Si-eon..?"
"Huh?"
Caught off guard by the sudden shift, I'd forgotten the girl calling me.
"Ah... um... you know..."
Oh, right. I remembered.
Yoo Ji-na.
This timid girl fumbling in front of me was kinda-sorta my childhood friend.
We'd known each other since kindergarten, but not close enough to call it proper.
I waited for her to speak, piecing together old memories meanwhile.
"Um... Si-eon... which team are you going to..?"
While waiting, I'd sized up the situation: if this wasn't a dream, I'd gone back to just before turning pro.
Team, huh.
Right after graduating and hitting adulthood, I'd picked from the offers.
Criteria? Simple—the most recognizable name.
Among them, Bundesliga's Nürnberg, desperate for fullbacks and scouring everywhere.
Looking back, ridiculous choice.
Luckily, I'd only been talking to teams—no contract yet.
Seems I'd returned to those pure days, dreaming of pros without a deal inked.