Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Dribble
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A spoonful of fire in return, in the sense of forgiving racial discrimination.
This is truly a gentlemanly and jovial response.
Kwa-ang!
"Si-eon!!!"
I'd been given an advisory—practically an order—to stay off SNS until the next match began.
Since I'd already seen all the fun there was to see, I decided to comply without a fuss.
There wasn't anything more to watch anyway.
I was curious about the comments on my post, but I'd already devoured the hottest reactions in the first ten minutes after posting, so I was plenty satisfied.
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Lately, wherever I went, the stares of interest burned hot.
Especially after the club learned about my principled stand, they started managing me with extra special care.
As a result, Camila had become my full-time manager.
They'd stripped away most of her original duties to let her focus entirely on me.
I'd caused a massive stir right from the start, but even so, since I was a promising asset they'd been looking forward to even before my debut—and now proving far better than expected—this was less surveillance and more appropriate treatment.
Surprisingly, the long-time starters who'd stuck with Espanyol showed no real resentment toward me.
Of course not. To those who'd stayed loyal instead of jumping ship from a sinking club, I must have seemed like a savior.
As fans who loved Espanyol the club even more than being players.
Even so, while the Espanyol leadership was friendly, the new signings were openly hostile toward Si-eon.
It was partly because they'd been pushed out of the starting lineup by me, but more than that, it was raw, primal jealousy.
"Making such a fuss after just one game..."
"Right? You think we haven't had games like that? He just exploded in his debut by chance and got some attention."
They'd all been the aces of their local scenes back in their youth.
Digging through their memories, they could recall games where they'd carried the team.
They conveniently ignored how pro matches were worlds apart from youth games, though.
Of course, hostile groups had formed, but even more absolutely loyal followers had emerged too.
Namely, Adam Dolan and the other Espanyol youth academy grads.
Dolan, who'd come on as a sub in the last game, had put in a flawless performance and notched an assist.
After that, the positive reviews from me—his first trainee—sparked explosive popularity.
Of course, the top talent I'd been waiting for, the one I could fix up and use to perfection, still hadn't budged due to his pride. We hadn't even talked yet.
Looks like I'd have to approach him thoroughly according to plan soon enough.
It might be a hassle, but if I could remake this guy right, I wouldn't have to worry about wingers on either side even after promotion.
Instead of rashly approaching and bruising his ego, the moment he showed even the slightest interest in me...
That would be the moment to hook him for good.
Of course, things weren't all smooth sailing right now.
But the biggest gain from this mess was, surprisingly, Paul Hernandez.
The undisputed starting center-back for Espanyol and their vice-captain, a veteran player.
That Paul Hernandez had started occasionally seeking my advice.
"Lately, my pace has been slowing down, and I'm worried. Should I change my style?"
Paul Hernandez was the classic fighter-type defender.
Rather than waiting with his monstrous physicality, he charged out to handle things proactively.
This style had the advantage of quickly turning successful tackles into fast counterattacks, but it was high-risk, high-reward.
Paul boasted solid defensive skills, of course, but I couldn't say there'd never been moments during Espanyol's decline where his boldness backfired.
But his successes outnumbered his failures, and those wins often sparked goal-scoring chances, making it viable.
Paul Hernandez was at the tail end of his prime.
From here on, a sudden drop in form wouldn't be surprising.
True to his meticulous self-management, he'd noticed the changes in his body first and wanted to prepare.
"It doesn't show yet, but if the captain senses something..."
"Exactly. Above all, I have to stay in top shape. As captain and last line of defense."
What a leader's mindset.
"Truthfully, recovering lost pace is nearly impossible. I'm not sure I can help with that."
"I figured as much..."
"But I think I can assist in other ways."
"I'd love to hear it if you can."
What I had in mind wouldn't just help Paul.
"Let's do some one-on-one drills together."
Until now, Paul probably hadn't struggled defensively due to his pace.
But as time passed, those moments would naturally increase, eventually becoming a weakness opponents targeted.
So, we just had to prepare now for a future where pace was his Achilles' heel.
The classic sandbag training method.
Except now, it wasn't Paul slowing down—it was me bringing in fast opponents.
"If declining pace is the issue, why not start practicing against speedy players right now?"
"Hm... That's valid, but..."
He still harbored some doubts about my abilities.
My top official speed hadn't been revealed yet, and more importantly, attacking and defending were night and day.
Even as a defender—and a top-league one at that—could I really challenge him? His eyes said as much.
Rather than explain, I decided to show him.
Tok. Tok...
I lightly rolled the ball back and forth with inside and outside touches.
Paul got the idea and immediately opened his stance to the right, setting up.
I chopped my steps, waiting for the right moment.
First, I needed to prove my chops.
Tok.
Controlling the ball, I nudged it forward with my front foot.
The ball rolled out of my immediate control range, and Paul pounced on it.
This was the instinctive move of someone confident he'd touch it first.
But my right foot arrived first.
I quickly followed with an outside, then inside touch.
Flip flap.
The ball slipped between Paul's outstretched legs as he lunged, and before he could recover, I surged forward.
...
"You..."
Paul, who'd thought this might make for decent practice even against my confidence, couldn't hide his shock.
Trying to nick the ball away versus perfectly controlling it by extending fully.
If the same person made those two judgments, the former might lag in follow-up but reach the ball first.
In situations where a tiny difference decides the ball's fate, you'd always choose the quicker option.
Especially as a defender.
I'd anticipated that line of thinking, chaining clean moves to completely shake him off.
I'd beaten him in speed, skill, and the physical duel.
"Once more... no, a bit longer?"
This wasn't denial of the unbelievable.
Excitement and anticipation welled up.
The perfect practice partner might have just appeared.
After that, Si-eon humored him several more times, each scenario slightly different.
Sometimes straight speed battles with a drive-run, other times baiting his charge to steal timing—simulating countless situations.
And not once did Paul stop me.
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"Ah."
Ah, I'd started this to help, but after dribbling freely for the first time in ages, I got too carried away.
Plus, caught up in the moment, I even mixed in some taunting tricks that toyed with his nerves.
'Was that too much?'
Paul, ever the dignified captain, always maintained a stern demeanor.
Now he gathered himself and called me over.
Even I felt a twinge of guilt.
"Um..."
"How about switching to winger?"
"Pardon?"
"I've never played winger myself, but I've faced plenty called world-class. Still, I've never been so utterly schooled without touching the ball."
He seemed purely impressed by my skill.
Good that he wasn't mad, but part of me wished he had been.
"You could become a world-class winger! Believe me—I've faced countless attackers."
"I did play down my strength a bit at your request, but I'm not in a slump right now. This was for future prep."
"And against that, you hit 100% dribble success."
Position change.
Of course, I'd thought about it.
Above all, I had no intention of settling into one fixed position.
Depending on the opponent's weakness, I'd position myself where I could inflict maximum damage—by my choice alone.
Even as I finished recovery training and left the pitch, Paul trailed me, repeating the same thing.
"Camila! Alright, Captain, see you later."
I hurried into Camila's car.
"Phew... finally some quiet. Camila, hand over my phone."
"SNS is off-limits. Got it!?"
"...Understood."
"Hee hee..."
It was ridiculous control, but her earnest efforts were cute, so I'd been playing along with the phone confiscation game lately.
Bzzzt— "Hm?" [Web Message] You must respect me. I've won Best Defender twice, I'm Espanyol's top earner, and...