Chapter 23
Chapter 23
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 23
Chapter Title: That Team in Turin - Part 2
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The day of the showdown had dawned.
I woke up even before the alarm I’d set earlier than usual, folded my blanket, washed up thoroughly, and came out to pack my bags.
I thought I’d probably be the first one, but when I came down to the lobby, a few of the kids were already there.
As we exchanged simple greetings, I noticed their expressions looked a little different from usual.
Clearly, today’s match wasn’t important just for me.
Currently, we were second in the group. The first-place team was that team from Turin.
To take first place, we had to beat the top team. That was only natural. Of course, at this youth level, the team’s record wasn’t that important, but still, it would be nice if we could take the top spot.
Also, Fiorentina and that team were rivals.
Since yesterday, the coach had told us several times that we absolutely could not lose to that team.
It was the first time the coach had said something like that, so even I, who didn’t know the details, could feel that this was a derby.
Maybe that’s why. Everyone had serious faces without a trace of their usual mischief.
I sat there among them, quietly closed my eyes, and cleared my head.
“Let’s go.”
When it was time, we followed the coach and left the dorm. It wasn’t far to the stadium, so we walked, but the familiar streets didn’t feel welcoming at all.
I walked while looking up at the sky as much as possible.
And we arrived at the stadium.
I felt a nauseating churn in my stomach from the moment I spotted the stadium from a distance.
That team uses their own training ground as the stadium. The facilities are good enough to be used as a stadium.
Meaning, the field I had to play on today was the very training ground I had hated going to every morning.
A place with absolutely no good memories.
As I stepped inside, it felt like all the bad memories were creeping back up.
But I didn’t shrink my shoulders.
Instead, I puffed out my chest.
Because I’m not the me from back then.
No one here can touch me now, and if they try, I won’t just take it.
Repeating those thoughts to myself, I went to the locker room, stored my bag in the locker that used to be full of my trash, changed my clothes, and stepped out onto the field.
Following the coach’s commands, I warmed up and woke up my senses with shooting practice. Just as my body was getting properly warmed up, the kids from the opposing team started coming out onto the field, one by one.
I saw familiar faces.
The guy who never passed to me, the guy who made rough tackles even during training, the guy who tormented me the most viciously, the guy who laughed the loudest from the side.
They were the same faces.
They hadn’t changed at all.
And that was a good thing.
It meant I didn’t need to soften my heart; I could get my own revenge.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
“Forza-!”
“Viola-!!”
We shouted our fighting cries and dispersed to our positions.
Today, our formation was slightly different from usual.
Our basic formation is 4-2-3-1, but today we were playing in a 4-4-2 shape.
The wingers on both sides were instructed to drop back more defensively, and Enzo, my partner, and I were also told to focus more on primary defense.
It wasn’t easy against Napoli either, but today’s opponent was even stronger than Napoli.
We had to admit that.
Moreover, since today was an away game.
The coach’s instruction was to hold a solid defense and look for counter-attack opportunities.
Even I thought that was the best approach.
“Peeep-!”
The whistle blew, and the game started with the opponent’s kick-off.
Thwack-
Thwack-
The opponent started the game by comfortably passing the ball around.
We didn’t press up; instead, we held our positions and waited for them to come to us.
The opponent’s formation seemed to be... 4-3-3.
The wingers spread wide to attack the flank spaces, while the central midfielders were trying to slip between our lines.
How would they try to break us down?
In any case, since I had also learned to play soccer over there, I had a general idea of the big picture.
But I couldn't just dwell on those things. Soccer is a sport with countless variables.
Therefore, the best thing to do is read the opponent's movements with your eyes, make the optimal judgment based on them, and react accordingly.
I stood almost in the center of the field, constantly scanning my surroundings to read the flow of the game without a moment's rest.
The coach had given me the authority to command the primary defensive situation today, in addition to my usual role.
Deciding when to wait and when to press, controlling the line, and balancing the left and right.
As my role grew, I focused intently and ran simulations in my head over and over again.
“Maintain the line!”
Since nothing had happened yet, we were holding our balance well.
Thanks to that, the opponent couldn't easily come in and was just circulating the ball.
What would be the opponent's choice to break our balance?
“...”
At this point, I briefly changed my perspective and thought about how I would solve this situation if I were the opponent.
Hmm...
I got lost in thought for a moment, then moved to the left and shouted.
“Close the gap!”
The moment I decided that they would have to use the flanks, a movement was detected on the left.
The opponent's winger cut inside to act like a central midfielder, and a fullback moved up into the winger's original position.
It was a movement to create a numerical advantage on one side momentarily to advance the ball. I moved to the left to control that.
Tat-tat-tat!
The moment I moved, my teammates around me also shifted their positions as if drawn by a magnet.
In an instant, the space on the left was closed off, and the opponent, who was trying to build up on that side, seemed to give up and chose a back pass instead.
Good. We drove them back for now.
“Positions!”
I moved back to the center and shouted to the kids. We quickly reorganized our formation and readjusted our balance.
Then, the opponent's ball circulation started again, circling around us.
“...”
As I followed them with my eyes, I made eye contact with someone outside the touchline.
The bald man on the opponent's bench.
That unforgettable bald coach. The one who said it was partly my fault that I was bullied.
He was looking at me with a displeased expression.
“We're doing well!”
That look felt really good.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The opponent was being cautious.
No, perhaps we forced them to be cautious.
In any case. We were occupying space as efficiently as possible to block the opponent's advance, and it was working effectively.
We weren't just waiting, either.
We actively tried to counter-attack as well.
When the opponent, frustrated, pushed up recklessly, we didn't hesitate to press them aggressively.
After winning the ball, instead of holding possession, we immediately tried to counter-attack and aimed for their territory.
That was the coach's instruction, as it would make the opponent's heads more complicated.
We faithfully executed that, and it was working quite well.
This was roughly the situation up to the 20th minute of the first half.
“Don't lose your focus!”
I shouted to the kids while checking the time via a signal from the bench.
It was a shout directed at the kids, but at the same time, it was also for myself.
A time was approaching when it was inevitable for our concentration to drop slightly. Even I, who had been completely focused for 20 minutes, was starting to have moments where I was losing focus.
That meant... that the opponent would also be entering a period where their concentration would drop.
I thought it would be a good idea to change the tempo around this point.
Quickly and boldly, enough to fluster the opponent.
“...”
I quietly watched the opponent's movements and timed it. Because we were positioned so deep and waiting, the opponent was circulating the ball slowly in midfield, not in the rear.
Even though it's clearly dangerous to circulate the ball slowly in a high position, the opponent seemed to have no such awareness and was just passing the ball around loosely.
Is this what they call a lack of safety awareness?
They must be under the illusion that it's not dangerous because we let them do it.
This is exactly what I wanted.
I started to lightly jog, ready to burst out at any moment, while following the ball with my eyes.
Then, I waited for a lazy pass...
Now.
Tat-tat-tat!
I burst forward toward the goal.
It was the moment a cross-field pass from the flank to the center was rolling slowly.
I was running with the thought of cutting off that pass in the middle.
“Push up!”
The captain's shout came from behind me.
At the same time, I heard the sound of the players on both sides quickly increasing their speed.
“Press!”
From now on, it was a press.
A press is a team movement. A press done alone is futile. A press only has meaning if everyone presses together with one mind.
So, when I went up, everyone else started to follow, which was quite reassuring.
It felt as if they were determined not to leave me alone.
“Raise the line!”
I shouted as I charged forward ferociously, and the opponent, who had been leisurely passing the ball around, started to hesitate and look flustered.
“Back!”
I couldn't cut off the cross-field pass, but when I charged at the player who received it, he hurriedly passed it back.
Tat-tat-tat!
I ran past him and continued to chase the ball.
I planned to chase it all the way and press him. This wasn't an emotional decision. The opponent had only been thinking about attacking so far, so their defensive positioning was sloppy.
“Pressing! Give it back!”
As we approached quickly, trying to get away, the back passes continued like a domino effect.
A natural choice, one might say. From the opponent's perspective, it feels safer. It's instinctive.
But it's common sense that the closer the ball is to your own goal, the more dangerous it is to lose it.
The more the opponent plays the ball back, the higher our scoring probability if we can only win it.
“Close in!”
Of course, if the opponent chooses a truly safe method, they could escape our press.
By clearing it far away.
But when I learned soccer over there, I was taught that in such situations, clearing the ball is only chosen when there are no other options.
I was taught that first, you should build up through passing or escaping the press, and you need to be able to do that to become a professional player.
So, my thought is that the opponent will still try to break through this press somehow.
Reading the opponent's movements, I continued to run toward the box.
“Don't lose them!”
In any case, the opponent is a strong team. They probably have the ability to get out of a half-baked press.
So, a light press won't make them break a sweat.
This meant we had to go all out, thinking this was our last chance.
Fortunately, I could run toward the ball faster than my usual speed.
Especially the moment the ball went to their final defender, the center-back.
My feet moved as if I had turned on a booster.
Because that guy was the one who used to make rough tackles on me every training session.
What was his name again?
Was it Jerome?
Tat-tat-tat!
I charged toward Jerome.
For a moment, a troubled look crossed his eyes. My press was coming at him faster than he expected, and he couldn't find a place to pass.
Then, he should just pass it to the keeper.
But... it seemed he didn't want to do that.
Why? Because the one charging at him was just me.
Thwack!
He attempted a pass.
Not a back pass, but a forward pass instead.
The ball was heading to my left, a place I couldn't reach even if I stretched my leg.
But Bruno was definitely on the left.
It meant that even if he could get away from me, he couldn't escape the net we had laid out.
Thwack!
I turned my head at the dull sound.
It was Bruno. I saw Bruno popping out from behind the defense to intercept the pass.
“Forward!”
I turned my back on Jerome and raised my hand.
Then the pass came right away.
A straight pass to my feet.
Ta-tat!
Jerome wouldn't just watch this.
I could feel him charging at me from behind.
Since my position wasn't inside the box... I had a feeling he was going to bump into me hard.
“...”
I'm scared.
Memories of the past came flooding back. Even when I was knocked down by a hard collision with him, I couldn't say anything.
Because no one saw it as a problem.
But... not now.
I have to overcome this. Compared to back then, my body is bigger, and my physical play has improved thanks to the special training with Coach Luca.
Most importantly, I'm now ready to fight back.
I'm terribly scared, but on the other hand, I even hope that he collides with me as hard as he used to.
That way, I can be sure whether I've improved or if I'm still the same.
Whump-!
“Kuk...!”
A shock travels through my back.
He rammed his shoulder into my back.
But I didn't fall.
I lowered my center of gravity and pushed back his weight with my hips, holding my ground.
This feels strange.
Is that all Jerome is worth?
Thwack!
While holding my ground, I received the incoming pass with the outside of my right foot and slightly changed my direction.
And then,
Ta-tat!
I pivoted around Jerome as the axis and turned to the right.
At the same time, I kicked the ball straight with my left foot and drove into the box.
I broke through...
“...Kuk?”
The moment I thought I had broken through, I felt a shock at my ankle and the world spun.
Crash-!
When I saw the ground coming toward my face, I barely blocked it with my arms. I was tripped by a tackle.
This... is a familiar experience. Me, falling from Jerome's rough tackles. I'd experienced it dozens of times, so the memory dug into me like it was yesterday.
“Referee-!!”
“Foul!”
I heard the voices of our team's kids... but even I didn't know if the referee would call a foul.
So I jumped right back up.
When I got up and looked back, I saw Jerome, sitting on the ball, getting up while propping himself up with his arms.
It seemed he had stopped the ball with a sliding tackle.
Jerome, who had gotten up quickly, was trying to secure the ball and get out of the box...
Tat-tat-tat!
This time, I charged at his back.
I had decided that even if I got tackled and fell, I wouldn't just stay down.
Whump-!
A dull sound echoed.
I stretched my leg out toward the ball from behind.
In the process, my foot hit Jerome's leg, but I ignored it and took the ball that had popped out.
Ta-tat!
Then I turned back toward the goal, rolled the ball forward with the sole of my foot, and charged in with long strides.
There was so much open space in the goal that I didn't even need to aim for a corner.
Booooom-!
The shot, delivered as fast and as powerfully as possible,
Whoooosh-
Swish-!
Tore right through the net.
“...!”
The moment I saw the net bulging.
Power surged into my fist. I felt something hot rising up my throat.
I glanced at the referee and saw him pointing to the halfway line. A goal was declared.
But I didn't need to do a celebration today.
Ji-woo wasn't here.
So, instead of a celebration, I turned around.
“...”
And I looked at Jerome.
When I looked at him openly, Jerome, who had been on one knee, stood up and looked back at me.
As if he found the situation funny, he smirked and said,
“This punk, you've grown a lot.”
I was scared of that, but I didn't show it on the outside and instead walked closer to him.
Then, looking down at him, I caught my breath and said,
“I guess so. Have I grown that much? Were you this small?”
Jerome in front of me was much smaller than the Jerome in my memory.
“You...”
The moment Jerome frowned and tried to say something to my words,
“Waaaaaah-!”
“Yeeeeh-!”
Our team's kids swarmed me.
Thanks to that, Jerome was pushed back by the kids before he could even finish speaking, making for a ridiculous sight.