Chapter 47
Chapter 47
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: Devotion - Part 3
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Even if I admit that I'm a bit of a coward, I haven't had many experiences where fear literally freezes my body.
But just now, my body really did freeze up.
"YAAAAAAAAAAH!"
I had never seen our captain run so fast.
He even had a half-crazed look on his face as he charged straight at me, which was genuinely terrifying.
I-I need to calm him down first...
"Whoa-"
"YEAH! YEAH!"
Ugh.
The captain hoists me onto his back.
And then, letting out all sorts of strange cries, he struts around right in front of the spectator stands.
Um... I get that you're feeling good right now, but could you please put me down?
The fans are looking at me like they want to kill me...
I can't even lift my head.
"Nice! Nice!"
"That was great, Ji-an!"
Luckily, our other teammates swarm in and pull me off the captain's back.
In an instant, countless hands mess up my hair, while an endless stream of congratulatory pats go toward the captain.
Whack! Whack!
...They're not hitting him; they're congratulating him.
Watching that, I felt grateful for my position as the youngest. If I were just three years older, I probably would have been on the receiving end of those pats too...
"Let's head back. Before the mood gets any more wild."
As the celebration dragged on, the referee came over to separate us. Thanks to that, the captain seemed to regain a bit of his composure... but the way he approached me with his eyes gleaming told me he wasn't quite back to normal yet.
"Forza! Viola!!!"
"Ugh..."
He shook my shoulders violently and let out one last shout before finally turning back toward the halfway line. I watched his retreating form and let out a sigh... and before I knew it, I was smiling.
A thought suddenly crossed my mind.
How much pain must he have endured to be this happy?
How long had he been suffering in silence to be this overjoyed over just a single goal?
For me, it's just a guess. I can't speak carelessly about that joy.
The same goes for the pain. Some people might not understand, saying it's not a big deal, but ultimately, only you can truly understand your own pain. No one else has the right to say they understand or that you shouldn't feel that way.
The only important fact is that, regardless, the captain had a memory that wounded him enough to celebrate like this.
I remember when he first moved up to the first team.
The first impression I had of him back then was how solid he seemed.
He looked so calm, like someone who had never faced a single crisis in his life.
But even he had a pain like this.
That means... maybe there isn't a single person in this world who lives a life free from pain.
I don't know.
I'm not sure, but for some reason, that thought is a bit of a comfort.
It makes me feel like I'm not alone.
"Wow, it's great having long legs. If it were me, I wouldn't have reached that."
Torreira congratulates me.
I laugh and reply with a joke.
"Yeah, I think you're right."
"You little punk?"
I've become someone who can trade jokes on the pitch now.
"Hey, you!"
I run away from the senior trying to poke my back and head toward our side of the field.
*
We scored the opening goal, but there was still plenty of time left. Even though this is our home ground and the opponent is the lowest-ranked team in the league, we can't afford to let our guard down.
This is the Giuseppe Meazza, and the opponent is Inter, sitting in third place.
As long as the ball is rolling on the ground, there's no room for complacency.
BOOOOOOM-!
"Haa... Whew."
I held my breath at the opponent's shot, then let out a sigh of relief after seeing it miss.
The situation is getting worse in various ways.
It's been 10 minutes since we scored, and in that time, we've already allowed four shots.
Ah, including the one just now, that makes five.
Meanwhile, we haven't managed a single shot.
Actually, that's not strange.
It was obvious this would be a tough match. Even when playing a weak team, you can't dominate the flow for all 90 minutes.
There are bound to be moments when we get pushed back.
So we're just trying to hold out as best we can...
The problem is, our response seems inadequate.
"Get in position! Position!"
After conceding the opening goal, the opponent changed their tactics slightly. They became much more aggressive, as if determined to equalize before halftime.
Specifically, the ratio of long passes from the back increased.
Whenever any of their defenders got the ball, they'd immediately send a long kick toward the box.
The problem wasn't the accuracy of those kicks, but the aerial dominance of their number 9 striker.
Our defense isn't lacking in height...
But their number 9 has incredible aerial ability.
What was his name again?
Ah, I think it was Edin Džeko.
Whenever the ball went up in the air, it reached Džeko's head about four out of five times.
And then, the way the opponent's players, who were running like crazy, would collect the balls Džeko laid off...
"Hold your ground!"
Especially threatening is their number 10, who has a solid build and a warrior-like appearance. His name was Lautaro, and he was quite aggressive. It felt like he was the complete opposite of me. He kept moving constantly, colliding with our defenders at every opportunity.
Watching him, I wondered if he was incapable of feeling fear. That was impressive. The way he would charge into challenges for second balls, and the way he would always try to move forward whenever he got the ball.
Most of all, the way he didn't seem to care at all when his forward attempts failed was fascinating to me. That is, even if a pass was cut off or a dribble was blocked, he showed no self-blame.
Not only no self-blame, he didn't even show any sign of apology to his teammates. Even when a much better-positioned teammate was available, and he chose to dribble instead of pass, failing and ruining the attack, he would just shamelessly give a thumbs up.
The problem is... from our perspective, it feels incredibly frustrating.
It's like no matter how many times you block him, he just keeps pushing forward without a care, which is mentally draining.
I can't play like that.
His aggression is one thing, but more than that, I don't have the confidence to be so unashamed.
If my mistake ruins an attack, I feel sorry for my teammates...
And above all, I don't want to show my shortcomings.
But the opponent was different.
WAAAAAAAAAAAH-!!
Just before the end of the first half, the stadium shook.
We had finally conceded to their number 10. We had been defending well, but the one time we allowed a breakthrough, it led to a goal.
"──!!"
We could see him proudly beating his chest after succeeding on what must have been his seventh or eighth attempt. And the opponent's fans cheered for him.
That scene felt truly fresh to me.
*
The fact that we conceded right at the end of the first half might have been a blessing in disguise.
If there had been a little more time, the mood was such that it wouldn't have been surprising if they had taken the lead.
"Focus! Right! Let me explain again! If you get squeezed out of this space..."
Throughout halftime, the coach shouted directly into Torreira's ear. He was a defensive midfielder, and the coach said the defense as a whole was shaky because he wasn't responding properly...
As I listened, there were a few moments where I flinched.
The problems the coach pointed out were similar to what I had been thinking.
Knowing that, I hadn't said anything during the game because I figured the seniors had their own thoughts on the matter.
I'm not a defender, and I don't have more experience than the seniors. Even if I didn't fully understand, I just figured there was a lot I still didn't know and moved on.
But hearing the coach say the very things I had been thinking made me feel, well...
A little confused.
"And when transitioning from defense to offense, be more aggressive in moving up! Don't just play it safe! Why does everyone look for Ji-an the moment they get the ball? Stop thinking about just passing the buck!"
After scolding Torreira for a long time, the coach spoke to all of us.
My name came up, so I quietly looked around to gauge the mood.
"I know you can't help it. But don't show such a pathetic sight, relying only on the youngest! If you think you can do it, then you do it! Be aggressive and take the shot! Then Dušan can hold onto the ball, and we can build from there! Stop thinking that he'll handle it for you!"
The coach, his face flushed red with anger, clapped to encourage us afterward and then left the locker room.
Then the captain gathered us.
"I believe you all know why the coach was so angry. If anyone thinks, 'It's not so bad, 1-1 on our trip to Milan,' then raise your hand and get out right now. This is a winnable game. Let's focus a bit more and go into the second half."
"Let's go! Let's go!"
We shouted our fighting spirit once more and left the locker room.
*
The mood from the end of the first half continued into the start of the second half.
Long pass plays, aerial battles, second-ball contests.
The opponent, having found success with these simple attacks, continued to use the same method to attack us.
Our defense, which had been scolded heavily during halftime, was responding, but it wasn't easy.
Once a long ball came into our half, we were already at a disadvantage in the fight...
Even if we were prepared, we were put in dangerous situations.
Was there anything more I could do here?
As I racked my brain, I approached Vlahović when the ball went out of play.
"The coach said we should switch positions. Something like me pressing up front."
"Hmm. Got it."
Vlahović is the center forward, and I play as the attacking midfielder just below him.
So even in defense, I stand behind him, but now we're talking about switching places.
It meant I would defend further up the pitch.
Vlahović is a center forward who conserves his energy for offense during defense. As a result, the opponent's defenders felt relatively free to distribute long passes.
I thought I should step in and disrupt that.
Actually, as I just said, it wasn't a direct instruction from the coach. Before the second half started, I asked the coach first if this would be a good idea. Of course, the coach said it was a good thought, so it wasn't a complete lie.
It's just that it felt ridiculous for me to be telling the seniors about tactics, so I borrowed the coach's mouth for it.
Pshhh-
Pshhh-
The opponent's defenders were passing the ball slowly at a high position, eyeing our half.
From the stands, the opponent's chants echoed even louder, hoping for a goal.
Pazza Inter──!!
Expectations for a comeback filled the stadium, heightening the atmosphere.
It wouldn't be surprising if a goal came right now.
But I know.
This is the most terrifying moment for the opponent as well. When the towering expectations collapse, that's when it hurts the most.
Opportunity and crisis always go hand in hand.
Tat-tat-tack-!
I run toward the opponent's defenders who are passing the ball.
Truthfully, just pressing by myself won't easily steal the ball. But that's okay, because stealing it isn't my goal.
Stealing it would be great, but if not, just giving them a sense of pressure is enough.
The purpose of the press is to lower the accuracy of the pass going to the back.
Pshhh-
Pshhh-!
I can feel the tempo of their passes gradually speeding up. It seems my press is bothersome enough.
Well, yeah.
If I were them, a mosquito buzzing around would be pretty annoying too.
BOOOOOOOOM-!
In the end, a slightly rushed long pass heads toward our half.
I turn my head to watch the ball flying through the air...
And run to position myself between the opponent's defensive lines.
I had to prepare for a counterattack.
Pshhh-!
Milenković wins the header in the air.
The pass was too inaccurate for Džeko to even jump for it.
Pshhh-
Milenković immediately passes the ball to Torreira,
BOOOOOOM-!
And Torreira sends a pass floating forward.
Our coach is truly scary. The players listen well after being scolded.
Taat-!
Vlahović jumps up high toward the ball coming down from the air. A defender jumps with him, and I quietly loop around behind them.
I can't play like their number 10, but our number 9 isn't inferior to theirs at all.
Pshhh-!
Vlahović turns his head sharply and heads the ball with his forehead.
At the same time, I make a 'ㄴ'-shaped movement.
Moving horizontally was to stay onside, and then moving forward was because Vlahović's header went toward the front.
Pshhh-!
I pick up the ball and poke it forward, then start running.
Tat-tat-tack-!
I run toward the wide-open space.
Truly, there's no one in front of me. Except for the goalkeeper.
It's a sight that should make my heart feel refreshed, but it doesn't.
I can feel a defender sprinting at full speed from behind, and above all, this is a chance I'd be strange not to score.
I don't have the mindset to not fear failure, like their number 10.
So I just focus more.
To imitate perfection.
Tat-tat-tack-!
Why does the box feel so far away?
I can feel the defender catching up right behind me.
If I keep going like this, I'll probably get caught near the box...
"...!"
I can see the opponent's goalkeeper hesitating and coming forward. It's an unavoidable move to narrow the shooting angle.
That's the standard play, but I'm actually glad the keeper is coming out to meet me.
It means I have a way to shoot without having to go all the way into the box.
Behind me, I'm on the verge of being caught by the defender.
In front, the goalkeeper is rushing out.
And just as I reach the edge of the box, I'm out of breath and can't run any further.
I adjust my stride slightly and poke the bottom of the ball with my right foot.
Whoosh-!
The ball floats up gently.
And it flies slowly over the keeper's head, toward the empty goal.
Shwooooo-
The ball that flew so slowly,
Plunk-
💥 GOAL! 💥
GOAL!
The chip shot sails over the keeper!
rolled into the completely empty net.
I felt quite good, imagining how the opponent must feel at this moment.
*
Around the 75th minute, I was substituted and came off the ground. A defensive midfielder came on in my place, a defensive substitution.
The opponent's attacks were still continuing, but they no longer felt as threatening as before.
Ever since my second goal went in.
Of course, I knew the reason.
They had conceded right when they were expecting a goal, so they must have been drained of energy.
"──!!"
In the distance, I could see Viragi, the captain, shouting and controlling the defensive line.
Seeing him like that, I had a feeling we wouldn't lose. It seemed our will to win was stronger.
"3 minutes..."
When the electronic board showing added time went up, I found myself biting my nails.
I had never felt a 3-minute period this long.
The opponent, now completely desperate, kept sending in long balls, and we threw our bodies on the line to somehow clear the ball away.
We weren't playing soccer, just defending, but it didn't matter because we were already up by a goal.
And so, the agonizing 3 minutes passed.
Peeep, peeeep, peeeeeep-!
We defeated Inter 2-1.
WAAAAAAAAAAH!
I don't remember much of what happened after that.
At the sound of the whistle, everyone on the bench ran out onto the pitch, and all the players rushed to the captain, hugging him and celebrating the victory.
I thought about going too, but the coach told me not to, saying I might get hurt.
Huhuhuhuhe!
When I came to my senses, the locker room party was just about ending.
The locker room was a mess and full of bare skin.
Amidst it all, I was sitting quietly in a corner, sighing...
When the captain, in just his underwear, came to the center and started a speech.
He expressed his gratitude for today's match and the victory, and for his teammates, and added one last thing.
"I think this. True love isn't someone who's by my side when I'm doing well, but someone who's by my side when I'm having a hard time. That's why I gave my all for Viola today, and thanks to you guys, we could win. Thank you so much!"
It was a great speech, but it was met with boos.
Because it had been too long from the start.
I chuckled as I watched the seniors, then suddenly pondered the captain's words.
Someone who's by my side when I'm having a hard time...
Suddenly, a face came to mind.
At the same time, I felt sorry for my dad.
Because the face that came to mind wasn't his.
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