Real Madrid
To take on Real Madrid, we had come to their home ground—the Estadio Santiago Bernabeu.
Of course, since we were the youth team, we weren't actually playing inside Real Madrid's main stadium. The match would be held at one of their many training facilities instead.
"Want a banana?"
Jorge had one already clamped between his teeth.
"Just one."
I took the banana from him, peeled it on the spot, and shoved it into my mouth.
"It's good."
"Right? Not only does it taste great—it gives you energy too."
Beside us, Messi muttered under his breath,
"Is that how he got so huge? Eating like this all the time?"
His voice was too soft for Jorge to catch.
"Eating properly is important."
In my previous life I had stuck to a strict diet for football, and I still did now.
"Exactly, Junho."
Still, I would never build a body like Jorge's. Then again, football wasn't decided by physique alone. I decided not to dwell on it.
While the three of us chatted over bananas, kickoff drew closer.
"Because the opponent is Real, I'm not going to tell you that you absolutely have to win. But looking at your ability, I believe you can win."
Garcia said he didn't expect an automatic victory, yet his true thoughts were different. The boy who had just arrived from Argentina—Messi—was already operating on a level far beyond this age group. Lee Junho had long since left youth-level play behind him as well, and Garcia couldn't imagine any striker who could break through Jorge's physical defending. Of course, if Jorge had only been big, Garcia wouldn't have felt so secure; the kid also possessed the speed to stay with any forward. The rest of the squad were all more than capable of doing their jobs. So Garcia was quietly certain they couldn't lose today.
And his prediction proved correct.
The match kicked off.
I was stationed as the lone striker up top while Messi sat in the second line, tasked with spraying passes. Jorge anchored our defense as center-back.
The game was completely one-sided.
No one could stop Messi's driving runs from midfield, and Real conceded the opening goal almost immediately.
"Nice one, Messi!"
Messi celebrated with a simple little hop, and the rest of the kids swarmed him with congratulations.
Once the celebrations ended and play restarted, less than three minutes passed before Barça scored again. This time the goal was mine. I controlled Messi's delivery with a soft, silky touch, then instantly unleashed a shot that ripped into the Real Madrid net.
By now the faces of the Real Madrid players had hardened. They had clearly realized this was going to be a long afternoon.
"Stop that number 10!"
Pablo, the Real Madrid youth coach, was thinking the same thing: if they could just shut down the little guy, the match wasn't over yet.
"Ugh!"
Real's players began fouling Messi hard. His body still wasn't fully developed, so physical battles remained a struggle for him.
I helped him back to his feet.
"Thanks, Junho."
I answered his gratitude with a smile and thought to myself, You guys are focusing way too much on Messi, aren't you?
Of course the game would get harder if Messi were neutralized—but today's Barcelona didn't only have Messi. It had me as well.
"Messi, they're marking you so tightly. Drop a little deeper and start feeding me the ball."
Messi glanced at me for a second, then nodded.
"Got it."
Once Messi dropped deeper and focused on playmaking rather than constant dribbling, Real Madrid started to unravel again. Because he wasn't sitting so high, the opposition had to worry about being stretched in behind and could no longer swarm him as aggressively. With the pressure eased, the passes Messi produced were exquisite.
Passes this easy?
I had never received service like this before. The ball would fly in hard, then magically die right onto my foot, making control effortless. A pass that does the work for the receiver cuts the trapping time almost to zero.
Feeling that I barely needed to waste a second on my first touch, I tore into the gaps between the Real Madrid defenders. I might not have been on Messi's level as a dribbler, but I was more than good enough to sit just below him. Two or three markers? I could beat them cleanly with pure individual skill—skill I had carved out through relentless work in this gifted new body.
In that moment I felt pure liberation.
Whoa…!
Watching defenders vanish one after another with every touch sent a thrill through me that words couldn't capture. In my previous life I had never been able to dribble like this. One-on-one I could sometimes win, but the moment two or three closed me down I was finished. Not anymore. Two or three were nothing.
Filled with gratitude for the talented body I had been reborn into, I struck the shot. The ball left the sweet spot of my instep at blistering speed. The Real Madrid keeper got a hand to it, but he couldn't keep it out. The ball spun off his palm and nestled into the net.
"SIUUUUUUUUUU!"
The instant the ball crossed the line I roared it right there on the spot. How could I not? After years of grinding against a wall, my ability had finally broken free as if a blocked meridian had opened. The Junho who used to despair at the limits of talent was gone. Only the Junho who looked straight ahead remained.
After my goal, Real Madrid collapsed. Even when they managed to contain Messi, I ran riot, leaving them with no answers. Barcelona's players poured into every gap the disoriented Real kids left open. Messi, once free of the shackles, began to shine again. My own threat never faded, and Jorge's defending completely snuffed out whatever attacking will Real still possessed.
"Aaagh!"
A striker who had tried to muscle Jorge crumpled to the ground.
"You again. Be careful."
The referee even issued a verbal warning—Jorge had sent that many Real Madrid attackers flying today. Jorge felt wronged, of course. The moment he so much as leaned into them they went down; what was he supposed to do? A defender couldn't simply refuse to compete physically.
"It's not fair, Junho. I was only competing fairly."
Fair? Sure. The problem is that even a fair challenge from you feels like a natural disaster to the other guy.
From where I stood, Jorge never went beyond what was necessary. There simply wasn't anyone at youth level who could handle him in a physical duel.
"Hmm. Junho, I think the Real Madrid kids are just fragile. How do they expect to be footballers when they're that skinny…"
No, no, no! You're the monster here.
"Right, Messi?"
"Huh?"
Messi jumped in surprise.
"That's why you need to eat properly too. You have to be able to survive a duel with me."
"Yeah…"
Messi's voice trailed off.
"Have confidence, Messi! You can do it!"
With that, Jorge clapped him hard on the back. And I saw it—the enormous handprint now stamped across Messi's back.
Help me! Messi's eyes screamed, but I looked away. What was I supposed to do against a natural disaster? The smart move was simply to wait for the storm to pass.
"That hurts, Jorge!"
"Hmm? Messi, you're joking, right? I'm going easy."
Sorry, Messi. I couldn't save you. Next time I'll buy you that hamburger you like. Meal deal included.
The match ended. Final score: 10–0. We hadn't meant to, but we had ended up farm-teaming them again. You could see the Real Madrid kids' mental state packing its bags and leaving.
Well, boys, just think of it as mental training. That'll make it easier.
"Haha! Well done, kids. You can head home for today. After a match like that you deserve the rest."
At Garcia's words we all gathered our bags.
"See you tomorrow."
And with that we left Real Madrid's facilities and headed home.
"You're back?"
As I stepped inside, Mom—wearing an apron—greeted me with a smile.
"Yes."
"Go wash your hands. Dinner's ready."
The whole house smelled delicious.
"Okay."
While I was still exchanging greetings with Mom, my little sister Lee Eunha came out of her room.
"Oh, hi!"
"Hi."
The moment the greeting was done she asked,
"How'd the match against Real Madrid go today?"
I grinned.
"We won, of course."
"Good. Even if it's only youth level, you can't lose to Real. No way."
"Haha."
Yeah… my sister's love for Barcelona really was something else. I almost wanted to learn how someone could support one club that fiercely. I myself never really cheered for any particular team.
"Come inside and talk properly."
At Mom's words we headed into the house. After washing our hands I sat at the table with my sister and mother, and for a while we simply ate and talked together.