The Napkin Contract
A few days had passed since our crushing victory over Real Madrid.
Even though we had beaten them by a huge margin, my daily life remained exactly the same. Wake up in the morning, eat the breakfast Mother made, head over to Catalunya Stadium for training, then come back home—a thoroughly ordinary, uneventful routine with nothing special about it.
Today was no different. I woke up, ate breakfast, and set off for Barcelona’s home ground, Catalunya Stadium, with Mother seeing me off at the door. I walked the whole way there.
When I stepped inside, Messi was already there, juggling a banana.
“Seventy-seven… seventy-eight… ah—”
I waited without interrupting, and the banana finally dropped.
“You’re juggling a banana?”
Messi jumped when he noticed me.
“Ah! Junho. Yeah—if I use a ball it never ends, so I switched to a banana.”
I let out a dry laugh.
Nobody practices with a banana, Messi.
Still, it looked fun.
“Mind if I try?”
“Of course.”
He picked the banana up off the floor and handed it over.
“Here.”
I took it and started juggling. Being a banana, the difficulty was surprisingly high; I managed about twenty touches before it slipped away.
“Man, that’s hard.”
“Only at first. You get better with practice.”
“Guess I’ll have to work on it.”
We were still talking when Jorge walked into the stadium.
“What are you two doing?”
He spotted us, came over, and eyed the banana in my hand.
“Juggling a banana?”
“Oh, that looks fun. Let me try.”
Jorge took the banana and began juggling. Around the tenth touch it simply fell apart.
“Uh… it broke.”
“Sorry, Messi. I’ll buy you another one.”
Guilt was written all over Jorge’s face.
“It’s fine. I’ve still got more.”
Messi pulled another banana from his bag.
“You’ve got extras?”
At my remark he explained why he carried them around.
“Well, bananas break pretty easily, so I always bring spares.”
“Oh, Messi—maybe I should start carrying bananas around and practicing like you.”
“Then take this one. It’s yours.”
Messi handed the banana he was holding straight to Jorge.
“Thanks, Messi.”
Jorge cradled it against his chest like a precious treasure.
“I’ll put it to good use.”
The three of us were still killing time juggling bananas when García, the Barcelona youth coach, walked in.
“Kids, we’ve got a match lined up.”
At the word “match” every pair of eyes lit up.
“The opponent’s Atlético Madrid.”
The name made the eyes sparkle even brighter—mine included.
Atlético Madrid?
If you asked most people to name the two biggest clubs in La Liga, they would say Real Madrid and Barcelona. History backs that up: the two most successful and prestigious sides in Spanish football, with massive domestic and international fan bases. Still, there was another team that, while not quite on that level, was more than strong enough to stand beside them—Atlético Madrid.
So of course my eyes were shining. The Real Madrid game had been a blast; another match against a powerhouse like Atlético was bound to be just as fun.
“And just like last time, selection will be based purely on ability, so work hard.”
I smiled at the coach’s words. I was confident I would start again. There was no other striker here who could seriously compete with me. Messi was the only exception, of course.
After that the coach’s speech drifted into the usual empty pep talk, so I half-tuned it out—until Messi prodded me in the back with a finger.
“Let’s win this one too, Junho.”
His face was deadly serious.
“Obviously.”
I answered, fighting back a small smile at how intense he looked.
García could not stop smiling. Right in front of him stood four kids who made him genuinely happy.
Messi was displaying talent so absurd it bordered on the grotesque. Iniesta possessed vision and passing that no one his age should have. Jorge was putting on a physical masterclass that made you wonder whether he was really only thirteen. And Lee Junho already owned every attribute a striker needed.
Ah… this is too good.
García had a dream: one day a player he had coached would win the Ballon d’Or. Winning that award meant the player had been the best in the world that year, so of course it was never easy. But García thought that was perfect. Something this hard was worth chasing. It might never come true—and that was exactly why it made such a fine dream.
And then these kids had appeared before him.
Of course he still could not be certain. How many “geniuses” had he seen come and go? Most of them ended up ordinary, never quite living up to the hype. The same thing could happen again. Yet this time a different feeling settled over him. These boys were going to grow up and shake the football world to its foundations.
García could hardly wait for the day they stepped into the spotlight.
I was training when I kept feeling eyes on me. I looked up and found the coach staring at me so hard it was like lasers might shoot out of his eyes.
What? Did I do something wrong?
I ransacked my memory and came up empty. So I decided to ignore it. There was something more important right now.
“Messi, has the club said anything to you yet?”
“Uh… not yet.”
Hmm. How much longer is this going to take?
Because of the board’s hesitation, Messi’s contract still had not been finalized.
“Do you think I’ll have to go back to Argentina?”
His face clouded over.
“No. Unless there’s something wrong with their eyes, there’s no way they let you leave.”
I meant every word. Even if I had not known the future, anyone who had watched Messi play could see his talent was beyond any doubt.
“Thanks, Junho.”
My certainty seemed to lift his spirits a little, but the worry never fully left his face.
Just wait a little longer, Messi. That man is about to show up.
Match day against Atlético Madrid arrived. We gathered in the morning, boarded the bus, and headed for their stadium.
“Oh, we’re here.”
We pulled up at the Vicente Calderón and filed inside. After dropping our bags we sat and waited for kickoff. Time slipped by quickly, and before we knew it the match was about to begin.
“Don’t get too nervous. You’re going to win no matter what.”
With García’s final words ringing in our ears, the game kicked off.
From the very first minute Messi tore the opposing defense to shreds. He dribbled past everyone by himself and scored the opener. Iniesta added a second with a long-range strike. Then Messi slipped me a pass and I headed home the third. In the blink of an eye the score was 3–0.
At that point I was certain we could not lose, so I started glancing toward the stands at regular intervals. The man I was waiting for might show up today.
But it seemed today would not be the day—until, just as the match was winding down and I had almost given up, he finally appeared.
Technical director Carles Rexach.
He’s here!
At that exact moment Messi received the ball and started another mazy run. Watching him, Carles Rexach hurriedly pulled a napkin from his pocket and began scribbling something on it.
I already knew what he was writing: that as technical director of Barcelona he agreed to sign Messi the moment the financial terms were settled.
Seeing that, the last of my worry melted away. Right before the final whistle I added one more goal from distance myself, and the match ended.
“Congratulations, Messi.”
“Huh? For what?”
He looked completely baffled by the sudden praise.
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Yeah? If you say so, then it must be true.”
I came home. When I opened the door my childhood friend Park Jieun was waiting to greet me.
“You’re back early today?”
“We had a match, so it finished sooner.”
“Really? Well, early is good. So how did it go? You were playing Atlético Madrid, right?”
She urged me on, and I smiled.
“We won, of course.”
“I knew it. Barcelona losing just doesn’t make sense.”
“What was the score?”
“Ten–nil.”
“Whoa, complete domination!”
“I scored four of them.”
At that Jieun’s face lit up with a grin.
“Hmm. Is that so? Then you deserve a reward.”
She threw her arms around me. The sudden hug left me frozen.
“Your face is all red. Heehee.”
Having zero resistance to girls, my cheeks could only burn. I caught the finger that was poking my cheek and muttered,
“Stop it.”
“Saying that only makes me want to do it more.”
And so, for quite a while after that, I had no choice but to stay right there in her arms.