Vs. FC Barcelona - 1
"F-fuuuuuck─!"
"Is this the draw? Is this really the fucking draw?!"
"UEFA deputy secretary, go die, you bastard!"
The Dortmund club house was plunged into shock and horror when FC Barcelona, the world's strongest team and defending champions, were drawn as their quarterfinal opponents.
"…Heh heh."
"Klopp's lost his mind."
Jurgen Klopp, who should have been calming the players down, let out a hollow laugh like a man whose soul had left him.
This reaction wasn't limited to Dortmund.
In Son Jinho's home country of South Korea, similar articles began flooding the media.
The entire world sensed Dortmund's defeat, expressing fear or pity, but Son Jinho felt something entirely different.
Phew~ Calm down.
It wasn't fear—it was excitement.
Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets, and Messi.
The thought of facing the trio hailed as the greatest midfield line in history—ones he'd only seen on TV in his past life—made his chest swell.
FC Barcelona.
The team boasting the best midfield trio in soccer history: Xavi-Iniesta-Busquets. And the 24-year-old Lionel Messi at his peak.
Barca's players, just like Dortmund's, watched the Champions League quarterfinal draw at their training ground-cum-clubhouse, Ciutat Esportiva.
They scattered according to their personalities to follow the results.
At one table, the calm and introverted Messi gathered with the three idiots (Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets) for a chat.
"Hmm. This should be a fun match, huh?"
"Especially that kid at Dortmund—Pep seemed to like him. Thinks he's Andres' replacement or something?"
Sergio Busquets' words twisted Andres Iniesta's face.
"Don't like it."
The humble, quiet, and introverted Andres Iniesta's blunt remark startled the nearby teammates, who turned to stare.
"Andres?"
"To call him my replacement, he's way too tall."
"Oh, Andres, then shouldn't we talk about faces?"
"What. He kinda looks like me."
Messi and the three idiots burst into laughter at Iniesta's shameless shrug and follow-up.
Jino seemed to have way more game experience than his age suggests. Should be pretty fun.
As Messi recalled the analyst's footage of Son Jinho and gave his assessment,
"Andres, that was a statement as conscienceless as your hairline."
Javier Pique, with his lush mane, playfully chimed in after overhearing while grabbing water.
"…."
Even Iniesta, who was bantering with teammates, turned dead serious this time.
Balding was Iniesta's reverse scale.
"Apologize."
"…Sorry."
The god of no-pressure play, second only to Messi in dribbling, one of the world's top midfielders—Andres Iniesta's pride was wounded by his failure to escape the pressure of hair loss.
…Is it really that big a deal?
Messi couldn't empathize with the fuming Iniesta. To Messi, who'd even no-pressure'd the curse of balding, it was someone else's problem.
Time flew by like an arrow after Dortmund drew FC Barcelona in the quarterfinals.
Dortmund beat Werder Bremen 2-0 in their league match on March 17.
Then, on March 21 against Greuther Furth in the Pokal semifinal, they won in extra time to advance to the final.
"Then for Cologne, we'll give the players some rest. March 29's gonna be a tough day anyway."
Ahead of the Champions League first leg on March 29, Jurgen Klopp rested his starters in the March 25 league game against Cologne.
With a comfortable points lead over Bayern Munich already secured, the decision didn't take long.
With a stoppage-time winner from Lucas Barrios, Dortmund secured victory and summoned FC Barcelona's charter flight to Signal Iduna Park for the Champions League quarterfinal first leg.
Before the March 29 Champions League clash with Barcelona.
Klopp entered the locker room and began tactical briefing with a screen showing Barcelona's top scorers.
Starting with Xavi's 14 goals, then Sanchez and Fabregas at 15.
"Jino! How many you got?"
"Dunno exactly, but more than 14?"
"I think it's 16."
"Whoa… Lewa, what the hell. How do you even know that."
"…You had one more than me."
"Lewa, step it up from now on."
"…."
"Anyway, Jino's got more than Xavi or Fabregas."
The screen flashed Lionel Messi's 55 goals. The players, mid-chat, gaped in shock.
"Ha…."
"55 goals in a season? Is that human?"
"…Fuck."
Klopp smirked at his players' despair over the absurd record. Everything was going according to plan.
"We're not the best."
He didn't just focus on tactics. He believed emotions made the difference.
"But we're the team that can beat the best."
Show them the opponent's overwhelming stats to induce despair, then pour endless trust.
If that sparked a "fuck it, let's go all out" mindset, it was success enough.
"Honestly, our chances of beating Barca and reaching the semis are slim."
If everyone charged with everything they had for victory, maybe they could pull it off.
"But because it's you guys, there's definitely a chance."
As Klopp's speech wrapped, the screen showed Signal Iduna Park.
"Don't forget. For this match, Signal Iduna Park has our backs."
The crowd filled the stands before kickoff, belting out chants at the top of their lungs.
"We'll always be by your side."
The players, forgetting their fear of Barcelona, unconsciously joined in the fans' chants.
Dortmund's home fans belted out chants undaunted even against the world's strongest, FC Barcelona.
The Champions League anthem echoed through Signal Iduna Park, and the Sudtribune unveiled a card section.
Normally I'd soak in the fans' heat, but my eyes were glued to the Barcelona players.
Dani Alves, Pique, Mascherano, Puyol, Busquets, Xavi, Iniesta, the 7.7 billion won Sanchez.
And soccer's god, Lionel Messi.
Coincidence? Messi's gaze met mine right then. We stared wordlessly for what felt like ages, though brief.
The ref's whistle blew, and the match began. Shockingly, Dortmund dominated early.
Barcelona fumbled under Dortmund's organized, rapid pressing. But Dortmund couldn't convert.
Time ticked on. Barca adapted to the press and regained their rhythm.
They started dominating possession, pinning Dortmund back with overwhelming control.
Build-up centered on Busquets, Xavi, and Iniesta.
Xavi Hernandez scanned quickly pre-reception, slipped a light pass between Kagawa's legs, and pinpointed Sanchez's right foot—his strong side.
Even with four players charging, one-touch one-two shook the press. I couldn't help but chuckle at the insanity.
Sanchez to Messi, one-touch to Fabregas.
Fabregas heeled it into Messi's run path.
Messie's half-beat-quick shot flew goalward. Roman Weidenfeller, timing stolen perfectly, froze.
"…Verrückter Monster (crazy monster bastard)."
Luckily, it hit the post and bounced wide.
Guys are going quiet… not good.
As Barca's attacks intensified, Dortmund players' chatter faded on the pitch.
"Talk! Open your mouths and communicate!"
Klopp yelled from the touchline, but it fell on deaf ears. With momentum fully to Barca, Dortmund took a goal kick.
The ball ricocheted off Sebastian Kehl's head—luckily toward me.
I chest-trapped it lightly, and just before it hit the ground—
Thwack─!
Half-turning toward goal, I unleashed the shot. Perfectly curled, it sailed over the advancing keeper's head and rippled the net.
Swish─!
Blood rushed to my head from scoring against the so-called strongest team. I sprinted to the stands roaring, pumping my fist into the air with all my might.
"Jaaaaaa─!!!"
The ecstatic Dortmund fans' heat enveloped my body.