How to Handle Jealousy
Judging by how sharp their passing work was, the idols from Q-Nine were clearly friends who played futsal on the regular.
Which meant that by halftime, they would already have drawn up a plan to counter the absurd first goal they had conceded.
Yeon-woo watched the approaching defender, then tapped the ball into open space and took off at full speed himself.
Throughout the entire match he had never once taken a shot of his own, so the opponents who had been closing the gap expecting a pass were caught completely off guard and scrambled after him. But he had cut in the opposite direction from their approach, and they could not catch up in time. The rest of the defense could not abandon their own marks to chase him either — everyone knew he would simply feed a pass into the hole they left behind.
If these were professionals, they would have been communicating in real time to cover a situation like this.
While the other side hesitated, Yeon-woo drove the ball into the open space and struck it hard.
Thwack—
The ball cracked off the top of his foot with a sound like it might burst, and before the goalkeeper could even react, it skimmed past him and split the net.
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Just as the casters and MCs opened their mouths to call the goal, the final whistle blew.
The semifinal ended 6–5.
Only after the whistle did the arena MC's voice come through.
And with that last dagger of a goal sealing the outcome, the chat exploded right on cue.
Meanwhile, the fans watching from the stands had eyes of their own, and they could feel exactly how the game had been flowing.
Even at a school sports day, most spectators only ever focus on whoever scores. And while Dong-ha had put away most of the goals, anyone who had watched this match live could not possibly miss that Yeon-woo had been the one orchestrating every single situation.
"I—I feel like our actor is just toying with the other team…"
"Haa, how did he even know I have a thing for guys who are good at soccer? He prepared this on purpose, didn't he."
They had scrambled out of bed at dawn for attendance checks, the weather was freezing, and the seats were miserable — but with a show this good for the eyes, every hardship simply melted away.
As they shook hands with the opposing team and walked off, the Axis members swarmed Yeon-woo, buzzing with excitement.
"Hyung! When did you start playing soccer? Why are you this good?"
"We actually won because of you, Yeon-woo. I can't believe we're going to the finals."
Yeon-woo listened and allowed himself a faint smile.
"I'm not particularly good at soccer. I just stayed calm and responded."
Being a highly capable NIS agent skilled in countless disciplines was no reason to be good at soccer. Covert operations never required a decent shot on goal. But mini-formats like futsal were the kind of sport you could play anywhere, anytime — stick a few sticks in the ground for goalposts — and over the course of countless missions, he had played it endlessly with multinational mercenaries and fellow operatives.
And the truth was, they had not won because Yeon-woo was a great soccer player. Individually, the opposing idols were actually better than him. What set them apart was the field of vision with which they read the battlefield.
They got so tense they could only see what was right in front of them, so they never got to show their real ability.
The American writer Scott Adams once said that being decently good at many things will overwhelm being exceptionally good at one. Yeon-woo had not so much played futsal as he had analyzed the situation and driven a wedge into the other side's weaknesses. And in that particular field, he was the foremost expert alive.
Hearing the arena MC's words, Jae-yun of N-Boys let out a snort.
What a joke. Even at full strength we'd wipe the floor with them. We've got a guy on our team who played soccer all the way through high school.
Then he glared at Yeon-woo and Dong-ha. Honestly, neither of them had ever done anything to harm him. He just hated them. That the feeling was called jealousy was something only Jae-yun himself failed to recognize.
Across the way, Yeon-woo felt the stare and grinned.
I don't know what kind of stunt he's planning, but I'll give that brat back exactly as much as he dishes out.
He may have gotten younger, but his mind had not regressed with his body. He had no intention of bullying some green kid. He would simply make sure the boy reaped precisely what he sowed.
Both teams stepped forward, exchanged greetings, and the final kicked off.
Unexpectedly, the match proceeded normally, and Yeon-woo felt no particular dirty tricks coming his way. Their skill was lacking and their stamina was drained, but with Yeon-woo calling instructions in real time, they were never pushed as far as they might have been.
Hmm. Fair enough. With this many cameras rolling, even that kid wouldn't do anything that would get him roasted.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, Jae-yun of N-Boys charged at Dong-ha, who was dribbling the ball forward. A sliding tackle — the kind that rarely appeared in amateur matches — and Jae-yun's body skidded across the turf straight into Dong-ha.
"Agh!"
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Dong-ha's short cry and the referee's whistle rang out together. Looking at Dong-ha's face as he lay on the ground, it thankfully did not seem like he was injured. Jae-yun, who had made the tackle, approached with the most innocent expression in the world, looking genuinely sorry.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean it. Are you okay?"
Yeon-woo watched and let out a quiet snort.
He flunked his audition, but his facial acting is better than I expected.
So this was how he wanted to play it. The whole point of the tackle-and-apology routine was to make the other person scowl on camera. A real soccer player getting fouled and losing his temper would be no problem at all — but this was an idol sports festival.
Yeon-woo stepped in front of Jae-yun and helped Dong-ha up.
"Watch your face. Cameras are rolling."
He brushed the grass off Dong-ha's backside as he whispered, and Dong-ha nodded. Then Dong-ha immediately beamed, took Jae-yun's hand, and said quietly,
"I'm fine, sunbae. Anyone whose skills are a little raw is bound to make mistakes. Whether it's an audition or futsal."
Neither of them was wearing a mic, so the exchange would never make it to broadcast. Right on cue, the arena MC's voice filled the air.
Dong-ha and Jae-yun, dusting themselves off, smiling, and shaking hands, were showered with applause and cheers from the fans.
So that was your little scheme all along.
Yeon-woo looked at Jae-yun and grinned.
The first half ended. Goals were harder to come by than in the semifinal; both teams had scored once, leaving it 1–1. The problem was that the members were exhausted from playing back-to-back matches.
Hmm. The stamina drain really is significant.
Yeon-woo, by contrast, was still fresh as a daisy.
"Let's switch positions for the second half. I've got plenty of energy left, so I'll push up front. You guys drop back and play zonal defense. Stick to your own zones as much as possible and conserve your stamina."
"So counterattacking soccer? When we win the ball, we send it straight to you?"
Yeon-woo nodded at Kang Jae-won, who had read the strategy perfectly.
"Exactly. This is going to come down to a single goal, so we lock it down tight and strike late in the second half when their legs are gone too."
"Okay, got it."
"Yes, sir! Captain Ryu!"
Yeon-woo snorted at Dong-ha's words.
"Captain, my foot."
The proper title was team leader.
When the second half began after the break and they took the field in the new formation, the arena MC picked up on it immediately.
Jae-yun of N-Boys, who had also clocked the tactical shift, grinned.
Oh-ho. I was stuck wondering how to mess with him while he was buried deep in the back, and now he comes crawling out on his own? I'll peel that ugly personality of yours right open for everyone to see.
The second half unfolded exactly as Yeon-woo had predicted — a tense, grinding stalemate. N-Boys kept hammering at the goal, but Axis had dropped into something close to an all-out defensive shell, and their solid shape made breakthroughs nearly impossible.
"Yeon-woo hyung!"
Dong-ha won the ball and linked it straight to Yeon-woo. Following Yeon-woo's instructions to stay committed to defense near the halfway line even on the break, they did not push the line up high. Only Yeon-woo drove forward with the ball.
No matter how good his physique or how decent his futsal, Yeon-woo was not a professional — he could not beat an entire defense by himself. Watching him come up alone with the ball again, the N-Boys team began pressing him at a leisurely pace.
Now.
Jae-yun grinned and charged at Yeon-woo. Seeing it coming, Yeon-woo deliberately stretched his dribble a little longer, setting up the perfect situation for a sliding tackle.
Sure enough, Jae-yun went sliding in exactly the way he had against Dong-ha in the first half — and Yeon-woo went down.
"Agh!"
"Gyaaah!"
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The whistle blew again as Yeon-woo went flying and tumbled across the grass in a dramatic roll.
"Yeon-woo hyung!"
Fans in the stands shot to their feet in shock.
Yeon-woo's face as he rolled was, to any observer, contorted in agony — but the corners of his mouth were turned up.
In sports, winning a foul through false theatrics is called a Hollywood action. In the United States proper they call it a simulated foul, and "Hollywood action" is Konglish — but on this particular pitch, Hollywood action belonged to Ryu Yeon-woo from the start.
I was in Hollywood until last month, and I'm pretty decent at action, too.
And a Hollywood dive was not the only thing Yeon-woo had prepared. For all that Yeon-woo had gone flying with a dramatic cry, Jae-yun was the one letting out a death-rattle scream. Yeon-woo, who had seen the sliding tackle coming, had never been interested in touching the ball. As he went down, he casually clipped Jae-yun's most sensitive area with the top of his foot.
Well, you'll need to leave descendants someday, so I didn't hit that hard — but the tears should be welling up nicely.
From the outside, Yeon-woo was the one who had gone flying, so people rushed to him first. He raised a hand to show he was fine, then limped slightly over toward Jae-yun.
"Are you okay? Where does it hurt?"
"Kh—"
With countless fans watching and cameras rolling, how was he supposed to clutch there? Jae-yun could only glare at Yeon-woo through a face twisted in pain, unable to say a word.
"Ahh… surely not?"
With a perfectly guileless expression, Yeon-woo approached the sprawled Jae-yun. Then he began urgently tapping at his tailbone.
"S-stop that!"
"It's fine. This is ancestral wisdom passed down through the ages. Doing this makes the pain ease right up."
Only then did the stands, the MCs, the players on the field, and even the countless viewers watching the YouTube live stream all understand why Jae-yun had been unable to get up.
"Pffft!"
Dong-ha burst into a stifled laugh, and some of the fans in the stands covered their eyes with their hands — then cracked their fingers open just enough to keep watching.
And the live viewers began consoling Jae-yun in their own various ways.
Had Jae-yun been able to see the chat, the pain might have gotten even worse — but he was still just gasping for breath.
Tap tap tap—
And Yeon-woo kept right on tapping at Jae-yun's tailbone.
"S-stop it, I said!"
"Come on, this is how you make it hurt less."