Chapter 56
Chapter 56
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 56
Chapter Title: No. 10
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Thwung—
A perfect pass arriving right on cue, exactly when I needed it.
The ball drops with a clean first touch, slicing satisfyingly through the grass as it rolls forward.
Inter's defender, Carlos Augusto, grits his teeth and leaps in pursuit, but closing the gap from behind at this distance is impossible.
I glance at the goal, half-wondering if the keeper might rush out, but there he is—Tommaso Martinelli, still rooted in place, guarding the net and waiting for me.
He's only played half a season, a total rookie. But in that time, he's proven so much that my scoring patterns have already been analyzed to death.
Thanks to that, Martinelli doesn't panic at my charge and makes the best possible judgment call.
Bang!!—
But no matter how smart the decision, a one-on-one is always tilted in the attacker's favor.
Iyaaaaah!!—
The right choice, perfect positioning, impeccable timing on the dive.
Even with everything executed flawlessly, the shot traces an utterly unstoppable arc, ripping into Inter's net.
Coming off the bench against a giant like Inter and scoring immediately.
"Hoo..."
No time for a proper celebration, so I settle for catching my breath, grab the ball, and jog back to midfield.
The roaring fans in the stands.
Seeing them decked out in white jerseys felt so strange.
——
Match time: 67 minutes.
Twenty-three minutes left, and Inter restarts with their kickoff.
They're still up by one, but the stadium's atmosphere has completely flipped.
The fans had sensed defeat, prompting the starters to be subbed out.
In their place came a young loan kid fresh off joining the squad for his debut, plus Rodrygo—treated like a downgrade to the departing Vinícius.
Even some fans were thinking of heading for the exits, no one expecting anything from this.
But Ban Yeager's goal reignited the fire, turning the stadium into a cauldron of hope once more.
Tweeet!!—
Marcus Thuram's kickoff pass.
Even a simple back pass betrays nerves rattled by Real Madrid's surging energy.
Another sub who won't let this chance slip: Rodrygo, maybe even more desperate than me for attacking returns and proof of his talent, charges into Inter's midfield.
Nicolò Barella takes Thuram's kickoff and shifts right.
Denzel Dumfries collects on the right flank and starts pushing forward, scanning for the strikers—
Thwung!!—
Rodrygo, refusing to give up, sticks with it and pokes the ball away from behind.
Thwack!!—
Incredibly, the first player he spots after winning it back?
The midfielder he's synced with most over the last two weeks.
Neither a starter, so they naturally paired up—and yet, this guy made it feel like no compromise at all.
Rodrygo's hustle play ends with a pass to Ban Yeager.
Thwung—
'As expected...!'
A powerful pass to evade Nicolò Barella lurking in the middle.
If this were inside the box, it might've been a shot laid into the net—the sheer force of it.
But Ban Yeager doesn't just control it cleanly; his first touch shakes off Kristjan Asllani entirely.
I'm impressed inside, but Rodrygo's legs are already pumping hard.
Trusting Ban Yeager means you can't stop running.
He never lets your sprint go to waste.
——
Everyone saw the subs as admitting defeat, just rotating the squad.
So Ban Yeager was dismissed as mere battery for the starters.
Cold takes like "Why loan out if you're gonna use him like this?" and brain-melting trash talk dragging down everything he'd proven before.
All that vanished in under five minutes.
The vibe had totally shifted.
Nowhere more than on the pitch.
Real Madrid began bombarding Inter's goal.
——
Real Madrid, fully in the groove, unleashing indiscriminate attacks.
Yet Inter, true to their Serie A defensive roots, blocks and scrambles desperately.
This frustrating deadlock? Ban Yeager breaks it again.
Iyaaaaah!!—
"BAN! BAN! BAN!"
The crowd still doesn't know his chant, just screaming the name from his jersey over and over.
But that raw heat, that passion—it hits home clear as day.
Score: 4-3, Real Madrid leads.
I'd pulled the team from the brink, but this wasn't United—it was Real Madrid.
The ones cheering and thanking me wore white.
...
"Yeager. I respect your thinking, and it's incredible... but are you really sure about this?"
"I'm good, Dad."
"Still... as your father, I can't help worrying. At your age, just shining as a player is huge. You're already the core of Manchester United, doing way more than your share. Maybe ease up on the load a bit?"
"...Thanks for worrying. But this is all my choice."
The loan to Real Madrid for the Club World Cup.
Everyone who found out voiced worries or outright opposition.
If it turns into great experience and they snag the trophy? Perfect call.
But things never go exactly to plan.
Worse, if it flops?
Forces overwork in preseason rest time, a blemish on the career, and adapting to yet another new spot after just half a year—massive risks.
That's just weighing the Club World Cup gains and career boost.
Dad—the only one who knows the real plan—swallows it down but seems to say:
That's for the owner or scouts to handle.
Fans voicing worry and regret over my choice say:
They don't want to see United's precious gem in another team's kit.
If you truly love us and showed real loyalty, wear red forever.
No need for loan fees—just stay as Manchester United's Ban Yeager.
...
Those pleas shook me plenty at first, but not anymore.
When this life kicked off, I vowed no more sitting on the sidelines.
Turn the Man United that believed in me into the world's top club.
Make the Korea cheering me on the best national team ever.
For that, I'd endure any hardship.
Lonely war at Real Madrid? My path, necessary sacrifice.
But—
"Yeager!"
It wasn't just my fight, my sacrifice.
Mid-celebration dash to the fans, I spot red dots amid the sea of white—snaring my eyes.
Waaaaaaaaah!!—
Real Madrid fans, burn this savior's name into memory.
To those still with me: I'm still your No. 10.
I leap to them, flash my back, and throw up eight over the right hand.
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