The Beginning of a Fairytale

The match concept was simple.

We just had to play our own game.

Norwich City didn’t have the squad depth to match us, and while we might have felt a few pre-match butterflies, we were nowhere near stiff enough to fumble our touches at home. If anything, that healthy edge of tension had everyone moving with sharp, electric urgency.

Even as I took in the stadium's charged atmosphere, the ball circulated smoothly through our backline. When it reached Mathias between the posts, it took off from his boots in a flash, arcing high across the pitch to drop near where I stood cutting off passing lanes around the center circle. It was a razor-sharp delivery that plummeted toward the final third. Norwich’s midfielder and center-back converged on me like a vice, trying to sandwich me out of the play, but I leaped half a beat earlier than both of them and met the ball cleanly with my head.

Thump.

With a deliberate tilt of my neck, I killed the ball's spin and dropped it pinpoint into the pocket of space vacated by their charging center-back. Even before I had jumped, Dominic had begun creeping forward the second Mathias struck the ball. Slipping into the tight channel before the recovering defenders could close him down, Dominic shielded possession and slipped a cheeky backheel pass behind him. Emir, darting along the flank, didn't flinch at the sudden delivery; he chipped a lofted ball straight back to me without breaking stride. One of the players who had contested the header was sprawled on the turf, but with no whistle blown, I comfortably cushioned the ball off my head and popped it back into the air.

I calmly bounced the ball off my forehead, tap after tap, scanning the pitch. Having already committed two men to me, Norwich City didn't dare send any more defensive reinforcements, choosing instead to hold their shape. Seeing their center-back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠already bypassed, keeping their distance would normally have been the textbook play.

Yet that was their fatal mistake.

Whether it was because our first encounter had been early in the season or simply a lapse in judgment, they seemed to have forgotten just how deadly accurate my passes could be with my head. And Norwich City would pay dearly for granting me both time and space.

Without letting the ball drop below eye level even once, I drove it straight into the penalty box. Floating in a sweeping parabola, it fell exquisitely into the corridor between the goalkeeper and the backline. The runner latching onto it, surprisingly, was Hughes, who had ghosted in from deep, completely unnoticed by the markers. Before the scrambling goalkeeper could even set his feet, Hughes was already swinging his boot.

Snap!

The crisp rustle of the opponent's net was a sound that never got old.

I had focused heavily on finishing in the second half of the season, which naturally slowed my assist pace compared to the first half. Of course, my goal-scoring rate had skyrocketed in return, blowing past forty goals and shattering the Championship’s all-time single-season scoring record long ago, so nobody had any grounds to complain. Besides, as a striker, finding the back of the net was my primary duty anyway.

Still, even accounting for the Championship's grueling 46-game calendar compared to the Premier League, posting numbers like these was a historic feat. Before heading up to the top flight, etching my name just one line deeper into Championship lore sounded pretty good. Tossing those thoughts around, I jogged over to Hughes, who was currently being mobbed by supporters leaning right over the low barriers—one of Kenilworth Road's greatest charms and biggest hazards. Spotting me, Hughes slapped me on the back and let out a roar of pure ecstasy.

...Well, I can worry about records later.

Right now, there was no need to overthink. All that mattered was surrendering to the roaring heat, soaking it in, and securing the victory.

Promotion was close.

So, so very close.

Thanks to a goal from Dominic just before the break, set up by Captain Teddy, Kenilworth Road had already descended into a state of absolute delirium before the second half even kicked off.

"Forty-five minutes to go!"

"Just hold on, lads!"

"We're going to the Premier League!"

Hmm.

Hearing those chants while playing against Norwich City felt oddly surreal. Almost like tempting fate. Was it just my imagination?

Shrugging off the wild roar echoing outside, I rolled my neck in the tunnel. Half-time was wrapping up, and the second half was about to begin. Strolling out toward the pitch, we caught sight of the manager looking on with proud satisfaction from the technical area. In unison, we thumped the club crest on our chests. Having told us nothing more than "Go out and win" before stepping out early to the touchline, the boss seemed thoroughly pleased with our silent vow.

The supporters, electrified by the gesture, stomped their feet with enough force to make Kenilworth Road feel as if it might collapse, bellowing Luton Town's anthems at the top of their lungs. Until our studs sank into the turf, not a single one of us—not even Dominic—uttered a word. We didn't need to. Every one of us knew exactly what was on the others' minds.

Tweet!

Norwich City kicked off the second half. While their tactical setup hadn't changed much, everything else had. As if determined to prove why he was just as formidable as a holding midfielder as he was in a box-to-box role, Hughes immediately anticipated an opponent's passing lane and snatched the ball away.

"Dominic!"

Winning possession closer to the halfway line than our own goal, Hughes didn't hesitate for a heartbeat, sweeping a pass diagonally to Dominic on the run. Dominic cushioned it cleanly with his boot before whipping an early cross straight toward me as I sliced between Norwich's center-backs.

With Norwich trailing and pushing their defensive line high in desperation, a counterattack left their half wide open. Shaking off their center-backs with my pace was child's play. First, I angled my back to bounce the cross softly forward. As it dropped just ahead of me, I met it with my forehead without a second thought, driving it down into the pitch. Without even checking its trajectory, I slipped out from between the two defenders, twisting my body to chase the bounce I had spun into the turf.

Caught flat-footed, the defenders bit hard on my shoulder feint and stumbled the wrong way. There was no stopping me now. The only man left in my path was the keeper. As the ball rebounded sharply from the turf, I took it off the side of my head. It came to a dead halt, balanced right above my brow.

Unable to recklessly dive fists-first into my face, the goalkeeper braced himself to react to the header the moment I breached the box. But if defending like that were enough to stop me, I would never have scored all those goals in the first place. As the keeper crept out, I flicked the ball diagonally into the air, just inches beyond the reach of his extending gloves.

In the next split second, I redirected its path completely with the center of my forehead.

Boom!

The force of the impact sent me sprawling face-first onto the turf with my eyes squeezed shut, but there was no need to check whether it crossed the line.

"Luton! Luton Town! Luton Town!"

"Lee Han! Lee Han! Lee Han!"

The raw, throat-tearing roars of joy echoing around me told me everything I needed to know. The numbers on the scoreboard flipped.

And soon...

So would the league we played in.

Every eye in the stadium was glued anxiously to the referee. Never in our lives had the shrill blast of the whistle between his lips been so desperately anticipated.

The ball soared like a celebratory cannon shot into the heavens.

Brilliant fireworks shot up, bursting into blooms of light against the twilight sky. Although the sun hadn't fully set and residential houses were huddled wall-to-wall against the stadium, nobody gave a damn about the noise. People out in those neighborhoods stepped into their front gardens, right in the shadow of the ground, soaking in the euphoric victory.

And inside the stadium, the fans who had spent stoppage time sweating bullets unleashed their feelings far more explosively.

"Luton Town promoted... in my lifetime..." An elderly man, weeping with overwhelming emotion, pressed his trembling lips to his faded, decades-old Luton Town shirt.

"Where are the lads?!"

"Find 'em and toss 'em in the air!"

"I'm planting a kiss on their foreheads first!"

From the hard-bitten ultras to third-generation supporters who had bled orange, white, and blue for longer than they could remember, thousands surged forward the instant the final whistle blew, flooding the pitch.

"Stay back! You cannot enter the pitch!"

"Get out of the way! This happens once in a lifetime, you bloody sods!"

This was England, the birthplace of hooligans, and Luton was no gentle suburb. The town's fiercely passionate fans had zero trouble vaulting over the thigh-high perimeter fencing—barriers so flimsy they hardly deserved the name.

"...Well, our supporters certainly seem to be in high spirits."

"Indeed they do."

Adelia Myers, who had been bawling tears of joy only moments ago, snapped back to reality as she watched the sea of fans storming the pitch from the directors' box.

...We're definitely getting fined for this, she thought with a wry smile.

Since the pitch invasion happened after full time, the result wouldn't be overturned, but anyone could see the scene was skirting the edge of chaos. In a boiling cauldron of uncontrolled euphoria, anything could happen. The only saving grace was that the club had deployed far more stewards and police officers than usual, whose desperate scramble managed to buy just enough time for both Luton Town and Norwich City players to sprint for the tunnel.

"It seems we have yet another reason to expand the ground," Adelia remarked.

"I'll speed up the inquiries immediately. Now that promotion is mathematically secured, selecting contractors will be much easier."

"Good."

Until now, to guard against financial risk, construction had been limited to mandatory upgrades that had to be done regardless of promotion. But the time had arrived for an overhaul. Above all, it was time to leave behind the quirky stadium layout with one side virtually exposed to the neighboring houses. Myers downed the rest of her beer in one gulp, setting the glass down gently on the table this time. It was time to go greet the players.

The Norwich City players offered brief, sporting congratulations in the restricted corridor before boarding their team bus without even taking showers. It wasn't that they had done anything wrong—in fact, our fans probably viewed them as the gracious guests of honor today—but it was a precautionary measure against gridlock and drunken revelry spilling out into the streets. And so, they made a swift exit from Kenilworth Road.

Meanwhile, back in the locker room, every muscle in our bodies was screaming after ninety grueling minutes on the pitch. Yet every face wore the same dopey, irrepressible grin.

"This... this isn't a dream, right?"

"I knew at least one idiot would say that, so I brought a spinning top. Spin it."

I tossed a small wooden top to Emir, whose dazed expression looked like he couldn't tell heaven from earth. Being the gullible lad he was, he dutifully set it spinning on the smooth tile floor.

"...Wait, it's not falling over."

"Well then, must be a dream."

"..."

Emir's face went deadpan, and without another word, he walked over and banged his head against the wall. The sound of bone meeting solid brick was remarkably crisp. Apparently one knock wasn't enough, because he slammed his forehead against the wall a couple more times before spinning back with a bright red knot blooming between his eyebrows.

"It hurts like hell, you bastard!"

"Isn't the problem that you actually believed it?"

I picked up the endlessly spinning wooden top and clicked the hidden switch at its center. Lee Yeon had prepared it earlier, rambling about how it had an internal motorized gyroscopic mechanism that prevented it from toppling over.

"Get over here!"

"Your fault for falling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for it."

"Honestly, even Dominic wouldn't fall for that one."

"Oi! Why are you dragging me into this?!" Dominic protested.

"Because you would've fallen for it too."

Setting aside footballing IQ, the two of them regularly competed for the title of Luton Town's thickest skull when it came to everyday common sense. Dominic, predictably, took deep personal offense to the verdict.

Amid the cheerful chaos and laughter, the boss stepped into the dressing room.

"Who can tell me when our next match is?"

"One week from now, boss!"

"And in your eyes, does that sound like enough time to prepare?"

"...N-No, sir?"

"Wrong, Dominic. It is more than enough time."

The gaffer chuckled as Dominic squirmed under his gaze.

"Which means you have today completely off. Go wild."

"...!"

"Miss Myers will be picking up the tab, after all."

"Good evening, everyone."

The door swung open, and Adelia stepped inside. Rather than being startled by a familiar face, seeing the club chairwoman in person made the reality of promotion finally sink in for the lads.

"I've booked out a restaurant for us," she smiled warmly. "Once your recovery massages are done, please come by and enjoy yourselves. That goes for all the staff as well."

"On that note, tomorrow morning's training session is canceled," the manager added. "Get your rest, and I'll see you in the afternoon."

If the dressing room ceiling had been just a foot higher, the squad would already have tossed both of them up into the air. Roars of celebration erupted, rivaling the deafening noise outside as our cheers echoed out of the locker room and rolled across the pitch.