Different Beds, Same Dream

Fortunately, the Luton Town squad had not boarded their plane yet.

Slicing my way through the swarm of journalists—which seemed even thicker than when I had first arrived—I popped right into the first team's press interview area. Luckily, getting past reporters was a hell of a lot easier than slipping past defenders.

A few journalists grumbled in annoyance when I bumped past them from behind, but the moment they saw my face, their expressions morphed into sheer bewilderment.

"What are you doing here instead of preparing for the semifinal?" Teddy asked, staring at me.

"Well, that's not really my job to prepare," I replied breezily.

"What is this idiot on about now?"

"Beats me."

Dominic and Emir, who had abandoned their own ongoing interviews the second they spotted me, sprinted over just in time to catch my exchange with our captain. Both wore looks of pure disbelief.

For the record, our semifinal opponent was Australia, the host nation of these Olympic Games.

Backed by the home crowd's vocal support, a longer preparation camp than ours, and a gentle run of fixtures against relatively weaker sides, they had marched into the final four. In many respects, their journey mirrored our own.

Considering that the opposite bracket's semifinal pitted Brazil against Argentina, both Korea and Australia had to admit they were ridiculously blessed by fortune.

Had we been tossed into the opposite half of the draw, even surviving the quarterfinals would have been touch-and-go.

Well, what mattered was that Korea and Australia were going toe-to-toe in the semifinals. With a silver medal guaranteed to whoever won, our squad's motivation wouldn't just be high—it would be bursting at the seams.

On top of that, Australia didn't operate with an insanely congested, brute-force midfield like Japan had.

They were simply a well-balanced, cohesive unit. Not bad by any stretch, but lacking any individual brilliance that genuinely stood out.

Which means I won't need to drop deep and stress over the midfield.

The decisive factor against Australia would come down to clinical finishing—whether our target man could tuck away the chances served up to him.

In other words, there was zero reason for me to step out onto the pitch. If I left it in Lee Han's capable hands, I didn't have the slightest doubt he would deliver the silver medal on a silver platter.

And, as an added bonus, our military exemption.

So I decided to simply enjoy the moment.

The reporters, noticing our quick hushed huddle had wound down, swarmed toward me like moths to a flame.

"When do you plan to return to Luton Town?"

"Ideally, I'd like to play the final before heading back," I answered.

"Do you believe you have a chance of winning the tournament?"

"Fifty-fifty."

Ah.

Come to think of it, I hadn't even had fried chicken once during this preseason.

...Guess I won't get any until next year.

Eating fried food in the middle of a grueling league campaign was suicidal madness, so there wasn't much I could do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about it.

While my mind wandered off into dietary laments, one reporter, who had been eagerly thrusting his phone toward my face to record, spoke up again.

"...You truly believe your chances of winning the gold are as high as fifty percent?"

Hearing the distinct South American cadence threading through his English, I figured he was from Latin America.

There was a subtle, condescending smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, and I didn't care for it one bit.

"You either win or you lose. It's one of the two, so isn't fifty-fifty pretty obvious?"

At my blunt remark, the other reporters in the room began tuning their ears toward me.

"It's a knockout tournament, and the ball is round," I continued. "Argentina already lost to Korea in the group stage, didn't they?"

"That was simply because Argentina was weak."

Seeing how utterly shameless he was about trashing Argentina, he was almost certainly Brazilian.

Had he come all this way just to interview Dominic?

Like a true South American, the man had absolutely no filter. It was a blessing for him that Luton didn't have any Argentine players in the squad; otherwise, he might have been thrown out of the room on his neck right then and there.

Of course, since he had pushed the envelope that far, it was only polite of me to return the favor.

"Honestly, I don't care which of them reaches the final," I said with an innocent smile. "I just sincerely hope their semifinal goes all the way through extra time, and they burn through at least ten penalty takers before somebody scrapes through."

I meant every single word.

How on earth were we supposed to beat Brazil if they came into the final completely fresh?

Naturally, my remark carried the implicit assumption that Korea would be waiting for them in the final.

Faith in Lee Han aside, if any objective observer had to pick a finalist between Korea and Australia, Korea held the clear upper hand. With the sheer euphoria of military exemption dangling right in front of our noses, there was no way in hell we were going to lose.

"Oh, and one more thing—"

"Wait, stop! Shut your mouth!"

Sensing a disastrous disturbance in the air, Dominic scrambled forward in a frantic bid to gag me, but I boldly pushed out the exact words I had promised him.

"Besides, against a Brazil team that doesn't even have Dominic in the squad, we've got more than enough of a chance."

"...Wait, no, don't—"

"The Brazil manager is probably going to regret leaving him out," I added cheerily. "He'll be lucky if he isn't sobbing his eyes out once the final whistle blows."

With that single, masterfully provocative broadside, I had relegated the entire Brazilian national team to a second-rate outfit simply because ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Dominic was missing. Dominic, having received the highest—and most toxic—praise of his life, staggered on his feet.

"......I'm ruined."

"Hey, I kept my promise!"

"I never asked you to say it like that!"

"Well, let's just pretend you did from now on."

"......"

Teddy buried his face in one hand while using his other arm to prop up Dominic, who looked ready to collapse onto the carpet.

"Right, to change the subject, we'll take just one final question," Teddy announced loudly to the press corps. "It's hardly appropriate to spend Luton Town's entire media availability talking about the Olympics."

"Whatever you say, the damage is already done..." Dominic wheezed.

Lacking even the strength to grab me by the collar, Dominic shuffled out of the press room without another word. Half of his soul looked like it had evaporated straight out of his mouth.

With Dominic's sudden vanishing act wrapping things up, I was just preparing to make my exit when a reporter thrust a hand into the air.

"Erm, may I ask one last question, Lee Han?"

"Sure. Go ahead."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"What is the nature of your relationship with Luton Town's chairwoman, Adelia Myers?"

"Club owner and player."

"......"

Not a shred of hesitation. Not a single supplementary detail.

The reporter, who had clearly been anticipating a flustered reaction, ended up looking thoroughly bewildered himself.

I mean, there really isn't anything between her and me, so what else am I supposed to say?

If Lee Han had been at the wheel, that question might have rattled him a little, but as far as I was concerned, it was none of my business.

"I'll take my leave now."

Stepping away from the gaggle of reporters, I said my farewells to the gaffer, the backroom staff, and the lads before hailing a cab back to our team hotel.

When I opened my eyes in bed, the entire sporting world had been turned upside down.

Perhaps because I had been substituted off early in the match, my body felt fresher than at any point during this Olympic campaign, but my head was throbbing with an excruciating migraine.

Just glancing through the automated news feeds popping up on my phone made it abundantly clear how much havoc Lee Yeon had wreaked before ducking out to rest.

A blowout win is fantastic, but still...

A small part of me briefly wondered if that wasn't enough to celebrate, but that fleeting optimism evaporated the moment an incoming video call lit up the screen.

"Han. Are you awake?"

A familiar voice echoed through the speaker, accompanied by the sight of Adelia on screen, looking as though she might collapse from sheer exhaustion at any second.

"Haven't you gone to sleep yet?"

It was early morning here in Brisbane, but late evening back in England. We hadn't had many opportunities to talk recently, so seeing her face made me genuinely glad.

"I was just about to go to bed, but then a ridiculous pile of articles popped up."

Though her official title was chairwoman, Adelia effectively oversaw every single operational facet of Luton Town. It was painfully obvious that the mess Lee Yeon had stirred up had rubbed her completely the wrong way.

"Did you really have to answer that question so coldly, without even a flicker of hesitation?"

Ah. So that was the issue bothering her.

"Lia. Isn't that much better than getting found out?"

Since I hadn't yet found a way to explain to her that Lee Yeon and I shared a single physical body, quiet, rational persuasion was my only recourse.

"If our relationship gets leaked, you're already swamped with work—it'll only make your life a living nightmare..."

Setting aside the fact that she was one of the very few female club owners in the Premier League, she was also, by a wide margin, the youngest and most breathtakingly attractive owner in the game. If rumors broke that she was romantically involved with a player—and a player from her own club, no less—the media circus and internal headaches would be boundless.

"I know that, Han. Better than anyone."

Her voice softened, a slight pout lingering on her lips. Still, knowing that my priority had been protecting her seemed to soothe her irritation, and her expression relaxed considerably.

"So I won't nag you about that anymore. You'll just have to make it up to me once you're back."

The subtle waggle of the beer can in her hand left little doubt as to what kind of "recompense" she had in mind.

"However, Han..."

"......"

An ominous chill crept down my spine before she even finished her sentence. Just moments ago she had been Lia, but now she was speaking as Chairwoman Adelia Myers.

"What on earth possessed you to pick a fight with the entire Brazilian press corps?"

"...Well. That wasn't really what I had in mind..."

My words dried up in my throat.

"I understand that the Olympic schedule is brutal and managing stress is tough, but please consider the club's public image as well."

"Under...stood."

"Well, on the bright side, the controversy went completely viral. Luton ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Town's official YouTube views have skyrocketed through the roof, so I suppose I'll let today's outburst slide."

Telling me there was no need to look so dejected, she offered a bright, encouraging smile.

"And since you've already made such a bold declaration, you'd better bring home the gold medal! I've cleared my entire schedule just to watch your semifinal and the final!"

With Australia being part of the Commonwealth, Great Britain had assembled a unified team for the Brisbane Olympics, just as they had done years ago for London 2012.

Predictably, burdened by Britain's traditionally brittle squad chemistry and an excruciatingly difficult group draw, they had crashed out in the round of sixteen against Brazil. Which gave Adelia yet another reason to throw her full support behind me.

To top it off, Germany—the other side she had personal ties to as a German-British national—had been eliminated in the quarterfinals after a grueling extra-time clash against Brazil. At this point, the only team left in the tournament she could possibly root for was the one I played for.

"None of the players in the Brazil squad play for Luton anyway. And between what their manager said about you and their obnoxious, self-righteous press, I can't stand a single one of them. Go out there and completely flatten them."

Perhaps the alcohol was talking, but her words were dripping with fiercely personal bias.

Please, let Argentina and Brazil drag each other through a brutal extra time.

Whichever of the two advanced, my sole hope was that they would beat each other to a bloody pulp and arrive at the final thoroughly drained.

If there was one single sentiment that Lee Yeon and I shared in total harmony, it was that.

And, as I found myself thinking whenever this happened, it was definitely for the best that she was never handed a drink at official club functions.

At any rate, looking at each other's faces across the screen, we caught up on the past few days and traded gentle banter.

With it being late at night in England and my morning training session for the semifinal just around the corner, we couldn't speak for long, but it was more than enough to brighten my spirits.

"Make sure... you do what I asked..." she murmured drowsily.

"I'll do my best, Lia."

Watching her stumble over to her bed and collapse beneath the covers, I gently ended the call.

A glance at the clock mounted on the hotel wall told me it was time to move. If I lingered any longer, I wouldn't even have time to grab breakfast.