Light and Darkness & Full Circle: Zenit (Complete)

"Bellingham, who said you were coming off? Why the long face?"

"Then...?"

"Nazari!"

Han Shin called out in turn to the players he had already ordered to warm up in preparation for the substitutions.

"I've been waiting for this!"

"Get ready. And Luke! Jensen! Patrick too."

"Yes!"

"I was fired up myself, but we take our revenge only through football. Understood? The enemy has completely lost their momentum. So if a chance comes, shoot without hesitation!"

"Understood!"

The electronic board went up announcing the substitutions.

"Bellingham, they might target your ankle again from that side, so it's only ten minutes. No more than that."

"Ten minutes is enough. Thank you."

"Yeah, I trust you. In Korean, we say mitneunda."

"Mit. Neun. Da."

His kit was already a complete mess. As Bellingham rolled the word "trust" over in his mind, a solemn resolve settled around him.

70' Dan Neil → Luke O'Nien

Jacob Brown → Jensen Seelt

Jack Clarke → Patrick Roberts

Niall Huggins → Nazari Rusin

"Got it? We're going with the 3-2-5 we used in the practice match. Keep it simple—tell them to feed every chance to Bellingham for the next five minutes."

"Yes!"

Five players entered the pitch at once.

Commentator Lee Jun-hee picked up on something unusual.

Punishment.

The entire Zenit squad had become prisoners serving a sentence.

Crushed by Gazprom's pressure, Manager Igor had long since let go of the last thread of reason.

A little earlier, at half-time.

Vice-Chairman Dmitri had threatened Manager Igor.

"You lose this match and you're sacked. Understand?"

"I'm sorry."

"Ha, you little shit. Forgotten what I'm like, have you?"

Dmitri unfastened his watch.

"No. Yulia. You slap some sense into that bastard for me."

Vice-Chairman Dmitri ordered his secretary Yulia to slap the summoned Manager Igor hard across the face several times.

"But how could I... dare... how could I do such a thing…"

Yulia fidgeted, twisting her legs together in agitation.

"Hit him. Hard. Or you're the one getting fired instead of him."

Yulia's eyes filled with tears as she expressed her regret.

"I'm sorry, Manager. Sob... just once… I have no choice."

Manager Igor, who had already activated the recorder—his last resort—hidden in his breast pocket, let out a deep sigh that words could not fully capture.

"Huu…"

Thinking that one solid slap would end it, Yulia steeled herself and struck with all her strength.

Smack—!

The sound that tore open was not Igor's cheek, but his heart.

"Sob… is that enough?"

"No, no."

Dmitri, puffing on a cigar, grabbed Yulia's chest from behind and continued issuing inhuman orders.

"Yulia, harder."

"Sob sob, I just hit him with everything I had…"

"Then you take the hit. That'll wake him up, won't it?"

Russian agents stood waiting in the background.

Yulia and Igor had no way out.

"Do it, Yulia. It doesn't even hurt."

"No… I'm sorry, Manager. How did it come to this, sob sob sob."

Smack-!

Yulia slapped him while bawling her eyes out.

It was the first time in her life she had ever struck another person.

"Again!"

Smaaack-!

Igor's cheeks swelled. Rage boiled over inside him.

In all his life he had never known humiliation like this.

To be reduced to taking slaps from Yulia, a secretary who was nothing more than the vice-chairman's plaything…

"Igor, what's with that face? Got a complaint? Heh heh heh."

Dmitri used Igor's suit as an ashtray, tapping ash from his cigar.

He blew the acrid smoke onto the rising welts.

"Huuuuuuu—!"

Igor gulped down the blood flowing from the split wounds inside his mouth.

But to defy Gazprom—the energy giant that controlled nearly half of Russia's economy—was to defy Putin himself.

Old Igor, who feared the delivery of a cup of black tea, could only take the beating in silence.

"Hahahahaha! Getting used to it, are you? Kick him with your foot, Yulia. I'll give you double, triple the bonus."

"I'm sorry! I'm truly sorry! Sob sob sob."

Secretary Yulia could say nothing but apologies.

The scene was so wretched that one had to wonder about the mental state of Manager Igor, who had somehow managed to stay in his seat without fleeing the stadium.

Igor decided to leave the team—no, to retire.

He was only a figurehead manager anyway.

And this was no longer football.

Even while entangled with the Russian state enterprise, the party's politics had already stretched their tentacles deep.

Even now, under the thorough surveillance of the agents, he felt sorry for his family who were suffering.

Feeling revulsion toward a mad country where a single word could make a person vanish without a sound and where vote tallies hit 130 percent…

He resolved to leave for a place beyond Russia's reach.

"Enough. Ha, that feels a bit better. And you! Come closer."

When Dmitri called, agents in black suits dragged Zenit's youth player Damon out of the darkness, terror-stricken.

They threw him to the floor like a sack of barley. Dmitri spoke.

"I've got a special mission for you."

"What is it… Vice-Chairman Dmitri?"

"That bastard Bellingham—snap his ankle."

The target of his venting was, absurdly, Han Shin and Sunderland's ace, Bellingham.

To get revenge, he had tempted a youth player with zero chance of turning pro.

"What? That's…"

"You handle this for me and I'll guarantee you a starting place in the league this season, you little shit."

"Really, Vice-Chairman?"

"Call me Chairman. And looking at the situation, don't you get it? Even the manager is under my foot. Hey, do the dogeza like the Japanese do."

"Grrrk…"

The absolute peak of shame.

Dogeza.

Igor bowed his head with a heart that felt like it was vomiting blood.

He resolved to bid eternal farewell to this filthy, inhuman society.

"Pwahahahaha! Look at him doing it just because I said so. Who told you to get thrashed like a dog, huh?!"

Dmitri planted his filthy shoe on top of Igor's head.

"Khhhk…"

The blood he had been holding back streamed from the corner of his mouth. Dmitri pulled a cheque from his pocket.

"And you! Name your price when we renew your contract."

Damon took the cheque. In the midst of this vivid scene where every noble human value was being denied, an inexplicable excitement surged in his chest, making his whole body tremble.

"I trust only you, Chairman."

"Good, hahahaha! Smarter young man than you look. What was your name again?"

"Damon… Chairman."

And so eighteen-year-old Damon Diablo, who had fallen for the devil's sweet temptation, set his sights on Bellingham's ankle.

Naive bastard. Your pro career? No—your life is over.

The Zenit players had no idea what had become of their manager.

Their once-swaggering presence was gone; the situation had completely reversed.

Sunderland, riding the momentum, threw on an extra attacker.

It almost looked as though they were copying Zenit's starting lineup.

A humiliating dismissal.

But with the red card, the nine remaining outfield players were exhausted beyond measure.

With no instructions from the manager, they decided on their own to park the bus.

As a result, Sunderland's second-half possession approached 80 percent.

Patrick, who had come on as right winger, collected the ball comfortably on the touchline.

Even when he drifted slowly inside, the opposition could no longer apply any pressure at all.

Patrick, now approaching thirty, felt a sense of déjà vu.

Lately it feels like whenever I get the ball, nobody marks me…

In the last practice match Han Shin had ordered them not to mark him, but this was a real match.

A completely different situation—yet the same predicament.

Ha… is there nothing left for me to do at Sunderland? I should leave and take on a new challenge…

Patrick decided that from this moment he would formally request a transfer.

Meanwhile Bellingham, who had been guaranteed only ten minutes and was racing against the clock, snapped at the daydreaming Patrick.

"Hyung, what are you doing?! I'm in a hurry—give it to me now!"

"There's no space!"

Just as Patrick said, Zenit had parked the bus.

Han Shin barked instructions from the touchline.

"Everyone push up except Jensen! All-out attack!"

"Huu…"

Watching his teammates step up the line, Patrick steadied his breathing.

This is almost like a free-kick. Curl it properly.

Confirming that goalkeeper Sergei was positioned to the right, Patrick attempted a precise long-range curler toward the left post.

"No! You should pass! Hyung!"

Bellingham sprinted, hunting the second-ball chance.

But then…

"What the—! Whoa!! That's insane!"

Han Shin could not hold back his exclamation of awe.

72nd minute. The score was now 4–0.

Eighteen minutes remaining.

One more goal until the promise between Han Shin and Bellingham was fulfilled.

Zenit, caught completely off-guard by Patrick's surprise shot, lost all will to fight.

Like prey cowering before a predator, they huddled in their own half, desperately recycling the ball.

Because of that, the Black Cats could snatch possession more easily than taking candy from a child.

Abdullah Ba won the ball with a tackle and passed to Chris Rigg.

Ukraine's pure striker Nazari made the run; Bellingham followed behind him.

Before coming on, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Nazari had whispered to the goal-hungry Bellingham.

"Stay behind me and I'll create the chance with a heel pass. Just finish it, Captain."

"Don't get caught offside, Nazari."

"Hahaha! Just hide behind Håkon!"

"Yeah, that works."

Trusting Nazari's bold claim, Bellingham tucked himself behind him.

Chris played a through-ball to the advancing Nazari.

Déjà vu.

The only things that had changed from the first half were the stamina and confidence of both teams.

Vice-captain Andrei chased with leaden ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠legs.

Goalkeeper Sergei shifted his position slightly, wary of a low shot from Nazari.

I'll stop it this time!

But Nazari rolled the ball backward.

"Take it!"

Where?

The rats who had lost the will to fight were no longer a match for the predator that was Sunderland.

"Go!!!"

"Finish it!!"

Bellingham had only one minute left.

Essentially the last chance.

Even the stinging ankle no longer hurt at all.

His all-out shot…

Swishhhhh-!

Ripped the net.

"Waaaaaaaaah!"

Han Shin could not have been happier.

"Yes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that's it! Beautiful~!"

"Boss!"

Ten outfield players rushed toward Han Shin.

"I believed in you!"

Bellingham leapt and threw himself into Han Shin's arms.

"Thank you for trusting me!"

"How could I not trust you? You're 'deadly accurate'!"

Full time.

Beep—beep!

Match result.

"Waaaaaaaaah!"

The Sunderland fans who had been half-doubting plunged into a cauldron of pure frenzy.

"How could we not love you~~ Jobe Bellingham~~ You're our man!"

"Han Shin! Han Shin! Han Shin!"

Zenit refused even the press conference and fled the pitch.

And then the flood of articles.

And the Korean football community galleries saw their servers explode.

Sunderland's next destination was now Liverpool.

An away trip to Anfield.