Whatever It Takes (1)

The dressing room buzzed like a festival.

"12-1? I've never seen a win like that in my life!"

"Same here!"

"What? You guys never had a score like that when you were kids?"

"By ten goals? You did?"

"Of course. We were up by twenty once."

"Whoa... so today's not that special for you?"

"Nah, it is."

"Why?"

"We lost that one."

"Ah...."

I brushed the grass off my cleats while eavesdropping on my teammates. Truth be told, this was my first time winning by ten or more goals too. Sure, my youth team had scored ten-plus a couple times as a kid, but those were wild shootouts where the other side matched us. A one-sided beatdown like today? First in my life.

...If this had been a pro match, it would've been absolute chaos.

"Isn't this a club record?"

"Oh, could be!"

"Wow! Did we just set a new record?"

"Club record? Feels like a league record."

On one hand, it was weird. I'd dropped seven goals in a insane performance, but why wasn't I as hyped as these guys? Not exactly nonchalant... just felt like, yeah, we did good? Even though months ago, I'd never have dreamed of this.

"You see the other team's faces?"

"They looked like they'd given up."

"I'd hate to play too."

"They were straight-up spectating later."

"Anyone catch that opposing forward clapping after your seventh, Theo?"

"For real? He actually clapped?"

"He was dazed-clapping, then snapped out and played it off. I saw it clear as day."

All eyes turned to me. Respect poured from theirs. The guy who earns total trust from the team in one game. That's me now.

"Alright, everyone, take a seat."

Jordi Calavera had just walked in, settling the players down. Even he couldn't shake the shock of the score—his pupils still wide.

"You played an unbelievable game today. 12-1? In all my years coaching, I'll probably never see that again."

He shook his head, tweaking his words.

"Scratch that—with you guys, maybe once isn't the end. You might pull off another miracle. That's why this experience is so valuable."

Beaming smiles spread at his praise. After recent ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slumps threatening relegation, this blowout win was pure joy.

"You won't disagree... but Theo deserves huge credit for this. Right?"

"Absolutely!"

"Even in his debut, Theo's play was legendary. Give him a round of applause!"

Clap clap clap clap! The room ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠filled with cheers. I'd been through something similar at CD Coslada, so no awkwardness.

"Theo, come up and say a few words?"

I pondered Jordi Calavera's invite, then stood casually. Another wave of cheers hit. I ditched my planned speech—better to wing it.

"Coach always says soccer's a team sport. I think we pulled off 12-1 because all eleven of us fought together."

They hung on every word, silent as could be.

"And like he said, we're the guys who can do this again. Once down, twice isn't hard, right?"

"Yeah!"

"We got this!"

Fire lit their eyes. I smiled, continuing.

"I'm not satisfied with today. I'll push harder for even better."

"...!"

"Watch me."

Authority comes from action. They listened, got fired up—because I scored seven and sealed the win. Like I said, I'll give everything every game. To prove I'm worthy of the goblin's gift.

"Great speech, Theo."

Miguel Amaro, who'd watched me for a week, was no ordinary guy. Goofy off-field, dead serious on it. Not bad... but sometimes hard to read his rhythm.

"Really great speech, Theo."

"...."

"Miguel."

"Yeah."

"You know you've said that ten times already?"

"I know."

"...Teasing me?"

"No way. It was that great."

"Okay, then stop. My ears are gonna bleed."

"Bleed? For real?"

He rummaged in his bag, pulling out a Band-Aid. I... was speechless.

"Seriously...."

"Aaaah! Cut it out! I get it!"

"Wasn't gonna say that."

"Oh... right?"

"Yeah."

He nodded.

"Haven't had soccer that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fun in ages. Thanks to you."

I chuckled softly.

"Thrilled to have you as a teammate. Feels like luck."

"Music to my ears."

"Want me to keep going?"

"Politely decline."

If I had to pick today's standout besides me? Miguel Amaro, no hesitation. Great receiving stance, dribbling, soccer IQ above the rest. His imaginary passes and girl-kicks were iffy... but at eighteen, shooting's trainable. If perfect, he wouldn't be at AD Alcorcon.

"Gonna listen to music now. Speak if you got something."

"Nah, enjoy."

He donned headphones, eyes closed. I pulled out my phone, checking messages on the mobile app It'sApp. Mostly congrats on my seven-goal debut in AD Alcorcon B's 12-1 rout.

Replying thanks one by one, I tilted my head at Yuko's.

...What? Did she forget my club?

I replied quick; she read it instantly.

Ah... she checked the A-team result. I chuckled, typing back.

Fair. 12-1 screams baseball.

She got the joke, replying fast.

Now Yuko didn't trigger Jeong Ha-yoon thoughts. Similar looks lingered faintly, but the aversion had faded.

As I went to exit the chat—

Random. I tilted my head.

Not tired, honestly. No full ninety, and my stamina's always gotten "national team starter" nods from seniors.

What gift needs secrecy? I glanced around—teammates chatting, Miguel Amaro lost in music. I angled my phone private, replying.

Moments later, the "gift" arrived.

"...Huh?"

A photo. Specifically, Yuko's selfie in a black high-leg swimsuit.

I zoned out, staring hard. The high-leg cut dove into a deep V lower down, exposing hips and ass cheeks. Like triangle panties yanked high. Covered everything... but that made it hotter. Blood rushed south, brain issuing one command: Ram my starved cock rough into Yuko's pussy. With that slutty swimsuit still on.