Off-Season (1)
The dressing room felt like a full-blown nightclub. Speakers blared deafening bass that could rupture eardrums, while the players grooved to their own wildly individualistic dances. Some busted out truly bizarre moves.
"Joni, isn't Miguel's dance summoning some kind of demon?"
"……."
With arms thrust skyward, wrists limp and floppy, hips snapping side to side, and legs trembling like jelly—that dance was so bizarre it was hard to watch with eyes open. And Joni Montoya... just squeezed his eyes shut without a word in response.
"Alright, everyone, take a seat."
Only when Jordi Calavera stepped into the dressing room did the chaotic club finally shut down. The thrill of victory still lingered, refusing to fade; even as they sat, the players kept fidgeting in their seats, hips twitching. Miguel Amaro's eyes still gleamed with manic intensity.
"First off, great job, all of you. You worked your asses off all season—I'm grateful you trusted me and followed my lead."
Jordi Calavera swept his gaze over the team, a satisfied smile on his face, before continuing.
"Tonight, I'm so damn proud of you. But also a bit ashamed. As your coach, I didn't actually expect us to win the league this season."
Honestly, I felt the same. When I first joined AD Alcorcon B, I never dreamed I'd lead this team to a championship. Avoiding relegation—that was my sole goal for the season.
I played 14 matches. And without a single loss, I smashed that initial target. Hell, I even pulled off the dramatic championship run that even the coach hadn't anticipated.
"In the second half, we staged an epic comeback. Fourteen straight wins. No defeats, 42 points racked up, and we became champions. You earned the right to take pride in that. Not just anyone can pull off a streak like that."
This was the first time in my life I'd won so consistently. My teammates probably felt the same. Now... I could barely even remember what losing felt like.
"And among you all, Theo's performance demands special mention. Give him a round of applause, everyone."
Clap clap clap clap—!
The team applauded me. A few whistled too. I just flashed a grin and raised one hand slightly in acknowledgment.
"Ever since Theo joined, we've been a different team. Those 14 wins? We did them together. Theo, you had the biggest hand in this championship—no one here can deny that."
No wonder Jordi Calavera was singing my praises. In those 14 games, I'd scored a whopping 75 goals. An average of 5.3 per match. Even I had to chuckle at the absurdity.
If this had been in a pro league instead of semi-pro fourth-tier, soccer world would've lost its mind. Maybe that's why I stayed relatively chill about these insane stats—my ultimate goal was to peak as a striker in the top flight.
"But soccer isn't a solo sport. Eleven players fighting as one—that's how you win. Every single one of you contributed. So let's give each other another round for a job well done."
Clap clap clap clap—!
Applause echoed through the dressing room once more.
"That's enough on the praise. Time for some reality."
The players' expressions sharpened instantly at Jordi Calavera's words.
"Next season, we're moving up to Primera Federacion. It's a step above Segunda Federacion, so the level will be much higher."
"……."
"Not trying to scare you—just don't get cocky. Stay humble, prepare even more thoroughly. Solid prep means you won't crumble even if things shake."
We earned that title, no doubt. But we couldn't afford arrogance, just as the coach said. Truth was, rival teams vying for the top collapsed spectacularly at the end, handing us the miracle win.
"Any more of this, and we'll kill the vibe. That's all on that."
Jordi Calavera grinned.
"Resting properly is crucial too. That's how you build the strength to run hard. Spend time with family, catch up on leisure you missed during the season. Take two months off from soccer. You'll be grinding it nonstop for the next ten anyway."
Hm. That last line felt more ominous than motivational. But whatever—it didn't apply to me anymore. Next season, I'd be with the A team, not B.
And with that, our season came to a close. A championship trophy in hand. For a European adventure's first step, it was a massive success.
The day after our triumph, La Liga 2 wrapped up too. For the 36-37 season, AD Alcorcon finished 12th. After firing the previous coach, the interim regime under Dario Terraz revived the mood, pulling them clear of relegation and securing survival.
Better than feared, but no one on the AD Alcorcon squad was thrilled with the scorecard. Rubén Soriano was the prime example.
"Theo, any vacation plans for the off-season?"
"Just starting to think about it."
"I'm forfeiting mine personally."
"...Pardon?"
"Cleared it with the family. Next season, I'll be thirty-four. Can't guarantee how many more years I'll play."
"True..."
"Still, I want to start as a regular next year. After sharing a season with you, I want another."
I could feel the sincerity in Rubén Soriano's words.
"I'm diving straight into conditioning. Hired a personal trainer—expensive, but worth every penny."
"I see..."
"So, if you're planning to cut vacation short and prep early, how about teaming up? I'll help out."
Rubén Soriano added with a grin.
"Training's more efficient with two—better motivation too."
Truth be told, I planned the same: short break, then straight to building strength and stamina over soccer drills. No reason to turn down his help.
"Sounds perfect. I'll hit you up soon."
He looked thrilled at my enthusiasm.
"So you're jumping right into training with Rubén?"
"You forgetting the coach said rest is key?"
Miguel Amaro and Joni Montoya seemed a bit thrown by my plan.
"Not saying you have to join. Don't misunderstand."
"Ugh... makes me feel like I should too."
"If you're training, how can I slack...?"
I chuckled softly at them.
"You both mentioned family trips, right?"
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
"Let's train together after. Early. We're challengers fighting for starting spots on the A team next season."
They'd hesitated at first, but once I hammered home our "challenger" status, they nodded readily.
"For real, starting right away?"
"Nah, I need some rest too."
"Heading back to Korea?"
"Still deciding."
Miguel Amaro and Joni Montoya had family vacations lined up.
"Go travel with yours. Korea must feel distant."
"Hm..."
"Then we start training together. Like you said."
Journalist Kim Min-seok had offered to fly back together after filming, with Sports Korea covering tickets. But...
I ultimately decided against returning to Korea. Less my choice, more forced.
"I've decided."
"Decided what?"
"Going to Madrid with your dad. Time to see our son after so long, and your aunt too. When else?"
Aunt Han Mi-ju heard and shut the restaurant for a few days to travel with my parents.
"Perfect timing. Take Mom and Dad around other European spots too. I've traveled Europe a ton—hit me up for itineraries and food recs, haha!"
Kim Min-seok wrapped filming and headed out with his crew, promising to send the edited video for my approval before uploading to NewTube. I was curious how it'd turn out.
"Parents coming?"
"Yeah."
"When?"
"Next week."
"How long?"
"About a week?"
"...So no seeing you next week?"
"……!"
Before my parents arrived, Yuko and I had some intense quality time. She attacked with extra ferocity, like she was draining every last drop of protein before next week. Probably because the season ended—no soccer for a bit.
I didn't mind. She indulged my wildest sex fantasies without hesitation, and thanks to her, my bedroom skills were leveling up.
A few days later. About two hours after word that my parents boarded their Incheon-to-Madrid flight.
One piece of news hit out of nowhere.
"……!!!"
Mind-blowing news.