#62 Fate (1)
My La Liga 2 starting debut came to a close at the 75th minute. Victory was already as good as ours. After netting a header in the 56th minute, I shook off two defenders in the 71st and laid on a perfect chance for Miguel Amaro to make it 5-0.
"Couldn't ask for anything more perfect. Great job, Theo. Really great job."
Coach Jordi Calavera pulled me into a tight hug as I came off, patting my back over and over.
...He apparently hadn't expected three goals in the second half. Around the 35th minute, he burned all four subs. And the play that followed... well, it blew the lid off Coach Jordi Calavera.
"Why the hell are you standing there after the pass? Run into space, damn it! Move!"
Sitting on the bench, I watched this unfamiliar side of him with a bit of surprise.
Huh. Was Coach Jordi Calavera always this charismatic?
Thud!
We ended up conceding. The player who salvaged a sliver of FC Barcelona Athletic's crumpled pride was Ángel Vázquez. After a string of solo runs and shots, he finally rattled the net. His individual talent was clearly top-notch. But to reach world-class status... he'd need to improve his team play.
Beep— Beep!
The ref blew for full time. Final score: 5-1. A gift of a win to reward the home fans who'd packed the stadium.
I slipped up from the bench and headed onto the pitch. With most of the starters subbed off, we'd handed Barcelona Athletic total control—and the players still out there looked far from thrilled. They were probably already dreading the dressing room roasting from Coach Jordi Calavera.
But right there on the pitch, he hugged each one with a bright smile, telling them they'd done well. The fury from moments ago? Gone without a trace.
The team gathered to circle the stadium, waving to the fans...
"Theo! Theo! Theo!"
And every time, my name rang out loudest. My No. 9 jersey with "CHA" on the back dotted the stands everywhere. Looked like they'd sold a decent number.
"Kinda jealous. I scored today too."
Miguel Amaro, walking beside me, pouted a little.
When we reached the most passionate supporters' section, I deliberately stepped behind him and gave him a nudge forward.
"Miguel! Miguel! Miguel!"
"Amaaaaro!"
The fans chanted his name, cranking up the volume, and finally a grin spread across his face. What a simple guy.
The squad headed for the tunnel. I returned the standing ovation from fans who were still on their feet, clapping right back. And that's when I spotted some familiar faces.
"Whoa, it's Vicki?"
"And Elena next to her?"
"Man, Elena looks stunning as always."
"Oh! Tiago's here too."
Miguel Amaro and Joni Montoya waved at Yuko, Elena, and Tiago. I flashed them a smile and waved too.
Yuko caught my eye and started bouncing like crazy, all excited. Elena, true to form, put on her haughty act with a cool, indifferent look. And Tiago shot me a smug "Told you so" glance.
"Whoa?!"
Next up: Jose Bravo and Camilla Bravo. They beamed warmly, clapping for me. I hadn't heard they'd be at opening day, so it was a real treat. Our eyes met, and Jose mimed putting a phone to his ear. I nodded and ducked into the tunnel.
Oh, by the way, Aunt Han Mi-ju and Uncle Adrian couldn't make it. I'd straight-up told them not to. My doc had gone viral among AD Alcorcon fans, and it boosted Corear too—reservations were booked solid just from people planning post-game visits.
Hmm. Was that why I asked Jose and Camilla to cheer in their place? Kinda guilty about it.
"Theo, Theo!"
Inside the tunnel, a club official grabbed me and dragged me to the interview zone. I wrapped up quick chats with the broadcasters, then fielded questions from the media room press. They all seemed shocked by my performance. Guess they hadn't expected me to bomb goals like I did in the fourth division.
The usual back-and-forth. Then one reporter asked my goal target for the season. I pondered a bold, fan-pleasing answer... and flipped it back.
"What's the single-season record in La Liga 2?"
They hesitated, drawing blanks. I grinned.
"I'm planning to shatter it this season."
Found out later: Ricardo's 45 goals in 1956-57.
Getafe CF Clubhouse.
With La Liga opening day tomorrow, players hustled through final prep on the training pitch. Inside the office, staff hashed out how to close the transfer window strong—two weeks left.
Prep for the new season was mostly done. Last window, a key midfielder bailed early to Tottenham Hotspur for a €30 million buyout. Hurt, but it was Getafe's record sale. Reinforcements were solid, deadwood shipped out clean. Fans were reasonably pleased.
But the coach wanted more firepower up top. And today...
"We'll pay this player's buyout and bring him in."
The director greenlit another signing for the boss. Budget left, scout pushing hard since spring, and the guy's form peaking now.
"Non-EU quota's an issue with his nationality... but Encono won't be back till winter, right?"
La Liga rules: three non-EU on the matchday squad, five total.
"He's pushing rehab, but winter's realistic."
"Then slotting him in now won't hurt."
"Decision time when Encono returns."
The director shrugged lightly.
"Manuel says he's good enough to bench our starter. Let's trust it."
Manuel was the scout hyping him.
"No agent?"
"Nope, hasn't signed one."
"Perfect."
A sly smile crept across the football director's face.
Asian players have marketing value. Not called up yet, but after that opening debut in La Liga 2? National team has to pick him.
Getafe had cashed in before: snagged a Japanese prospect three seasons back, gave him minutes over two years, scored sponsorships and friendlies worth more than the fee.
No agent? Introduce Juan—he'll handle it.
Juan was the director's brother, new to agency but building clients via club ties.
Probably on peanuts now. Lowball him, still more than he's got.
Surprisingly, the director hadn't watched Cha Tae-oh play. Manuel's word, plus 4 goals and an assist vs. Barcelona Athletic for a €1.5 million buyout? Perfect last piece.
...€5,000 a week? He'll bite.
Post-interview, team talk wrapped. Coach Jordi Calavera touched on the late fade but softly, urging better movement without yelling.
"We'll drill it tomorrow. Great game today, but we can do better. Not asking too much—just don't limit yourselves."
He scanned the room, grinned.
"Good work, everyone. Rest up, see you in two days."
Clap. He was out.
Rubén Soriano calmed the buzzing squad.
"Remember last year? Barcelona Athletic smashed us twice. Today? 5-1. We were scared, right? But they weren't shit. Confidence—next game, better than today, like the boss said."
Nods all around, fired up.
"Oh, and hot applause for our Theo—four goals!"
Claps, whistles, debut congrats rained down.
"One more: Miguel, debut goal cheers."
Not as loud, but the room erupted. Miguel raised a hand like a presidential candidate. Show-off.
"Hey, Theo. Plans tonight?"
Heading out post-talk, Rubén Soriano asked.
"Me, Miguel, Joni—dinner on me if you're free."
"Ah... got something already."
I held up my phone with an awkward smile. He shrugged, then smirked slyly.
...He thought it was Elena. Wrong.
Jose Bravo had invited me to dinner. To introduce "the one I've been looking for." Vague, but I had a hunch. An agent—big name in the game.
A name flashed: the top agent for stars and prospects, dominating Spain and Europe.
But I shook it off.
Nah, can't be. Too busy with clients.
We do have a connection... but a singer sister? No way he'd approach via her.
...Or so I thought.
"Nice to meet you."
They say assumptions kill.
"I'm Borja Navas, CEO of BN Agency."
"...!"
Borja Navas. He'd come for me.