First A-Match (1)
Today, my role was only up to halftime. Scoring two goals in the first half to make it 4-0 was one reason, but the biggest was that I had to board a flight to Korea right after the game ended. It felt like Coach Jordi Calavera's thoughtful consideration—no need to overwork me now that we'd seized control.
I didn't push for more goals myself. With 14 goals in 5 matches, I was already dominating the scoring charts. Truth be told, I hadn't expected to rack them up like this even in La Liga 2… but the skills the goblin gave me were on another level, truly worthy of the title "soccer god." Once the cup's full, it overflows easily. Of course, part of it was my own composure—I don't shoot unless it's a perfect chance.
"♬ We'll always be together ♬"
"Alcorcón!"
"♬ In life and in death, forever ♬"
"Alcorcón!"
"♬ We'll sing of victory to the end ♬"
"Alcorcón!"
The fans' electrifying chant echoed through the stadium as the second half kicked off.
"Theo! Theo! Theo!"
"Cha! Cha! Cha! Cha! Cha!"
Seeing me on the bench instead of the pitch, the home fans started chanting my name right at kickoff. No murmurs of confusion—they knew I wasn't injured. The press must have already reported it was due to national team fatigue.
Pang!
In the past, my substitutions often tanked the team's performance, but not today. My teammates, brimming with confidence, advanced the ball organically through the opponent's half, creating chances and even threatening more goals. The attack just felt a bit blunter than in the first half. Maybe the 4-0 lead made them relax, or perhaps Alejandro Rico, my replacement, wasn't pinning the defense like I had. Hard to tell from the sidelines.
Tung!Thud!
Still, we scored one more. Captain Rubén Soriano was the hero, rising to head in Nico Salaberria's corner kick. With the skipper tasting the net, the stadium erupted like a festival. At 5-0, the opponents looked utterly demoralized—honestly, they'd been that way since my opener. Coach Jordi Calavera started subbing off the starters one by one.
After that… both teams put on a show worthy of a comedy of errors. Not who played better, but who played worse. With the coach sticking to the same starting XI for five straight games, the backups hadn't meshed into the tactics yet. He must be pondering that issue. Running this lineup all season? Tough, with injuries or dips in form inevitable.
Beep! Beeeep!
Full time. Final score: 5-0. The five subs didn't score, but holding a clean sheet made it a solid second half worthy of praise.
The home fans stayed in their seats until we left the pitch, showering us with thunderous applause and cheers. And why not? Five straight wins to open the season, firmly atop the table. The momentum felt invincible—you could sense it in the air.
"With today's win, we've got five in a row and sole possession of first place. Astonishing work—all thanks to you guys."
Coach Jordi Calavera praised our streak, but as always, he pointed out the flaws too. Naturally, aimed at the bench players—the starters had been near flawless.
"I always say this: resting well is as crucial as running hard. Spend quality time with family or loved ones and recharge fully."
He scanned the room with a smile.
"But don't get hurt relaxing. That's not the kind of rest you take. You're pros—keep body management first and foremost, even on break."
The team nodded in unison. Me too. Though my "break" was a national team call-up for an A-match—injuries ruin everything.
The coach's gaze landed on me.
"Oh, right. Congrats on your first cap, Theo. Come back safe—no injuries. Show them how Alcorcón's star striker shines."
"Yes, Coach."
With that, he wrapped the post-match talk. As the staff filed out, Captain Rubén Soriano took the baton.
"Don't forget this on break: We've only played five games. Plenty more ahead. We can't lose this top spot."
"……."
"If we stay united like today, we can crush anyone and taste promotion's sweet fruit. I believe it. Stay sharp—no slacking."
"Ah, and Theo—have a great time with the national team. We'll be cheering from afar. Score some beauties for Korea. But stay safe."
His final words drew earnest looks from the squad. A reminder of the weight I carried here. I nodded with a grin.
That night, I boarded the flight to Incheon International Airport.
◇ Somewhere over the clouds.
I flashed back to my first flight to Madrid. Back then, fueled only by dreams, I'd jumped in blindly. Now, two major goals down: pro contract and debut, plus a national team call-up. Even my seat had upgraded—from cramped economy to stretched-out luxury in first class.
The Korea Football Association ticket was business class, but Borja Navas upgraded it as a first-cap gift. Long flights strain the knees, he said—agent's duty to protect his player. No need to feel burdened.
This first-class debut? It fueled my resolve to earn big money. Shower, unlimited premium booze (just a sip of champagne for me), gourmet meals, butler-level service—it felt aristocratic.
After the long haul, we touched down at Incheon. First-class perks meant exiting first, no baggage wait.
Stepping into the lobby:
"Whoa!"
"He's out!"
"Cha Tae-oh!"
Fans and reporters swarmed with warm welcomes. I'd expected it, but the crowd dwarfed my imagination.
"Kyaaah!"
"Autograph, please!"
"Photo! Picture together!"
Definitely more women, but plenty of guys too.
"Whoa, you're even more handsome in person!"
"Haha, thanks."
"I've been watching every game since dawn, no skips."
"Appreciate the support. I'll work harder."
"Can't wait for your national team debut."
"Yes, I'll give it everything."
Fan service felt more rewarding for Korean fans than Alcorcón's. I wanted to sign for everyone, but the mob was too big. Reporters grew impatient, so a Korea FA staffer ushered me to them.
A few sour faces irked me—Kim Min-seok really was an outlier. But burning bridges with the press? No thanks. They shape opinion.
"First national team call-up—your thoughts?"
"It's a huge honor. Never dreamed it'd happen so soon… I was nervous the whole flight. But since they trust me, I'll do my best."
Vanessa had prepped sample answers, but they vanished under the lights. Still, I handled the barrage smoothly enough. The FA cut it off at the right moment. Escorted by security, I exited, heart still racing with excitement.
Leaving as a released nobody with scant support… less than a year later, returning as a national team star amid roaring cheers. Dreamlike. A lump rose in my throat, but no tears. Too much left to achieve.
But then—
"Ah…."
An old SUV at the entrance, two figures waving. My eyes welled up instantly.
"Dad… Mom…."
The pride of showing my successful son to them swelled in my chest.