Too Bad, I'll Just Call You Hero
"Feels like I'm floating in the air."
He had grown accustomed to the routine: preparing for midweek games, playing on weekends, recovering for a day, then gearing up again for the next midweek match and weekend clash. But suddenly, his schedule was wide open.
The club had shifted into high gear to nail Boxing Day. Staff and coaches were hustling to prep for the game, but he couldn't join in the buzz. He had about ten days off until the FA Cup qualifier on January 4th next year.
He didn't skip personal training, but somehow he couldn't focus, and his drive was gone. Alan the manager even suggested heading back to Korea to spend the holidays with family and recharge.
"...No, I can't do that."
Returning to Korea wasn't an option. The travel distance was one issue, but mid-season, a change in environment might kill his edge. What he'd achieved in the second division so far bordered on miraculous. He hadn't expected the skills, theory, and experience from his past life—combined with the effort he'd poured in this one—to pay off so quickly. Sure, he had confidence that sticking to this grind would land him a first-team debut by twenty.
But now? He was the youngest starting center-back in the league and the defender with the most goal contributions. Rumors swirled that Premier League clubs were eyeing him—he'd heard it himself.
"Hey~ genius~ Even you gotta take a break on Christmas Eve. Show a human side once in a while."
Deep into personal training at the pitch, Oliver the coach cracked a joke. It was just typical British banter, but it hit him hard—soccer suddenly felt like a drag. He stopped training and headed home.
On the way, Christmas decorations dotted everywhere. Fun setups at every house made for an entertaining walk.
"Huh?"
Opening the gate to his homestay and stepping into the garden, piano music drifted out. Paul's living room had a small piano, but no one had ever played it before.
"No way..."
He recalled Paul mentioning a sister studying in France at music school. She must've come home—tomorrow was Christmas, after all.
Creak—
He started to open the front door but paused, listening until the piece ended.
"Ah... that's beautiful."
Great on the radio, but live classical piano? Unbeatable. He didn't know the name, but it carried a deep sense of sorrow and loneliness—perfectly matching his mood right now.
"Oh! Who are you!?"
"Pardon?"
Lost in the music at the door, a middle-aged woman in a leather jacket entered the garden and startled at the sight of him. She paused, then nodded.
"Ah~ You're the Korean soccer boy boarding here."
"Yes. But who might you be?"
"I'm Paul's mum, Liz. Nice to meet you."
"Ah! Of course!"
She grinned and handed him a massive grocery bag. He took it on reflex.
"Thanks, soccer boy. Thought I'd die lugging this from the station."
"I bet."
"Big and sturdy, eh? That's why a house needs a man around. Heh."
Liz, Paul's mom, was warm and approachable. Now that he looked, she resembled Emma Grandma a lot.
"Who's out there?"
A girl's voice called from inside. The piano stopped, and quick footsteps approached.
Click—
"Mum, who're you talking to?"
The door swung open, and a girl peeked out. Bright blonde hair, perky nose, playfully upturned upper lip, porcelain skin, and sparkling blue eyes like a mystery. She looked straight out of an Elle cover. Spotting him with the grocery bag, she flashed a grin.
"You're that famous Hero, huh~"
"Yeah. That's me."
"I'm Daniel. Nice to meet you."
"You too, Daniel."
Mesmerized, he stepped inside and set the bag in the kitchen. Emma Grandma looked surprised.
"Thought you were training late?"
"Coach said it's Christmas Eve—don't overdo it. So I wrapped up early."
"Good call. He's right. Days like this are for family. Grandma'll whip up a feast—relax."
Chatting with Emma in the kitchen, he felt eyes on him. Turning, Daniel ducked away. Seemed awkward.
"Perfect. Tonight, it's us three ladies and you, Hero. Paul's running late."
Liz entered, and they prepped dinner with Emma. The three women shared a vibe: beauties with strong, slightly prickly charm.
I'm such a soccer idiot.
His head full of football, he'd never dug into Paul's family. He knew the parents divorced young, and Mum stayed in Paris for her daughter's music studies. Turns out Emma was Paul's maternal grandma, not paternal. This was his grandma's house too.
"Hero, is your real name really Hero?"
"Ah, here's the story."
He explained to Liz how Korean "Yeong-ung" was tough for them, so he registered as HERO.
Chopping onions, Liz frowned.
"Not a fan. I'd rather call you by your real Korean name. Why fit Western molds? Us English should drop our island stubbornness and respect Eastern culture more."
"Doesn't matter to me... Suit yourself."
A chunk of Brits reacted this way to his name. He didn't crave "Hero"—he just hated hearing the botched pronunciation daily.
"Yooo-ooong~~ Woo-ooong? That right in Korean?"
"..."
"Yooo-ooong~~ Woo-oooong~ How's life in England?"
Liz mangled it like a third-rate opera singer.
"I'm good. Everyone's great—especially thankful to Emma and Paul."
"Still, Yooo-ooong~~ Woo-oooong~ is young, needs family protection. Miss your Korean parents?"
"I'm a pro with a pro contract. Family's always my strength, but I don't wanna lean on them."
"Yooo-ooong~ Woo-ooong~ You're tough."
"...Liz, please. No more Yooo-ooong~ Woo-oooong~. It's painful for me—and you. Plus, it's not my name."
Wish his name was Cheolsu. He'd have registered as Charles, no Hero teasing.
"Really? Thought I nailed it."
"It's Yeo. Ng. Ung. Not Yooo-ooong~ Woo-oooong~."
"Yooo-ooong~ Ng-ooong~"
"Please stop. I beg you."
"Fine. Too bad, I'll just call you Hero."
Liz looked relieved too. Same old Hero ending, as always.
But then—
"Na. Yeo. Ng. Ung. That hard to say?"
Daniel strolled in, nailing the Korean pronunciation perfectly.
"Spot on. That's my Korean name, Daniel. You speak Korean?"
"Nah. Loads of Koreans at school. Hear it daily, picked it up."
"Ah..."
Daniel attended a top French music school packed with global prodigies. Piano was the fiercest competition.
"What was that piece? Sounded amazing."
"Yeah?"
Her face lit up—she loved praise.
"Chopin's waltz."
"Waltz for dancing? Felt super lonely and sad."
"...You're good."
She grinned mischievously, brightening the kitchen.
"Opus 69. 'Farewell Waltz.' Chopin wrote it after his fiancée dumped him. That's why."
"Ah..."
"Our Daniel's prepping for the Chopin Piano Competition."
"Mum~ Don't say that. Just forgot about it coming here."
"Sorry, sorry, sweetie~"
He knew it—world's top piano contest, Poland every five years. A Korean prodigy would win it later, becoming a national hero.
"Every five years? Harsher than the World Cup every four."
"...Sorry, but don't compare to soccer?"
Daniel's face hardened. She'd been all smiles seconds ago—jarring.
"Got it. Take it back."
"...Hero. Wasn't to upset you. Piano's my life—don't wanna compare it to anything."
"I get it. No hard feelings."
She smiled faintly at his calm response. Score?
"Hey, you young folks. Enough chit-chat. Help us oldies?"
Liz cut in perfectly. They prepped dinner together. Lit the living room fireplace, loaded the table.
First, mince pies—British Christmas must. Supposed to bring New Year's luck. Dried fruits paired great with tea. Shared roast turkey, then pudding for dessert. Stomachs bursting.
He spent Christmas Eve like a son of the house, merry with the three women.
Screech—
Clearing the table, Paul got home from work. 9:30 PM, exhausted.
"I'm back~"
"What company works Christmas Eve?"
"You know why. Club's slammed for Boxing Day."
Paul eyed him with a wry smile. Lucky you, free.
He spread his arms: What can ya do?
Paul flopped on the sofa, scarfing leftovers.
!
A weird vibe between Daniel and Paul. No proper greeting yet. As she opened her mouth, Paul cut her off.
"Daniel. Not a word. Gotta work tomorrow too. No energy for your drama."
Christmas Eve sibling showdown?