The New Year Starts with El Clasico (3)
“It’s really not easy…”
The El Clasico we were facing for the first time this season clearly showed that Real Madrid had been preparing meticulously.
Glancing slightly ahead, I saw Real Madrid’s defense lifting their lines in an extreme manner.
Clemence playing as the defensive midfielder today, along with Josephin and Gabriela as centerbacks, left no visible space to break through with their close proximity.
The reason Real Madrid employed this tactic was something I could guess to a certain extent without needing an explanation from them.
Our attacking trio—Alvaria, Eloya, and Arnal—formed a setup that made it difficult to describe as having strong mobility.
Alvaria, born in 1987, was already past her prime and had lost much of her speed. Eloya, born in 1988, had always been stronger in linking and shielding than in raw speed. And Arnal, the central striker born in 1993, was in her mid-twenties, but after her injury she had nearly lost the breakthrough power she once displayed.
Still, she was faster than most players, but that didn’t mean she could match the world-class physicality of Real Madrid’s defense.
On top of that, I existed, whose mobility was basically nonexistent compared to theirs. Our attack was essentially stripped of any meaningful mobility against the opponent’s defense.
And Real Madrid had entered this match targeting exactly that weakness.
They had narrowed the gap between the defensive midfielder and centerbacks while lifting their lines, which would normally leave gaping holes for through balls. Yet because they cleared those through passes with overwhelming mobility, it was only natural that our attack remained contained.
Although we specialized in occupying space with short passes, to actually deliver a decisive blow we needed to find a way to the back, and with that option now cut off, the number of usable patterns had been cut in half.
Of course, the space for passing wasn’t wide either.
So the only way to break through was to simply drag the ball forward as far as possible.
But the moment I saw Clemence blocking me directly in front, a sigh escaped before I could stop it.
Clemence, who had claimed the 2018 Ballon d’Or after beating the scorers of La Liga, the Champions League, and the World Cup, and who had been the key figure in Real Madrid’s three straight Champions League titles, blocked me with the same unyielding solidity she had shown throughout her career.
I feinted left and right to confuse her eyes, but she stood rooted to the ground like a tree, simply blocking my path.
“Yeah, she wasn’t just playing around, was she?”
With my data now sufficiently accumulated, she wouldn’t flinch at this level of skill anymore.
I quickly calculated the odds of me breaking through her in my head. It wasn’t high. After all, she was one of the world’s best hexagonal midfielders.
At that moment, a footstep sounded from behind—familiar enough that I could identify the owner just by the sound.
“Camillia!”
She had come up to assist me. Considering Camillia’s passing and shielding abilities...
“...It’s worth a shot.”
I pretended to pass to Alvaria, swinging my right foot as if to kick. The ball rolled under my feet. The instant I touched it, Clemence reacted instantly and tried to cut the pass.
At that moment I pulled my right foot back, rolled the ball toward my body, and used the inside of my left foot to send a pass to Camillia, who was sprinting in from the side.
I also began running toward where Camillia was coming from. In modern football that prized space efficiency, overlapping runs were inefficient, but I trusted Camillia.
Camillia was the kind of player who could exchange passes with me without overlapping, even in such tight quarters.
Camillia took the ball exactly as I had envisioned, beat one defender lightly with La Croqueta, and sent it back to me. The speed was fast enough that Clemence hadn’t yet settled into position, turning the congested situation into something resembling a counterattack.
But, as if she weren’t merely a Ballon d’Or winner, Clemence pressed in with her shoulder. Of course I had no desire to wrestle a woman, so I immediately sent a heel pass, trusting that Camillia would be waiting behind me.
My heel pass caused Clemence, who had been seemingly impenetrable, to lean her body toward the ball. I felt the firm resolve in her to cut the pass and launch a counterattack. If she took the ball, it would be a truly lethal counter situation, but I trusted Camillia and ran forward without looking back.
Thud.
The sound of the ball being lightly kicked rang out.
I wanted to turn my head to check if Camillia had properly struck the ball, but I couldn’t afford to show any gap against Clemence. I trusted Camillia to place the ball exactly where I wanted and kept running forward.
And, as always, Camillia did not betray my trust. A shadow flew toward my front. A lob pass from a long time ago came to me—a perfect pass that only I could receive between Gabriela and Clemence.
Because the gap was narrow, Gabriela, the Real Madrid centerback, blocked in front of me. After lightly tapping the falling ball with her shoulder, she flicked it over Gabriela’s head. Gabriela instinctively jumped to intercept.
But the ball slipped just a palm’s width above Gabriela’s head. I accelerated, ran past the jumping Gabriela, and reached for the ball.
At that moment.
“Kuk!”
A crushing pressure seized my throat, and I had no choice but to roll across the ground.
Whistle—whack!
And the whistle blew.
“Hah, hah.”
Clemence, who had been chasing me from behind, let out a rough breath. She must have accelerated sharply to follow me.
Lying on the ground, I watched the scene. Clemence’s twisted expression was visible. She had probably realized it was a yellow card.
Well, the judgment wasn’t bad. If I had simply entered the penalty area like that, I could have connected with the goalkeeper for a 1v1, or even with Arnal or Eloya for a link-up play.
But the timing was terrible.
The current time was the second half of the first half, twenty minutes in—precisely twenty-seven minutes. It was far too early for a defensive midfielder to receive a yellow card.
“Haneul! Are you okay?!”
Camillia approached my side, where I lay breathing heavily. Her expression asked whether I shouldn’t have sent the pass upward.
“Nice play.”
Of course Camillia’s pass had been perfect, so I raised my thumb and reached out to her.
“Sorry, it’s because of me…”
Camillia apologized again, took my hand, and helped me sit up.
“It’s fine. This kind of thing happens more than once. Thanks to me, Clemence got a yellow card, so she’ll be a bit more relaxed now.”
“...Okay.”
Even as I said it was okay, Camillia’s expression remained troubled. She still looked sorry.
“She really could grow even more if her personality were just a little rougher.”
At times like this, instead of apologizing, I should have sent more similar passes to keep forcing the opponent into the same situation.
Or, like I did in my previous life, I should have cursed for only getting one free kick out of such a good chance.
Well, this softer side was unmistakably Camillia, but it still left a bitter aftertaste.
She truly possessed one of the highest talents...
“Well, she’ll improve slowly.”
Although I had just become an adult, I was still young. I rose from the ground, patted Camillia on the shoulder, and comforted her.
*
Haneul’s body rolled across the ground. No matter how many times I had seen it, getting used to the sight was never easy. There was no one who enjoyed watching their favorite person rolling on the floor.
“Sorry, it’s because of me…”
Camillia, convinced that Haneul’s fall was entirely her fault, quickly approached him and apologized.
If I had laid the pass on the ground, would this have been avoided? At that moment I thought sending it upward had been the best choice, but seeing Haneul lying there with grass stains all over his uniform and his neck constricted from labored breathing, I wondered if laying it on the ground might have been better.
“If I had laid it on the ground, Haneul would have broken through with his own power again.... I only controlled it with my shoulder by sending it upward. Idiot, this idiot.”
After scolding herself for a moment,
“It’s okay. This kind of thing happens more than once. Thanks to me, Clemence got a yellow card, so she’ll be a bit more relaxed now.”
Haneul, hiding his pained expression, reached out and comforted himself. Seeing that, Camillia’s expression almost twisted, but she forced a smile and helped him sit up.
“...Okay.”
Seeing Haneul’s upper body raised with both legs stretched out, her expression nearly twisted again. Grass clung to his back. But Haneul’s face, as always, was smiling as if it were fun.
And Camillia, who had spent a long time with Haneul, knew exactly what that smile meant.
The smile meant she had a chance to win in this match.
Actually, Haneul wasn’t a friend who smiled often. In childhood his expression had been almost expressionless—calm about everything, uninterested. And that remained true now. It was a point of pride that he smiled more when he was with friends, including himself.
But even Haneul had moments when his expression brightened—right when he played football.
Like himself, who others asked why he was always smiling, Haneul’s face lit up.
So Camillia loved football. Football was fun in itself, but it was during matches that she got to see Haneul’s smiling expression most.
But as she grew older, she realized Haneul didn’t always smile that way when playing. When he smiled, it was because he believed they were winning.
In childhood he had always been confident they would win, so he smiled constantly. As an adult, his expression hardened at times. Well, unless it was a World Cup, he smiled far more often.
Now she knew the smile when with friends and the smile when playing football were different. When playing, it was a sly kind of smile? Well, no matter what kind, seeing Haneul smile was always good.
Anyway, Haneul was smiling now, just like that.
Seeing it, she felt relieved that she hadn’t made a wrong choice.
But on the other hand, she wondered what football was that Haneul could smile like that even while his neck was constricted and he rolled on the ground covered in grass.
Camillia had touched a soccer ball since childhood and joined Barcelona, but she thought Haneul’s love for the game was far too vast.
“Can I squeeze in there?”
No matter how she thought about it, it wasn’t easy. Moreover, seeing Valentina approaching with a fierce glare made it even more so. Seeing that, Haneul waved her away. It was a free-kick situation, but the gesture clearly meant to prepare for a counterattack.
At that sight, Valentina’s expression hardened. Still, today she was playing as a central midfielder, so it was slightly gratifying that she could brush the grass from Haneul’s uniform. The body that brushed against her while helping was still hard and solid.
It felt different from the muscles other men built through fashion—more like the result of genuine effort and passion for football, almost reverent.
How much more effort must he have put in to create this body?
“Then, please do this again with a pass like this next time.”
After brushing off all the grass, Haneul asked her to create the same situation again. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t want to see him rolling on the ground again, but Camillia, who understood how much effort he put in for football and to win matches, couldn’t refuse.
“Okay. Trust me. Haneul.”
Haneul smiled and ruffled his hair. Although being short was a complex, in moments like this it somehow felt good. Although her pride as a woman was slightly dented, it felt refreshing. With Haneul’s hand on her head, she felt a strange sense of stability.
Every time Haneul stroked her head, she felt a tingling sensation, but unfortunately she couldn’t feel that way forever. It was time to take the free kick now.
With Clemence receiving a yellow card and the position being quite good, Haneul’s expression had been bright.
But soon that expression hardened slightly.
After Lucia, who had scored five or more goals every year with free kicks, retired, Yelena’s free kicks as the dedicated taker had floated away to Haneul.
And seeing Haneul’s hardened expression, Camillia’s own expression hardened.
While playing the match in the future, Haneul would roll on the ground thousands of times more. But it didn’t sit well that the pain ended so emptily.
And it seemed like a very pleasant feeling to complete the opportunity Haneul had created himself.
“Free kick.... I should practice too.”
So another genius was opening her eyes to a new field.