Chapter 5
Chapter 5
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Dani Castellano (2)
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Due to a serious misunderstanding, Coach Juan Naranco kept patting my back and shoulders, offering encouragement right up until we parted ways before training.
When the coach told me to let him know anytime if I had any difficulties, I had nothing to say except nod in response.
Leaving the coach behind with his face full of worry, I entered the locker room to change into my training kit, where the players were gathered in small groups.
Dani Castellano was chatting with Harvey Castellano in the corner.
That bastard.
David Garcia, the team's veteran, glanced at me as I entered the locker room, then stood up and clapped his hands to draw everyone's attention.
“Everyone, listen up. Dani said that Kim is struggling to adapt now that he's come up to the first team.”
A wave of dizziness hit me. Coach Juan's secret promise had been for nothing.
Dani Castellano. From the moment I couldn't shut that damn mouth of his, I had become the ill-fated protagonist ostracized by the team.
“You've all probably heard that Kim isn't the most sociable guy on the reserves. But he's a player who debuted in the league at just 16. We—and especially the veteran players who are the core of the team—need to take responsibility for this.”
I'd never thought the locker room was small before, but with all the players' eyes on me, I felt like a lone goat trapped in a lions' den. This was the worst. Definitely the worst day ever.
Harvey Castellano, who had been listening silently to Garcia's words from beside Dani Castellano, spoke up. I had no thoughts beyond hoping this nightmare would end quickly.
“How about having lunch with Kim tomorrow?”
“No, I'm fine.”
A brief silence fell over the locker room at my reflexive refusal.
“I'll eat too. Where should we go?”
“No, I...”
“Shall we meet around 11?”
“Something with rice would be good. Let's go somewhere with paella.”
With Pedri pulling the trigger, the players' opinions started flying in all directions.
Every player in the locker room seemed pleased. The joy of looking after a young, inexperienced teammate. The atmosphere was warm and fuzzy.
Everyone except me.
Getting roped into an unwanted lunch with the players wasn't entirely bad, relatively speaking.
Coach Pepe reacted sensitively to the news of the prospect's team maladjustment, which he'd learned through the squad. That afternoon after training, thinking I was there for counseling, I went up to his office, only for the coach to suggest we have dinner together.
“You can contact your father separately.”
“No, I'm really fine. It was a misunderstanding.” (Pedri had taught me the Spanish word for “misunderstanding.”)
“Yeah, I know. I heard from Pedri that the players had a good laugh about it. I just want to have a meal together. That okay?”
He didn't even wait for my answer before calling my father. Of course it wasn't okay.
At this point, I started worrying whether forgetting a packed lunch in the parking lot once was affecting my standing in the team.
I didn't want to be seen as a player with weak mental fortitude who was struggling to adapt.
This was no longer just a casual meal. I had to prove to the coach that I was adapting just fine to the team. We hopped into his old-model compact car and headed into the city.
“Tell me about some good places to eat near your house.”
“Lots of tourists. Not great.”
“Really? You don't go to restaurants with your dad much?”
“We go often. But home-cooked is tastier.”
As we chatted idly with Coach Pepe, we soon arrived near the pier.
“How about papas?”
“What are papas?”
“Papas arrugadas, potatoes boiled in salt water and eaten with an olive oil sauce. There's a traditional Canary Islands spot that tourists don't know about.”
The car stopped at a place with no sign or menu posted. It looked just like a regular house from the outside.
The only hint it might be a restaurant was the two folding tables lined up outside the building. As if they were regulars, the coach exchanged light greetings with the owner.
The restaurant's white ceiling had wooden fans with three blades spinning around, along with all sorts of bizarre decorations hanging down. The orange-painted walls were crammed with display cases full of wine and champagne.
“I heard you're having lunch with the players tomorrow?”
“Yeah. They made the plans without even asking me.”
“Good. Come out relaxed like today and eat together. Got it?”
Whether I agreed or not, before the food even arrived, the coach filled the table with talk about the upcoming weekend match against Santander.
How weak their squad was overall, how their defense was more unstable than expected, how they absolutely had to beat Santander.
I nodded along enthusiastically, chiming in appropriately, and soon the food arrived.
“Eat up. Coach Juan said one dinner won't mess up your diet.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
The two golf-ball-sized potatoes on my plate weren't much even if told to eat freely, but they were insanely good.
I'd been peeling and eating plain boiled potatoes without kimchi for six months due to salt restrictions. The tangy sauce with its olive aroma paired perfectly.
“What's this sauce? I want to eat it at home.”
“It's made with olive oil and vinegar. Mojo sauce.”
“Mojo sauce?”
“Yeah, grind up garlic, pepper, cumin, and mix it all together.”
Neither Dad nor I usually liked strong-flavored sauces, but this one suited my taste. Mojo sauce. Then came stir-fried dishes loaded with meat and potatoes.
Even though I hadn't found a chance to emphasize my passion for the team and my smooth adaptation to Coach Pepe, the delicious food made it less bothersome.
Eating together was uncomfortable, but if I went to lunch with the players tomorrow, maybe they wouldn't hassle me about adaptation issues? With my belly full, I didn't feel like thinking more.
* * *
September 1, 2019.
Estadio Gran Canaria.
A large black ribbon appeared on the stadium screen. After a moment of silence to commemorate the daughter of former Spain national team coach Luis Enrique, the players lined up at the halfway line to prepare for the match.
Reflecting the team's momentum with two straight league wins, Gran Canaria was packed with fans not just under the covered roof but everywhere, even in the open sections.
Racing Santander, in a 4231 with two midfielders clogging the center, abandoned possession from kickoff and sat deep, weathering Las Palmas' onslaught with occasional counterattacks.
“Ah, that idiot!”
In the 14th minute, Remos' cross from the flank sailed past Santander's goalkeeper and landed near the fans far away.
He must have twisted his standing foot on a divot in the pitch. Remos clutched his left ankle and collapsed to the ground.
“Kim, Fernandes. Warm up!”
As I went out and Remos received treatment off the pitch, Santander's goalkeeper's goal kick dropped beyond the Las Palmas defense. Marlon and Rodriguez jostled for it. It was a mismatch.
The African Gambian striker Marlon had the aerial advantage; Itami should have been marking him. Sure enough, the ball hit Marlon and fell to the following Sejudo.
Counterattack chance.
Rodriguez lost his balance and fell, unable to join the defense, leaving the center exposed.
The lone midfielder Iniigo in the middle was focused on the opponent's wing cutting in from the left, overlapping paths with Curbelo Dellafe.
Pedri hadn't dropped back in time either, opening space for Sejudo. Itami abandoned reorganizing the crumbling defense and rushed out, laying in a rough standing tackle on Sejudo.
Before Itami's tackle—worth a yellow card—landed, Sejudo's final touch flicked the ball up to Santander's right-sided attacker.
Number 19 on his back. In the space vacated by Itami's charge, Karim Yoda blew past De la Bella with pace and entered the penalty area in two touches, getting a perfect shooting chance.
The belatedly arriving left wing-back De la Bella and central defender Mantovani abandoned man-marking for tackles to close space, but the ball slipped past goalkeeper Martinez's legs and rippled the net.
16th minute of the first half. Santander took the lead.
“We conceded again. Chaos every damn game.”
Fernandes, warming up beside me, clicked his tongue.
With the big home advantage, it was a must-win, and sure enough, Coach Pepe's face was beet red as he bellowed from the sidelines.
I'd emphasized before the game to deny Karim Yoda space in dangerous areas, but it had gone exactly the opposite—reason enough to be furious.
On top of that, Itami picked up a yellow for the rough tackle on Sejudo. Total mayhem.
Regardless of the deflated stadium mood, play continued. Possession was still high, but no end product. The players, half out of it, kept lunging into reckless tackles. The game was getting rougher.
“Puta!”
“Joder!”
Around the 17th minute, just outside the penalty area, Mantovani hauled down an opposing attacker. Las Palmas and Santander players exchanged curses and shoved each other.
It was a big enough scuffle to halt play. Parting the still-fired-up players, the ref called Mantovani over and pulled out another yellow.
Less than three minutes after Itami's, Las Palmas' center-back had joined him on cautions. With over 70 minutes left, it was doubtful they'd hold at one-nil. At least Remos, back on the pitch, signaled he was fine.
Fortunately, Santander's free kick came to nothing, and the game resumed with Las Palmas dominating. If it were boxing with a points decision, it'd be Las Palmas. But it dragged on.
Snapped to attention by the coach's yelling, Las Palmas denied counter space but couldn't break through either. 0-1. Santander went into halftime with a half-success.
The first half ended before we knew it. In the locker room, Coach Pepe paced like a rapper, slamming the tactics board without pause.
“Bella, push higher up the line. Sedris can't use his power in crowded spaces. Without the wing-back overlapping, it's hard to create on the left. Pedri and Narvaez, focus on link-up in tight areas, but shoot when chances come—don't hesitate.”
“Lemós out at halftime for Drolle. Drolle, create space with dribbles from the right. Don't worry about defense. But absolutely, absolutely no turnovers leading to counters. Got it?”
“With Drolle forward, Curbelo, hold your overlaps and focus on defense. Itami, Mantovani, Curbelo form a back three in attack. Understood?”
“Listen, today's opponents are Santander. We brought up a team that barely promoted from Segunda at home—I don't want to lose. I know you don't either. Go out and score quick. Got it? Got it?!”
Overwhelmed by the coach's intensity, we all shouted back from the locker room.
And at the 80th minute of the second half. 0-1. The game was still Santander's.