A Cozy Nest (1)
February 16, 2020. Sunday. Las Palmas training ground.
Last night.
The transfer question had been settled over the dinner table.
I'd turned it over countless times in my head, but it still didn't feel like the right moment. I wanted to stay a little longer and see the journey through to the destination I'd set out for in the first place.
Eyes fixed on the froth clinging to the side of my beer glass, I laid out my quiet confession.
'Good. That's a good decision. You've been through a lot with this.'
All his earlier agonizing aside, Uncle Bari threw his head back with a hearty laugh and accepted on the spot—then went right back to picking at the stir-fried squid with his nimble chopsticks.
Dad wore a look mixing disappointment with satisfaction (what exactly he was satisfied about, I couldn't say), but he respected my decision all the same.
And so, early this morning, Uncle Bari notified both clubs that negotiations had formally ended.
"Let's not all get carried away. It was decided the moment Kim failed to put two more goals past Real Sociedad."
"True enough. Can't have him leaving when he couldn't even manage four."
"……"
As I weaved through the cones spaced out at even intervals, David's needling voice tickled my ear. Anyone else, fine—but the fact that Mantovani had played along with a joke was genuinely shocking. The man had always been a slab of granite.
"No wonder the coaches have looked so relieved lately."
"Haha, the front office is the exact opposite. They're asking how a done deal managed to fall apart—word is Miguel already got torn into once over it."
"Who told you that?"
"Coach Momo. Apparently he vented into the phone like a fat coyote."
"Isn't that a bit insulting to coyotes? They don't throw tantrums over money."
"Right? Exactly."
"See. Coyotes are true apex hunters. Maybe Kim qualifies, but comparing the club owner to one is a stretch."
The joke-trading that had started in the locker room showed no sign of stopping. I was glad they were pleased the deal had collapsed, but I wished someone would remember the word moderation.
"Oh! Kim and the coyote actually go well together."
"Right? Better match than I expected."
…I ignored the ignorant beasts around me and tried to lose myself in the session. We had Numancia and Matchday 28 waiting for us that very afternoon.
But before long, the uncharacteristically serious tone in Kirian Rodríguez's voice dragged my ear back to the conversation.
"Tch. A bunch of idiots who can't see one step past their noses. Watch your mouths."
"Huh?"
"The press is going to run with this any day now. Do you want the fans to tear you apart? Kim is basically the symbol of this club from here on out. And don't you dare borrow the 'C' from Coyote—that's the owner you're mocking."
"Ah—"
Ah, my foot.
What exactly he'd come to accept, I couldn't fathom.
Around the time the two-hour morning session was winding down, I paired up with Pedri to stretch. Right hand on his shoulder, left knee bent to loosen the muscle. I liked the springy resistance of the muscle pushing back against the pressure.
Feelings good.
"Hey, did you hear anything from Stella?"
"……?"
"I texted her last night. No reply yet."
When my answer stalled at the out-of-nowhere question, the Chihuahua rolled his eyes and launched into a list of excuses.
"Don't get the wrong idea. I'm just doing my due diligence. A transplant is major surgery."
"……"
"Anyway, remember when we met her? She said she'd be fully recovered in a day. So she should've answered by now, but I'm getting complete radio silence."
"……"
"Sure, she might message me by this afternoon. But now that I've started thinking about it, I'm worried the recovery's slower than she let on."
How long ago was the surgery, that he's already this invested?
They'd met exactly once.
Apparently… Pedri had a kinder heart than I gave him credit for.
"She texted this morning. Sounds like it went well."
"Great! No complications, she said?"
"Presumably."
Hm.
The truth was, I knew nothing about how the surgery had gone.
Freckles had done nothing but hound me about the transfer through her phone screen.
"What do you mean, presumably?"
"…She did nothing but go on and on about the transfer."
"Haha, got it. Understood. So she's okay, then."
"GWAAAH—!"
A sudden scream rang out from one corner of the training ground. Pedri and I turned our heads at the same time to see Nicolás fleeing from the clutches of Ramírez.
Unfortunately, Ramírez's feet were simply not at a level where a new signing needed to fear them.
Sure enough, Nicolás took a kick to the backside and went tumbling across the grass with theatrical flair.
When had those two gotten so close?
No, wait… good grief.
That I'd just filed outright violence under the category of "close" — I'd been corrupted by the barbarians without even noticing.
"It really is great that the mood around training's improved."
"……"
"Not that I'm blaming you or anything, but last week I honestly thought the end times had come for Las Palmas."
"Don't exaggerate."
Once I'd recovered from my inner turmoil, I fired back at Pedri's poor choice of words. Everything else I could tolerate, but the Spanish habit of overstatement was a hard one to adapt to.
The end times. Honestly.
"I'm not exaggerating! The head coach wasn't enough—then Assistant Head Coach Ríos up and disappeared too. Momo was basically running the whole show on his own!"
"Mm. I suppose."
"'I suppose'? You don't even remember, do you?"
That muzzle jutting forward was unbearably smug.
…He wasn't wrong, though.
Last week. Even someone as unflappable as me had easily picked up on how scattered the team's atmosphere had become.
"And in the middle of all that, Aytami and Dani were at each other's throats, and everything blew u—"
"…They what?"
"Uh… it didn't quite get to fighting. Just a small disagreement, I think."
I shot a glare at Pedri, who was already wearing a look of regret.
"What disagreement."
"…They told me not to say anything. Can't we just pretend I never heard it?"
"We'll pretend you never said it. What disagreement."
"……"
"Answer."
He was the one who'd let it slip; begging for mercy didn't square with the situation. I pressed him with silence.
After a brief hesitation, the Chihuahua chose to become a wise traitor.
"Aytami said he wanted to sit down and talk with you openly about the transfer, and Dani shot it down—said you were stressed enough as it was and should just be left alone."
"And?"
"That's all, I swear."
"……"
"Really, that's it? They just argued. It only became a problem because the team mood was already weird and it made its way to the coaching staff's ears."
"……"
"That's why he got left off the starting list for the Real Sociedad match."
So that was the reason.
I'd assumed he'd been dropped because of his condition.
"You could have just told me."
"…Can I be honest with you?"
"Go ahead."
"You chewed Dani and me out at the Christmas party, remember?"
"……?"
"You went, 'I'm-a foleigner, zo annoying when you keep teasing me—'"
"Shut up."
The world is truly cruel—the moment you let your guard down, a snowball of karma comes crashing into you.
Yes, fine. I had spat out something every bit as blockheaded as that.
But my pronunciation was never that bad.
Just then, Iñigo and De la Bella, stretching nearby, caught the Chihuahua's deranged impression—and burst out laughing loud enough to draw the entire training ground's attention.
I glared at someone with killing intent.
I wanted it understood that I knew exactly what the words I was using meant, and was actively prepared to act on them.
Soon enough, Castro, Curbelo, and the rest of the audience lined up to come laugh at my misery.
"Whoa, first time I've ever seen Iñigo laugh like that."
"What on earth did he say?"
"Pwease don't say such things. I don't like people teasing me in flont of— GWAK—!!"
THWACK— With the sound of palm meeting skull, the demented Chihuahua clutched the top of his head and sank into the turf.
I had clearly issued a warning, yet the foolish older boy insisted on choosing, time and again, only the actions that harmed us both.
The sight of the entire squad howling with laughter inflicted severe stress upon me, and I prayed Pedri had lost no fewer than one hundred thousand brain cells.
It wasn't that I'd misspoken.
It was that, in the act of saying it, I had come to genuinely wish it.
Just die already.
That day, 6 p.m., Estadio Gran Canaria.
Inside the team bus headed for the stadium, David officially proclaimed the birth of a new star. The star in question… was Pedri, whose mood had curdled completely upon the revelation that he'd been struck by my palm.
Yet despite the bizarre accent now echoing through the bus, nothing could sour my mood.
It was the road I'd grown familiar with, and the crowds lining the sidewalk, that had my heart racing.
Through the bus window, the rounded outer wall of the stadium and the gray pillars within glinted, somehow feeling brand new all over again.
Inside, the blue-and-yellow seats would be lined up beneath the corrugated tin roof at the corner (at least, that's what it looked like to me).
Nothing had changed, and yet it felt like a fresh start.
The Las Palmas squad was no different from me—the atmosphere was nothing like it had been for the Real Sociedad match just days ago. The people who had once endured the ride in earphone-bound silence had vanished entirely; chattering voices now roamed every corner of the bus.
"Castro. Accept reality. With Kim staying, today's your last start."
"Shut up… I'm scoring at least two today! Everybody feed me the ball, you lumps of garbage!"
Only the coaching staff kept an almost unnatural silence. Everyone else, from the veterans to the youngest players, held a level of energy that bordered on excessive.
Roughly two hours in, the 53rd minute.
I was warming up near the bench, watching Las Palmas press Numancia flat into the turf.
The score was 2–0, but the gap in quality was worth far more than two goals.
Our three forwards had kept the opposition fullbacks pinned with relentless movement, and in midfield, Javi Castellano's tackles were cracking out of him at uncanny timing.
"KIM!! Come on out already—!"
"Score us a dagger!"
I raised a palm toward the stands nearby.
Less a response to the calls for me to come on than a reflexive reaction to the signs begging me not to leave.
It seemed the prediction from this afternoon—certain players swearing the news would break—had missed the mark.
"KIM!! Over here!"
Just then, Pepe called my name from the touchline.
I jogged over and inclined my ear toward him. Since receiving the transfer offer, this was the first time he and I had spoken privately.
"How's the body feeling?"
"Better than ever."
"Hm. Good?"
Something about his expression looked like it had an itch behind the lips. My own lips twitched in answer, but I didn't press.
I needed to sharpen my focus.
A moment later. At the fourth official's signal, Javi Castellano began preparing to come off. As the roar of the stands swelled, Pepe, apparently belatedly remembering his instructions, brought his mouth to my ear—something about me filling the gap in midfield, forming a 4-4-2 with Castro…
"Just go out there and take it easy."
"Huh?"
What.
How dumb my expression must have looked, I could gauge well enough from the way the gaffer's mouth stretched into an easy grin.
Before I knew it, Javi Castellano was right in front of me.
"Give me your arm."
"……?"
The instant I tried to lodge a wordless protest at Pepe with my eyes, Javi Castellano abruptly took hold of my forearm.
He slid off the captain's armband—the yellow fluorescent one—and, with deliberate care, fastened it around my arm.
Was this… some plot to make my position at the club precarious?
"Don't read too much into it. Just for today. The whole leadership group agreed."
"……"
"Haha, you should really see your own face right now."
The fourth official urged me onto the pitch, but all I could do was look back and forth between Pepe and Javi.
"As a manager, this is all I have to give you."
"Um…"
"From the media blackout requests to everything else—hiding it has been a real headache for everyone. Go out there and enjoy yourself."
Pepe shoved me squarely in the back with a horrific wink.
And then, just before the referee signaled for play to resume—
"EYEE-!!!"
A shiver of pure madness erupted from the stands.