Heaven and Earth (7)
March 27, 2020. Three weeks after the Copa del Rey semifinal, inside the tactical analysis room at the training ground's main facility.
Paco García, director of UD TV, shook hands in turn with Rubén Castro, Aythami Artiles, and Nicolás Varela.
"Castro! How have you been?"
"Lousy. Don't ask questions when you already know the answer."
"Hahaha, just checking."
The easy goodwill woven into their banter brought a satisfied smile to Paco García's face. As the season drew toward its close, the veterans' presence radiated a confidence that felt worlds apart from the previous campaign. It was the distinct aura of a true juggernaut—something they had only briefly tasted back during the 1999–2000 season when they lifted the second division title.
No, this is far more dominant than back then.
Rounds 33 and 34 of La Liga 2 had seen them dismantle Sporting Gijón and Elche back-to-back. If that wasn't cause enough for celebration, Las Palmas had ground out yet another gritty victory in Round 35 against Huesca. Thanks to that relentless streak, the gap between them and second-place Cádiz had ballooned to eighteen points. Considering the league wrapped up at Round 42, it was safe to say the day they would seal promotion and the championship was right around the corner.
And on top of that...
"All right, here's today's script."
"It's almost entirely about the Copa del Rey."
"Of course it is. Everyone's out of their minds over the cup right now." Paco García waved a finger at Nicolás's observation with exaggerated disbelief. After all, it had been forty-two long years since Las Palmas last reached a Copa del Rey final. It was only natural for people to lose their heads and clutch their pounding chests in disbelief.
April 19th in Seville, at the Estadio Olímpico de la Cartuja. While every street and alleyway across the Canary Islands simmered with the tension of an impending storm, today's interview had been hastily added to the shooting schedule at the relentless badgering of the fans.
While the three players skimmed through the remaining lines of the script, Paco García stepped outside the analysis room to double-check his camera marks.
A moment later, the red recording light blinked on.
As soon as the players were settled, the veteran broadcaster began his classic routine—the very same warm, measured delivery he had used for decades to chronicle Las Palmas's glory, decline, triumphs, and heartbreaks.
"¡Vamos, Las Palmas! Welcome, everyone. I'm here today to sit down with three of our players. If you're a long-time supporter of the club, you'll recognize where I'm standing in a heartbeat. That's right—we're inside the tactical analysis room at the Las Palmas training ground."
The doorknob turned with a soft click, revealing three men wearing self-conscious smiles. Nicolás raised a hand to wave, while Aythami and Castro gazed nonchalantly into the lens.
"Today, we'll be chatting with Nicolás Varela, who has been in sensational form since arriving in the winter transfer window, our co-captain Aythami, and... Castro, who has been weathering quite a storm of rumors lately. And yes, as so many of you requested, we'll be spending a very generous amount of time with Castro today. Haha."
Castro let out an exaggerated snort to project cool indifference, but his right hand betrayed him, drumming a restless, nervous rhythm against the armrest of his chair. In truth, memories of the scathing glares from the coaching staff, the board, and the entire dressing room were flashing through his mind. Even his wife, María Hernández, and their two young sons hadn't taken his side.
"Shall we start with Nicolás? This is your second appearance on UD TV. Seems like just yesterday we were sitting down right after your signing, haha."
"Sure feels like it."
"Three goals and two assists. You've posted exceptional numbers without needing any adjustment period whatsoever. Is there a secret behind hitting the ground running like this?"
Nicolás answered without an ounce of hesitation.
"I'd have to credit my teammates. The moment I arrived at Las Palmas, Mantovani and Lemos—fellow South Americans—helped me settle in so much. On top of that, the overall atmosphere in the dressing room is incredible."
"Oh, so you really took to the dressing room culture."
"Yeah. To be honest, I was completely caught off guard at first. Out of all the clubs I've played for, I've never experienced anything like it."
"Haha, what was the vibe like at other clubs?"
"Put bluntly, cold and rigid. Put politely, strictly business... a much more individualistic culture, maybe? At first, I assumed Las Palmas was like this because of the wide age gap across the squad. But once I got out onto the training pitch and played actual matches, I realized that wasn't really it."
"In what way?"
"It's hard to pin down just one thing."
"Give us a quick example, then." Paco García leaned in, intrigued by the unexpected direction of the conversation. This was pure gold for the supporters.
"...Like I said, at first I was just getting dinner with Mantovani and Lemos. But after a while, guys like Rodríguez, Aythami, David, and others started naturally drifting over and pulling up chairs."
"Sí."
"In my experience, you almost never see the majority of a squad mingling like that on a regular basis. Usually, players stick strictly to their own tight cliques, or keep their interactions... well, limited and separate."
"And after all the trouble we took looking after you!" Aythami threw his arms out in theatrical dismay.
Seeing fluster wash over Nicolás's tan skin, Castro chuckled from beside him and offered reassurance.
"Just so you know, he's only winding you up."
The young Argentine forward sheepishly smiled toward the camera. Without realizing it, he had already grown accustomed to the veterans' teasing banter. Paco García smiled along, but he never lost sight of his duty as director.
"You've been here nearly three months now, so you must have hung out with everyone outside the pitch at least once. Who clicked with you the best? Castro? Aythami? Someone else?"
"No, well, I've met almost everyone, but not all of—"
Castro suddenly cut in. He was sitting slightly away from the microphone so his voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for any viewer to catch:
"You haven't hung out with the kid."
"Who're you calling a kid? Kim? You talking about our Prince?" Aythami arched a brow, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes.
Castro instantly realized he had handed over ammunition. In the current climate, that had to be the most ill-advised remark he could have uttered.
"Edit that out."
"You definitely called Kim a kid just now, didn't you?"
"...Shut up."
"Hold on, let's hear more about this. Go on, Nicolás, keep talking."
Subdued chuckles from the UD TV crew bled into the audio, but Paco García firmly reined in the veterans' antics. Stories involving Kim never failed to draw numbers. This was prime material.
"There's really not much more to tell. Mantovani invited him once, but he was shot down instantly. Apparently, Kim... doesn't really like hanging out in big groups."
As Nicolás's thick eyebrows drooped with slight disappointment, a consoling response followed right away.
"You must have been disappointed."
"A little... Well, actually, more than a little. Haha."
"You really like Kim, don't you?"
Paco García's rhythm was derailed once again by Aythami's loud scoff.
"Like him? Not a chance."
"Aythami, let Nicolás fin—"
"This guy worships Kim."
"...'Worships'?"
"Yeah. You heard me right. In the purest sense of admiración."
Just as Paco began to wonder if that was an exaggeration, Nicolás's face flushed beet-red.
"...Kim is incredible."
"Huh?"
"I've never seen anyone play like him. When I joined team training on my first day, I honestly thought the defenders were just taking it easy on him. Turns out, I was the idiot."
"..."
"Kim doesn't rely on flashy tricks. He keeps his balance perfectly centered and breezes past defenders with effortless, featherlight movements."
"Great, here we go again."
Paco García held up a hand, silencing Aythami's groan on the spot. The fiery glare in the director's eyes made it abundantly clear that not even club president Miguel Ángel Ramírez himself would be permitted to interrupt.
"And then?"
"It sounds simple when you say it out loud, but pulling it off on the pitch is an entirely different universe. Do you know what goes through your head when you face Kim up close?"
"What goes through your head?"
"'Whoa.'"
"...'Whoa'?"
"That's all you can manage. Just... 'Whoa.'"
As the interview rolled on, Castro and Aythami sank deep into their chairs. Given that the host had zero intention of stopping Nicolás, it was obvious the kid was going to ramble on for a good while longer.
Sure enough, Nicolás chopped a hand down vertically and narrowed his eyes with utter conviction.
"And that's not even all. Kim has real backbone. You know what I mean?"
"Oho."
"I'm talking about the dressing room, not just on the pitch. When the first half ends, everyone checks on Kim's condition first. But if you ask me, that's completely pointless. No matter how he's feeling, Kim just tears the second half to shreds anyway!"
"That's true!"
"At the same time, Kim knows how to steady the team's nerves. Instead of throwing hasty blame or sparking arguments, he gives you this fierce motivation that snaps your head straight..."
The moment "motivation" left his lips, Aythami glared at Nicolás with terrifying intensity. It was an unmistakable warning: Don't you dare cross that line, too.
Nicolás caught himself with a start and hurriedly steered back to his original mission: praising Kim.
"Ahem. But the thing is, he's ruthlessly hard on himself. Ever since I joined Las Palmas, I've never once seen Kim blame anyone else. Whether it's his own mistake or when the team loses... well, not that we ever really lose."
"Fair enough."
"Anyway, seeing him look so down on himself even after bagging a brace was... truly incredible."
"When was... Ah, you mean the first leg against Real Sociedad."
"Yeah. So even if Aythami and Castro tease me, I don't care. It's true. I'm practically begging to get closer to Kim."
While the crew quietly rejoiced at striking interview gold, Castro and Aythami traded silent, loaded glances. Sometimes, communication happens without a single spoken word.
Can't even speak properly to his face.
Poor bastard.
Unaware—or perhaps indifferent—to the pitying looks passing between the veterans, Nicolás brought his part of the interview to a triumphant close.
"I hope this interview helps the two of you become close friends."
"Yeah. I really hope so too."
"All right, shall we move on to our next guest? Castro!"
"...Huh? Right."
With the microphone suddenly thrust toward him, Castro mentally rehearsed the defenses he had prepared. I was only trying to protect Kim when I gave that advice. As if I'd actually tell him to leave! I was speaking holistically, factoring in public expectations and wage increases...
However, Paco García, director of UD TV, was an old hand.
"Haha, nervous? Don't worry, we'll start off nice and easy."
Here in 2020, he was a veteran broadcaster nearing sixty years of age.
"Against Gijón, Elche, and Huesca... Kim seemed to feed you the ball an awful lot."
Which meant he possessed more than enough savvy to chill the spine of a veteran who had spent the entire interview trying to stir up trouble.
"There's... nothing going on between you two, right?"
"..."