Practice Match (1)
The day of the practice match.
I woke, stretched, and pushed myself upright.
"…Refreshing."
So much for being too nervous to sleep—I'd slept better than expected.
Clatter, clatter.
As I sat there in a daze, a clattering sound drifted in from outside my room.
On a weekend morning, there was only one person who would be in our house.
Creak.
Still half-asleep, I got up and stepped out of my room.
Heading straight for the kitchen where the noise was coming from, I found noona humming to herself.
Judging by the way she was singing under her breath, she clearly hadn't noticed I was up.
I snuck up behind her and wrapped my arms around her tight. She flinched hard.
"…Jia noona."
I nuzzled my face into her shoulder, partly to shake off the sleep and partly to tell her to calm down.
I couldn't quite stroke her belly the way I used to in my past life.
"Mm. Yujin. When did you get up?"
"Just now. What were you doing?"
"It's your match today. Figured you should eat something before you head out, so I was making breakfast."
"…Thanks, noona."
"It's nothing. It'll be done in three minutes—just sit tight."
"Okay."
I sat blankly at the table, leaning back against the chair, and Jia noona set down a simple spread—fried rice and an apple.
"Aren't you eating, noona?"
"I already ate, so I'm fine. Go ahead."
"Mm… okay."
Having only my portion made me a little uncomfortable, but her smile—the one that said not to worry—made me nod.
The way she rested her chin in her hand even carried a kind of quiet, maternal warmth.
I chewed.
"Yujin, when are you heading out?"
"I'll leave soon after I finish this."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You're coming today too, right?"
"Of course. It's your match, Yujin. I'll film you again today."
"Then I guess I'd better try even harder?"
"Hehe."
After finishing the meal over that small talk, I packed my bag and got ready to leave.
"Noona, I'm off."
"Yeah. Don't get hurt."
"…"
The words don't get hurt seemed to echo somewhere inside my head.
My leg…
I still didn't know why I'd come back to the past, but I knew how grateful this situation was—how absurd it was.
There was no guarantee I'd get this chance again.
I didn't want to be unable to play football again.
Don't get hurt.
And take better care of my health, too.
As I sat lost in that strange sentiment, noona seemed to sense something off and waved a hand in front of my face.
"Yujin?"
"Ah—yeah. I'm off."
"Yeah. See you later."
With a smile that told me not to worry, I left the house.
…But is it really okay for noona to be in my house when I'm not there?
It was a good day. I'd just let it slide.
She wouldn't do anything weird.
The practice match between Seowon High and Seongil High had been generating buzz well before kickoff.
Even though it wasn't an official fixture, one of the biggest reasons it drew so much interest was none other than the five players from Baeksan Middle School.
It was the first match those five—who had once shocked the football world—would play after becoming high schoolers, so of course the chatter was lively.
There were even coaches and reporters who'd asked to come watch in person.
Kim Taesik, the Seowon High football coach who had proposed the practice match, smiled as he skimmed a few of the articles.
"A lucky charm really is a lucky charm."
This year's first-years were particularly strong, but the three who'd come from Baeksan Middle were something else entirely.
It felt like looking at the real deal among real deals.
There had been several geniuses, but these three stood out the most.
I wish I could have watched their matches in person.
Unfortunately, he'd been coaching overseas for the past few years, so he'd never seen them live.
Having been appointed here late and reviewing the footage, every single one of them was the genuine article.
Kim Taesik looked over the Seowon High students standing in their positions, then his gaze stopped on one spot.
He's got main character written all over him.
That was Seong Yumin.
A winger with outstanding dribbling.
His skill naturally brought Brazilians to mind—that height, the way the ball stuck to his feet, the above-average passing, shooting, and decision-making.
And with his looks backing it all up, it was a drama all on its own.
No matter how good the defender Kim Minjun and the goalkeeper Lee Juwon were, could they really stand out more than a striker who dribbled like that?
People loved flashy things.
That Baek Yujin, though…
When it came to flashiness, Baek Yujin didn't lose either.
The plays he built off clean trapping were a feast for the eyes and drew gasps of admiration on their own.
Even so, Kim Taesik judged that Seong Yumin was better.
Given the same potential, dribbling that could go straight without needing a pass was far more effective than trapping that required one.
A "striker who's only good at trapping" couldn't do anything without a pass.
Of course he could be wrong—but at least from the footage, that was how it looked.
…Come to think of it, why didn't they go to the U17s?
Whether all five would be selected was up to the U17 coach's judgment, but it wasn't as if none of them deserved a call-up.
They had chemistry, results—they were geniuses through and through.
Unless there were firmly established starters already, at least a few of them should have been picked.
Yumin never told me the reason either.
He'd asked once, casually, under the guise of light counseling—why they hadn't been called up to the U17s.
He hadn't for a second thought players of that caliber had simply failed to make the cut.
"Ah, ask Yujin about that."
"You mean Baek Yujin?"
"Yes."
"Mm… I see."
Recalling the conversation, Kim Taesik turned his head.
There he is.
He could see the Seongil High players lined up according to their formation.
At the very front stood Baek Yujin, with that boyish face he'd seen in the footage.
Even though he'd grown a little, he stood out at a glance.
If they had been called up…
It was a meaningless assumption, but if all five had played as one team, wouldn't they have won something like the U17s?
Looking at the chemistry he'd seen back then, it had seemed possible.
As a football man who wished for South Korea to win on the international stage, Kim Taesik could only feel the regret.
I hope they learn from each other.
Had he been staring at Baek Yujin too intently?
"Why are you staring so hard at our player?"
"Ah, Coach Ryu."
Ryu Ilhae, the Seongil High football coach, had come over to chide him.
"It's a team that's going to lose to us—shouldn't I look them over in advance?"
"Pointless provocation. So who's this incredible new student of yours?"
"Ah, those three tall, strapping ones over there."
"All from Baeksan Middle. Still, they won't beat Yujin."
"Baek Yujin? What, does he trap shots now? Did his dribbling improve while I wasn't looking? Yumin could even break through Woojun."
"Haha."
Ryu Ilhae just laughed at Kim Taesik's boasting.
It'll be beyond your imagination.
Whatever he pictured, Baek Yujin would show something beyond it.
He'd already seen it, hadn't he—the way a kid who barely dribbled had suddenly torn through defenders with the ball at his feet.
When asked how he'd done it, the boy had simply said he just did. That moment still stuck with him.
"You can really look forward to it."
Ryu Ilhae said it with a light smile and walked away.
Kickoff was almost here.
Because Seowon High was a pro-affiliated school, they had an actual stadium rather than just a field.
Seowon Stadium.
The vast pitch, the endless rows of seats, even the bench I'd seen so often on TV.
I looked around so much that if Seong Yumin had seen me, he would have teased me about whether it was my first time at a stadium.
After taking in the whole place and warming up on the grass, I felt a renewed rush of feeling.
I'm really… playing a match.
It was about to start.
Having taken in Coach Ryu Ilhae's tactical briefing, standing on the grass now—it was starting to sink in all over again.
Is this the first time?
Stepping onto the grass of a stadium this vast. Playing as a high schooler.
There were so few spectators they were barely visible—reporters who'd gotten permission to write articles, middle-aged coaches with a dignified air.
I don't see Jia noona.
Maybe because the stands were so huge, I couldn't spot her no matter how much I looked.
But I wasn't worried.
She'd be watching me the way she always did.
I felt my body naturally loosening up.
"Hoo…"
I took a light breath and settled the heart that kept thrashing around in my chest.
Just thinking about playing in a kit with the number 10 and my name on it made me so excited that tension I hadn't had before started to creep in.
Just don't get hurt.
Peeep—!
As I steeled myself, the referee's whistle cut through the air, and I took the kickoff.
Looking straight ahead, Seowon High was already doing exactly what I'd expected—pushing their line up as one from the back and pressing hard.
Having a defender suddenly appear in front of me might have made it feel like there was no way out, but I could see it.
…Their chemistry is good.
That wasn't having no way back. That was confidence.
Seowon High's formation was a 4-4-2—highly advantageous for pressing an opponent.
They wouldn't have spent two weeks drilling nothing but the press for nothing.
But they were pressing the ball carrier while keeping their balance, one player filling the space the moment another moved, as if they'd been coordinating for years.
The seniors were right.
At least Seowon High really did seem like a place only geniuses went.
That wasn't coordination. They were just doing it—moving on instinct without needing long stretches of practice to lock it in.
Are all eleven of them players like this…
This was going to be fun.
I didn't think we would lose for a second.
If anything, a competitive fire was starting to catch.
"Yujin!"
Under the press, Han Seonwoo escaped with a one-two and a perfectly timed la croqueta, then sent a long ball my way.
I already had my back to the defender.
I took it cleanly and was about to play it off and make the run—but I never got the chance.
Thud—!
"…Kim Minjun."
The legendary Quote Maker himself had appeared from nowhere and cut it out with a header before I could do anything.
With the innate physical difference, I couldn't even resist.
"Yumin!"
The opposing midfielder who collected the ball immediately switched it out to Seong Yumin on the flank.
As I stood there blankly, Kim Minjun drifted over for a moment.
"The ball stops in front of me. Yujin."
"…"
Kim Minjun spouted weird quotes every time he defended.
He did it with such a dead-serious face that even when I was pissed, I couldn't swear at him.
Still, this was on the normal side.
He always had a line ready, but he was good enough with words that I sometimes called him the Quote Maker—so it was somewhat better.
The other two were a bit more severe.
"What."
When I answered curtly, he pointed toward Seong Yumin, who was already on the ball.
"Looks like Yumin's gonna score?"
"I know."
I'd already factored that in.
I had never once thought Seong Yumin wouldn't score at least one.
Unless Woojun hyung is man-marking him, he'll definitely score.
I'd mentioned it beforehand, but our back line was two first-years, one second-year, and one third-year.
On Yumin's side: one first-year fullback and one center-back.
In other words, at best they were operating at a seventeen-year-old level.
Regardless of how he thought of himself, the Seong Yumin I knew would cut through one fullback with low self-esteem, a same-age center-back, and ordinary midfielders without breaking a sweat.
With that thought, I turned my head—and Seong Yumin was already arriving at the edge of the penalty box.
Our strategy was similar: full-front press.
Judging that every Seowon High player had the individual quality to win a one-on-one, we were collapsing on him with numbers.
Will it work on Seong Yumin too?
Yumin had been tapping the ball with the outside of his foot. The 4-4-2 was built for crosses, but instead of drifting wide he cut inside.
A light dummy and a body feint took him past the midfielder. When right-back Jang Hoyeon, who'd been holding his position, charged in, Yumin beat him with a la croqueta as if it were nothing.
Then another defensive midfielder.
The moment the man stuck out a foot, Yumin beat him with another la croqueta, slipped the tackle, and accelerated into the box in a single burst.
The ball was still glued to his feet.
Just before Do Woojun could step across from the far side to block, Yumin was half a beat faster—using the outside of his left foot to strike—and the ball was in before the goalkeeper could even react.
As he peeled off toward the Seowon High side, Seong Yumin looked like he was saying, See? Easy, right?
"Hey! Yujin!"
Yumin came running straight at me where I stood next to Kim Minjun.
He still hadn't done his celebration.
The second that thought crossed my mind, our eyes met—and Seong Yumin grinned and jumped.
Of course.
No way he wouldn't.
The reason I always said Seong Yumin became a different person the moment he played football was none other than this.
He threw an uppercut and roared at the same time.
"CRACK───!!!"
"…"
Because every time Seong Yumin scored, he shouted Crack.
Five minutes into the match. We'd conceded the first goal.