This I Can't Resist
After a birthday spent seeing friends and, for most of the day, with Jia noona, time slipped by the way leaves fall from a tree.
"You get new boots? Those look really good."
"Yeah. Jia noona got them for my birthday. The performance is solid, too — if my feet would just stop growing, I'd wear them for life."
"I'm jealous…"
Before training I'd chat easily with Han Seonwoo, then work through the sessions as we adjusted to the cooler weather. The real problem, if there was one, was that the line between spring and summer had all but vanished lately.
Day by day the wind turned warmer, until just standing still in the sun left beads of sweat forming on your skin. When I'd first opened my eyes it had still been winter — and already we were in short sleeves for summer. Time really did move fast.
For the record, I'd started taking care of my health. Some people might call that early for my age, but factor in that I was an athlete who had no interest in getting hurt again, and it was anything but premature.
It's just stretching, though.
I couldn't get anything professional, so every morning I set aside time for simple stretches. Even that alone felt like it was doing a fair amount of good.
Even a life that seemed to be going smoothly had its rough patches, of course.
"Haa…"
"What? Yujin, summer's your weak point, huh?"
"Yes, sir…"
Summer training was hot beyond words. The urge to rest hit before the urge to run. Seriously… summer needs to go extinct…
Summer made training unbearable. Even a short sprint left you sticky with sweat and humidity — about as bad as it got. No matter how much you wanted to enjoy football, your body just drained itself dry. Training for the national tournament that was almost upon us, I felt all over again that summer was the worst season of the year.
…Nice position, though.
That said, a striker who doesn't score isn't much of a striker. Contradictory as it was, football was fun enough that my body moved on its own. I gestured to Jang Hoyeon — now converted to a winger — and made my run.
"Hoyeon! Cross!"
As if he could read my mind, the cross came in perfectly. I barely had to touch it with my foot. The ball, which had been heading true, deflected off Do Woojun's defending boot — and luckily spun into the net.
"How do you score that easily?"
"I just… put my foot to it."
"…"
Do Woojun looked at me like he'd gotten used to this, then walked past behind me. When I followed his gaze, the other players were already heading for the bench — training was over.
Finally…
I'd been running so long in the heat I hadn't even properly heard the call. I trudged over and dropped onto the bench with the others. Coach Ryu Ilhae stood in front of everyone and opened his mouth.
"The national tournament is almost here."
The National High School Football League. One week from today. …I'm looking forward to it.
Anticipation outweighed nerves. What kind of players would I meet? How far could I go myself? There would even be a few I'd later see heading overseas.
If only it weren't summer, I'd be genuinely happy…
I still didn't understand why the national tournament had to be held in summer. Experience or no experience, summer heat was something you simply couldn't adapt to. If being bad with heat was a crime, then I was guilty.
The coach didn't say much more — just a final word about not getting injured and a call to give it our all — then left.
"Haa… it's hot…"
My body went slack. I leaned back and wiped my face with my jersey. A cool breeze chose that moment to pass through, and it felt wonderful.
"Here. A cold towel."
"Ah — thanks, noona."
I took the towel Jia noona handed me as if it were the most natural thing in the world, laid it over my face, and settled back. Training had just ended, so she'd be here any—
…Noona?
Something felt off. I yanked the towel up and looked beside me — and she really was sitting there.
"Heh. Hi."
"…You came?"
"Yeah. Looking good out there."
"…"
I had no hang-ups about her looking at my body, so I wiped the sweat off without fuss.
"Noona, can you get my back?"
"Your back? Sure."
Jia noona took the towel like it was nothing and wiped my back for me.
"Your skin really is pale."
"…Don't stare that hard."
"You put on sunscreen, right?"
"Of course. You told me to."
"Heh. Good. Don't you need to hit the locker room?"
"Nah. I'm fine."
I did have stuff in the locker room, but I always carried a light windbreaker and my kit bag so I could play anytime. Today I'd left my bag on the bench so I could leave straight after — no need to go back.
"Yeah? Drink this first, then."
What she handed me was an electrolyte drink.
"Oh! Thanks. Shall we go?"
"Yeah. Let's."
Even when the heat made me want to sit still, football was fun once I was playing, and one look at noona's face untangled every knot of feeling. Days like that stacked up until the first match of the national tournament proper arrived.
The national tournament was exactly what it sounded like: high school football programs from all over South Korea. Being a round of thirty-two could make the scale feel small — but that was only something you could say if you didn't know what the teams had gone through to get there.
The thirty-two sides had already played through a qualifying stage. Teams were grouped by region into eights, with only the top four advancing. Nearly a hundred teams had entered to produce these thirty-two, so the scale was anything but small.
Our Seongil High had qualified out of the Seoul region second only to Seowon High. If we meet again, it'll be in the final. We'd drawn with them in the qualifiers and still gone through without a loss — I wanted another crack at them in the final.
Today, in the round of thirty-two, we were up against Cheongha High out of South Gyeongsang. A side that lived off counterattacks, using the quick feet on their flanks.
Right now, ahead of the match, I was talking with Lee Eunho, who'd come to watch.
"You're up against Cheongha, right?"
"Ah — yes, Mister."
"What's with the 'Mister'? I'm still in my thirties. Can't you just call me Coach?"
"You're not my coach, though."
"Well, true enough."
Between the previous life and the friendship we'd kept up since, the conversation flowed easily.
"Do you think I can make the national team, Mister?"
Lee Eunho was the future national team manager — eight consecutive years in the post. He'd taken a long-struggling Korea into the World Cup round of sixteen and, at the same time, led the charge to root out every scrap of corruption in the association. There had even been a national petition. The association had offered him reappointment just to repair its image — that was how exceptional his ability and character were.
"Of course. I think you could make the U20s at your age right now. Do even better and the senior team isn't out of reach."
"Aren't you rating me a little high?"
Seventeen years old and U20 — or the senior team if I did better. That felt like far too generous an assessment. Even if I did get called up, it would be a year or two down the line.
"If you've got the ability, you skip grades. Oh — and for the record, the U17 coach got the axe. Your coach and Seowon High's coach had a lot of connections, apparently."
"…That's a relief."
No one else would have to suffer for it. That really was good news.
"Starting today?"
"Probably."
"Good. There are a lot of coaches and reporters watching today, so give it everything."
"I'll just do what I always do."
"Haha. Fair enough. I'll head up first."
Lee Eunho went back to the stands, and I returned to the locker room. They were just going over the plan for today's match.
"Yujin, you're starting."
"…Yes, sir."
After a short briefing we headed up to the pitch. A fair number of people had come. Parents of the players, no doubt, and — as I'd heard — coaches and reporters as well. A few hundred, maybe.
I'm not nervous, though.
The silver lining was that there was shade. With that bit of resolve, I stretched carefully so I wouldn't get hurt. Our formation was a 4-2-3-1. Starting as the lone striker today, I had a little more room to breathe.
Peeep—!
Cheongha kicked off, and I scanned the faces opposite, wondering if I'd recognize anyone. No one? At this age, the odds of knowing a player were lower than the odds of not knowing one, to be fair. I nodded to myself and watched. Nothing much happened for a while.
Just as the press was starting to feel dull, the ball shifted out to the flank and a winger began to break. A run built on the quick feet that were their strength. But Jang Hoyeon, our winger, dropped in to defend, and the fullback pressed at the same time — we won the ball back. We circulated it away from the pressing Cheongha attackers and broke their rhythm.
"Yujin!"
Han Seonwoo, playing as the attacking midfielder, found me with a pass.
Tak.
First touch of the match. With my back to a defender, a thought crossed my mind. Should I run with it? For a striker, forcing a dribble was more cost than benefit. What was a striker? A creature that scored goals. Just score. Score, and everything was forgiven.
Coach Ryu Ilhae had said he wanted me to discover the joy of driving the play myself. I'll design the build-up, then. From the first pass, I'd already be picturing where the goal would come from — so that, at the very end, I was the one putting it in. It absolutely was not because of the heat.
I checked the flank, played a return ball to Han Seonwoo, and gestured.
"Hoyeon!!"
Everyone seemed to have the same idea — the ball went wide at once, and the run was on. I jogged into the box without hurry. Now he'll play it into Seonwoo, who's making the supporting run. There was nowhere else to go; it would come out as a one-two. Then the cross.
Exactly as expected, Jang Hoyeon beat his man and whipped a cross in with his left foot.
"Sorry!"
"…"
Right-footed by nature, his accuracy dropped. The ball wasn't coming toward me — it dropped behind. No one from our side was near it. That ball was mine.
I ran for it, scanning as I went. The nearest defender wasn't closing; the midfielder was about two steps off. Do I take it down? I could control, turn, and hit a turning shot — or switch it the other way entirely.
"Oh."
In that instant something lit up in my head. Overhead kick. The old Champions League final clip I'd watched the day before yesterday. A ball on exactly this kind of trajectory, and an overhead kick that put it in the net.
Can I?
Wondering whether I could or couldn't was a luxury. If you wanted to do it, you did it. Was anyone going to curse me out for missing?
I jumped without hesitation. The sensation of rising into the air. Ah. Nothing to push off against — that empty feeling was fairly unpleasant. It was too close to the memory of being hit by a car and hanging in the air.
No. Don't hesitate.
This wasn't that situation. I'd lifted myself up to score. The way a bird beats its wings to fly.
Puhng—!
"…!"
The stray thoughts vanished. My legs scissored like a pair of shears and I struck the overhead kick. Arms first to the ground, protecting my head. An indescribable rush flooded my mind; I lay dazed on the grass — and then the roar hit.
"Waaaaaah!!!"
"Baek Yujin!!"
"What? How did you score that?"
The wingers and midfielders near the box were already coming toward me. I pushed my upper body up and looked back. The ball was in the net.
I put it in.
I was still smiling when Han Seonwoo held out a hand to pull me up.
"You hurt anywhere?"
"No. It's only the tenth minute — what would I do getting hurt now?"
"Good, then. But why the sudden overhead kick?"
"Mm…"
I'd done it because it had simply come to mind — but at the root, the reason was a little romantic.
"Because it's cool, right?"
An overhead kick at the national tournament. How was anyone supposed to resist that?