Goals

After lofting the ball skyward about five more times and trapping it to loosen up, I kept striking it — everything I'd been craving, from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dribbles to shots to kicks.

Paaang—!

That sound like a bullet leaving the barrel every time my foot met the ball. The pure pleasure of rattling the net, of watching the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ball travel exactly the path I'd intended — it was beyond words.

"Haha!"

It was too much fun. I didn't think I'd ever felt this happy in my entire life. Not the first time I kicked a ball, not when I was named MVP of the middle school league, not even when I got into a high school with a prestigious football program — none of those moments had felt like this.

"…So what does it matter? It's just a dream anyway."

The moment I picked the ball up again, my mood crashed as suddenly as a depressive episode. My five senses insisted this was real, but my mind was convinced it was a dream. Maybe that was just the judgment of a mind that had gone fifteen years without doing what it wanted most. Because if this got taken away from me again, it would truly hurt — the way those fifteen years without football had hurt.

Pwoong—!

A clean mid-range shot from the edge of the penalty box settled the gloom that had settled over me.

Just enjoy it for now.

I struck freely with both left and right foot until, about an hour in, I stopped where I stood. It wasn't that my stamina had given out — every hormone in my body was still firing.

"Can't I use more balls than this?"

Going back and forth with just two balls left me a little unsatisfied. A moment's thought and the answer came easily.

"They'll be in the storage shed."

I was at Seongil High School — a school with a football club. Of course the shed would be stacked with balls. I set my legs moving with growing familiarity and headed that way.

Tuk, tuk.

Even on the walk, the urge to keep kicking was so strong that I juggled as I went, never letting the ball leave me. I was about to unlock the padlock with the combination I knew when a woman's voice called from behind.

"Baek Yujin."

"…?"

Something about that familiar voice felt strange. I turned around — and someone I'd missed terribly was standing there.

"…Jia noona?"

"Yeah. It's me."

Lee Jia. One year older than me. My childhood friend.

"Ah…"

And the girlfriend I'd been with since first year of middle school — the wife whose face I hadn't gotten to see on the day I died, because she'd been away on a business trip.

"Why so early in the morning, all of a sudden—"

I didn't even hear the rest of what Jia noona was asking. I ran straight to her and threw myself into her arms. I just… wanted to.

Whump!

"…?"

When I looked up for a moment, I saw a startled expression on her face. But even she must have seen how pitiful I looked, because without a word she stroked my sweat-beaded hair. That familiar scent, the affectionate voice, the careful touch — it all felt far too much like a dream.

Maybe three minutes passed before I collected myself and stepped back from her.

"Feeling better now?"

"Yeah. Being a dream has its upsides."

I got to see the wife I thought I'd never see again. All that was left was to wake up.

"A dream?"

"Yeah. This is a dream, right?"

"…?"

At my pure, simple words, noona tilted her head.

"Yujin. This isn't a dream."

"…Huh?"

Something was off. Of course it was a dream. Jia noona was speaking as if this weren't a dream at all. …If this wasn't a dream, then what was it?

"…How old are you right now, noona?"

I asked with a genuine, half-dreading what-if in my chest. She looked at me oddly, but answered anyway.

"Eighteen."

"And me?"

"Seventeen."

"And today — what year, month, and day is it?"

"February 19th, 2035. Why? You ran off to play football first thing this morning — are you feeling sick?"

Oh my God.

A dream. A dream. There was no way this was a dream. It was far too real to keep calling it one.

"…Haha. Is that really true? I think I might be hurt somewhere."

"What? Where?!"

At the word hurt, Jia noona came closer in genuine worry, checking me over. As she patted and prodded me this way and that, only one thought filled my mind. I thought I could finally be sure.

I've gone back to the past.

Fifteen years back — to before my leg was injured. No wonder I'd felt shorter. There was no way I should be about the same height as noona. Jia noona was on the tall side, so around this age we'd been roughly the same height.

Was it because the last time I played football was middle school that nothing felt that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠off?

That could be it. I finally understood why kicking the ball hadn't felt more wrong.

"Did you actually get hurt?"

"No, I was kidding."

"Phew… thank goodness."

Watching noona worry over me so sincerely — reacting as if she'd been the one hurt — I decided I absolutely would not get injured this time.

"Noona, why did you come here?"

"Ah! That's my line. You're not supposed to use this place, are you?"

"Mm… that doesn't matter. The chairman said even incoming first-years can use it."

"Dad did? That's a relief."

Ah — Jia noona's father was the chairman of Seongil High School.

"And you?"

"I was on the way to your place when you suddenly took off running somewhere. I got worried, so I followed."

"Ahh."

What a kind-hearted girlfriend. I took noona's hand as naturally as breathing. Jia noona didn't mind in the slightest that I'd pressed close beside her.

"Shall we head back, then?"

"Yeah. Sounds good."

My mind had finally accepted that I'd returned to the past, and I wanted to sort through my thoughts.

"Hey, noona."

"What?"

"Were you just watching me for a whole hour?"

I'd asked it playfully, but of course noona was a step ahead.

"Yeah. Watching you run around so happily made me feel good too. I even recorded some of it — want to see? You're so cute."

"Haha. I'll watch it later."

"Hehe."

Seeing her smile like that, I really did feel glad I'd come back to the past.

After a light date with Jia noona, dredging up as many old memories as I could, I came home, sat at my desk, and pulled out a pen and a sheet of A4 paper. Of course there was no notebook — this was the era when I hadn't been studying properly.

I wrote the word Regression in the center and drew a mind map around it. Honestly, why I'd regressed was the biggest question — but there was no way to know, so I decided to take the good as good and move on.

If this suddenly turns out to be a dream, I'll be pissed…

For now, I organized the things I wanted to do, the things I had to do, and the goals I desired. What came out were two goals.

One was to make Jia noona — who had always been so utterly devoted to me — happy. In my previous life, from before we married all the way through after, noona had truly treated me as if she were looking after me. If anything happened, she came running. If something looked dangerous, she stopped me. And yet she never treated me like a child — it was a deep, genuine affection that came through. It had probably started after I tore my Achilles tendon. I'd wanted to ask why she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was so good to me — but I'd been too afraid that asking might make that love disappear. But in this life, I felt I needed to hear that answer.

I have to make her happy.

Having lightly sorted that thought, I moved on to the next goal. The other was simply this: to play football joyfully. Even now I felt restless from not being able to run.

"Haha."

Just thinking about football put a big grin on my face. In the past, the fact that I could only watch would have filled me with cynicism — but now I could play, so of course I was this happy.

Been a while. Let's watch some highlights.

I pulled out my phone and put on a football video. Being an old clip, the quality was pretty rough. It was Arsenal's away match against Newcastle from 2002. It was from long before I was even born, but it was my favorite video of all.

As the commentators spoke in English, a player cutting in from the flank passed to Bergkamp, who was right at the edge of the penalty box. Anyone watching would have thought he needed to take a touch and then play. But Bergkamp saw a different path from everyone else — and took it. Instead of trapping it, he flicked the ball with his left foot behind the defender, then spun and ran without a second's hesitation. The defender had no choice but to let Bergkamp surge past him right there — and Bergkamp scored.

What people call the Bergkamp Turn.

"Wow… how does he make a touch like that?"

No matter how many times I watched it, the play drew pure admiration. The entire sequence leading to the goal was so beautiful. The ball control, the direction of the ball, the way he turned, the movement that followed, shrugging off the defender grabbing his shirt and finishing — the goal. Everything came together as one, like a scene that held great art inside it.

According to the chairman, Dad had loved this video too.

"…"

But we couldn't watch it together anymore. I couldn't even see his face. My parents had left me in an accident when I was still young. The only reason I'd ever seen this video was because Lee Woojin, chairman of Seongil High and an acquaintance of my father's, had shown it to me.

If I hadn't seen this video as a child, I probably never would have started playing football. Because the desire to play that beautifully never would have been born.

I should go see him again.

The chairman — and father figure — who had helped me so much since I was little. It was thanks to him that I'd been able to keep playing through middle school, and to make a living afterward. The reason he helped, he said, was that he'd received great help from my father. Because of that, I'd received his support until I became independent on my own past the age of twenty. He was a benefactor of my life, someone with much to teach.

"Come to think of it, it's not far off, is it?"

The Seongil High School football club entrance test. I knew it was held the day after enrollment. Seongil High's football club had something of a prestigious reputation.

Though not so much recently…

Still, the good news was that the chairman was serious about football, so the support was rock-solid. Even the pitch I'd been on today was newly built.

Would he be happy if I brought him a championship trophy?

A hollow laugh escaped me at a goal that still felt so distant. I didn't even have a proper feel for my own ability yet — championship, what championship? I'd won several times in middle school, sure — but I was still someone who'd been cut off from football for fifteen years. It was hard to jump to conclusions.

Or maybe not — thinking back to middle school, it might be possible.

First I had to pass the entrance test, then think about the rest. Everything else was a story for after I'd made the football club. In my previous life, I'd had the accident two days before the entrance test and never taken it — but this time was different. My leg didn't hurt, and from the way I'd just been kicking, my stamina was excellent too.

"For that, I'll need to get my body adapted first."

Adaptation still seemed necessary. Starting with the smaller height, the lost sense of touch, the muscles that felt somehow diminished. It wouldn't take that much time.

"Two weeks should be enough."

I steeled my resolve looking at the middle-school trophies and awards that were no different from what I'd seen yesterday.