Debut Match
The winter transfer window was underway, and the season was in full swing by mid-January.
Three days had passed since Baek Yujin arrived in London.
He had managed the bare minimum of settling in and sat through a string of interviews.
Most Arsenal fans reacted positively. What he had shown at the U-20 World Cup was enough; a technician the likes of which they had never seen before, and that tournament alone was enough to spark enormous expectations. He was young, and he had said he had dreamed of this since childhood — if he performed, the odds of him staying and re-signing rather than leaving for another club were high.
Of course, there were fans who were less than thrilled. Maybe it was simple jealousy at how young he was when he reached the first team. Maybe they just did not like him. Either way, it existed.
In the middle of all that, Arsenal’s starting center-back and captain, Wright — who had taken a distinctly warm stance — was heading to the training ground early, as he always did.
Yujin starts training with us today, doesn’t he?
They had run into each other a few times and spoken, but this would be the first time Wright saw him on the pitch.
Wonder what he’s like.
He had watched the clips and heard plenty from Seoin, but so much of it was pure feel and instinct that it was hard to judge properly.
Personality-wise he seemed bright enough.
So far the only real takeaway was that he would settle into the squad easily. And since Manager Alexandro was convinced he would do well, ability was not going to be the problem.
Hope he does well.
Looking at that smiling face of his, you could not help thinking it.
Wright walked on, thinking about the team’s new youngest member, and arrived at the ground.
His boots scuffed the path.
As usual, no one else—
He was always the first one through the gates, so the thought was automatic. Today, though, there was already a guest.
Hm? That’s Yujin.
The boy who was supposed to start today was already there, lightly warming up.
Wright drifted closer to watch.
Thump—!
Without warning Yujin sent the ball soaring high into the sky.
…What is he doing?
Wright had no idea what the kid was trying and could only stare in mild confusion.
The ball accelerated on the way down. Yujin timed his foot perfectly for the trap — and the ball still bounced once, clean up to the height of a second-story apartment window, before settling.
That’s impressive.
Even at a glance the height was ridiculous. For his age it was more than impressive.
Yujin, however, tilted his head as if unsatisfied and kicked the ball up again.
…He can do better than that?
Even the strikers and midfielders currently playing in the Premier League would struggle to kill a ball like that cleanly. Wright, who had never seen the SNS clips, could not quite process it.
About three minutes later, after several more kicks and traps, Yujin finally brought one down without a single bounce and allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.
“…Holy shit!”
“…!”
The sudden shout made Yujin flinch hard.
“Yujin! That was incredible!”
“Uh— uh?”
As Wright approached, the boy stammered, clearly startled. For someone with that kind of ability, there was something almost endearing about it.
With skill like that, this should be easy.
He would need to see him in an actual match to be sure, but Wright no longer believed Yujin would struggle. Even without much hand-holding, the kid looked like he would adapt faster than anyone expected.
With the help of Wright — the center-back a full twelve years older than me whom I had met while warming up early — and Hong Seoin, who was already settled in, I melted into the squad without much trouble.
They were almost aggressively kind. Maybe it was because I was the youngest; the players looked after me constantly. The fact that guys whose names I had at least heard once or twice were taking care of me, training with me, and would soon be lining up beside me still did not feel entirely real.
Matchday 21 of the 35/36 season: Arsenal versus Crystal Palace at home.
I still had not properly linked up with the team, so I did not make my debut. Seoin, though — he had been here a full month longer than me. Manager Alexandro would at least bring him on in the second half.
So I watched from the stands. I had already been told I was not featuring, and I wanted to watch while eating something.
“This is the kind of moment that calls for chicken and beer.”
Age was a cruel thing. Proper football watching demanded chicken and beer, and I was still underage.
“…Yujin. I misheard that, right?”
“…Ah.”
I had muttered it without thinking. I had completely forgotten that Jia was sitting right next to me, watching the match with me.
“It’s not like that, Noona. You know that, right?”
“Mm. I know. When would our Yujin ever have had a drink?”
“….”
She seemed more than a little sulky that I had even said it. I slipped an arm around her waist and rested my head on her shoulder.
“I’ll hold you the whole time when we sleep tonight.”
“You’re already holding me.”
“I’ll kiss you.”
“You can do that right now too.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, leaned in lightly, and pressed her lips to mine.
“….”
“Heh. Cute. If you promise your first drink will be with me, I’ll let it slide.”
“…Okay, Noona.”
Clearing up that not-quite-misunderstanding had taken real effort.
Sixtieth minute of the second half. We were losing 2–1.
Oh — substitution.
Arsenal took off a midfielder and brought Hong Seoin on. Something was about to change.
That instinct proved right almost immediately. Seoin got on the ball. Every time he used that flexible ankle to glide past an opponent, the home crowd roared. When he pulled off a Marseille turn and then delivered an absurd pass for an assist, the noise swallowed the stadium whole.
And when he scored the dramatic winner himself, the roar became entirely his.
“Waaaaaah!!!”
“Seoin!! Seoin!!”
The nineteen-year-old boy from Asia!! On his debut — one goal and one assist!!!
Wonder goal!! What a beautiful trajectory!!
So this is home.
The heat was incredible. The crowd moved as one with the players, on their feet, chanting the name of the man who had just become the hero.
“Seoin!!!”
If you put on a show like Hong Seoin just had at home, this was the reward. I wanted that roar aimed at me. I wanted the Emirates Stadium to call my name.
I want to play.
A small fire lit in my chest — the hunger to run, the craving for everyone to shout my name. I wanted to feel my heart hammering after a successful debut.
And that chance arrived sooner than expected.
Matchday 24. Arsenal versus Everton at home.
Seventieth minute of the second half.
“Yujin. Get ready.”
We were winning 2–0 when Manager Alexandro told me to warm up.
Finally. Debut day.
A month. A full month of linking up with teammates and drilling steadily. At last the chance had come. If I performed today — with one of the strikers already gone on a free — there was a real chance I would start from the next match onward.
I finished a light warm-up and peeled off the training top. The red jersey underneath showed EUGENE across the back and the number 10.
There had been plenty of noise about that.
Why give the 10 to a kid who still had milk on his face? Give it to someone else. Favoritism from the manager. The forty- and fifty-somethings who had lived through Arsenal’s glory years were especially sensitive about the number.
But no one had worn the 10 since last season. That was the only reason I had it.
I just have to show them.
That I deserved to wear it.
Premier League debut. The physical gap was real, the level was high, and it would not be easy — but proving myself was something I was used to.
The second boy from Asia makes his debut at sixteen.
Does he have what it takes to wear the number 10?
The formation had shifted to 4-4-2. All I had to do was link with Hong Seoin — someone I had already combined with many times — and with Simon, the veteran striker.
I ran for five minutes with a measured edge of nerves.
The Premier League felt different. Things I had watched from the outside and thought, Why isn’t he shooting? There’s space there, now made instinctive sense. It was simply different. The football I had known no longer felt like football. I finally understood why Han Seonwoo had praised the Premier League so relentlessly. Even the lower-table sides played at this level; of course his mouth would water.
Time to start moving.
I had finished reading the Everton defenders. Until now I had mostly been a link; I could afford to go more aggressive.
Hong Seoin drifted wide to receive. Simon made a run as if he meant to attack a cross. Two defenders immediately closed on him, leaving the space he had just vacated empty. I burst into it.
The instant I stepped into the box, Seoin whipped the cross in — fast, hard. The defender tracking Simon realized he had lost me and lunged from my right.
They still don’t have much on me, do they?
If they had, he would not have sprinted that hard.
I shaped to shoot, then used the inside of my foot to drag the ball back toward my body and spun into a Marseille turn in the exact direction the defender was charging.
…! Damn!! Yujin!! Takes the cross straight into a Marseille turn!!
This kid is insane!! His feel is beyond human!! Yujin!! Shooooooot!!!
Before another defender could arrive to clear, I was already half a beat ahead, sliding the ball into the far corner.
One second.
That was how long it took for the Emirates Stadium to explode.
“Waaaaaaaaah!!!”
The moment I confirmed it was a goal I sprinted straight for the corner flag.
“Yujin!! Yujin!!”
“….”
Everyone was shouting my name. Inside, I called the name of the person who would have wanted this moment most of all.
Father. Are you watching?
The father who had loved Arsenal more than anyone. Your son just scored his debut goal here.
I pointed both index fingers at the sky and closed my eyes for a moment.
I dedicate the glory of this goal to you.
Please rest easy, and watch with a peaceful heart.
Just as he said in the interview — Yujin seems to be thinking of his father.
What a fine son. May he rest in a good place.
When I opened my eyes, my body felt strangely light.
“Ddolgaeng-a. You made it.”
“Yes, hyung. Let’s go score some more.”
The match was not over yet.