vs Wolverhampton (1)
The moment Baek Yujin turned a single dazzling touch into an assist and celebrated with Hong Seoin, the Arsenal fans' roar hit its absolute peak.
"Korean Duo!!"
"You two coming to Arsenal was destiny!!"
"Seoin! Yujin! Stay forever as Arsenal legends!!!"
The score stood at 3–1.
Roughly fifteen minutes remaining.
The gap on the board and the time left were more than enough for one thought to take over every mind in the stands: this was already won, not a game that could still be overturned.
"Haha! Go get one more!"
"Raymond! Show them what you've got!"
"Yujin!!"
The home crowd at Arsenal kept the fire burning without the faintest notion of defeat.
Chelsea, however, refused to go quietly.
"Blue is best!"
"Never give up!"
"Go! Go! Go!"
Chelsea's players and fans locked together as one, clinging to the last scrap of hope that a comeback was still possible.
Even deep into the dying stages, Chelsea's attack held its focus and punched into Arsenal's final third.
Ver's one-touch link-up!! The flank is wide open!
A sequence of passes no one would believe belonged to the closing minutes left Arsenal's full-back stranded, and in a heartbeat the side was torn open.
Wright's lightning cover, though, cleared the ball away.
Every attack they tried was snuffed out; every time they dropped back they had already conceded. The tension kept climbing, and Chelsea's nerves frayed tighter by the second.
Five minutes…?
The moment the board went up on the sideline showing five minutes of added time, the urgency in Chelsea's players spiked even higher.
They still hadn't scored.
If this was how it ended, it was simply a loss.
To win, they had to attack.
To attack, they had to win the ball.
Five minutes made a full turnaround difficult—but it did not make a turnaround impossible.
To make matters worse, when Arsenal broke on the counter, Lemaire—his head filled with nothing but the need to attack—threw himself into a physical challenge and a tackle on Baek Yujin as the striker drove forward with the ball.
Yujin had been calmly weighing a pass against a shot. Against a frame well over 190 centimeters and built like a wall, he never got the chance to use his strength; he went down hard on the turf.
A clear trip! That's a foul! The distance is awkward—is it a penalty?
The referee blew his whistle and awarded Chelsea the foul—a free kick.
A free kick just outside the box, not far from goal.
"Yujin, you take it."
Padric, Arsenal's designated set-piece taker and winger, stepped aside and offered the free kick to Baek Yujin.
"Are you sure I should take it?"
"It's a hat-trick chance—and honestly, Yujin, your kick is too good to waste."
"Then I'll take it gratefully."
After offering his thanks, Yujin waited while Padric set the ball as if he himself were the taker, then quietly took his place where the ball and the goal formed a right angle and drew a light breath.
Free kick just outside the box. The usual taker is Padric, and—oh. A face we haven't seen before. Yujin is lining up!
I've never seen this picture before. Looking forward to whatever set piece Arsenal have cooked up.
About twenty meters, maybe?
Because he had been trying to win a penalty, the free-kick distance had ended up close.
It was an awkward range—easy enough to miss.
He was taking it in place of the specialist, and yet he felt no pressure.
He had practiced this hundreds, thousands of times already.
Padric sprints in to take the free kick—and runs straight past the ball!!
Yujin follows right behind and strikes!! Shuuuut!!
The wall flinched, expecting Padric. Yujin drove in and whipped a curling strike.
A free kick cut from a right angle.
The ball, struck clean through the middle, vanished from the keeper's sight for an instant and reappeared—then buried itself in the near post while the goalkeeper could only stare.
Chelsea's players, who had been running on nothing but the belief they could still win, felt that free kick snap something inside them.
After another successful match and every remaining obligation of the day, I came home and started thinking about the next league fixture.
A Korean Derby, huh.
Korean players facing each other from opposite sides.
Next up was Arsenal—me and Hong Seoin—against Shin Kihyun, a current senior national team winger holding down a spot at Wolverhampton.
I would have to watch for a frame that barely looked East Asian and speed to match.
Well—I wasn't a defender, so it didn't concern me all that much.
I'm looking forward to it.
A shame it wasn't a current national-team defender, but I was still curious how good an attacker of that level really was.
I sat down at the computer and pulled up Wolverhampton footage for a light analysis.
It wouldn't transform the match, but it was still far better than going in blind.
Hmm…
I broke down the opposing defenders' tendencies and the way they managed games.
Even the small habits went into my head and stayed there.
…Noona still isn't home.
A fair amount of time had passed with no sign of Jia, and I was just about to call her when my own phone rang instead.
Caller: Seong Yumin
"…"
Slightly unexpected.
…What is this?
A call at this hour felt odd, but I couldn't exactly ignore it, so I picked up.
Click.
"Hello?"
"Hey. Yujin."
"Why are you calling?"
"You ever think about going on a variety show?"
"…Variety? What variety show?"
"Just a simple talk show. One or two guests come on and chat for a bit."
"Hmm…"
It wouldn't be during the season, obviously.
"You mean during the off-season?"
"Yeah. In Korea."
"When?"
"End of July?"
"I'm a player. Can I just do that whenever I want?"
"You get permission and that's that."
He sounded fired up enough that he clearly wanted this badly.
"What kind of show is it?"
"Oh. Now you're interested?"
"I should try at least one. I'm curious."
As much as I loved football, I had no intention of living on football alone.
Play football—and try other things too.
"Nothing fancy. Just you and me talking a little. I'll send the details separately."
"Alright. What about the others? Did you ask them?"
"Seonwoo's schedule doesn't work, and Minjun and Juwon are going on as a pair by themselves."
"Ah."
"So are you in? The offer's already here."
"If the schedule works, I'll do it."
"That's a promise?"
"Yeah."
Click.
The whirlwind call ended, and when I turned my head I locked eyes with a woman staring straight at me.
"…"
"…Noona?"
Jia was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me—I had no idea when she had come in.
"Yeah. Yujin."
"…If you come in like that, you scare me."
My heart was still hammering.
"Hehe. I was just watching because your smile was cute. Sorry."
"…It's fine. Should we sleep? Did you shower?"
"I'll wash up quick and come back."
"Okay, Noona."
My heart was racing for more than one reason. I stretched out on the bed where she had been sitting and opened the internet.
Unbelievable….
"Haha…"
I had clicked expecting hate, only to find a positive post about me, and the relief settled me right down.
Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.
In a hazy half-dream my whole body felt warm, and something soft and yielding brushed my lips—a rather pleasant dream.
"Hehe."
"…Why are you laughing?"
"It's nothing."
Waking the next morning to Jia already smiling made a flicker of unease rise in my chest, but it turned out to be nothing serious.
Time moved quickly, and the following Saturday arrived.
Korean Derby day was here.