vs Liverpool (1)
Arsenal’s ten-game winning streak in the league.
Unlike the sluggish start to the season, they had climbed into the upper ranks without a single loss or draw—and with that climb, a new ambition took root in the hearts of the fans.
“A league title isn’t out of reach.”
The league title.
At the beginning of the season, simply securing a Champions League spot had felt like enough. Arsenal had been stuck in mid-table not long ago, after all—a position from which even dreaming of a championship seemed absurd.
But win after win, overtaking the teams that had held the upper-middle ground, and the human heart began to change.
When league leaders Manchester City fell in the Matchweek 32 Manchester Derby, that feeling swelled even further—and the fans started getting ahead of themselves.
“Arsenal, going for the league title?”
“Obviously!”
“Just a Champions League quarterfinal side?”
“What? You looking for a fight?”
It wasn’t common, but every so often fan disputes flared up on the streets of London. Fortunately, they never escalated into real brawls, and people treated it as just another part of the culture.
And at the center of every argument, Baek Yujin’s name always came up.
“We’ve got Yujin. We can win it.”
“Yujin? Isn’t he still young?”
“Being young is just an excuse now.”
“Fair enough. He’s already shown plenty.”
The winning streak itself owed so much to Baek Yujin’s role that most Arsenal fans adored him. His sincerity toward the supporters, his performances every match—there was nothing to dislike. These days, if rival fans started trash-talking him, Arsenal fans were the first to throw down.
“Is this the restaurant Yujin goes to all the time?”
“The rumors have been everywhere.”
“Mm. Korean food is seriously good.”
“No wonder Yujin likes it.”
Because of that, the Korean restaurant Yujin visited three or four times a week had become a kind of pilgrimage site, never empty of people. Tourists from every country heard the buzz and made the trip.
Even mid-meal, fans kept arguing over the race for first place—until Manager Alexandro’s interview about Matchweek 33 dropped. Most Arsenal fans who saw it went blank.
“What?! Yujin might not play?”
The possibility that Baek Yujin might not start. With every point critical, the idea of their key player being left out sparked a thin edge of anger—and confusion, because no one knew why.
“…He’ll come on as a sub at least.”
There had been no talk of a serious injury, so even if he didn’t start, they figured he’d appear off the bench to manage his fitness. Or maybe he’d start and come off early. That was what the fans believed.
In their minds, the option of Baek Yujin not featuring at all had already vanished. It had simply become: he has to play.
In just three months, so much had changed.
At the training ground where Arsenal held their team sessions—
“…My ears are itching. What’s that about? Is someone talking about me?”
Without even realizing it, Baek Yujin was steadily growing larger in the fans’ world.
Emirates Stadium, for the Matchweek 33 clash against Liverpool.
After the mild stir over whether he would start, Baek Yujin’s name appeared on the starting lineup, and he stepped out onto the pitch. Manager Alexandro’s comments had carried a non-starter’s nuance, so the fans were surprised—and a little relieved.
Doing his usual lap of the pitch, Baek Yujin found his gaze catching on one spot.
That man…
An elderly face that felt somehow familiar. He was sitting close enough that the recognition hit harder; sifting through his memory, Yujin realized this was one of the fans he had spoken with on his birthday.
A welcome face. He smiled and raised a hand.
“….”
“….”
Meeting the eyes of a young man who felt almost like a son, a smile settled at the corners of the old man’s mouth.
As Baek Yujin moved into position for kickoff, the old man closed his eyes and, without meaning to, drifted back to the glory days—those nights when there had been no enemies, only hope.
Liverpool, currently sitting second. The weight of beating a side like that was considerable—enough, quite literally, to reshuffle the table. It might not show immediately, but by the time Matchweek 38 was done, the effect would be real.
The referee’s whistle started the match.
In the first half of the season, without me, Liverpool had taken the lead at Anfield. Now it was Arsenal dictating, driving Liverpool back. The whole side carried a different mindset—one fixed on first place—and from Liverpool’s perspective, it had to feel disorienting.
The early stages ran like a half-court game, the usual pattern of control. But this Liverpool side thrived on dazzling counterattacks. A few times, when the ball was turned over mid-circulation, danger nearly flared—only for clean tackles to snuff it out before the ball could reach the front.
Arsenal kept the initiative, hammering away at the goal. Liverpool’s back line might as well have been a wall of lamentation; the ball simply would not go in.
What’s the best way through?
I kept thinking while my body kept running. At this rate, fitness issues might see me subbed before the second half even arrived—but something in me, something that felt like the will to win itself, kept me covering every blade of grass.
Shhhhk—!
I slid in and rescued a ball that had deflected off Padric’s leg and was heading out of play. Looking up, I found Hong Seoin and played it into him; he first-timed it forward to Simon. Simon got a shot away, but it caught a defender’s leg and spun wide of the post—Arsenal corner.
Everyone moved to their assigned positions.
If no one’s marking me, hit the far post first-time—that’s what I told them, right?
Sure enough, a defender closed me down. In that case the cross wouldn’t come my way, so I focused on off-the-ball movement and finding a goal another way.
Thump—!
Padric delivered the cross—aimed perfectly at Simon’s head. But the keeper got there first, claimed it, and immediately hurled it upfield. Davis, already back in defensive shape, cut out Liverpool’s counter at full speed.
With the corner just finished, opposing players were everywhere. Davis calmly found Hong Seoin closing in support, then overlapped. The pass didn’t come straight back, but by dragging a marker with him he opened space. Hong Seoin drove into that space and immediately slipped a low, sharp pass into the box.
From the left flank, the ball bounced irregularly, curling as it met Simon’s foot.
Clang—!
But the crossbar spared Liverpool’s life—and handed me the chance.
Two of them?
Two players charging in to clear. But I was faster to the ball. There were runners, yet this was a shooting situation. Before they could close, I jumped and touched the ball up onto the top of my foot.
I lifted my toes and locked it in place. A ball that should have bounced free nestled between my instep and the ground, and both defenders were left stranded in reverse motion—looking like fools.
After that breathtaking first touch, one more touch took me past both of them, and I was one-on-one with the keeper.
Tap.
I let the ball drop and struck it half a beat early with my left foot. The net bulged.
“WAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”
A goal inside the first ten minutes, and the Emirates Stadium erupted. I sprinted to the corner flag, feeling every gaze and every roar fixed on me.
Dopamine so rich I wished every day could feel like this. I wanted to remember this moment forever. I wanted the fans to remember it the way I did. I wanted it to become an unforgettable memory for them too.
With that in mind, I framed a rectangle with the thumbs and index fingers of both hands and held it up in front of my eyes like a camera.
The Camera Celebration.
A promise to remember this goal, this roar, this heat, this feeling—all of it.
A short while later, once the emotion had settled—
…Am I even allowed to do this celebration?
The thought struck me suddenly: here I was, an Arsenal player, performing the signature celebration of a Tottenham legend—and a strange feeling settled over me.