Vs. Manchester City (3)

"GOOOOOAL!! Beating Linebri Kjell!! Baek Yujin takes Padric's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pass and buries it!! The equalizer celebration!!! What a— wait, wait? He's suddenly turning toward the Man City fans!"

Baek Yujin's celebration, aimed straight at the Manchester City supporters.

Even he seemed startled by it — he blinked hard, then dropped his head.

In an instant the Man City players surged forward, tempers flaring, but the referee and a handful of other players stepped between them and snuffed out the powder keg before it could explode.

"That looked like a mistake, didn't it?"

"Yujin. Was that deliberate?"

"No, sir. It wasn't."

"Then what was it?"

"I just… got a little carried away. I'm seventeen. Haha."

"Hmm…"

The referee, already familiar with the history between Manchester City and Baek Yujin, had been ready to brandish a yellow for baiting the home crowd — then quietly slid the card back into his pocket.

The expression, the posture: everything about the boy looked genuinely flustered. And he was already contrite.

"Ah— the referee puts the card away. Factoring in that it wasn't intentional, and that he apologized right away, wouldn't you say?"

"Seems that way. Baek Yujin nearly picked up his first card in the Premier League."

"For a player like him to do something like that… he must have been pretty wound up by that little pre-match talk."

After the brief commotion, Manchester City restarted the match.

"Matchday 37, Arsenal versus Manchester City — the score is 1–1!! The race for top of the table is on from the opening whistle!!"

Having conceded, Manchester City locked the game down, packing two banks of defenders across their own half.

"It may not look like much from the stands, but from City's perspective, shutting up shop is the right call. All they need is not to lose."

"Exactly. They're only two points clear — no need to take risks hunting for a goal."

They brought on specialist defenders in place of midfielders and refused to attempt anything resembling a dangerous pass.

Arsenal, who absolutely had to win this match, built their attacks with equal care.

"Seoin's interception! The ball heads toward Yujin and a pocket of Arsenal fans raise their voices! There's an expectation among the supporters that Yujin is about to show them something!"

"It's almost strange to hear that kind of roar. Has Yujin become this big a presence for the Arsenal faithful already?"

In less than half a season, Baek Yujin had gone beyond a ten-and-ten and was putting up performances that simply defied belief.

At just seventeen years old he was already matching the best players in the league, and that alone was more than enough to carry the weight of expectation.

On top of that, the contrast between his boyish looks and his fiery temperament, his instinct for fan service, the manners that seemed bred into him, and the trapping technique that was pure visual pleasure — he had star quality in every direction.

"Yujin receives the ball! What kind of magic is he going to show us this time!"

Back in London, articles about Baek Yujin were spreading everywhere.

Arsenal's hope. The savior who would take them to first place. The most anticipated prospect of next season.

There were no fans who disliked him.

If anything, to the supporters Baek Yujin was a player with real roots.

He had turned down offers from half a dozen big clubs to come to the Arsenal his late father had loved, he idolized the club's legendary players, and he cared enough about the team to fight on its behalf.

Wasn't that more than enough to take pride in a player?

"Yujin wins the ball right back! He never gives up!"

The same Baek Yujin who arrived at the training ground earlier than anyone and left later than anyone — that work ethic erupted onto the pitch as he stripped the ball clean out of Manchester City's defensive rotation.

Right flank, just outside the City box.

He lifted his head at once, reading the field, and in the same breath slipped the ball into the half-space for Hong Seoin's run.

With two defenders drawn onto him, Yujin had space to spare; he peeled wide across the face of goal, already shaping to receive the return.

"Seoin's pass! Seoin looping wide on the run! Yujin kills the ball with a touch and Seoin takes it on!!"

After that perfectly weighted one-two, Hong Seoin found the shooting angle open and struck.

Thwack—!

"GOOOOOAL!! After Yujin's clever pass, the shot carves a gorgeous arc and finds the net!! Arsenal take the lead, 2–1!!"

The curling strike bent on a perfect trajectory into the far corner — the Yashin Zone — beyond the goalkeeper's outstretched fingertips.

"Simon's movement was excellent too. He dragged every eye with him, which is exactly why Seoin's finish and Yujin's vision stood out."

Eighty-fifth minute.

"…Fuck. That bastard's definitely on his second life."

A home fan watching live at the Etihad Stadium muttered the words through clenched teeth and sank into his seat.

Even so, a flicker of reluctant respect sat in his expression.

Manchester City manager Juan dragged a hand down his face, doing his best to hide the hollow look behind it as he watched the game unfold.

Was he really that good…?

In his eyes, Baek Yujin was still running — still not stopping.

The vision to split a side open with a pass, the finishing, the work rate that rivaled any midfielder's, the dribbling.

His defending was already above average. You could fairly say he already had the talent of a world-class player.

The problem was that at seventeen, he was almost finished.

Or rather — that he had already been finished. That was closer to the truth.

His English was suspiciously fluent; he had melted into the squad without friction.

In a comfortable atmosphere, free of nerves, Baek Yujin had shown every ounce of what he could do and become a resource the team simply could not do without.

Yujin collected the ball deep and drove forward.

Past the ninetieth minute, and still — as a striker — he showed no sign of fatigue, scanning quickly and swinging his foot.

He was already at the edge of the box, and given his usual style a pass would have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been the call.

He had always produced something extraordinary from positions like this.

But whether the occasion had finally stirred some greed in him, Baek Yujin hit a long-range shot instead.

Thwack—!

Everyone was too tired to even imagine it, so no one closed him down. From a free chance the ball flew, and even the goalkeeper was late to react.

And that ball, almost cruelly, rippled the back of Manchester City's net.

"GOOOOOOOAL!! Baek Yujin's sensational long-range strike!! The shot he hit when everyone expected a pass!!! It shakes the net!! The 3–1 dagger!!!"

A 3–1 scoreline. The dagger.

Watching the ball go in in real time, Juan covered his face with both hands.

Perfect…

Without meaning to, the corner of his mouth lifted, and a look almost like falling in love crossed his eyes.

He wanted to coach that player.

Not long after, the match between Arsenal and Manchester City ended 3–1.