The Moment Time Froze
I'd hit the jackpot.
The door swung open.
The scene in the bedroom hit me like a freight train.
As if time itself had ground to a halt.
There were two of them tangled on the bed.
A guy with a broad, bronzed back...
And Han Ye-jin.
Her face drained white in an instant, and she yanked the covers up to shield her body.
"Kang-min... this isn't..."
My mind went blank.
She could have at least spared me the panic.
And then.
Of all people, it didn't have to be that bastard.
The man grinning shamelessly beside Han Ye-jin.
Blond hair, chiseled build, and that insufferably smug expression above all.
Leo Silva.
The Brazilian striker playing for Bristol City this season—Ashbery Town's rivals.
He'd netted twenty goals in the Championship, the ace carrying his promotion hopefuls.
"Oh, Cha Kang-min."
Leo didn't even flinch; he just flashed a leisurely smile as he sat up. He grabbed his clothes and started dressing like it was no big deal.
"You're early. Training wrap up ahead of schedule?"
His nonchalance left me speechless.
As if this were all perfectly normal—as if I were the one intruding.
"Leo, please..."
Han Ye-jin's voice trembled, but Leo ignored her.
"What's the harm, Ye-jin? He'd find out eventually anyway."
Leo fixed me with a straight stare.
"Sorry, Cha Kang-min. But some things can't be helped. It's like football, right? Lose your edge, and you lose your starting spot. Same with love."
My grip tightened on the baseball bat until my knuckles shook.
Leo spotted it but didn't bat an eye.
"What, gonna hit me? Won't change a damn thing."
He shrugged, buttoning his shirt.
"Ye-jin wants a winner now. A guy with a future. Not some player whose injury's sent him straight downhill."
That instant.
Clang—
The bat slipped from my hand.
The metal striking the floor echoed through the bedroom.
That sound snapped me awake.
Reminded me why I'd grabbed the damn thing in the first place.
I'd thought Han Ye-jin might be in danger, so I'd armed myself to protect her.
But the one who needed protecting wasn't here.
"Kang-min..."
Han Ye-jin ventured cautiously.
Her voice quivered, but it held more bewilderment than regret.
"This... this isn't what you think. We were just..."
"Just what?"
My voice came out astonishingly cold.
"Just a mistake? A one-time thing? Or just friends?"
Han Ye-jin had no reply.
Leo sneered.
"Mistake? Maybe the first time. Not the second."
"Leo! No, Kang-min, let me explain. It's really..."
Han Ye-jin tried to rise from the bed, but I'd already turned away.
"Save the explanation."
I headed for the door.
"Kang-min! Wait! Hear me out!"
Her voice chased after me from behind.
I didn't care anymore.
I left the bedroom, crossed the living room, and made for the front door.
"Cha Kang-min!"
The front door slammed shut behind me.
"Hoo."
London's evening air felt especially frigid tonight.
I wandered aimlessly, no destination in mind.
I just wanted distance from that house, those memories.
—Riiiing!
My phone buzzed.
Han Ye-jin.
I ignored it.
—Riiiing!
It rang again. Ignored.
By the third call, I powered it off completely.
Streetlights stretched my shadow long across the pavement.
Normally, I'd be home with Han Ye-jin by now—dinner, TV, a cozy evening.
No more.
It was all a lie.
"Ha, fuck."
I sank onto a bench and stared at the sky. London's sky was always overcast, a featureless gray without a single star.
I powered the phone back on.
Seventeen missed calls from Han Ye-jin. And a handful of texts.
Every message reeked of contradiction.
I pitied myself for still wanting to believe her.
Then another call came through—a different number. Son Tae-young.
"Hyung?"
"Yeah... Tae-young."
"Whoa? What's with your voice? Something wrong?"
Son Tae-young.
My high school junior, now my teammate.
Two years younger than me, but he'd grown steadily without injuries, becoming a core player for the team.
"Hyung, where are you? You sound off."
"Just out."
"Out? At this hour? The guy who never leaves the house except to take out the trash?"
"That's a bit exaggerated."
"Exaggerated my ass! Something's up. What happened? No, forget it—where are you? I'll come. Just share your location."
I named a nearby restaurant.
"Marco's Kitchen."
Minutes later, Tae-young burst in, panting in his training gear.
"Hyung! What happened? Your face looks wrecked!"
He dropped into the seat and scanned me head to toe. I forced a smile and shook my head.
"Nah, just... came from contract talks."
"Oh...! How'd it go? That GM asshole didn't pull any crap, did he?"
I hesitated. I didn't want to air my misery to him too. But Tae-young read my face like a book.
"Hyung, spill. It's fine."
I let out a deep sigh and opened up.
"Weekly wage... 1,300 pounds."
"What the fuck...? You're kidding. That make any sense? Even third-division prospects get more!"
"More than a prospect."
"No way! That's how you treat the guy who dragged this team to the second tier? What does the owner say?!"
Tae-young shot to his feet, voice booming. A few other patrons glanced over, but he didn't care.
"Hyung, you know I keep work and personal separate with the owner, but this is bullshit. Go talk to her. It's about respect!"
"...Can't."
"Come on, hyung! After everything we've given this team!"
"I said can't."
My firm tone silenced him. He eyed me cautiously, then asked softly.
"...Something happen? With Noona Ye-jin...?"
He knew about me and the owner.
I dropped my gaze.
"We broke up."
"What? Why...?"
"Just."
I didn't want to say more. Couldn't bring myself to describe that nightmare scene. Tae-young didn't press, just sighed deeply. After a long silence, he spoke.
"...Knew it."
"...What?"
I looked up, confused.
"I mean... you were too good to her, hyung."
Tae-young scratched his head.
"Women get bored with guys who're always perfect. You gotta act a little bad sometimes... but you bent over backward for her every time."
I had no comeback. Was giving my all to the one I loved... a mistake?
"Hyung."
Tae-young met my eyes seriously.
"Biggest chunk of cash you ever dropped for Noona Ye-jin?"
"...Ten billion won?"
Part of the down payment on our shared house. Mostly loans, but the best I could do for our future.
"And the biggest for yourself?"
"..."
I drew a blank. Cleats, gear, rehab—all for football. Nothing purely for me. My life had always been football... and Han Ye-jin.
"Hyung. Live for yourself now."
He clapped my shoulder.
"Before you head home tonight, buy something. For you. Got it?"
After parting with Son Tae-young, I wandered London's streets.
For me.
What to buy?
Thinking back, I'd bought little for myself. Team supplied most gear; clothes were Ye-jin's picks.
Everything was football. And Han Ye-jin.
No more football. No more her.
Then.
"You there!"
A gravelly voice called out. I turned to see an old man, maybe sixties, by a small stall loaded with soccer gear.
"Boots? Wanna buy some?"
His eyes were sharp.
"I..."
"I can tell. You love the game."
I was surprised.
Can you really spot a football fan just by looking these days? Even in London, plenty don't care.
"I'm a player."
"Doesn't matter if you're a pro. What matters is heart for football."
The old man pulled a battered box from under the stall.
"Want it?"
Inside: a pair of ancient cleats. Leather faded and worn, but they had an aura.
"These? Pelé's debut boots."
"...Why sell something like that on the street?"
I eyed him skeptically.
"Auction? Goes to some rich collector, not a true fan. I want it in hands that love football—not chasing cash."
Sincerity rang true in his words.
And real sincerity usually screams scam.
"Pass it to your grandson or son."
"Those brats are glued to video games. Tch."
He clicked his tongue.
I peered at the cleats. Real Pelé? If authentic, priceless.
"So, buying or not? Last chance."
I studied the worn pair. Probably fake. But his gaze held strange pull. And Tae-young's words echoed.
Buy something for yourself, hyung.
Maybe this was my one indulgence tonight.
"I'll take it. How much?"
"300 euros."
"..."
One hell of a scam price.
Bold as brass—kind of liked it.
I opened my wallet: barely 350 euros left.
"No haggling. Considering the value, it's a steal."
I hesitated, then handed over the bills.
"Here."
My first real splurge.
Felt surprisingly light.
I dreaded going home.
Han Ye-jin might still be there—and even if not, it wasn't home anymore.
"Maybe check if it's real?"
A few names crossed my mind.
One guy perfect for this.
"Alex?"
"Oh, Cha! Cha Kang-min? Calling this late—what's up!"
Alex, the German scout.
He'd pitched collaborations endlessly; personality clash kept me saying no, but we were friendly enough.
Deep into football memorabilia, not just players.
"Got an item. Mind taking a look?"
"Look away! While we're at it, let's check out that beautiful game of yours!"
"Like I said a million times, I'm not gay."
"Oh, Cha! Like I said a million times, neither am I! Just your skills!"
His high energy drew an involuntary sigh.
Alex was always like this.
"...Anyway. Bought some cleats. Wondering if they're legit."
"Bring 'em! With that gorgeous footwork!"
Regretted it as I hung up.
Should've just gone home.
...No.
Home was the real nightmare.
At Alex's place, he flipped at the cleats.
"Pe... Pe... Pelé's cleats?"
His voice trembled.