You're Fired! -2
Real Madrid's Valdebebas training ground.
Rondo—where you circle up around one guy in the middle. During training, Luis Garcia, who'd drawn the short straw as the tagger, opened his mouth.
"Hey, Jesus! You hear that news? Valladolid's coach got fired."
Luis Garcia came running up, talking to me, so I passed between his legs to Luka Savic and spoke up.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"You predicted he'd get fired!"
"If guys got fired just 'cause I said so, Valverde would've been gone ages ago."
Ever since marrying Valverde's daughter, Luis Garcia had turned into a meek little lamb. He glanced nervously at Coach Valverde with a panicked look.
"...Why'd you have to bring up the boss?"
"You're the one always skipping training and bitching about when Valverde's gonna get canned."
Luis Garcia went pale. He checked around, worried Valverde might've overheard, then suddenly turned his anger on me.
"When did I ever?!"
Iker Bravo, who'd been listening to our chat, passed to me. It was like he was saying, Here's the ball—fight fair. The second Luis Garcia saw I had it, he charged like a madman.
"Back off!"
But I turned my back and stuck my arm out straight—his charge slammed right into it, pinning him in place.
"Puta madre!"
With Luis Garcia stuck behind me, I casually scanned for an open path and passed safely to Jesus Gonzalez.
"Luis! You little shit! Can't you take training seriously?!"
Luis Garcia, who'd burned energy tussling with me, trudged around looking exhausted. Valverde spotted it and ripped into him big time.
"Puta Madre!"
Gritting his teeth, Luis Garcia charged at Jesus Gonzalez. Watching it all, I thought to myself:
Pfft, no way he got fired just 'cause I said that to him. Must be a coincidence.
League Round 6.
The match against Rayo Vallecano went down at Campo de Fútbol de Vallecas. Rayo isn't super well-known in Korea, but it's one of my personal favorites.
For starters, they're in the Madrid area, and even as an away game, it's close to my sweet home. Considering the next away's UD Las Palmas... Man, seriously, why don't the hellish away trio—UD Las Palmas, RCD Mallorca, CD Tenerife—ever get relegated? No cap, all three nightmare trips are still in La Liga. It's driving me nuts.
"Ugh... Guys, I'm getting suspended today. I'd rather get murdered than set foot on Las Palmas island."
Luis Garcia, slouched in the seat behind me, snorted and closed his eyes. That smug prickish vibe made my blood boil.
Think I can't pull it off? Watch me. Sorry, Rayo Vallecano, but I'm earning a suspension this game.
Life never goes according to plan. They say the enemy within is more dangerous than the one outside—and sure enough, Luis Garcia, Valverde's new lapdog, had ratted me out word for word.
"Traitorous bastard."
I got dropped from the starting lineup against Rayo Vallecano.
Sitting on the bench, I zoned out watching Real Madrid dominate Rayo Vallecano. But no goals were coming.
"Hey! Ref!"
Frustrated by Rayo's sticky defense, Roberto Fabian ski threw his hands up. Whoa, that stretchy new kit's ripping? How hard did he yank it?
If it were me, I'd have snuck a Yerae Shinjang to the ribs while the ref wasn't looking.
While the ref was warning a player, Roberto ran to the touchline, changed his jersey, and hopped back in.
Luis Garcia and Luka Savic played rock-paper-scissors for free kick duty.
Luka Savic won and fired a shot—skimmed the post by a cabbage leaf's width.
I caught Luka's disappointed look as the game flew by. Before I knew it, regular time was almost up.
Sitting there, thinking how my 15 billion weekly wage was basically 77 million for doing jack shit, I started feeling pretty good. Then Rayo Vallecano broke a Real Madrid attack and counterattacked.
"Hosita! Puta! Madre!"
Real Madrid, with their line pushed high, got stung hard by the quick counter.
"Jesus—!"
Valverde's desperate yell hit my ears. I yanked the blanket over my head and pretended to sleep.
Wah. Baby Jesus is sleepy right now!
80th minute. Fully warmed up, Jesus took position on the touchline. Moments later, the ball went out, and Real Madrid made a sub.
Luis Garcia stared at the subbed-in Jesus, his face tense.
What's with that creepy grin?
As Luis felt uneasy at Jesus smirking, the game restarted with Rayo Vallecano's throw-in.
"Luis! Focus!"
Luis shoved his anxiety deep down and locked in. Antoni Rodriguez's tackle cleanly took the ball.
Real Madrid countered instantly.
Luka Savic, receiving from Antoni, glanced around and passed straight to Jesus. Jesus slotted it into space ahead of penetrating Bruno Iglesias.
More classic winger than anything, Bruno didn't cut inside—he drove straight through.
Spotting Jesus's position, he whipped in a cross. Jesus just nodded it on target—the net rippled.
The ref signaled goal. Jesus fished the ball out and bolted straight to the halfway line.
Mid-play, Luis Garcia's words from before popped into my head.
Talking about some mystic Eastern prophet shit, how the coach got fired because of what I said. It piqued my curiosity.
Alright, time to test it.
I vowed to myself. Regular time ended, and we entered stoppage.
Rayo Vallecano parked the bus for a point. Real Madrid threw everything at breaking it down.
One minute left—Luis Garcia shook Rayo's pressure and passed to me.
"Jesus!!"
Rayo players swarmed as the ball came my way, sealing me off tight.
I could see them relaxing in their airtight defense.
"Grah! You thought this could stop the master?!"
Their dismissive attitude pissed me off. Blocking me with this? Blasphemy against a god. I reined in my rage, charged the center-back in front of me.
Dodged the tackle, planted a Yerae Shinjang.
"Open! Door of Dimensions!"
Space cracked open.
Rayo's keeper's relief turned to panic.
I chipped it perfectly beyond his reach.
The net billowed. Ref gave the goal. I sprinted straight to Valverde and wagged my finger.
"You're Fired!!"
Valverde, hit with my firing notice, laughed like a madman.
"Hahahahahaha…."