The Stat-Padder Clicks
The Stat-Padder Clicks
A striker must repay the team solely with goals.
No matter how good your speed, link-up play, or dribbling are, if you can't finish in that split second, there's no answer.
Pung~
The shot I took soared straight into the sky.
As always, I clutched my head.
Ilmaz, the Turkish winger who'd fed me a honey of a pass, wiped his face.
I forced a thumbs-up and scanned the crowd.
As always, the spectators who had risen from their seats sank back down in unison.
I'd rather be cursed at; this collective disappointment makes a person feel so helpless.
I'm a local youth product of this team.
I've been running with this emblem on my chest since I was seven.
There was a time when my name was a source of pride for the people of this city.
But now, in my third year since debut, that pride has returned as the sharpest of arrows.
13 goals and 5 assists this season.
For a 21-year-old forward, that's quite decent.
But if you look closely, there's quite a trap.
Most of them are Stats-padder goals and assists scored against weak teams.
In important matches, I always miss goals due to my 'Chicken-hearted' nature.
My strengths are clear. I'm fast, and my positioning is good.
My physique is decent, so I don't get pushed around in physical duels, and my hold-up play and link-up play are good, so my tactical utility is high.
The problem is, that's where it ends.
Whenever I stand in front of the goal, my mind gets complicated.
Should I shoot myself? Or should I pass it to a teammate in a better position?
While that split-second of hesitation tangles me up, the ball leaving my foot usually takes the worst path.
Lack of finishing ability—that's the tag experts always attach next to my name.
18 years old.
I appeared like a comet when the team was in trouble and saved them from the relegation zone.
I immediately signed a contract renewal with the team for triple the salary.
Honestly, I thought my life would be a smooth road from then on.
But the first-team stage was much fiercer than I thought.
At least my exceptional strengths, like positioning and speed, weren't a problem.
But the finishing problem, which wasn't pointed out in the youth team, emerged rapidly.
47th minute of the second half.
The score on the scoreboard is 1-0.
Fortunately, our team's tall defender, Enzo Valente, scored a late dramatic goal in the second half, and we won the match.
But the performance was still frustrating.
The coach wiped his face, wearing a dissatisfied expression.
The whistle blew just like that, and I kicked the grass bitterly.
That night, the community was full of talk about me, just as expected.
Han-su's cannonball shot from today is up on fancam lololol
-Ilmaz made three defenders look like fools and fed a spoon-fed pass, but he blew it.
-At this point, isn't he doing it on purpose?
-Did Han-su go to the military? Where did his aim go in 3 years lololol
-I can hear Ilmaz's brain swelling from here lol
They baby him too much because he's a local youth. 13 goals a season? 80% are Stats-padder goals. Han-su stans, please look at reality. Being 'Chicken-hearted' in every important match is a chronic disease.
-This guy's comment log is all just hating. Please watch the full match before criticizing.
-ㄴFact) If you watch the full match, you get even more cancer.
-But his penetration timing is insane. He's the only one who destroys the space behind the defense.
ㄴ Agreed. His penetration and speed are world-class, but the problem is his finishing is JOAT.
ㄴ What's this guy's IP?
ㄴ Han-su, wash your feet and go to sleep. Practice shooting more.
I closed the community and sighed.
I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
The smartphone screen flickered before my eyes.
The anonymous user's stinging remark stuck in my chest.
Honestly, it wasn't wrong. Penetration and speed. That is my instinct.
But that instinct becomes useless once I get within 5 meters of the goal.
The next day at the training ground.
My body felt like lead, but I came out earlier than anyone else.
I placed a basket of balls in front of the empty goal.
Normally I would have warmed up lightly, but today I just kicked them as they came.
Pak! Pak!
The sound of the ball hitting the net cut through the silent air.
But 3 out of 10 times, it curved outside the goalpost.
Even though I was in a defenseless state kicking alone, my ankle trembled slightly.
And the morning tactical training began.
Even during the practice match, a chance came.
I beat the center-back with two touches and faced the goalkeeper 1-on-1.
It was a carbon copy of yesterday.
Deng~
While I was hesitating for a split second, the ball hit the post and went out.
My judgment was shitty just now too.
I messed up my hair.
Like that, I swallowed my saliva and resumed training.
My current team, Villarreal CF, is running in 7th place in the league.
True to their nickname, the Yellow Submarine, this team is small but solid.
The reason they reign as a powerhouse in La Liga while being based in a small city of 50,000 people is thanks to the club's philosophy of being thoroughly committed to the youth system.
I, too, was one of the results born from that philosophy.
The league has just passed the halfway point.
The point gap with 4th place, the Champions League zone, has widened quite a bit, but 6th place, where the Europa League ticket is at stake, is within reach.
On top of this, with the Europa League Round of 16 just around the corner, the team atmosphere is like a tightly drawn bowstring.
Due to the club's severe financial pressure, they cleared out a large number of high-earners again this season.
The vacancies were filled by the 'Children of Castellón', including me.
If you look at the squad list, more than half are in their early 20s.
Being full of spirit is good, but the inconsistency coming from a lack of experience was an unavoidable fate.
I was at the center of that inconsistency.
Of course, if you only look at the attacking point numbers, I'm flawless as Villarreal's next-generation ace.
Actually, I'm 1st in team attacking points, and I even decorated 11 attacking points together with Turkish prodigy Emre Ilmaz.
But, true to the incarnation of a 'Stats-padder', my feet remained silent in matches against strong teams where points were truly desperate.
Even if I laundered my stats by scoring a hat-trick against a relegation-zone team, a goal that doesn't explode in a crucial moment is no different from torture for the fans.
I had to improve my finishing ability as soon as possible.
"Kim!"
Thump-!
In the next scene, I finished Ilmaz's low pass by penetrating the space behind the defense.
Teammates patted my back and gestured that I did well, but I still didn't feel good.
A practice game is just a practice game.
The goal, stripped of that overwhelming pressure from real matches, doesn't give me any fear.
Of course, the internal match where Villarreal's first-team starters and non-starters face off was a suffocatingly intense match for some.
Actually, the coach had a fluid style, planning to change the team composition whenever good youth resources came up.
On the training ground where the coach's eyes were sharp ahead of next season's planning, the desire and desperation of the youth players called up this season were especially visible.
'Still, I'm not at the level to lose my starting spot.'
Lack of experience in real matches. Unrefined physique. Reckless play to appeal to their strengths.
The backline of the clumsy, hole-ridden kids looked delicious.
"Move!"
Ilmaz shouted while catching the ball in midfield.
I instinctively threw my body into the space behind the defense.
The ball leaving Ilmaz's foot cut exquisitely between two defenders.
A perfect chance.
As soon as I received the ball using my speed, it became a 1-on-1 situation with the goalkeeper.
'If I can't score this, I'm not human.'
I can see the expression of the goalkeeper, who is flustered by the space that was pierced in an instant.
And in my eyes, the scene I missed yesterday, and the one that tormented my mind all morning today, overlapped again.
Yesterday's mistake, which was stuck in my mind, wouldn't be erased.
The sensation of my thoughts stopping and my muscles stiffening in that split second facing the goalkeeper.
I gasped for breath and stared at the goal.
Tens of thousands of circuits began to tangle in my head.
Is the goalkeeper blocking the near post? Should I shoot to the far post? Or should I touch it one more time to completely get past him?
The moment I was about to extend my foot, I felt like all the noise in the world was gathering into one.
Click.
And.
What rang in my ears was a very dry mechanical sound.
At the same time, like a lie, the world was muted.
Water droplets splashing in the air were embedded like jewels, and the expression of the goalkeeper, who was desperately throwing his body, was fixed like a photo.
I, too, froze.
Unable to move even a finger, I was awake alone in the stopped world.
'...What is this?'
Has my brain finally gone bad?
Honestly, I don't know.
In the silence where the noise disappeared, only my rough breathing hit my eardrums.
The frozen goalkeeper, the water droplets stopped in the air...
Just as my mind was about to go blank at this absurd reality, strangely, my vision became clear.
The goalkeeper's spread legs and the ball's point of impact.
Even in this incomprehensible situation, my complex thought circuits were running.
'Should I curl it?'
No.
If I curl it to the corner like usual, it's 100% going to be caught.
I have to abandon the obvious course.
Should I aim for the goalkeeper's counter-movement instead?
If so, the best thing was to kick it low and fast straight ahead without bending my instep.
The plan is to pass it under his feet with a nutmeg shot the moment the goalkeeper throws his body.
I deceive him by looking far at the far post (right).
Having made the plan, I took a deep breath.
However, there is a problem.
I don't know how to turn it back.
After about 5 minutes, I started to break out in a cold sweat.
Fuck, am I going to grow old and die like this?
Then, one thought came to mind.
I definitely heard something before the world stopped...
Just in case, I muttered with my mouth.
"Click?"
With my words, the world returned like a tidal wave.
And at the same time, the ball leaving my foot slid between the goalkeeper's legs.