The Stat-Padder Clicks (2)
The Stat-Padder Clicks (2)
The sound of the net rippling was heard.
The ball, which would usually have curved wide of the goal, precisely pierced the corner.
The air in the training ground settled strangely.
My teammates' gazes converged, but I didn't even have the luxury to feel them.
The noise of the training ground struck my eardrums again.
And I felt incredibly dizzy.
Ugh.
I feel like I'm going to throw up.
I couldn't keep my balance and staggered.
"Hey Kim, are you okay?"
Training was halted.
I gasped for air in place.
It feels like the world is spinning.
I sat on the bench, drank some water, and reviewed the strange sensation I had just felt.
Was that feeling of dissonance just a one-time glitch?
No. Time definitely stopped.
"Click."
I muttered it with my mouth.
And, the world stopped again like camera film.
The rotation direction of the ball, drawing a parabola in the distance, falling very slowly.
The texture of the leather, even the movement of the seams trembling slightly as they hit the air.
The players' muscle movements were also frozen like a photograph.
The left hand stretched out to grab a uniform, the way the grass was crushed as the center of gravity shifted to the right...
A fleeting moment of less than 0.1 seconds approached like infinite time.
At the same time, my body also stood stiff, unable to twitch a single finger.
"Click."
And, the world poured back in. The stopped noise struck my eardrums.
A bit of dizziness.
But it was bearable.
I don't know if it's adaptation or because I used it for a short time.
One thing is certain. 'Click' is the switch that stops time.
"Kim. Are you okay? Don't overdo it, and tell me if something feels wrong with your body."
The coaching staff approached.
"Yes. I'm fine."
I made a vague excuse and stood up.
I don't know why I got this ability, though.
Even though my temples were throbbing, I laughed.
"Heh heh."
I just saw it. The information in the stopped world. The angle of the instep, the defender's off-beat movement.
What if I use this bizarre ability in a real match?
It's no longer soccer. It's hitting a stationary target.
Of course, there's no free lunch.
After using it, my brain screams.
I feel nauseous and dizzy, like I'm going to throw up.
I headed back to the pitch. The dizziness turned into a thrill.
Manager Marcelino, who holds the baton for Villarreal, stared at the training ground with narrowed eyes.
On the top page of his notebook, the name 'hansoo' was written.
Fans call him a 'Stats-padder' and criticize him, but the coaching staff thought differently.
1st in attacking points.
More important than that figure was the space he created.
His penetration ability and speed, which tore through opposing defenses, were already in the top tier even at the La Liga level.
I admit that his finishing is a bit lacking.
But wishing for perfection from a 21-year-old young striker is greedy. That was a problem that would naturally be solved as he gained experience.
Rather, from the team's perspective, he was no different from a treasure.
In a situation where they had to sell key players due to financial difficulties, this talent from the youth academy was the core of the core that would be responsible for the club's future.
That's why they were more cautious.
Fearing he might get injured or lose confidence and collapse, the coaching staff was pampering him and keeping him well-protected.
But that scene just now was a bit strange.
The process of receiving Yilmaz's pass, getting past the defender, and finishing with a chip shot.
The word 'well done' was simply insufficient to explain it.
The gesture that seemed to have read the center-back's movement in advance, and that strangely calm demeanor inducing the goalkeeper's wrong-footedness.
It was different in texture from the clumsy but energy-driven play he usually showed.
It felt like the seasoned skill of someone who had looked down from above and designed the whole situation.
The manager, who had stopped his pen for a moment and stared at him blankly, soon shook his head.
'...It must be a coincidence.'
He's a kid who always showed good form on the training ground.
He convinced himself that his occasionally bursting genius sense just happened to stand out particularly today.
"Hey Kim! That's enough, come in. Can't you see the expressions on the kids?"
The coaching staff giggled beside him.
He didn't even want to imagine him getting injured by overdoing it in training.
The manager blew the whistle briefly to signal the end of training.
His fingertips tightened as he closed his notebook.
The strange calmness he had just seen wouldn't leave his mind, but for now, it was easier to dismiss it as him just being in better condition than usual.
After training ended, Emre Ilmaz called me over.
He had just finished pouring out venomous criticism at the stupid wingers who couldn't understand his tactics.
Annoyance was still smeared on his face, and he was grumbling to himself.
"Stupid bastards. To think they're struggling even against the 2nd team kids."
Although Emre Ilmaz is only 20 years old, he is like the spiritual pillar of Villarreal.
It was the result of combining the typical hot-tempered nature of a Turk with outstanding skill.
"Hey, Kim. That was a coincidence just now, right?"
His voice softened a little.
Even though, in his eyes, the way I play probably isn't very pleasing.
Strangely, he was generous to me.
Maybe it's because even if my feet are 'triangle feet', I have a good eye for reading the stage he sets up.
"I aimed for it."
"You aimed for it? In that split second? You deliberately killed the tempo to aim for the crotch after seeing that guy Sergio floating to the right? You?"
"Yeah."
"What?"
I started muttering with my mouth again.
"Click. Click. Click."
The ugly Turk's body creaked.
Laughter burst out.
"You're a crazy bastard."
Ilmaz shook his head and walked past.
I remained alone and started to organize my thoughts.
I don't know the reason, but I gained a strange ability.
Time stop ability.
Just like a game's Pause function.
The only thing that bothered me was that I couldn't move either, and there was a limit to the activation time.
My mind became complicated.
It would be easy if it were a game.
Reality was cold.
If there is a time limit, this is a resource that must be used very sparingly.
The most decisive moment.
I have to save it for that split second that will lead directly to the team's defeat because of my terrible finishing.
Europa League Round of 16, 1st leg, the opponent is AS Roma.
Clouds pass by outside the private jet window.
The Stadio Olimpico, where tomorrow's match will be held, is Roma's home, but Villarreal's away fans have flocked in, and the atmosphere is already heated.
At Roma's front line is Stefano Ricci.
A 21-year-old, the same age as me, Italy's next-generation striker.
With 15 goals this season, he is ahead of me in terms of stats, but the local media's evaluation is similar to mine.
The God of Stats-padding.
Criticism that he is a typical 'slaughterer of the weak' who gets erased in matches against strong teams, only to pile on goals late in the second half when the outcome is already decided.
This match is quite a topic among European media as the 'Stats-padder Battle'.
According to information, Ricci is a typical poacher.
He has fewer tools than me, who has good physicality and can hold up play at the front and link up reasonably well.
But he is faster, and his off-the-ball movement is sharper.
It's just that while his positioning inside the box is excellent, his finishing drops drastically when the pressure intensifies.
He might be a guy whose brain circuit gets tangled as fast as mine.
But I have 'Click'.
The activation condition is the mutter "Click".
Every time it's activated, I can think for hours in terms of perception, but in reality, not even 0.1 seconds pass.
The problem is the risk.
Even if I use the ability for just about a minute, my head gets insanely dizzy, and I feel nauseous.
If I use it for too long, I might not even be able to walk in the second half.
When Ricci fights his tangled brain circuits for the full 90 minutes and leaves his finishing to luck, I plan to draw just a few certain blueprints.
What's needed in tomorrow's match isn't flashy dribbling.
It's pushing the ball in through the most perfect path from the most efficient point.
Stop.
Within that short silence, I had to derive a different result than Ricci.
The night at the Stadio Olimpico vibrated with the fishy smell of grass and the shouts of tens of thousands of people.
Europa League Round of 16, 1st leg. Villarreal's white uniforms and AS Roma's red uniforms stood tightly against each other with the half-line as the boundary.
As soon as the whistle signaling the start of the match blew, Roma's offensive began.
The build-up based on Italy's characteristic solid 3-back was smooth.
As Cristante, the core of the midfield, grabbed the ball, Roma's wing-backs advanced and pressured our team's flanks.
"Kim! Come down! Maintain the line!"
Captain Emre Ilmaz's shout burst out.
Ilmaz was already gasping for air while engaging in shoulder-to-shoulder fights with the opposing defensive midfielder.
Following his instructions, I came down to near the half-line and blocked the passing lane of Roma's center-back, Gianluca Mancini.
10th minute of the first half.
It was a counterattack situation for Roma.
Dybala, who grabbed the ball on the right flank, sprayed a large switch pass toward the other side with his characteristic precise left-foot kick.
The ball drew a large parabola and headed toward Stefano Ricci, who was waiting near our team's penalty box.
He dropped the ball with a chest trap and instantly put our team's defender, Ruben Navarro, behind him.
The movement of holding on with a solid physique and measuring the angle for a turning shot was definitely threatening.
Ricci swung his right foot, but fortunately, the ball slightly missed the top of the goal.
20th minute of the first half.
The stadium's noise crashed over me like a giant wave.
AS Roma's center-back Gianluca Mancini was gasping for air behind my back.
Every time a rough physical fight continued, my uniform was pulled taut, and the hard sound of shin guards colliding was heard.
Emre Ilmaz intercepted the ball in the midfield.
Roma's defensive line instantly retreated and formed a formation.
I instinctively threw my body into the space behind the defense.
My strength is explosive speed.
Especially, my instant speed was better than my top speed.
Mancini reached out to grab my shoulder, but I was already half a step ahead of him.
The ball that left Ilmaz's foot tore between two defenders and was delivered accurately to my feet.
I pushed the ball out with my first touch.
The ball rolled smoothly in the direction I was moving.
Now all that's left is Roma's last defender, Ortega, and the goalkeeper, Patricio.
Ortega rushed in, narrowing the angle.
Like the experienced veteran he is, he was preparing to throw his body while blocking my shooting trajectory in advance.
'Should I dribble to the left? Or should I shoot now? Ah, is Ilmaz open?'
My brain's calculation circuits started to get tangled like usual.
I swallowed hard.
'Should I use it now?'
The ability I had saved for a decisive chance.
I felt certain that now was the time.
"Click."