The Moment Soccer Became Fun
As soon as the second half began, the battle for midfield erupted. Our 4-4-2 against their 5-3-2 made a central clash unavoidable. Even when I managed to win the ball, turning possession into a goal was nearly impossible. Their three midfielders swarmed me with pressure the instant I touched it. If I escaped their press and broke toward the flank, the wing-back and center-back immediately trapped me two-on-one. The moment the tempo slowed, the ball was stolen. Once. Twice. I lost possession three times in quick succession.
None of the turnovers were my fault. La Masia’s five-back system in the second half was simply far more solid than I had expected. Since the entire tactic existed solely to neutralize me, the result was inevitable. Their strategy was built on erasing every inch of space where I could turn.
Looking at pure individual quality, every Espanyol player except me fell short of the La Masia athletes. That was simply the truth. Once I was erased from the match, the Barcelona players strolled around the pitch like it belonged to them. On top of that, La Masia was the place where the highest concentration of genius midfielders capable of dominating the center gathered. After seizing the midfield, they gradually pushed their lines higher and continued their tiki-taka.
They sucked in the Espanyol players, then penetrated the vacated spaces with through balls. After receiving the ball they immediately passed to a teammate already in stride. They linked crisp one-touch passes until the ball reached Ebrima Tunkara, who had dropped slightly deeper. Conscious of me, Tunkara began a bold dribble straight into the penalty area. He feinted right, then dropped his shoulder and cut inside sharply. After a clean first touch he whipped a curling left-footed shot.
The previously quiet Culers rose to their feet. It was exactly as they said—the match had finally become entertaining. With me erased from the game, the Espanyol players were powerless. A nervous John made a mistake, and La Masia’s midfielders pounced on the opening without mercy.
Another turnover. A lightning-fast La Masia counterattack. Fifteen minutes into the second half, Ebrima Tunkara’s third shot ripped into the net.
Wham—!!
A hat-trick. The score was now 3-2. Barcelona had taken the lead. In this match, it was Ebrima Tunkara, not me, who reached a hat-trick first.
Before long the game had transformed into a direct duel between Espanyol’s star prospect Lee Suhyuk and La Masia’s youngest superstar, the number 9, Ebrima Tunkara. Tunkara stared straight at me, then raised three fingers toward the stands. He closed them again. A clear provocation declaring that he had completed his hat-trick before I could.
They had taken the lead. In only fifteen minutes. Tunkara had provoked me.
I should have been furious. I definitely should have been. I should have been so angry I couldn’t stand it. The old me would have spiraled into ridiculous delusions—What if that guy steals all of Hayun’s attention?—and thrown a fit. Yet…
Strange.
For some reason my heart was completely calm. Tranquil, even. Instead, John was the one who couldn’t contain his rage.
“Fuck! Lee, I’m sorry. I ruined everything.”
He believed his mistake had directly caused the goal. And that goal had invited Tunkara’s provocation.
“That son of a bitch—how dare he provoke our youngest?”
John and Hugo Romero kept getting angry in my place. Meanwhile the person actually being provoked—me—felt almost nothing.
…Well. My blood was simmering a little. Looking at the situation so far, I had regained my explosive form because I wanted Kim Hayun’s attention, because I wanted girls to notice me. I had grown dramatically close with my teammates. I never imagined I would share this kind of bond with John. Every single one of them was working to help me score. They were getting furious for my sake. They were apologizing for failing to set me up. And right now, we were losing.
Should I call it a burning competitive spirit inside me? Or was this even competitiveness at all?
I just want my teammates to smile.
More than that, I wanted to become their hero.
When I thought about it, it had always been this way. I had never truly enjoyed the act of playing soccer itself. The friends who needed me. Becoming one team with them, leading the game to victory, and becoming their hero in that moment—that was what brought me happiness. There were almost no times when soccer itself felt fun. Was it the desire to be a hero? Or the desire to shatter the tactics built to stop me? I didn’t know the reason.
But.
This is fun.
Right now, soccer was genuinely fun.
I received the ball from John and ran. I sprinted with everything I had. The act of running itself felt exhilarating. I didn’t know why. Dopamine flooded every cell in my body. Far in the distance I could see Kim Hayun’s face. I couldn’t make out her expression, but her fists were clenched tight. Her earnest wish was flowing straight into me.
Whoosh—!! La Croqueta. Three midfielders closed in. I spun as if preparing to pass back to John, then immediately followed with a Marseille Turn. To escape the next wave of pressure I bent my knee at an unnatural angle. Tick— Tak—! With my knee twisted I flicked the ball up with my toes, then nudged it once more to clear the defender’s head. The ball dropped perfectly back to my feet. I slipped it to Daniel.
Daniel floated a lob over the opposing center-back who had pushed forward too aggressively. The pass was slightly long. Two defenders charged toward it.
Tap-tap-tap—!!
My feet hammered the ground. My vision blurred. I couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t hear anything. Except for one thing. All I could hear was my own breathing. All I could see was the ball.
Whoosh—!! I won the ball a single step ahead of the defender. A shoulder came flying in. That same shoulder had given me so much trouble today. Now it felt almost welcome. I kept my eyes locked on it until the last moment, then chipped the ball lightly. I ducked under the defender’s leg, kicked the ball forward, and tumbled. The phrase “crawling like a dog” fit perfectly. Even while falling I never took my eyes off the ball. I never wanted to play like this because of pride… but right now I didn’t care how it looked. I only wanted to score.
I pushed off the ground with my arms, regained my balance, and struck the ball with the inside of my foot.
Wham—!!
The dopamine-drunk crowd surged to their feet like a wave. I had scored the equalizer. The score was now 3-3. There was no time to celebrate. I simply raised my hand and folded two of the three fingers. Without sparing a glance at the provoked Ebrima Tunkara, I fished the ball out of the net and sprinted back to the halfway line. I had no interest in getting tangled up in his provocation. Right now the only thing I wanted was to complete my own hat-trick.
No—digging even deeper.
One more time.
I wanted to kick the ball again. At this exact moment, I was truly enjoying soccer itself.
What if five defenders marked me? I would simply have to be better. I would simply have to produce a better performance.
Whoosh—!!
The instant Ebrima Tunkara tried to pass the ball back to a midfielder, I exploded forward and stole it. Right now, in this moment, I would tear La Masia apart.
“John!”
I passed to John, who had pushed even higher up the pitch. Three central midfielders converged on him. In that instant he endured their physical battle with nothing but the determination to create a goal for me. Ah, look at the back of that man—our captain—standing firm with his back to three opponents for the sake of his youngest teammate. How beautiful.
I sprinted into the open space to receive his pass. An opponent rushed to block me. I took John’s pass with a single touch. The ball rolled to Daniel, who cut inside from the flank and created space on the wing. I burst into that space. Our positions naturally inverted.
Whoosh—!! His pass arrived at my feet on the right flank. I jogged lightly along the edge of the penalty area, feinted a pass back to John, then fooled the full-back completely. I took one more touch and unleashed the shot.
Boom—!!
Groans erupted all around the stadium. The ball had slammed against the post and bounced away. The Pericos hung their heads in bitter disappointment. The Culers clutched their chests in relief and laughed brightly.
In that moment, I was the only one who refused to give up. I moved to where the ball would drop. Two opposing defenders shoved me. They must have been desperate too. They were clearly terrified of me winning the second ball.
Thud—!!
I was shoved to the ground. A whistle pierced the air.
…Penalty kick.
I had won a penalty. Being the gentleman who never abandons a lady when she needs him—it really wasn’t easy to become that kind of man. My knee was scraped and bleeding. It didn’t matter. I only needed to score. Because that was what Hayun wanted. Because that was what the Pericos wanted.