Internship (1)
Sergio was the first-team manager of RCD Espanyol. Having just taken the helm this season, he had plans to rebuild the team. He wanted to transform a squad that worried about relegation into one that aimed for mid-table or even upper-table finishes. At the very least, he intended to build a side capable of challenging for the Europa League.
Why? Because he himself was a Pericos, a lifelong supporter of Espanyol. Having steadily built his coaching career in France’s Ligue 1, Sergio was a manager who had experienced the Europa League firsthand. He had even served as head coach in the Champions League, guiding a team all the way to the semifinals.
Such a man had watched a recent youth match with considerable interest. The fallen genius. The short-term flop. The problem child of Espanyol—Lee Suhyuk. The boy from the East who had once been called La Masia’s greatest talent and the world’s second-ranked prospect, the one hailed as surpassing even Lee Seunghoo. And after seeing that same boy completely betray all the hype in the span of a single year, Sergio had assumed Suhyuk would soon leave Spain.
‘He was different.’
On the pitch, Lee Suhyuk was an entirely different player. He had completely shaken off every stain on his name.
Sergio glanced at the local newspaper. Though it wasn’t the main headline, a small photo of Suhyuk appeared on the front page.
“Cute face. If his skills live up to it, he’ll sell plenty of jerseys.”
“Above all, his ability is top class.”
Sergio planned to observe Suhyuk closely in the upcoming match against Real Madrid. The current Espanyol first team lacked young, physically strong players. In particular, there was no versatile forward who could also function as an attacking midfielder. In that sense, Suhyuk was one of the best available resources.
‘If his face ends up on the front page of the local papers after the match against La Fabrica…’
That might be the right time to bring him up to first-team training. That was what Sergio thought.
#
The match against Real Madrid’s U-18 team was approaching.
I opened my SNS DMs. About twenty messages had arrived from the girls at the international school I’d only ever greeted once, all wishing me good luck in the game. Sofia had also sent a message suggesting we grab dinner after the match, complete with a selfie she’d taken from the stands.
Hayun had come with her friends again and was sitting in the front row of the stands. She had sent her own selfie from there too.
‘…She’s pretty.’
I captured the image right away.
“Hey, Lee.”
“Yeah?”
“If you screenshot that, the other person gets a notification.”
“No way, bullshit.”
“It’s true.”
“…Stop messing with me.”
“I’m serious.”
Ah, damn this stupid SNS. I hurriedly took a selfie in the locker room and sent it to Hayun.
…Isn’t this actual flirting?? No way, it must just be a joke between friends.
‘The match is about to start, so let’s clear my mind.’
There was one more important reason I had to play well today. Hayun was watching, and I had a dinner promise with Sofia, but there was another reason just as significant.
‘Today is the day my parents came to watch in person.’
Lately I hadn’t invited them because it felt too burdensome. But thanks to Hayun and my friends from the international school, that pressure had eased somewhat. And above all…
If I performed well here, I might even get called up to the professional reserve team. If I wanted to play as a proper pro instead of just a youth player, I eventually had to overcome that pressure. I had to live up to the fans’ expectations. I had to acknowledge that my family’s future depended on me and work even harder, play even better.
If I failed this time, I’d fail at the pro level too. With that mindset—that this was a test—I had invited my parents. Seeing how happy they were at the chance to watch their son’s game after so long made my heart ache a little.
“John.”
“Yeah?”
“Help me out again today.”
“What, did you promise another hat trick?”
“My parents are here for the first time in six months.”
“That’s why?”
“They don’t really like Real Madrid.”
To be precise, my parents were die-hard Culers. They were only reluctantly cheering for Espanyol because of me, but the Barça blood ran deep. Naturally, they couldn’t stand Real Madrid.
“You piece of trash. How could you not invite your parents for half a year?”
“They gave up their entire careers and came to Spain just for me. How bad would it feel to watch their son struggling?”
“…”
“This time, I really want to do well.”
“You okay? Doesn’t it feel more pressured with your parents here?”
“If I can’t handle pressure like this, I should just quit soccer cleanly.”
“You can’t quit, you idiot. That’s my goal.”
“What?”
“…Never mind. Pretend you didn’t hear that. I’ll help you anyway.”
Yeah, thanks anyway.
“Lee.”
“Yeah?”
“This is just personal advice. Drop the whole ‘give it your all’ mindset.”
“Hm?”
“Trying to break your limits every time just creates unnecessary tension. A little nervousness can sharpen your reactions and focus, but too much makes your body feel heavy.”
I knew that better than anyone because I’d experienced it constantly until now.
“Just play like last time. That level is already enough to make you one of the world’s top prospects.”
…It was actually pretty helpful advice.
Piii—!!
The kickoff whistle blew.
The opponents were playing a 5-3-2. A back five to shut down my movement, with three central midfielders dominating the middle. La Masia had used a similar approach to neutralize me not long ago. This time, though, it was far more blatant.
It might be wishful thinking, but… honestly.
‘It feels like they’re specifically targeting me.’
It looked like a tactic designed purely to mark and contain me. La Fabrica rarely used this formation normally.
The game started with the opponents in possession. Their two strikers pushed forward immediately while the three central midfielders circulated the ball and slowly advanced their lines. But we had four midfielders in the center. Trusting our attacking midfielders, John and I also surged forward like we were playing American football.
I took up a position close to their defenders. One of their center-backs kept glancing at me. What the hell? The game had barely started thirty seconds ago.
“What’s your relationship with Sofia?”
“What?”
“You’re mutuals on SNS.”
The opposing defender suddenly asked about Sofia out of nowhere.
“We’re friends.”
“Friends? You follow each other on SNS just because you’re friends? She followed you first?”
“What’s the problem?”
“Sofia only follows fewer than thirty people. And you’re one of them?”
“…”
Well, even I had to admit that was strange.
“I guess she wants to get close to me. We go to the same school.”
“Why do you get to and I don’t?”
What the hell is this guy saying? He’s seriously annoying. The way the defender looked at me was weird. It was filled with a burning desire to bury me completely.
“By the way, how does a guy living in Madrid even know Sofia?”
“She’s famous, isn’t she? I followed her because I like soccer and sent her a DM, but she ignored me.”
Hmm, I see.
I took advantage of the moment the opposing defender was distracted talking to me and slipped past him. The instant Daniel, who had barely won the midfield battle, kicked the ball toward me, I ducked low and darted between the center-back’s arms.
Number 4. He was a starting center-back that La Fabrica had carefully developed, but… losing concentration like this during a match? Really?
That was when a smile formed on number 4’s lips. The moment he controlled the ball and pulled his leg back—
Whoosh—!!
“Got you.”
The opposing number 4 exploded forward with incredible speed and cut in front of me. I’d seen this movement somewhere before. Ah, right. It was exactly like the side-step of a skilled boxing fighter. With nimble movements that suggested he’d trained in boxing, he blocked my path and narrowed the angle perfectly to stop my shot.
My shot hit his shin and bounced up.
Thud.
Number 4 casually controlled the falling ball. The moment he lifted his head—
A chill ran down my spine. An ominous feeling washed over me.
He quickly dragged the ball forward and swung his leg. The ball flew in a perfect arc. A single pass that shredded our attacking and defensive lines in an instant. A clean first touch by their number 9.
Smack—!!
Just like that… we conceded a goal so easily. With just one pass and two touches.
“They say Sofia likes guys who are good at soccer. I’m way better than you. Lee, today you’re going to be completely erased by me.”
“…”
“Lee, they call you a promising striker, right? I don’t accept that. After bombing out for so long, how can one good game suddenly make you the top prospect?”
Number 4 stared straight at me.
“I’m going to prove it to Sofia. That I’m a much more promising player than you.”
…He must really like Sofia a lot. Damn, am I seriously about to lose all my popularity?
Suddenly my blood was boiling. I had been trying to play moderately without thinking too much about girls, but now a guy who liked women just as much as I did had shown up.
‘Ah, screw it. Whatever happens, happens.’
I spat out the words.
“Hey, you think the reason Sofia doesn’t check your messages is just because of soccer skills?”
“What?”
“Look at your face, dude.”
“Huh?”
“And… you don’t seem that great at defending either.”
There I went again, running my mouth. Bragging right in front of a guy who was obviously insanely good. Now it was time to clean up the mess I’d made.