Ebrima Tunkara
Ebrima Tunkara. Just last year, the monster had bagged thirty-nine goals in twenty-seven U-17 league matches. The only thing was… before I skipped a grade, I’d scored thirty-eight in the same number of games. A clash between two prospects of nearly identical age and record. Under normal circumstances it would have drawn everyone’s attention, but right now all eyes were locked on Ebrima Tunkara alone. He was the La Masia gem who had never once dipped in form, while I was the Short-term Flop who had flushed an entire year down the drain the moment I got promoted.
…They say if you’re good at soccer, the girls can’t stay away.
Ebrima Tunkara, the name currently burning brightest across Spain. If that guy outshone me today, the Spanish beauties at the International School who greeted me every single morning might drift away. And if Hayoon stopped paying attention to me… No. That couldn’t happen. Today I had to become the face of this street. I absolutely could not lose. At the very least I needed to put in more goals than him.
“Ri.”
“Yeah, John.”
“You adorable little shit, our baby. Hat-trick today. You’re the main character. That’s the only way you’ll get to hold a girl’s hand, right?”
“…”
I stared at John’s tanned skin. It pissed me off a little that this hulking guy kept calling me cute, but when he declared I should be the star of the show, the corners of my mouth lifted before I could stop them.
“John, help me out. Just once.”
He was the one who had swallowed his pride and come to me. I answered him with the same warmth.
“Ri, while we’re on the same team I’ll have your back forever. I’ll stand right behind you.”
…Damn, that actually got to me. All our hyungs were gritting their teeth, determined to raise the youngest’s confidence. With them shoving me forward like this, how could I possibly play like trash today? I had to give everything I had.
I still didn’t enjoy soccer. It was still heavy, still terrifying. But today, players far stronger than that pressure were holding me up. And above all—
“Suhyuk!!!”
Hayoon was watching me from the front row. Her Spanish-beauty friends were smiling at me too.
“That her? She’s cute.”
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I don’t poach another man’s girl. Anyway, Ri, let’s do this.”
I bumped fists with John.
Peeep—!
The kickoff whistle blew. We took the first-half kickoff.
Goooooooooo!!!
The moment I touched the ball the jeers rained down. Our own Pericos supporters held their breath.
Whoosh—! Number 9, Ebrima Tunkara, stepped right in front of me. It was unusual to see such an early confrontation… He was clearly pressing high. At the same time he wanted to prove he was the superior striker. I wasn’t the type to back down from a direct duel. More accurately, with girls watching, how could I possibly back down? With John behind me I decided to trust him and take him on.
Tap—! I nudged the ball with the outside of my right foot. He didn’t lunge. Instead he killed my momentum and waited for teammates to swarm. In the blink of an eye three opponents surrounded me.
“Pass it! Pass the damn ball!”
“You idiot!”
Now even the Espanyol fans were booing me. But every second of this was part of the plan. All three defenders stabbed their feet out at once. I feinted a pass to John and slipped the ball straight through Ebrima Tunkara’s legs. After drilling it endlessly for a week, the move felt effortless.
Tap— tap—! The instant I regained possession I exploded forward. The opposing midfielders reset to block John while one closed me down. On top of that, Barcelona’s two full-backs had pushed up recklessly. Romero and Daniel sprinted into the space they left behind. The wings had unfolded.
I floated the ball toward Daniel.
After shaking off the pressure once, the fans let out surprised cheers. Daniel raced down the flank and cocked his leg to cross.
Whoooosh—! A sliding tackle flew in from the opposing full-back. It grazed only the ball, so no whistle. The ball sailed into the distance. I sprinted to claim it.
Then—
“Ri! Run in!”
John shouted as he flew past me. Soccer wasn’t a solo sport, so I trusted him and made the run beyond the defensive line. John, now with the ball on the edge of the second line, planted his back against the defender. He used his body to shield, spun sharply, and fought like hell not to lose possession. Even as he was shoved over he whipped his left foot at the ball. It flew straight to me.
Watching John pour every ounce of strength into setting me up, a storm of emotions hit. It felt like a burden. I was scared of messing up. But the ball was too precious to waste on fear.
Whoosh—! A Marseille turn as smooth as flowing water. Then a flip-flap—outside tap, inside pull. I dragged the opposing center-back’s gaze from the middle out to the flank, bent my knee at an ugly angle to change direction, and left the defenders stumbling comically as they tried to recover from the fake. I whipped a left-footed curling shot into the gap.
It was just outside the penalty arc—not exactly close range—but it was my favorite spot. It had a real chance.
Whoosh—! The ball spun beautifully toward the top-left corner.
Swish—! And the opposing keeper flew after it.
Ah, damn it. I really thought that was in.
I clenched my fist. Frustrating, but I had to admit it—the keeper had made a great save. Still, I believed I had completely won the opening psychological battle. The Pericos who hadn’t trusted me, our own supporters, had started clapping.
The Cules calmed their shocked faces and rubbed their chests. If we kept hammering away like this, the door would open eventually. The match had only been going for five minutes.
One shot on target in five minutes? That’s a hell of a start.
The opposing keeper launched the ball long. Central midfielder Pedro Villar brought it down. He was an outstanding midfield general. A few touches shook off both our central midfielders, then a few more bought time for La Masia’s attackers to surge forward.
Thud—! A cross as clean as Daniel’s—maybe cleaner—like a perfectly delivered package. It instantly opened the flank. La Masia’s right winger collected it and drove forward boldly. Our two central midfielders dropped deep to shut him down. He chipped the ball in with a curling inside-of-the-foot motion. And just like that… it landed on Ebrima Tunkara’s head.
Thwack—!
Tunkara! Tunkara! Tunkara! Tunkara!!
That’s it!! That’s what I’m talking about!!!!
Just like that, we conceded the first goal. Pathetically.
There had been plenty of mistakes. The defenders had panicked, and the coordination between our two midfielders had been off. The Cules were roaring while the Pericos covered their faces and rubbed their cheeks in disbelief. I glanced at Hayoon. She looked like she had lost the whole world, eyes glistening with tears. She really was a die-hard fan. Then our eyes met. Hayoon, with reddened rims, gave me a tiny smile. Or rather, she forced one.
It hurt. Guilt washed over me.
“Everyone stay calm! We just need one more! Our target today is a hat-trick—and it’s the maknae’s hat-trick!!”
Captain Hugo Romero lifted the team’s spirits.
“Pick up the tempo! No need to get down!”
He fished the ball out of the net himself. The restart whistle blew again.
“John.”
“Yeah.”
“Thread it in immediately. Let’s hit them with a fast attack too.”
“You sure you can handle it?”
“…”
Honestly, I wasn’t confident. I looked at Hayoon. Then at the crowd behind her. All those desperate eyes begging for a goal were fixed on me.
“I have to.”
“Cute little bastard.”
Ah, I told him to stop saying that.
“Do it.”
Peeep—!
I passed to John and sprinted forward. His pass sliced across the grass and arrived just ahead of me. A little long, but that was intentional—it could drag in one more defender. I planned to use my greatest weapon, escaping pressure, to the fullest.
The moment I entered the final third, two opposing midfielders closed me down. John yelled for a back pass. At that exact second—
Thud—!
A shoulder barge sent me flying through the air. I was younger and smaller than these Westerners, so getting knocked over was natural, but even I knew it looked ridiculous. It stung my pride. I felt like a clown.
Yet the fans weren’t laughing. Every face showed worry.
“Free-kick chance!”
My shoulder felt like it might shatter, but I wanted to act tough. I didn’t want to show that giant defender any sign of weakness. Thirty meters from goal—too far to score from, really. Still, I stood over the ball as the designated kicker.
My eyes found Hayoon’s. She frowned with worry, then mouthed the words clearly.
I believe in you.
I’d heard something like that once before. A gentleman doesn’t leave when a lady needs him. I might not have even gone through puberty properly yet, but today I would try to be that gentleman.