Second Half Chapter 1

About one minute of extra time remained. Jerim, checking the scoreboard, held his breath. In moments like this, it was more important than anything else to keep a cool head and make a fast, accurate judgment rather than rushing out of urgency.

First, as soon as the ball rolled to his feet, he drew the ball out from between the legs of the opposing defenders who had swarmed him with fierce momentum. He feinted with a step-over as if he were going to break through with a dribble, and fortunately, they fell for the trick, letting the ball slide past.

Roll, roll. The loose ball rolled safely toward the teammate he had originally intended to pass to. With the match nearly over, the Sefton players gathered every last ounce of their strength, kicked off the ground, and began charging forward for a counterattack.

“Is there something wrong with your eyes? Don’t just stand there dazed—chase them!”

Leaving behind Aaron, the striker for the opposing team, Tabarona, as he screamed at his own teammates, Jerim also ran past the opposing players.

The teammate who had received the pass just a moment ago saw Jerim sprinting and immediately handed the ball back. Jerim crossed the half-line and looked around. Should he run a bit further and take the shot himself, or should he pass? The hesitation did not last long.

Thanks to the defense being concentrated on him, only one opposing defender and the goalkeeper stood before Lehmann, the frontline attacker. He wasn’t offside, Lehmann was more than capable of beating a single man, and he was positioned much closer to the goal. It was such a good position that there was no need to drag out the deliberation.

“Run!”

Simultaneously signaling to Lehmann, who was looking at him with anxious eyes as if wondering whether the pass would come or not, Jerim thrust his right foot forward. He stood firm, keeping his back toward the opposing players who had caught up in the meantime.

His body tilted from the rough physical struggle. However, it didn’t matter because the ball had already left Jerim’s foot. The ball, crossing the field in a long diagonal, dropped right in front of the sprinting Lehmann’s feet as if it had been hand-delivered. Now, all Jerim could do was pray.

Please.

It was the Champions League final, a stage he had stepped onto again for the first time in five years. It was a historic match, his first since putting on the Sefton captain’s armband. Now, with the second-half extra time almost over, they were losing 3 to 2 and needed a goal just to reach extra time. A goal to bring them level with Tabarona.

‘If we just get to extra time, we have a chance.’

Tabarona’s squad was older compared to Sefton’s. Except for that damn Aaron, who had recorded a hat-trick1) in this Champions League final while running around tirelessly with monstrous physicality, the other players would clearly suffer a drop in stamina during extra time.

In fact, Aaron’s third goal was scored by the guy himself coming down to receive the ball on behalf of the midfield, whose movements had noticeably dulled; he had broken through alone from the half-line to force it in. Truly a son of a bitch—regardless, thanks to running around like a dog with rabies, he had been damn good at football since a long time ago.

Lehmann, please. For those ten or so seconds, Jerim prayed, calling upon every god in every country. If you just let us win the Champions League this time, I’ll observe Buddha’s Birthday, Christmas, and even Ramadan. I’ll truly starve myself during Ramadan. He bit his lip while praying like an idiot.

And then.

Thung! A heavy, clear sound struck his ears. It felt quite different from the snappy sound of the ball wrapping into the net when a goal is scored. Even without turning around, he knew the ball had hit the goalpost. A few seconds later, the whistle blew to signal the end of the match. Jerim stared at the scoreboard in utter despair.

[TBR 3 : SFT 2]

Taking in the unchanging scoreboard and the match time, which showed the second-half extra time was completely over, he slowly turned his gaze.

In contrast to the cheering waves of wine-red, the spectators wearing Sefton jerseys were getting up one by one and leaving. Gold confetti and Sefton cheering placards abandoned in empty seats. The sound of excited Spanish erupting here and there from the stands and the field.

His teammates were scattered and trudging along, contrasting with the Tabarona players who had gathered together in a circle. Some of them collapsed on the spot, burying their faces in their knees or hitting the grass to express their resentment. In particular, the young striker, the main culprit behind the missed shot, broke down right there.

“Jeri, let’s get ready for the ceremony…”

William, the team’s center-back and vice-captain, tapped Jerim’s shoulder. Only after hearing that lifeless voice did Jerim poignantly realize that he had lost again in the second Champions League final of his life. At the same time, his knees gave way.

With this, the dream of lifting the Big Ear2) in his twenties became distant once again. There was only one Champions League left that Jerim could play in his twenties. And that was only if calculated by international age.

Even if they reached the finals again next year, Jerim, whose birthday is in early May, would turn 29. Setting aside the probability of treading the threshold of the final again immediately next year after tasting bitterness in this one…

Even if they luckily achieved two consecutive final appearances, a problem remained. It was the fact that Tabarona FC, where that Aaron played, was lifting the Big Ear almost every season. There were seasons when other clubs won while Aaron was injured or going through a slump, but Sefton had never benefited from that luck. Not that he thought he would be particularly happy winning that way, anyway.

Most of all.

‘Ah, fuck. Second place again…’

Jerim, who had slumped down carelessly on the ground, wiped his sweat-soaked forehead and lamented. Second place in the league, runner-up in the Champions League—two second-place finishes in one season. Second place again in his second career Champions League final. Without a doubt, he would be teased like hell for this. It was obvious without even looking.

What kind of wit and satire would be contained in the newly created nicknames? He was used to being called a Taegeuk Warrior when he did well and a Kimchi Warrior when he didn’t, but he wasn’t very fond of nicknames that were updated day by day.

Of course, he knew that among them, there were many more affectionate nicknames with good meanings. Still, he hated all the rat-related nicknames derived from the name Jeri. No one would like malicious mockery.

But what could he do? He had already lost. He had long since grown accustomed to being a laughingstock in his own country. To receive this much money at this age, it was only right to endure that much. Most of them were just pathetic losers expressing their inferiority complexes anyway.

“Sigh… Will! I’m fine, so go take care of Lehmann. At this rate, he’s going to get dehydrated.”

Just as he was about to get up, thinking that lying there any longer wouldn’t change anything and that it wasn’t respectful toward the winning opponent, he saw legs filled with solid, horse-like muscles beyond his sweat-blurred vision. The color of the tights was different from Sefton’s.

“Jerim. …Are you crying by any chance?”

It was a familiar voice. In all his time passing through three clubs abroad, there had only been one guy who pronounced the name Jerim so clearly. The large hand reached out as if to help him up was also familiar. Though the tattoos covering that arm were unfamiliar, as they hadn’t been there ten years ago.

“I don’t need your hand, so get lost, you son of a bitch.”

And so, Jerim brushed that hand aside and stood up abruptly with a perfectly composed face.

✲✲✲

<<Ah, he missed that shot! It was a position where it would be stranger to miss. Our player Ban Jerim even put in a brilliant pass!>>

<<It’s a shame. With this, Tabarona lifts the Big Ear this season as well. They are solidifying their position as the world’s most prestigious club again this season.>>

<<I hope Ban Jerim isn’t too discouraged. Sefton is a club that always stays within the Big 4 in the EPL3), and their league performance this time was very good. They were second, right? There’s another chance for the title next season.>>

<<True, true. Ban Jerim is twenty-eight, twenty-nine in Korean age. He’s not exactly young by footballer standards, but he’s still youthful. There are plenty of opportunities. So… oh? Aaron Reyes is approaching him?>>

<<Come to think of it, those two were youth teammates at Tabarona, weren’t they? He must be glad to see his friend’s face after a while.>>