Second Half Chapter 140

Jerim looked down at his captured hand in silence for a while before slipping it away once the group of Taborona players and escort kids began to line up beside them. Then, as the sound of his own fan chant—magnificently rearranged with mocking lyrics—echoed through the tunnel, he let out a soft snicker.

“The lyrics are damn creative. But why the hell are they giving me shit, too?”

“You’re a Taborona youth product, too. Besides, there are quite a few fans who think I went to Sefton because of you.”

“What kind of—”

“Well, it’s true, actually.”

“…”

Ah, he’s embarrassed.

Even though he pretended to look elsewhere, he couldn’t hide his subtly stiffened mouth or his reddened ears. He’d had that exact expression earlier when he showed off to his teammates the cufflinks Jerim had given him, which he’d specifically worn with his formal suit for today’s away trip.

The teammates, naturally knowing nothing, had scraped at Jerim’s insides by asking if he’d received them from a lover. All through the flight, Jerim had done nothing but stare out the window, letting out huffs of hot breath. That sight was so cute and amusing that Aaron found himself poking at him constantly, even though he knew Jerim detested it.

I didn’t have this habit when I was a kid… It seemed the effort I once made to grab Jerim’s attention had hardened into a habit because watching Jerim’s reactions was just too much fun. Still, if I touch his ears here, he’ll get truly angry. Aaron managed to keep his hand pinned to his side just as it started to reach out instinctively, instead staring with a predatory gaze at the nape of Jerim’s long neck revealed between the white jersey.

Perhaps because his skin was so fair, the pure white away kit seemed to suit him far better than the dark, near-black navy of the home kit. Come to think of it, I want a jersey Jerim has actually played in; maybe I should ask him to swap this time.

Because he had so many friends among the players, Jerim swapped jerseys with an opponent after every single match. If it were just the jerseys, it wouldn’t matter, but the hugs, handshakes, and pecks on the cheek that followed naturally always made Aaron’s blood boil immediately after a game.

Furthermore, swapping jerseys necessitated taking off the top, and the sight of Jerim’s bare skin revealed each time was like pouring oil on a burning fire. It was difficult to suppress the impulse to run over and wrap Jerim up tightly while he was engaging in skinship with other bastards with his upper body exposed.

Just as he was resolving to secure Jerim’s jersey for himself today to ensure he wouldn’t strip in front of others, the Taborona players lined up in the adjacent row began to acknowledge Aaron one by one.

“Aaron! You really came. Aren’t you scared?”

“What is there to be scared of? This is my hometown.”

“The word ‘hometown’ coming out of the mouth of a guy who did a free agent run. You’re going to get stoned at this rate.”

As he gave a brief retort, a frantic flurry of handshakes and greetings rushed in. While warming up on the pitch, the momentum of the fans from both teams was so menacing that the players intentionally avoided showing any signs of friendship. That was why they were only now catching up on missed greetings while hidden in the tunnel.

“That white jersey really doesn’t suit you. This luxurious wine color is the one for you…”

“That line is so pathetic! You need to let go of your lingering feelings, too. What’s so great about a traitor like him?”

“It’s only been a month at most, but why does it feel like it’s been so long?”

“Jeri, you too—long time no see!”

Some of them also greeted Jerim. In particular, when Jose—a fellow youth graduate who had recently returned from injury—waved his hand with great fuss, Jerim welcomed him warmly.

“Jose? Hey, how long has it been? Is your body okay?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m starting. But it feels a bit strange. You and Aaron are wearing Sefton jerseys, while I’m the only one in a Taborona kit…”

“They say you get a bit sentimental as you get older.”

“You’re really the same as ever, except for the change in jersey.”

“Are you still confused about where the capital of the US is?”

“Hey! Even I know that much now. It’s Chicago.”

“…Right.”

Along with Jerim, who shut his mouth as if fed up, Aaron narrowed his eyes. That stupid bastard. Even if you didn’t know, wouldn’t people usually pick New York? Jose, who received the collective “you’re pathetic” stares from everyone around him, didn’t seem embarrassed at all; instead, he grinned and offered an even stupider answer: “Is it not? Is it Sydney then?”

“Anyway, I’m counting on you. Just like the last final?”

The way he winked was an overt provocation. Jerim, responding with a click of his tongue, grumbled softly.

“Every single guy on your team is a jerk when they talk.”

“I’m on the same team as you now, Jerim. You were once on that team, too.”

“It was completely ‘once.’ I never had much affection for Taborona to begin with… and even the little I had will run out as of today.”

“…”

The fan chant Jerim had initially laughed off had now changed to lyrics that were even more explicit. It wasn’t blatant, but the lyrics were of a racial nature that would be problematic if Sefton’s fans or staff were to protest. There was no way Jerim, who was fluent in Spanish, could fail to pick up on that subtle nuance.

Only after hearing Jerim’s words did Aaron listen carefully to the altered lyrics, his fists curling tight. Derision and mockery toward him were one thing, but shouldn’t chants of that level be regulated? While Manager Verdi might already be preparing a protest, Aaron was about to step out of line to take action on his own when Jerim grabbed his wrist and pulled him back into place.

“No need to get angry. We just have to shut them up.”

His tone wasn’t that of an teammate trying to soothe an agitated peer, but rather that of someone who thought getting angry was a waste of time. His tilted lips held a light of disdain. Soon after, the sound of drums and cheering began to drown out all other noise. A clamor that made the atmosphere vibrate and the ground beneath their feet tremble covered the stadium.

In the midst of it all, Jerim’s voice alone pierced clearly into Aaron’s ear.

“Let’s go.”

The overwhelming pressure that assailed his entire body right before entering a match was a sensation he had become thoroughly accustomed to after experiencing it countless times. Until as recently as late last spring, Aaron hadn’t felt a thrill from this, nor had he harbored any pressure to do well or even any interest.

To think that the presence or absence of just one person could change a life this much… I came to Sefton because I knew that. Aaron drew a small cross over his chest as he followed behind Jerim’s back. While it was a routine he performed before every entrance, today’s prayer was quite desperate compared to usual.

Please, let this proof be successful.

Having finished his prayer, Aaron stepped onto the deep green grass.

Sefton wasn’t usually one to fall behind in possession, but as expected, it was difficult to gain the upper hand against Taborona. Fitting for a club that emphasized organic passing play, their tightly woven organizational power was flawless.

When Aaron was part of Taborona, they had dominated the league using this overwhelming possession, passing the ball around without giving other teams a chance to touch it, and finishing immediately when the opportunity arose.

But now, they hadn’t earned the nickname “toothless tiger” for nothing. What was the point of maintaining high possession when the frequency of shots on target had dropped significantly? Furthermore, the aging of the squad—which had been a constant point of criticism—had worsened.

Manager Verdi, prying into these weaknesses, instructed the team not to waste stamina in the first half but to block scoring opportunities and look for counterattacks, then to actively seize the ball through high-intensity pressing in the second half once the opponent’s stamina was depleted. Because of that, the first half was bound to flow sluggishly.

From the spectators’ perspective, it was naturally boring. However, the constant pouring of boos and insults seemed unrelated to whether it was fun or not.

<<Mmm… occasionally, we can hear insults with very bad meanings. The atmosphere at the scene doesn’t look very good.>>

<<It seems the situation has overheated because the teams that faced off in the last final are meeting again right away in the Round of 16, and both Reyes and Ban Jerim are former Taborona players. Still, it’s certainly a bit…>>

<<I hope Sefton makes a formal protest. Even if it’s just for the sake of player Ban Jerim.>>

<<Yes… we have to remain neutral, but we don’t feel entirely good about this, either.>>

Even when the Sefton players simply ran, a raspy sound of “wooooo” filled the dark evening sky. It was even worse when Aaron and Jerim touched the ball.