Second Half Chapter 22

Caring for Sefton and wanting to win matches is a separate issue from finding soccer fun. The reason he cares for Sefton is because he likes the teammates he runs with, the manager, the staff, and the fans; the reason he wants to win is because it is the ultimate way for a soccer player to prove himself.

Knowing full well that he would fall behind if he didn’t, and since no human being likes losing, Jerim always gave his best. The reason ‘because soccer is fun’ had no room to squeeze in anywhere.

Then and now, to Jerim, soccer was simply ‘the thing I am best at.’

‘It’s a national loss if a kid like Jerim doesn’t play soccer. Do you think I’ve only taught one or two kids? I can see clearly that Jerim is a talent who will eventually play in England. Do you know how much the annual salary of a starting player there is? You should think about the child’s future rather than the immediate costs. If you are parents, that is.’

As is often the case, Jerim began soccer in earnest after Juhan—a coach at a youth academy who recognized his talent early on and is currently the president of his agency—persuaded his parents. His parents, especially his mother, spared no support for their gifted eldest son.

He grew up monopolizing the support and attention that should have gone to his two younger brothers, and his father, who was an ordinary office worker, acted as a designated driver after work to cover the costs of his son’s soccer academy.

His mother, who followed him all the way to Spain after divorcing his father despite his opposition, opened a Korean restaurant without even knowing how to say a proper greeting in Spanish. This was because the transfer of a minor overseas is prohibited unless the parents immigrate for the purpose of making a living.

He hadn’t just made his entire family sacrifice; he had ruined them. That alone provided more than enough reason for Jerim to make soccer his profession. The only saving grace was that his innate talent wasn’t so fleeting that it sparkled only in childhood and then vanished.

Jerim was good at soccer. Very good.

Since it was a hundred times better than having no talent while also having no interest, he was always grateful for his gift. Thanks to that single talent, he was able to pay his parents back hundreds of times the money invested in him, buy his younger brothers whatever they wanted, and was currently eating well and living well, so he was in no position to nitpick about whether it was fun or not.

‘…Wait. I think I might have felt it was fun when I first started soccer.’

Though he was mumbling with a listless face, the point of the question was ultimately that the young Aaron had found soccer that much fun. In the words describing the past, where he said he didn’t know what to do with himself because soccer was so fun, there seemed to be a shimmering gold dust clinging to them.

So Jerim tried to reflect on whether he had been excited every day like Aaron said, at least when he first started soccer. But it was such a distant past that he couldn’t remember. Since the age he first kicked a ball was six, it was only natural. In the end, he couldn’t open his mouth.

Aaron waited for an answer while looking at Jerim with a peculiar gaze. However, as soon as he saw the flickering lips press firmly shut, he continued his own point as if he had expected it.

“I was like that in the past. Every single day, I couldn’t sleep because I wanted to wake up early in the morning and kick a soccer ball.”

“Are you bragging again?”

“The fact that this sounds like bragging to you means that even when you were young, soccer itself wasn’t very fun.”

“…”

Jerim, hit where it hurt, avoided his eyes. Aaron shrugged with a nonchalant attitude.

“Fine. Since everyone probably has different reasons for becoming a pro player. Anyway, I’m saying I was like that.”

“And?”

“But lately… it’s not fun. Everything is tedious. Dull and tiresome days are just flowing by, day after day. Regardless of my will.”

From Aaron, who spoke like that, a deep and murky sense of boredom and melancholy oozed out—so much so that it was hard to believe he was the same guy who had been acting sly the whole time. It felt as if he were seeing the true face of the player Aaron Reyes for the first time. Thanks to that, he could tell that these words weren’t the acting or lies the guy had lived with since the transfer.

Jerim’s expression turned serious in an instant. As captain, he had a duty to properly care for a teammate who was appealing their difficulties. Even if it was a hateful jerk who had been fighting with him every time their eyes met for days. Jerim sat Aaron down on the bed and asked cautiously.

“Are you in a slump or something?”

“No. Don’t you think I’m doing too well for it to be a slump?”

As soon as he heard the answer, he felt a wave of regret for worrying for nothing, but he didn’t let it show. This was because, although the answer itself was incredibly annoying, the underlying melancholy remained the same. Jerim roughly pulled a nearby chair and sat in front of Aaron. Meanwhile, the conversation continued.

“I’ve been doing soccer my whole life, betting my life on it because it was fun, but that reason suddenly disappeared. In a way, is it more serious than a slump? Since the very driving force of my life has been lost.”

“Why all of a sudden? It wouldn’t happen without a reason.”

“I thought about it, and it seems like the absence of a sense of purpose played a big role.”

The absence of a sense of purpose. It was a plausible reason.

Basically, all athletes prove their own value by crushing opponents and seizing victory. Whether that opponent is another team or a teammate in the same position on the same team. It is a world where one can only survive consistently by doing so. Among those, a field like soccer where astronomical capital moves was uniquely bloodthirsty.

A player who fails to prove himself is replaced ruthlessly. In the following season, he ends up in a situation where he sits on the bench watching another teammate who took his place, waiting endlessly for a substitution, or being transferred as if sold off to a lower-tier club.

After drifting through transfers or loans like that, if there are no more clubs looking for him, he is forced into retirement. It was safe to say that 99% of soccer players follow this path.

In order to endure such a cutthroat competitive system without breaking down mentally, a sense of purpose was essential. Things like, ‘The reason why I continue soccer despite everything.’ Or, ‘I will survive no matter what to achieve this kind of goal.’

The guy who had been acting like a vagabond thug the whole time was actually talking sense and being productive for once. Jerim, readily understanding, listened intently while nodding his chin as if telling him to say more. Aaron locked his fingers together and hummed thoughtfully.

“Think about it. As an individual, I have no more goals to achieve. If I retire around my mid-thirties, I’ll probably stack up more individual awards like the Ballon d’Or until then, but that’s not new. It doesn’t have the same pleasure as the first time.”

“Hey, you jerk, are you intentionally talking like a prick so I’ll hit you?”

Even when he tried to listen with a sincere heart, the good intentions didn’t last a full minute. Jerim, who was in a position where he always had to be satisfied with just a Ballon d’Or nomination, shouted out in anger.

His own individual award career was on the flashy side too, but what of it? He didn’t have the most important thing, the Ballon d’Or. Even in his tournament records, the Big Ear was conspicuously missing… He excluded the World Cup victory since he didn’t even dare to hope for it.

Compared to that, listening to the pampered grumbling of the guy who was the best player of the era—having grasped the Ballon d’Or, the Big Ear, and the World Cup trophy all at once—strength once again seeped into his fists. Whether he saw Jerim’s fists curling, Aaron slightly dodged and continued speaking.

“No, I’m serious. This is a really big problem for me. You’re a fellow player, so you’ll know. Even if it feels like your lungs are tearing, even if your legs are screaming and your soles reach a point where they have no sensation, the reason you keep running until the match ends is—.”

“Because everyone has their own reason for having to run. I know.”

Jerim cut Aaron off mid-sentence and answered dryly. Since it was something he had heard until his ears bled during his days at Tabora or in the youth system, it was familiar. Whenever he was sprawled out panting after finishing high-intensity training, Manager Luis, who was the youth team leader at the time, would always shout for them to remember the ‘reason they must run.’

The reason one must keep running even when they want to give up. To Jerim, it was guilt and responsibility. If he were to add a bit more to that, it was the obsession that he must not show himself falling, if only for his mother who was swayed by her son’s reputation. He wondered if most people who started elite sports in Korea continued for these reasons.