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There is no better, sweeter sound than that of a hard-earned, beautiful, goal. The audience lost its collective mind, and rightfully so. The noise was earsplitting, but we didn't care. The winnowing heat, the sting of exhaustion, and the sheer adrenaline from being one up did things to your body.
It made your stomach feel light and made your veins tingle. It made the heat radiating off your body become pleasantly painful.
It was a peculiar and overwhelming sense of physical and psychological satisfaction, of having accomplished a purpose and achieved it beautifully.
I wasn't the protagonist of it, but damn it, it made a surge of giddy pride course through me, regardless. We were one nil right now, and within roughly ten minutes since the start. Coach Ahn Ki-seok clapped hard as we jogged back to regroup for the next play. I patted Jun-hwan's shoulder as he ran past.
His mouth stretched into a crooked half-smile, but it quickly morphed back to a concentrated, focused expression. I turned around, facing Matthews at the center line. He was tall and wiry, built exactly like what an athlete should be. The Australian boy gave me a crooked smile, a little defiant, a little impressed.
The game restarted, the ball being tapped once before being sent towards their defense.
The cheers that came from the Australian side were loud, but not as loud as the Korean fans. It was a clear indication of who held the most control of the stadium.
The ball was now in the possession of the Australian team.
They passed it between each other, slowly surging forward, trying to find an opening, a weakness. We kept our defensive line tight and solid.
The Number 10, Hendrick, evaded Jong-su with a deft little shuffle that had my friend stumbling past. Then he was on his way, the crowd rising up from their seats and gasping as the lanky, fleet-footed man crossed the penalty box. He didn't score, but that wasn't his job. His was to bring the ball behind the line. He passed it to Matthews, his superior talent, and he dashed and feigned another strike.
Jun-hwan surged toward him, blocking his path. Matthews met his gaze and feinted like he was about to strike to the left, which opened an avenue. A hard burst, then the fake to the other side. The space widened. Another of our own was quickly closing in to try and eliminate the distance.
Too slow.
Matthews unleashed a blast at the far-right side. Our keeper dived, his gloves barely brushing against the tip. Still, it was enough to change the course of the ball. It flew and rebounded outside. Corner. Hendrick ran up to the flag.
Coach Ahn Ki-Seok yelled for us to keep the line as tight and compact as we could. I put my hand on Jong-su's shoulder and motioned him closer, directing him to mark Matthews while Sung-tae and Dae-hyun stayed vigilant of our corners. Jun-hwan got positioned ahead as an offensive-wall.
Each one us was marking someone. We couldn't afford to do anything else but make sure the opposing players were thoroughly pressured to make things as challenging as possible.
Hendrick took a few steps back, waited, and struck the ball. We shifted. The sphere curved and arched up above us and, to my left, a familiar, muscular shadow bent his knees to catch the incoming ball with a header. I rushed, matching its ascent just as he was about to snap his head back for the final blow.
I shouldered him. The ball began its descent. His momentum against mine. I clenched my teeth, muscles flexing as I wrestled to gain aerial possession right in that critical moment.
Our bodies connected. We were both repelled back by the momentum.
But I got it.
I smacked my forehead into the sphere, rebounding it away into the safety of a teammate who was outside the box. Jun-hwan, that glorious bastard, exploded forward like his boots were on fire.
I was right behind him, because as fast as Jun-hwan was, I was a little bit faster.
The lush expanse in front of us felt so empty without so many players around. We advanced, full tilt. Up ahead, the remaining Australian defenders spread out to cover us both, which meant their pressure was lower in the center. Jun-hwan was no slouch when it came to dribbling.
With an overstep and a burst of additional speed, he carved past the first guy with his footwork alone. And then the ball was rolling loose.
The last defender couldn't afford a direct confrontation, knowing Jun-hwan wasn't alone. He bought as much time as he could, knowing the Aussie team was behind us. But they didn't have my set of legs. I didn't advance too far, in case I was caught in an off-side situation.
Jun-hwan ran a little more, then slowed. I burst forward just as his foot connected against the ball. I easily overtook the Australian defender, just as the sphere spun and curled around him, too close to be blocked. My body leaned forward with explosive speed.
The ball kissed my right foot like it belonged there. One touch to settle it, another to push it wide. With the distance it had traveled, the Aussies didn't have time to catch up. In front of me, the keeper rushed out, desperate. I briefly looked up. Behind his crouched, arms wide posture, I saw ten yards of open net.
I chipped it.
The goalkeeper lurched, fingers extended to steal the airborne ball in hopes to catch it, but he didn't get close. The ball wasn't smacked with a power strike. I gave it the right amount of lob and spin, just enough for the ball to fall above him and curve dangerously down. The keeper grunted, helplessly jumping and falling back.
It sneaked past his fingertips and into the goal.
The net bulged in protest, but it couldn't hold back the ripple effect, the vibration, the euphoria. And then the roars broke out. A blast of deafening noise as the fans shot up in unison and screamed as the number 9 lit up on the jumbotron screen.
#9
JAEIL
GOAL! 21'
2-0
I didn't have time to celebrate the goal, or bask in the roaring response that it garnered, because I was immediately hugged by Jun-hwan, and dogpiled upon by the rest of my teammates. Usually, it's that bastard Jong-su that initiates these dogpiles.
But right now, all the others are taking after their crazy friend.
While the euphoria of the moment might make one too high on a happy cloud to notice—or even care, being suffocated underneath a pile of sweat-slick limbs is never an enjoyable experience. I didn't know if what was poking my gluteus maximus was either Dae-hyun's elbow or a boner from someone else.
"You bastards!" I hissed as I finally managed to shrug them all off, stained with grass and the combined sweat and testosterone of seven grown ass men. "Get the hell off me!"
Their enthusiasm thankfully petered out, replaced with raucous good-natured jeers directed mostly toward myself, with Jong-su interspersing remarks here and there.
"Aye, Jae-Il, my man!" Jong-su cheered, using a quick recovery to throw himself onto me once more.
"Enough, enough! You guys reek!" I shoved him again, playfully. "Get off!"
We jogged back to formation, clapping our hands and grinning with the heady rush of elation. In spite of the frenzy I made sure my attention remained.
To their credit, the Australians got to their feet with only mild grumbles. When the game resumed, they fought twice as hard as they had the first time.
Still, nothing worked.
Their long, raking passes got dispossessed at midfield. Our central defense was an unbreakable wall. Their attempts to chip a goal were often rebuffed by the determined keeper. The combination of Hendrick and Matthews was a dangerous one, and I knew that if they kept battering at the goal, knocking the ball past the keeper would eventually happen.
Jong-su was playing well, but our defensive wall wasn't as cohesive as I'd like it.
There were moments where inattentiveness gave a window for the Australians to do a possible counterattack. Times where had the opposing team made better use of the slight mistake—it would've resulted in a very different story altogether.
The whistle cut the air, and the stadium noise dropped to a low roar behind me.
I dragged a hand through my hair, slick with sweat, and jogged toward the tunnel. My shirt clung like a second skin; I tugged it loose from my stomach, the wet fabric slapping back against me.
A cluster of Korean girls on my right squealed in unison. I rolled my eyes.
"Jae-il Oppa!"
A banner waved frantically—one girl with black curls and startling blue eyes, cheeks flushed red. Another, pink hair, cat-eye glasses, shrieked. "Marry meee!" Her voice cracked on the last syllable.
I didn't look at them. My eyes had already locked on the one silhouette I'd been searching for since warm-ups.
Dae Hee. I did wonder whether she'd show up or not, even though the answer had seemed obvious back then. But there she was.
No mask. No sunglasses. No cap pulled low.
Her hair hung loosely, beautifully.
She stood halfway up the lower stands, arms folded over the rail, chin lifted just enough to meet my gaze.
I smiled.
She smiled back, one hand lazily holding her chin. Her eyes sparkled, before she lifted her other hand for a tiny, almost shy, little wave.
I lifted two fingers off my brow in a small salute—barely a twitch, but her smirk widened a fraction.
Then I turned into the tunnel, the cool shadow swallowing me whole.