I nudged the ball with the instep of my right foot, sending it threading through the gap created when Number 4 lunged in too eagerly.

I took one power step forward to explode past him but immediately chopped that short as Number 2 came sliding in across to cut off the angle. His studs came sweeping for the steal. A predictable, panic-slide.

I didn’t panic. I just let my hips do the work, rolling my standing foot over the top of the ball and letting my weight hold it in place, then I dragged it straight back using the very heel of that same controlling foot, escaping his desperate swipe entirely. Behind me, Number 4 was desperate to recoup the humiliating nutmeg.

He swung his foot hard into a frantic swipe, and the result of such inelegance was what anyone could’ve foreseen. I gently backed off with the sphere still perfectly under my foot. Number 4 ended up stabbing the grass.

Before Number 2 could even get back upright, I chopped it forward again, leaving the ball with my right and feinting like I was bursting to the outside.

That simple body shift broke his balance just enough. With the briefest contact from the sole of my boot, I pushed it one more time, watching as this poor Qatar defender could only stand frozen, looking absolutely foolish as the ball poked neatly right between his spread legs before I was after it on the other side in a flash.

His flailing hand tried to grab a fistful of my shirt, but his purchase on me wasn’t solid enough. So, his attempt became an annoying shirt pull instead.

I easily wrenched myself free, allowing Number 2 to get the worst of my elbow. In a matter of seconds, I had zipped past the first line of their defense. I turned my head to the right and spotted Dae-hyun skimming forward.

On the other side, Sung-tae was making a run for it.

I spotted that wall of muscle, Min-hyuk, who was advancing as well. I passed it to him, who, without even stopping it, ricochetted it off towards Jun-hwan. I sprinted, overtaking Sung-tae in the blink of an eye. 

I drew one Qatari defender with me. 

Jun-hwan threaded a through-ball that sliced across half a field and right into Sung-tae’s path.

It was the best kind of build-up, the type where everyone read each other’s move effortlessly and executed.

I kept running, with Number 5 shadowing me.

Sung-tae briefly looked up, and caught Dae-hyun streaking past all the way on the other wing of the pitch, unbothered. He rocketed the ball, releasing it from his foot like a fleeing bird, tracing a perfect curve through the air, and landing perfectly on Dae-hyun’s foot.

I saw the winger cover more ground with his strides. I feinted slightly, drawing Number 5 out of position before galloping off on my own. 

Dae-hyun saw me in the box and looped in a short cross. Jassim, Qatar’s goalie, shifted left and right as danger closed in.

I could feel Number 5 practically breathing down my neck as Dae-hyun’s cross arrived. Thump. The South Korean fans screamed their lungs out. 

I trapped the ball against my chest, letting it slide off fast enough to evade another Qatari defender’s outstretched leg. It nicked my heel. I winced. 

The ball thudded on the grass once. And I kept it in motion with the smallest of touches, while using my body to protect the ball’s innocence from Qatar’s violating limbs. I glanced up to survey my surroundings before quickly focusing back down on my feet.

I touched the ball again, rolling my shoulders and adjusting the angle.

Number 5’s foot tried to wrestle the ball right from between my legs. And all of this pushing and pulling was bound to make me fall, eventually. One of them grabbed the hem of my shirt too. Bastard. I couldn’t move. The ball was still bouncing in my personal space, still perfectly safe.

I rolled my hips and shoulders, briefly shouldering those pesky flies away for a brief moment of reprieve.

Right before the sphere could commit its last bounce and lay flat on the grass, I torqued my body and swung my foot back, loading this machine with pure human strength, and unloaded the built-up tension through my leg and into the airborne ball.

Jassim blinked as wind brushed past his hair. He stood completely frozen. 

“WOOOOOOAAAAHHH!”

It was only the violent surge of cheers and loud cries in the background that reminded him that this was actually happening.

He turned around, staring at the violated net. The ball, seemingly out of spite, was still rolling further inside.

The entirety of Qatar’s defensive backline dropped on the grass, exhausted, and watched as a veritable hill of red jerseys piled up on me.

“Jae-il, you mad fuck, you beautiful bastard!” Jong-su hollered right into my fucking ear. “Hell. You fucking hell of a beast!”

Min-hyuk slammed his muscular forearm against the small of my back. “Fuck it, how did you even—God—” He was breathless, covered in sweat and grass stains and dirt. Sung-tae and Dae-hyun, from afar, were stomping on their way over like two charging bulls.

Jun-hwan was already on top of me, shaking me like he did his protein shakes every morning.

“Goddammit.” That’s all he said. “Goddamn fucking hell, Jesus.”

I laughed as I extricated myself, somehow. 

Sung-tae and Dae-hyun, finally caught up, each hung an arm across my shoulder as they all escorted me back towards center field like a king. I was proud of myself; I had just unleashed a cannon blast that’d have even L’Imperatore himself, Adriano, nod in approval.

Jassim bent over to grab the ball that still seemed determined to keep on rolling.

Our celebration was a temporary affair. As a professional sports team, we weren’t allowed to indulge in one another’s affection for too long. But that didn’t prevent Jong-su, Min-hyuk, and a few others from dancing in joy.

Meanwhile, I found my thoughts floating to Mia, my lovely sister.

Did she see it? She must’ve seen it, right? I couldn’t help but straighten my back and puff up at the idea that she’d been watching me all this time. It made me feel all good and tingly inside knowing that I must’ve certainly impressed her.

Basic human nature to strive and achieve more whenever loved ones were looking.

“Aw, there he goes…” I could swear Jong-su muttered nearby, his smirk palpable in his tone. “Probably thinking about his hot girlfriend or something, haha…”

“How do you know?” Sung-tae raised an eyebrow.

“He’s got that dumb-assed smile on. Can’t you see it? Fuck, that guy… falling in love does a number on you. One fucking number.” He tut-tutted and sighed, like a long-suffering mother, looking as if he’d reached enlightenment and wisdom just like an ancient monk.

“…Oh.” Sung-tae peered in my direction before breaking into a snicker.

“You two…” I turned towards them, my smile faltering, and a tick mark twitching in my forehead.

Within a minute, the game restarted with Qatar’s kickoff.

We played more defensively this time, to protect the scoreline. I didn’t like this slow back and forth; I’ve always been of the opinion that a sword that draws blood is better than one that stays in its scabbard and gets rusty.

Jong-su activated the turbo, launched into a slide tackle, and stole the ball from one of the forwards. 

Number 11 rolled on the ground, but quickly stood up and gave chase. 

Jong-su sprayed a pass towards Min-hyuk, who advanced slowly, saw two Qatari players inching closer, and popped the pass off for Jun-hwan. 

And now we were surging up into their half. 

Dae-hyun thundered across the field, not in the quickest manner, but with the strongest sense of purpose.

Jun-hwan elegantly evaded a lone Qatar defender in front of him before planting his left foot and tapping the ball left to Sung-tae, who snapped a quick pass to me.

My legs drew half circles in quick sequences over the spinning ball, enough to have Number 2 backstep and hesitate. I rolled my hips, feinted left—waited until he fell for the bait—and then took right. 

Number 2 nearly stumbled as a result.

I found myself with a clean channel. Qatar had three bodies crowded ahead, and two backpedaling. One approached, I faked a shot, he lunged to block, I took off in the opposite direction. I held onto the ball more carefully now that I was deep into the enemy’s trenches. 

I found Dae-hyun closing in, and Sung-tae beating the man guarding him to make his presence known.

Sweat was pouring from Number 2’s forehead. The goalkeeper, Jassim, began to shuffle out of his line.

I chipped it off towards Dae-hyun, whose positioning gave him the perfect angle. He made no mistakes as his cleat thumped down on the surface with the ball resting nicely in between the toe and upper side. The force with which he shot sent the ball screaming through towards the net. 

I watched as the sphere spun and slightly curled for the top left corner. There was no way that Jassim could’ve—

Thick, gloved fingers slid along the edge of the ball. And it was just enough to deflect it cleanly right over the crossbar.

Qatar’s Number 1 puffed his cheeks and let out a great sigh before chuckling in a relief-laced, weary, and yet undeniably excited laugh as he picked himself up.

Dae-hyun quietly smacked his own head before collapsing as if struck dead in the heart by an arrow. “How…” He kept muttering.

Meanwhile, the Qatari supporters burst into cheers from yet another fantastic save. 

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