I had to admit, the U-18s were a whole different game. Not quite the pros, but definitely not fumbling kids either. I couldn’t pull off dozens of goals like I could against the U-12s. However, even though I was in the midst of a pack of talented young athletes, I still outskilled them all.

This new body outperformed my old one in every way. I was faster, stronger, more explosive. I could run like hell and kick like a mule. My dribbling was razor-sharp, my shots hit with power and precision.

My reflexes reacted like lightning. My decision-making was instant and accurate. I wasn’t just better. I was unstoppable.

It was exhilarating. It was freeing. And it was terrifying. I had to wonder, how did these guys keep up with me?

The ball was at my feet again; it had always been like this. My teammates knew. I could create opportunities, flip the tempo of a match with a single touch. I knew how to dissect Jeonbuk’s feeble defense.

They trusted me with it—maybe too much, sometimes.

Well, as long as it was at this level, it was fine.

I slipped past one defender with a quick overstep. No need to get fancy, I was already faster.

He reached out to grab me, but he was a step too late.

I could’ve made a run into the box. I was close. Close enough to try something bold.

There was a slight window of space between Jeonbuk’s defense that I couldn’t help but be tempted by. I took a breath, sized it up, and went for it. As the defenders lunged to close me down, I fired. The shot tore through the air, screaming toward the top corner.

“Block it!”

By the time they realized and tried to desperately intercept or deviate the shot’s trajectory, the missile was already blazing way past them.

It was a thing of beauty. Fast, straight, and sharp, like a diving hawk zeroing in on its mark. The timing was perfect. The execution was perfect.

Even the keeper stood still, staring blankly at the ball as it zoomed overhead. 

It slammed against the post with a violent clang that echoed across the pitch, then ricocheted hard, straight into the keeper’s waiting hands. The ball was still slightly spinning as he held onto it.

The whole stadium seemed to hold its breath for a second.

Then…

A sigh of relief from the home team. A collective groan from the away side. The game continued on, but the momentum had shifted. Again.

Jeonbuk’s players were shaken. They couldn’t take their eyes off me. It was like they expected me to do something impossible. And, hey, who knows? I might.

I huffed as I jogged back into position. That would’ve been the game, had that gone in. I got excited pats on the back from my teammates, who couldn’t help but gush.

“Damn, you’re a monster.” Jong-su muttered, his eyes wide. “That would’ve been an amazing goal.”

“Heh.” I smirked. “I’ll just make the next one.”

“Cocky bastard.” Jong-su grinned mischievously as he half-hugged me and ruffled my hair. “You better live up to it.”

I shoved him off, laughing. “I will, I will.”

The ref’s whistle blew. Play reset.

Jong-su jogged beside me, still grinning like I’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket. His joy was genuine. Innocent, even. It kind of reminded me of Sung Hyunwoo. Jong-su was the first one in the U-18 to warm up to me. He was shorter than everyone else, but stocky and strong, a real bull of a defender. He was loud and boisterous and always cracking jokes.

He was one of those guys who just oozed positive energy. You couldn’t help but smile around him.

Jeonbuk’s keeper punted the ball high and far. It sailed through the air, spinning end over end, until it landed in our half. One of their midfielders managed to snatch it despite being pressured from us. The ball landed on his chest before falling down to his feet. He immediately passed it back, and Jeonbuk shifted gears.

They moved fast, with a tight series of passes, triangulating down the flank. The kind of pattern drilled into them through endless repetition.

Their number 10—slim build, sharp eyes—cut inside and skipped past our right-back with a slick turn. I felt a flicker of interest. That kid had timing.

Their cross came in low and fast. One of their strikers lunged in, caught it with the inside of his foot, and snapped a shot off before anyone could react. Jong-su, however, did manage to react and jumped in to block the shot.

The ball popped up into the air, vaulting over our line of defense and straight again for Jeonbuk’s number 9. Another red-and-black defender launched into a slide tackle, knocking him off balance. The ball bounced free, but Jeonbuk’s playmaker managed to recover and send it forward.

Jeonbuk was trying to score, and they were trying hard. But our defense was better.

The ball ping-ponged around the edge of the penalty area, bouncing from foot to foot, as both teams fought for control. One of Jeonbuk’s midfielders managed to win it, and he took a shot from the top of the box. It flew straight at the keeper, who punched it away with a thud.

The ball was yet again flying through the air.

They had come so close. But not close enough.

I traced the ball’s trajectory and positioned myself accordingly.

Jeonbuk’s benchers were going nuts. They were stomping their feet, shouting themselves hoarse.

The ball slowly lost momentum and began descending.

This time, I got it. I felt the leather against my chest, heard the thud as it landed and rolled between my feet. Felt the rush of wind as I sprinted past the first opponent. Then the second. A third tried to physically overpower me, only to be thrown off with a bewildered, wide-eyed look.

I glanced up, saw the space open up. And I took it. 

A defender came in, looking to tackle. I swerved around him, my touch light. He slid past me, quickly wrestling to stand up and chase me down.

Another came in, but I passed it to Jong-su, who ricocheted it right back once I overtook him from the left. 

I sprinted along the edge of the pitch, two Jeonbuk’s players hot on my heels. The space ahead was narrowing as they slowly tried to trap me. 

I looked to my left and to my right. One teammate was slightly ahead, but I doubted he’d get to the ball before the Jeonbuk’s players would. To my right, though…

I crossed it, sending the ball in a long, diagonal overhead pass that sliced through the air.

It landed perfectly a couple of feet away from a sprinting teammate, who was now dashing in front of the penalty spot, unmarked. The ball’s perfect loss of momentum ensured it was exactly where it needed to be.

His eyes widened. He struck it cleanly. It flew straight and true. The keeper’s arms were outstretched. The ball whistled past them. The net bulged, the crossbar shook. 2-0.

The stadium erupted in cheers and applause. 

He ran up to me and wrapped me in a tight embrace. “Amazing pass!” He shouted, his voice muffled by the fabric of my jersey. “Amazing!”

The rest of my teammates were there, too, crowding around me, patting my and his back, and shouting praise. Jong-su literally jumped on my back, wrapping his legs around me. I almost toppled over. “You’re the best!” He shouted in my ear. “The fucking best! Haha!”

“Get off me.” I grumbled, though I was smiling. “You’re heavy.”

“Never!” Jong-su cried dramatically. “I’m gonna be stuck to you forever!”

The coach was clapping his hands, a big smile on his face as we jogged past him. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He called out. “Keep it up! Keep it up!”

I looked up at the stands, and there, I found them. My family. It wasn’t exactly hard with how eye-catching they were. Mia’s bright, butter-yellow hair stood out in a crowd. She was tight-lipped, but the moment my eyes landed on her, she mustered a smile. Not a wide-toothed one that I used to be fond of when we were kids, but a small, tender, and soft one—albeit a bit sad.

I frowned, but quickly shrugged it off as we got ready to start again. Jeonbuk’s morale was low, but their fighting spirit was still alive and burning.

They had that look in their eyes.

In fact, for the rest of the first half, it was Jeonbuk on the attack. They played with urgency, bordering on desperation, but that just meant they were throwing everything they had at us. 

They had a few good opportunities, but nothing major enough to truly threaten us.

Some shots went completely off the mark, others were blocked by our defenders. 

A few managed to get past our defense, but the keeper was always there.

In the end, though, they just couldn’t score. Their playmaker was definitely carrying them, but it wasn’t enough. They lacked a good finisher, someone who could put away their chances with unforgiving efficiency. 

Instead, their attackers were either too timid or too greedy. That was probably the most glaring flaw of Jeonbuk Hyundai. A solid defense, a good midfield, but an anemic offense.

And, just before we could launch our own counterattack, the ref blew his whistle, signifying the end of the first half.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep