I studied my jersey. It bore the familiar logo, a deep shade of red with black stripes, and the proud lettering of the club's name: FC Seoul.

I put it on with an air of casual professionalism. No nerves. No anxiety. It felt just like another training day—only, this time, we’d face an opponent rather than the familiar faces of our usual training squad.

My teammates didn’t seem to share my relaxed demeanor.

I fastened the captain's armband, ensuring its fit was snug on my bicep. Just in time as Coach Park and his entourage of assistants swept inside the locker room. He didn't say much, just a simple nod and some words of encouragement. 

It did little to boost some of the nervous kids' morale, but it was better than nothing, I supposed.

"Time to go, lads." Coach Park called out, his voice firm.

And we all followed him out.

The match was to be held at ten in the morning, and it would last roughly forty minutes. Not exactly enough to get a good read on how my teammates would play against a live opposition, but enough to showcase the basics.

The sun, high in the sky, shone down with an almost oppressive warmth.

"There aren't many spectators." Sung Hyunwoo commented, a bit sourly.

He was right. All I could see was a smattering of parents and relatives. The only thing that stood out in this sea of casual watchers were the cameras, mostly for the club’s promotional material.

"Guess it's better than an empty stadium." I remarked.

Not that I minded either way; I preferred playing in quiet environments anyway.

However, a streak of blonde, and a tiny waving arm caught my attention. And there, in the front row of a section near the pitch, I spotted her.

Mia.

I thought she was busy and couldn't make it.

Yet now there she was, in the stands.

She gave me a radiant smile, saying something that was clearly lost due to the distance, but the way she flicked and flaunted that freshly dyed hair told me all I needed to know.

And it made me wonder. ‘Why?’

Was she doing this on purpose? Was she trying to mess with me? Or was this her way of showing support? But even that didn't add up.

I didn't know how to feel about this, honestly.

It felt weird.

And heart-warming, at the same time. How contrasting. I wrenched my gaze away.

A brief warm-up session ensued. I stole a ball from the bag and juggled my way closer to the other half of the pitch.

The team that faced us, a collection of unfamiliar faces from a club that I couldn’t recognize at all, looked determined, and perhaps even more anxious than my own team.

I could see the nervous shuffling, the restless jiggling of legs, the occasional glance at the stands. These were kids, no different from the ones around me, all grappling with their own pre-match jitters.

As I observed them, my thoughts were drawn back to a time in another life, where the stadium roared and the stakes were infinitely higher, and I was just a man in the middle of it all, dealing with his own bouts of nerves and self-doubt.

I caught the gaze of a boy from the opposing team. Tall, for his age. Good posture. Too clean—hair gelled, socks pulled up too neatly. He walked like a prince. One of those kids who’d never been tackled on concrete or learned to play barefoot in the rain.

He stared at me too long. I stopped juggling and rolled the ball under my foot.

“You the captain?” He asked, nodding at my armband.

I tilted my head. "Yeah." I looked at his arm; no armband.

His grin widened, eyes narrowing as if he’d found something interesting.

“I saw that girl in the stands earlier.” He said, languidly. I already didn't like the tone. “Long blonde hair. Pretty eyes. Is she your sister?"

"......"

I merely stared at him, curious to see where he was going with this.

"That's a shame. For you. I mean." He said, a smirk etching its way onto his face. "I could take good care of her, you know." His wink was obnoxious, the insinuation clear. Kids these days—were they really this bold, or was this just how the world worked now? Given his age, it was probably just a clumsy attempt to get under my skin.

Still, some lines don’t get crossed without consequence.

I stared at him, blankly, for a second longer than I needed to.

Then I smiled.

“You talk like that again...” I said, voice quiet. "And I won’t embarrass you on the field. I’ll humiliate you in front of your parents.”

His smile stiffened as I walked off.

‘That piece of shit…’

"Alright, team. Huddle up!" Coach Park called.

Our group coalesced, each of us looking towards him with a mix of excitement and nerves.

"I want you to focus. Focus on the game. Focus on the tactics. Remember what we’ve practiced." Coach Park started.

I could see a few nods, a few uncertain glances, and even a few determined faces.

"You've done the work, so go out there and give them a good fight, yeah?" He finished, adjusting his cap.

"Yeah!" Came a chorus of enthusiastic voices. Some more, some less so.

Coach Park's attention then turned to me. "Cha Jae-il. Are you ready?"

"I am, coach." I said simply.

"Then lead the way." Coach Park said with a small gesture towards the center of the pitch, where the other team was already gathering.

A quiet nod was my reply.

The team parted, allowing me to pass through and take the center of our formation, right in the middle. "Line up, guys. The game is starting." I said, nonchalantly.

With the team in position and the opponents in line across from us, the atmosphere took a more serious turn.

I caught that cocky kid's eyes one more time. I smiled—now, how to demoralize that motherfucker even further? Ah, I know.

A single, piercing whistle cut through the tension and the ball was in play.

Sung Hyunwoo passed the ball to me. 

The ball rolled in my direction. Clean, quick, as if Hyunwoo knew exactly what I wanted.

He didn’t, but I appreciated the obedience.

I took one step forward, let the ball slide the outside of my right boot, and let it ride with me.

Their midfield hadn’t even shifted yet. That piece of shit—our dear prince of hair gel—was jogging up, still grinning like the game was a formality.

That was his first mistake.

I didn’t bother dribbling. No flair. No flashy step-overs or samba bullshit. Just one glance up.

The keeper was slightly off his line. Their defense was still climbing, slowly. 

Second mistake.

The ball was still bouncing slightly from the pass, not even settled yet. But I didn’t care.

I leaned in and smashed it.

A full strike. Laces. Midfield.

The ball soared.

It sliced through the air with a whistle of its own, carrying weight and a lifetime of muscle memory behind it.

The opposing keeper—short for a goalie, maybe nine at most—backpedaled like a cartoon character, his arms flailing, legs a second behind his brain.

Too late.

The ball dipped and slammed into the top left corner.

And then the net rippled. 

Goal.

No roar. No announcers shouting my name. Just the stunned murmur of parents who’d looked away for a second and missed it. And one very loud “WHOO!” from Hyunwoo, somewhere behind me.

I didn’t celebrate. I turned back, slow and calm.

That kid stood frozen in midfield, jaw slack. His smirk now a crooked frown.

I passed him as I walked back to position.

“Thought I’d warm up the crowd.” I said casually, just loud enough for him to hear.

He blinked, his mouth still trying to decide whether to talk or eat grass.

“Keep watching.” I added. “You might learn something.”

Back in my half, Hyunwoo jogged over, grinning like a fool. “Bro—what the hell was that?”

“A shot.”

“From midfield?!”

I shrugged. “They left me space.”

He laughed. “You’re built different, man. Like… scary different.”

“Thanks, Hyunwoo.” I patted him on the back, which seemed to energize the boy.

I caught the slightly widened eye of Coach Park from the shade of his cap, before he lowered it until it couldn't be seen again. The assistants were literally frozen mid-gasp.

Once the horde of over excited boys finished swarming me, the match restarted. The opposing team's morale hit rock bottom, going all the way underground.

On the other hand, my own team's confidence had soared to the high heavens. I probably didn't even have to lift a foot now. Then again, I probably should, shouldn't I?

I still had to prove a point.

I didn't think I'd be so petty even in this life, but oh well. Shit happens. Especially if you're a seven year old. And especially if you're me, it'd seem.