Eun Ha's POV:

Here they were again, in the stands of a football field, their eyes glued to the pitch. Eun Ha couldn't help but marvel at how quickly Jae-il's football journey had taken flight. Just a few months ago, he was playing in the U-10 league, and now, he was already taking on the U-12s.

She glanced around her. Yeong Gu was beside her, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes fixed on Jae-il. Su Ah was next to her, her expression one of curiosity and mild interest.

And Mia...

Well, Mia was the most animated of them all, her face lit with excitement, her hands clapping in anticipation.

The whistle blew, signalling the start of the match.

Eun Ha exhaled softly, her eyes tracking Jae-il as he moved across the field. He looked so small compared to the rest of the boys. But then again, he always did. It was easy to forget that he was only eight years old.

She bit her lip. This wasn't just a game. This was her son, out there, competing against older, bigger boys. It was a strange mix of pride and anxiety that she felt. Then again, she'd had this talk with her husband. One day, it'll be a different country, not a different age group. She just hoped that she'd have a little more time with him before that happened.

By the time Eun Ha turned to the match, Jae-il was already in the thick of the action. He had the ball at his feet. A feint to the left, a quick turn, and he was past the first defender. Another feint, a burst of speed, and he was past the second. Two more came, but Jae-il gave a no-look pass to his teammate and sprinted past them.

The teammate was smart enough to pass it back to him.

Jae-il smoothly received and controlled the ball right at the edge of the penalty area—

Then a much bigger Bluewings defender slammed into him.

Eun Ha gasped, nearly standing up from her seat. Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes locked on her son's prone form on the ground. He didn't get up immediately, and the worry gnawed at her. "Oh, no... Jae-il!" Her voice trembled, her hands clenching into fists.

The referee blew his whistle, signalling a foul. Eun Ha's eyes were fixed on her son, her breath caught in her throat.

Yeong Gu's arm was around her shoulders, his touch comforting. "Relax, honey. Jae-il is strong."

But Eun Ha couldn't relax. Not until Jae-il got up. Not until she knew he was okay. Not until he was safe in her arms.

Slowly, Jae-il rose, dusting himself off. Eun Ha's relief was palpable, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She watched as he shook off the tackle.

The referee beckoned the players to their positions, ready for the free kick. Jae-il, still looking a bit wobbly, took the ball and placed it on the ground, his face a mask of nonchalance.

She held her breath as he took a few steps back, his eyes locked on the ball. The whistle blew again, and Jae-il ran towards the ball, his foot connecting with it in a swift, powerful kick. The ball soared through the air, over the heads of the Bluewings players, and dipped just before the crossbar. The goalkeeper stretched out his arm, but it was too late—the ball sailed over his fingertips, landing in the back of the net.

The spread out spectators erupted into applause, and Eun Ha's heart soared.

She could even hear the praise from some of the onlookers.

"That's the new kid, right? He's amazing!"

"Did you see that? What a shot!"

"I've never seen a player with that kind of skill before. He's a prodigy!"

Yeong Gu was on his feet, pumping his fist in the air. "That's my son! That's Jae-il!"

Eun Ha smiled, a sense of pride swelling in her chest. Her eyes flicked to her son on the field. Jae-il's teammates, who had initially kept their distance from him, were now surrounding him, slapping him on the back and cheering.

He was smiling, a rare sight on his usually stoic face. 

…

What's this?

Now some of the spectators wore frowns.

The first few goals were met with applause, the next ones with surprise, and now, the latest ones were met with silence. Even Eun Ha found herself unsure of what to think.

He was tearing through the Bluewings' defense like they were nothing more than practice cones. It was hard to believe that this boy, barely eight years old, was playing against kids years his senior—and dominating. It was a stunning display of talent.

But it was also... too much. Too overwhelming. Too absurd. The crowd's initial enthusiasm had slowly turned into a mix of awe and unease.

How could someone so young play like that?

How could someone so young be so good?

As Jae-il continued to score, the silence grew. The Bluewings' defenders were left in the dust, their attempts to stop Jae-il futile. The midfielders couldn't keep up with his pace, the forwards were left out of the match, and the goalkeeper was simply a spectator.

Eun Ha glanced at her husband, who was sitting beside her, his eyes wide with shock.

The referee had lost count of how many times he blew his whistle for fouls. A kid, after continuous fouls, was eventually given a yellow card. Another kid was given a straight red card. It had reached a point that the Bluewings were resorting to cheap shots and dangerous tackles to try and stop her son.

Jae-il, however, didn't seem to mind.

A cut here.

A bleeding knee there.

He just kept getting up, shrugging it off with mild annoyance at best, and scoring.

By the time the second half had started, it was apparent to everyone that the match was a foregone conclusion. The score was 7-0 in their favour. It was a rout. 

Whilst not all of the goals were from Jae-il, the actions and passes that led to it certainly were borne from his tiny feet. 

He was always at the right place, at the right time. And even if he wasn't, he'd make it happen. 

xXx

Jae-il's POV:

You know how there's a saying, about how when you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back? Well, I felt like I was the abyss and everyone else was staring into me. And what they saw, what they felt, was a deep, yawning void of disbelief. The crowd, which had started out with a mix of curiosity and anticipation, had slowly turned into a sea of stunned, silent faces.

Parents, coaches, journalists—they all sat in a kind of dumbfounded awe, their eyes glued to the field, their mouths slightly agape.

I low key enjoyed it; I've never enjoyed being gawked at like a circus monkey, but this was the first step towards stardom. It was like I was the magician, performing a magic trick, and everyone was waiting to see how I did it.

Except I wasn't going to reveal my secrets.

And, honestly, I loved proving myself. There was no reason for me to hold back, no reason to let up or allow the other team any chance to recover. I knew that a more mature person or player would've stopped there. Coach Park had said something about it; I'd done my part, I should let the others play.

This was straight out humiliation. It always ended like this.

I felt bad, a bit. Really. But there were people watching. Journalists. Potential scouts.

What could I do? If I saw an opportunity, I'd take it. If I saw a glaring weakness, a clear hole in their defense, I'd slash the ball through it and into the feet of my teammates.

So, I kept pushing, kept running, kept scoring. I played like the devil was on my tail, like the world was ending in the next ninety minutes, like there was no tomorrow.

Kids or not, who cares? If I held back, the world would pass me by.

I'd been given a second chance at life, and I was going to take it with both hands, and I wasn't going to let go until I'd squeezed every last drop out of it. Even if it meant that I'd make the sport bad for others.

I owed it to my previous mother, who never saw me lift the biggest trophy for our nation.

I didn't know if it was the sheer awe of my skills or the fact that the other team was just so outmatched, but the Bluewings seemed to lose their fighting spirit. They were still running, still trying, but it was clear that they were running on empty.

It was towards the last few minutes, when the score was a staggering 14-0, that I decided enough was enough.

"Coach Jeon." I spoke as I walked to the bench. "Let me rest."

He looked at me, surprised. But nodded regardless. "Okay, kid. You've done enough. More... than enough." He gave a brief nod, staring at me with the same incredulous eyes of the Bluewings' players and the spectators.

He had stopped shouting and handing instructions around... ten goals ago. Then he merely let the match unfold in stunned silence.

The substitution was quickly announced. And as I walked off the field, I received a standing ovation, albeit a rather muted one. The crowd's reaction was mixed; some were clapping, others were just watching with blank stares, while the Bluewings' parents and coaches looked like they'd seen a ghost.

I collapsed on the bench, feeling a sense of satisfaction and fatigue. So what? I was still an eight-year old kid. Give me ten years, and then we'll talk.

As it was, I was physically exhausted.

The rest of the game went by in a blur, with the other players on my team doing their best to keep the score as it was. And when the final whistle blew, the silence was deafening.

The scoreboard read 15-0.

It was a record-breaking victory, one that would go down in the annals of Korean youth football. And it was all thanks to me, an eight-year-old kid playing in the U-12 league. Best Eleven was going to have a field day with this news—and I already knew Yeong Gu would sing praises for it in the next edition, as if he had never threatened to cancel the subscription.

Slowly, the spectators filed out of the stands, some of them shaking their heads in disbelief.

My team gave me a wide berth wherever I went. I single-handedly carried out their revenge for them and, in a way, saved them the embarrassment of a second defeat to the same team. But I was no hero. To them, I was a monster.

I was okay with it.

At least, they weren't antagonizing me anymore. Not openly.

As I walked to the parking lot, I could hear the murmurs and whispers from the few stragglers who remained.

I almost forgot what it felt like having your name on everyone's mouth.

"That's him."

"The boy wonder."

"He's a prodigy, alright."

"He's a freak of nature."

"Did you see how he danced around them? It was like they weren't even there."

"Where did he learn to play like that?"

"I heard he's been trained by a European coach."

"Nah, I heard he's been playing since he could walk."

I rolled my eyes. For some reason, South Koreans loved to exaggerate and make up the most outrageous stories.

Thankfully, I wasn't famous enough to be swarmed. My stroll towards the parking lot was mostly leisure and unbothered. The rest of my family, of course, was already there, waiting for me.

"Well done, Jae-il!" Yeong Gu's voice boomed across the parking lot as soon as he saw me. His face was a mix of pride and excitement, his eyes twinkling. "You were amazing out there!"

I gave him a tired smile. I didn't know what to say. I was used to this. It was nothing new, nothing to write home about. At least, that's how I felt. Everyone else, however, seemed to think it was a big deal.

Eun Ha, my mother, was equally ecstatic, but with a subtle hint of apprehension. I tilted my head, smiling up to her. She smiled back, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You did great, honey." She said softly, her hand patting my head.

I nodded. A mother’s recognition was still one of the best feelings in the world. 

Still, Eun Ha opened her mouth, clearly wanting to say more, but thought better of it. 

She ended up shaking her head.

"......?"

"Alright, let's go celebrate!" Yeong Gu announced, clapping his hands together. "I know a great place that serves the best chicken in the city. What do you say, Jae-il? Want to feast like a king tonight?"

"Why feast like a king when you can feast like a football player?" I asked, a small smirk tugging at my lips. "I need carbs, dad."

Yeong Gu laughed. "That's my boy!"

"Can't we just go home and eat there?" Su Ah said. "I'm tired."

"Come on, dear." Yeong Gu said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he tried to coax the youngest daughter. "It's a special occasion!"

Su Ah merely gave him a complete disinterested look.

Mia, who was leaning against the car, her eyes glued to her phone, suddenly spoke up. "I agree with dad. Let's go get chicken."

Yeong Gu smiled. "There you go, see? Someone agrees with me."

"Chicken-obsessed idiots..." Su Ah muttered, shaking her head.

I nudged this reclusive sister of mine. "Come on, Noona. I promise that when I get filthy rich you'll get to eat what you want wherever you want. Let's go grab some chicken, yeah? I'm hungry too."

She sighed and relented, and that was that.

As I got into the car, I saw a group of journalists huddled outside the stadium, probably discussing the match. Some had their cameras, others had their notepads. And they were all talking animatedly, their voices a mixture of awe and disbelief.

News certainly travel fast. 

Yeong Gu saw them too, scoffed, and drove off.

I sighed, looking out the window. 

And, just like that, time flew by.