Chapter 1: My House Was Just Nearby

CD Leganés Juvenil A.

It was the youth team of a La Liga club located on the outskirts of Madrid.

There wasn’t any special reason why I ended up playing for this team.

My house was simply nearby.

Anyway, today, just like always, I headed to training.

While worrying about why I wasn’t as tall as my mom and dad.

I’m only 165 cm tall, while my mom is 175 cm and my dad is 190 cm.

I’m not asking to be as tall as Dad. I’d be perfectly satisfied if I could just grow as tall as Mom.

I really don’t understand why I’m still like this even though I’m already fifteen years old.

“Yujin! Yujin!!”

When I was about halfway to the training ground, I heard a familiar voice calling me.

“Wait up! Let’s go together!”

I turned around and saw Fran running toward me.

“You seriously walk way too fast.”

By the time he reached me, Fran was breathing heavily.

“You’re just slow. Besides, you’re tall.”

Fran was one year older than me and stood at an incredible 193 cm.

People said that if he were just a little faster, he would’ve already been promoted to the first team.

He seemed aware of that weakness himself, so lately he’d been practicing running. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be helping much.

Not that I could help him.

I could run fast, but I had no idea how I ran fast.

Still, Fran was a good guy, so I hoped the coaches would find a training method that suited him.

“You weren’t at school again today.”

“How would you know that?”

“My little sister told me.”

“Damn it.”

“Don’t your parents say anything?”

“Um… not really?”

In the past, they used to scold me whenever I skipped school.

But after I made it up to Juvenil A, they stopped complaining so much.

Of course, that’s only because I skip about once a week.

“Must be nice. I wish I could skip school and spend that time practicing my speed.”

I understood how he felt.

He wanted to fix his weakness as quickly as possible.

After all, he was already close to reaching the first team.

I was the same.

I’ve skipped school before to work on my own weakness: my height.

I jump rope and play basketball by myself.

“Practice your line-breaking runs too. If you can steal the timing, goals will come naturally.”

“Thanks for the advice.”

If it helped, great.

If not, it couldn’t be helped.

Fran was one of the club’s top prospects anyway. If he started going down the wrong path, the manager and coaches would stop him.

The real problem was me.

Waiting for my height to increase felt like a waste of time.

Suddenly, a saying came to mind.

Basketball isn’t played with height. It’s played with heart.

Maybe soccer could be played with heart too.

I just had to run one step farther than everyone else.

No, two steps farther.

While I was lost in thought, we arrived at the training ground.

Inside the locker room were many familiar faces.

Everyone was busy organizing their belongings and changing into their uniforms.

I quickly joined them.

Since Fran and I seemed to be the last ones to arrive, we had to hurry.

My guess was right.

The moment I finished changing, the manager and coaching staff entered the locker room.

The manager slowly looked over the chart in his hand.

“Dynamic stretching, running, rondos, position-specific sessions, then an 8-on-8 mini-match.”

Nothing special.

That was simply today’s training schedule.

It sounded like a lot, but all of it combined wouldn’t even take two hours.

Spanish football was very hands-off.

As long as you completed the assigned training, nobody interfered with what you did afterward.

The downside was that if your ability wasn’t good enough, they cut you without hesitation.

That was the scary part.

Imagine suddenly being called in one day and told to leave the team.

That would be terrifying.

Fortunately, it had never happened to me.

“Alright, let’s go.”

We followed the manager out onto the field.

On one side of the pitch, younger kids were training.

Judging by their age, they were probably Cadete B (U-15) players.

Come to think of it, they were only a year or two younger than me.

“Focus!”

At the manager’s shout, I looked forward.

The trainer was already demonstrating the warm-up exercises.

We followed along with the dynamic stretching.

After that, training proceeded smoothly.

Finally, it was time for the 8-on-8 mini-match.

“Starting team, over here.”

I confidently walked over.

I was part of the starting lineup.

I put on the blue training bib the coach handed me and waited for the substitutes to wear the white ones.

Normally, an 8-on-8 match would include goalkeepers.

But training games were a little different.

Three defenders.

Three midfielders.

Two forwards.

Something like a 3-1-2-2 formation.

My position was the lone midfielder in front of the center-backs.

My job was to protect the defense while also starting attacks.

I could play safe short passes.

Or I could send bold long balls forward.

I controlled the tempo of the game.

You could say I was the engine of the team.

Piiiiiit!

The coach’s whistle signaled the start of the mini-match.

It would be played in two thirty-minute halves.

As soon as the game started, the opposing side launched a long ball.

But I had already anticipated it.

I rushed over and stopped it with a sliding tackle.

I glanced at the coach.

He looked pleased.

That probably earned me some points.

The game restarted with the opponent’s throw-in.

I sprinted as hard as I could, but there wasn’t much I could do against a forward who was over ten centimeters taller than me.

The striker flicked the ball on with his head.

It dropped into the center.

“Get two men on him!”

I shouted as another attacker received the ball.

Doing that left only one defender behind.

But I could cover the space.

Temporarily turning us into a back four.

Thankfully, our teammates stopped the attack before it reached us.

Bang!

The clearance sailed toward the opponent’s defenders.

Fran rushed to press them, but it didn’t accomplish much.

Instead, it helped them build up comfortably.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

After three quick passes, the ball reached their striker.

I lowered my center of gravity slightly and faced him.

He tried a body feint and attempted to move left.

But I had already read the move.

I stuck out my foot.

Tap! Bang!

The loose ball was cleared away by one of our defenders.

Either our team wasn’t in good condition today, or the substitutes were playing above their level.

Whatever the reason, one thing was certain.

We were being pushed back.

We were the starters.

We had our pride.

I couldn’t let things continue like this.

Tap. Tap.

Perhaps because they knew they had the upper hand, the substitutes continued advancing with short passes.

Short passes were fine.

As long as they weren’t predictable.

I stepped forward and intercepted a pass meant for their striker.

Normally, I would’ve passed it to a midfielder.

But not this time.

Tap. Tap.

I drove the ball forward at speed.

The forwards understood my intention.

They split wide to either side, drawing the defenders’ attention.

The gap between the defenders widened.

Space opened up in front of me.

After reaching the final third, I found myself facing the defensive midfielder.

I shot.

Bang!

Rustle!

Since there was no goalkeeper in this mini-match, my long-range shot went straight into the net.

* * *

After training, I returned home, where Mom greeted me.

“Welcome back. How was training today?”

“Three goals and five assists in the mini-match.”

“That’s my son.”

“Where’s Dad?”

“He’s on his way home.”

Mom stood up from the sofa.

“I should start preparing dinner.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Paella with chicken drumsticks and a jamón salad. Sounds good?”

“Of course. I’ll go take a shower first.”

While showering, I reviewed today’s performance.

There were quite a few situations I could’ve handled better.

If only it weren’t for my height.

If only my stride were a little longer.

Still, I liked the fact that I had recorded the most goal contributions on the team.

I hoped the manager noticed that.

Scoring and assisting so much in the mini-match meant I had done an excellent job breaking through pressure.

It proved that my strengths could compensate for my weaknesses.

When I finished showering, Dad had already returned.

“Did you play well today?”

“Of course.”

Dad ran a taekwondo gym about fifteen minutes away from our house.

According to him, he met Mom while studying abroad in Spain.

He claimed it was love at first sight.

Whether that was true or not, I had no idea.

Anyway, after Dad returned to Korea, they started a long-distance relationship.

Eventually, they got married.

Then I was born.

And ever since, our family has lived in Spain.

Because of that, I hold both South Korean and Spanish citizenship.

In other words, I can join a squad without taking up a Non-EU player slot.

I don’t fully understand how valuable that is yet.

But Mom says I’ll realize it once I reach the first team.

Apparently, players who occupy Non-EU slots are often transferred after only one or two seasons.

“Dinner’s ready.”

I finished every bite of the meal Mom made.

I even drank two glasses of milk.

Anything that might help me grow taller.

After dinner, we all sat together on the living room sofa and watched CD Leganés vs. Barcelona.

The result was a 0-3 defeat.

I wasn’t particularly disappointed.

Unlike my parents, I didn’t support any specific club yet.

“It’s already 10:30.”

“Should we have a glass of wine?”

“Sounds good.”

My parents seemed ready to enjoy some adult time together.

Which meant it was probably time for me to go to bed.

Growth hormone is released most actively between 10 PM and 2 AM.

If we hadn’t watched the football match, I could’ve gone to sleep even earlier.

Sigh.

That height problem again.