Chapter 24: This Abyss of Mine
Mia's POV:
Mia sat in her room, phone in hand, the glow of the screen washing over her face like moonlight. Her thumb moved automatically—likes, comments, DMs, follows. The numbers climbed by the hour. Jae-il's official Kakao account was blowing up.
She should've been thrilled. And part of her was. After all, she'd built this. Every caption, every filtered picture, every clever reply. It was all her. Jae-il gave her the keys to his online kingdom, and she ran it like a queen. 'I don't know much about this social media stuff, so why don't you take care of it for me, yeah?'
He had said.
And like a fool, Mia agreed. Because, why wouldn't she?
But fame was a double-edged sword, and the blade was starting to cut a little too deep.
How do you handle success?
How do you handle a sibling who's not just good—but annoyingly, effortlessly good?
What kind of reality was this, where your kid brother was a social media darling?
She bit her lip, eyes narrowing as she scrolled through the latest batch of notifications. The fangirls were multiplying. And they weren't just squealing teens either. If only!
The comments had shifted. What started as innocent compliments—"he's so cute omg!! "—had evolved into thirst traps in plain text. She couldn't believe there were women out there who were so... so unhinged.
Mia's stomach twisted, the kind of twist that made her feel sick and angry at the same time.
They didn't just like Jae-il. They wanted him.
They flirted with him.
They messaged him.
They sent photos she wouldn't dare open.
He was fifteen. Fifteen! And half these women looked like they were old enough to rent a car. Where the hell were their older sisters? Where were their parents? Probably in the same comment section.
If it were just harmless fans, maybe she could've brushed it off. But this? This was different. He was drawing in aspiring influencers, self-proclaimed models, low-tier streamers looking to hitch themselves to rising stars.
They weren't admiring him. They were circling.
Like sharks in lipstick.
One in particular had messaged four times that day. Her handle was something like @sunny.eonni, her profile a disgusting feed of filters, cleavage, and fake candids. She was the kind of woman Mia hated. Too beautiful to be true. Her latest message?
"Oppa your eyes are dangerous when are you doing a live again? I wanna ask you something private hehe "
Mia clenched her jaw.
'Oppa?' Really?
This girl was either an oblivious flirt, a shameless predator, or a wolf in angel's clothing. Either way, Mia wanted to block her on the spot. Better yet, she wanted to call her up and give her a piece of her mind. However, she didn't want to abuse her power, so she just let the message sit there unanswered.
She closed the app and slammed her phone on the desk.
What was wrong with her?
Why was she so damn bothered?
Mia leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. Her chest felt heavy, like she'd swallowed a brick.
She told herself it was just protectiveness. That she was just being a good older sister. That any responsible sibling would be pissed seeing their teenage brother flooded with adult attention. That anyone in her shoes would feel this churn of anger and disgust.
But the truth didn't sit that cleanly.
It wasn't like she wanted to feel this way.
And it wasn't like she'd planned any of it. But somewhere along the way—between football matches and late night conversations—her little brother had become... not so little anymore.
And it was throwing her for a goddamn loop.
She wasn't just mad at the girls.
She was mad at him, too.
Mad that he was letting it happen. That he had no idea how good he looked lately—taller, leaner, all sharp cheekbones and soft edges. That he could pull off a sudden sneeze in a snapshot and make people want him.
Jae-il.
Cool. Charismatic. Beautiful.
Annoyingly mature.
Desirable.
Mia's breath caught. 'No. Nope. Don't go there.'
She pushed the thought down like it was something toxic. But it didn't stay down. It never did. That was the part that scared her the most. Not the thought itself, but the fact that it kept coming back, no matter how many times she tried to deny it.
She knew it was wrong. That was the first thing. She wasn't delusional. She knew the boundaries, the rules, the lines you don't cross. This wasn't some romantic fantasy. This was real life. Her life.
And yet...
There were moments—stupid, tiny moments—that slipped under her skin. When his voice dropped as he got older. When he started wearing cologne without telling her. When he leaned in too close to show her a video, and she had to remind herself to breathe.
'It's not him.' She told herself. 'It's you. You're projecting. You're tired. You're lonely. You're spiraling.'
But if that was true... then why did the idea of some faceless internet girl calling him "Oppa" make her feel like setting something on fire?
Mia exhaled slowly, her fingers curling around the edge of her desk. What she needed was space. Not physical space—he was already in his own room, probably asleep.
What she needed was mental space. She needed to untangle this knot before it tightened into something worse. That's why she's been treating him a little... roughly, lately. Ignoring him. Snapping at him. Making him feel bad. Anything to remind herself that this wasn't... that it wasn't that.
It couldn't be.
"This is stupid..." She muttered. "So, so fucking stupid."
xXx
In the blink of an eye, Mia found herself sitting on the stands.
She looked up at the sky. Cloudy, with a chance of rain. Her eyes then fell on the field. U-18, the finals. Her little brother was down there, warming up. The stadium was considerably more packed than she remembered. Not enough to say it was a sell-out, but still. There was a lot of people here. More than there had ever been for any of his matches.
Because Jae-il was finally on TV, as much as a teenager could be.
He was also in the newspaper. And on the local radio station. And in a bunch of YouTube videos.
He was a local celebrity.
"It's starting!" Her mother said, from the side. She was on her left, while her father was on her right. For some reason, they didn't sit tightly together like they used to, but no one seemed to raise an eyebrow at that.
Even Su Ah was eager to watch, although she hid it under a layer of feigned boredom.
"Go, Jae-il!!!" Her father shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. "You're the best!!"
Her mother rolled her eyes.
Mia didn't react. She kept staring at the field. On one side, green and black. On the other, red and black. Jeonbuk and Seoul. Two of the biggest clubs in Korea. Everyone got into position. The tension was palpable, cut only by the whistle's shrill cry.
The game kicked off.
The stadium came to life with that sound, whilst she faded into silence.
The players ran, chasing after the ball.
And just like that, it began. Mia's gaze was fixed on the field, her eyes trained on one specific figure.
Jae-il, clad in his red and black kit. Number 9.
The game opened evenly, just passes traded back and forth, like two sides testing each other.
To Mia, it felt dull. Why not just send the ball forward and go for it? Jae-il had once told her that football wasn't just about running straight at goal. It was about patience, about creating opportunities before striking.
She never really understood what it meant.
Fortunately, it didn't stay that way for long.
Within dozens of minutes of a back and forth from both teams, somewhere along the line, an opportunity presented itself. A perfect, well-calculated pass right as Jeonbuk's defensive wall split open. Right in that instant—
Mia watched as Jae-il controlled the ball, feinted a shot, and the crack in that wall got even bigger with one of Jeonbuk's defenders lunging in.
He rapidly closed in on the box. A burst of speed that left everyone grasping at thin air.
She watched as his leg swung in that familiar motion, as the ball sailed through the air, as the net bulged under its weight. As the crowd erupted in cheers, as her parents jumped to their feet, as Su Ah clapped softly beside her. As the scoreboard changed: 1-0. As Jeonbuk's players looked stunned, their eyes wide and their mouths open.
"Holy shit."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Because what else could you say when your kid brother pulled off a move like that?
"Holy shit indeed!" Her father boomed. "Did you see that? That was incredible!"
"I know!" Her mother responded, eyes gleaming as she clapped the loudest of them all.
The whistle blew again. The game continued. Jeonbuk regrouped and launched a new offensive. They pushed hard, and in some instances, even managed to get past Seoul's defense. Their playmaker, Kim Jun-hwan, was actually incredibly skilled. Some of his passes created chances that could've resulted in a goal, if not for the fact that Jeonbuk's strikers weren't quite on the same level as Seoul's.
The ball sailed through the air once more, going deep into Jeonbuk's side. One of their defenders was about to receive it, when Jae-il, out of nowhere, appeared to take it away.
Mia heard the girls behind her giggling. It happened every time he got the ball.
"Oh my god, he's so fast."
"He's so pretty, I can't."
"Look at that jawline... is he really eighteen?"
She gritted her teeth. Fifteen, she almost said. He's still fifteen.
But she stayed quiet.
What would she even sound like if she spoke up? Defensive? Possessive? Crazy? No, she'd just keep her mouth shut. But that didn't mean she had to be nice. She turned to them, her eyes narrowed, and stared at them until they looked away, embarrassed. Like ReplyReport Reactions:SquirtleTurtle, PassingBy, MrLusty and 168 othersNneeilSep 9, 2025NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 25: The Final Whistle New View contentNneeilKnow what you're doing yet?Sep 10, 2025Add bookmark#56Chapter 25: The Final Whistle
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. Like ReplyReport Reactions:SquirtleTurtle, PassingBy, Demon_queen and 149 othersNneeilSep 10, 2025NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 26: The Final Whistle II New View contentNneeilKnow what you're doing yet?Sep 10, 2025Add bookmark#62Chapter 26: The Final Whistle II
Su Ah's POV:
If someone had asked her younger self if she would've ever been so engrossed in a football match, of all things, she'd have snickered and called that someone a delusional, sweaty jock with absolutely zero brain cells.
The idea seemed to her a joke, not something she'd be genuinely interested in. In fact, her younger self would rather spend a whole day reading books and playing games in her room than watching a sweaty game where two groups of men (and sometimes women, but that wasn't the point here), chased after a ball.
She wasn't really sure when she had started to find football as fascinating as she was at the moment.
Maybe it was when her little brother showed his affinity for it at an incredibly young age.
Or maybe it was the growth that the boy was showing to this day. The passion and intensity in which he trained. The discipline. He wasn't just good.
He was great, incredible.
Su Ah's eyes tracked her younger brother as both teams retreated to the locker rooms, a half of the match done with.
Everyone began chatting amongst themselves.
"Hey, what did you think?" Yeong Gu nudged his eldest daughter.
Mia had been out of it recently. Su Ah couldn't figure it out, even if she spent her whole life trying to decipher her sister's moods. But one thing was clear; the issue lied in the youngest sibling they shared. She just wasn't sure what exactly the nature of their problem was.
And her Unnie was so damn secretive, she'd rather swallow a thousand needles than ask for her help. Which meant she wouldn't share unless she was cornered into it.
Then again, why did she care? She sighed, blowing out some hair in front of her face. Her mouth set into a thin line as a bit of her bangs flew upwards before falling down.
What she was seeing now was definitely an overreaction, perhaps caused by the fact that Jae-il was becoming more popular. God, she had seen his Kakao account.
"It's good." Mia muttered.
Yeong Gu frowned, staring at Mia in mild shock. "Good?" His eyebrows shot up, eyes going wide in astonishment. "He's on fire!" He boomed, pumping his fists. "We're gonna win for sure."
Mia rolled her eyes. "You're really embarrassing." She said, shaking her head. "Stop that. People are watching us."
He scoffed, leaning back in his seat and putting his arm around Eun Ha. "Let 'em watch." He said dismissively, a smile tugging at his lips as he hugged the slender woman sitting beside him. "Our son's about to become a superstar." He said, puffing out his chest.
As if Jae-il already wasn't a local hero of sorts. Su Ah just hoped she wouldn't have to go to college with the paparazzi on her back because of her brother. Still, after around ten minutes, she elbowed that stupid, broody Unnie of hers out of her equally stupid reverie. It had been going on for too long.
"You okay?" Su Ah whispered, making sure to keep her voice down. She wasn't sure if her Unnie would open up. After all, even between them, there was a certain degree of aloofness that both sisters liked to maintain.
For a split second, she thought Mia would brush it off like she normally did. But then her gaze flicked back to Su Ah, and a faint but noticeable expression of worry crossed Mia's features. She looked unsure, a slight furrow creasing her brow.
That wasn't a typical Mia expression. If Su Ah was trying to read her at this point, it'd be a futile effort. But she didn't miss the fact that her sister's eyes lingered on Jae-il, her expression darkening.
"No." Mia answered, voice hushed and tense. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palm. She looked down, hiding her eyes under the veil of her long lashes.
Su Ah frowned, not knowing if it was okay to probe more. "Is something going on?" She ventured. Was this about Jae-il's meteoric rise to stardom? Was this another bout of jealousy from her sister? She thought they had been over it years ago.
Mia glanced down at her lap, fingers uncurling and flexing nervously. "Nothing you can help with." She said, shrugging helplessly. "Don't worry."
"I'm not worried." Su Ah quirked an eyebrow, staring at the older sister dubiously.
But the truth was that Su Ah did worry, just a little. Mia wasn't the type to just break down or melt under pressure, and it was unsettling seeing her this way. Even more unsettling when it was Jae-il who appeared to be at the heart of this conundrum, whether he knew it or not.
Mia snorted, turning her attention back towards the pitch where the teams had begun to reappear. "I just—" She started to say something, then cut herself off. Her mouth tightened. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "Never mind."
"You..."
Then as if nothing had happened, Mia did a complete 180 and grinned, getting Su Ah in an affectionate, loose chokehold. "Awww, who'd have thought my cute little sister would be this worried about me~? Seriously, Su Ah. Just feelin' a little under the weather today."
Su Ah tried to wriggle out of her grip. "Hah?! Shut the hell up!"
"Ow!" Mia whined, rubbing at her chest where the younger girl had elbowed her. "That's domestic violence, I'll sue you."
"Please do." Su Ah muttered, a bit irritated at her sister. She would've continued to pester, but Mia's eyes were suddenly glued on something, or someone, in the field. Su Ah's followed that line of sight.
Ah.
There he was. Cha Jae Il. Wearing the jersey proudly and walking back to position. Tall. Broad shoulders. And a quiet, confident walk as everyone surrounded him, making him shine even brighter.
Su Ah wasn't unaware of the girls who were unabashedly ogling, whispering, and giggling at the guy—whom she would not refer to as anything other than a little brother—and the not so subtle glares her Unnie was sending their way. It was comical to watch, and a bit perplexing.
If the situation had been normal, she'd have enjoyed the moment. Laughed at how absurd it was to her. But watching from an outside perspective, there was just a niggling sense of unease at how intensely Mia was looking at him, holding her chin with both hands, completely lost in her headspace.
'What's up with you?' Su Ah wanted to ask. 'What are you thinking?'
xXx
Jae-il's POV:
The whistle for the second half pierced the air. Jeonbuk came out of the locker room a different team. The despair of the first half had been replaced by a desperate, wounded pride. Someone must've given them the pep talk of a lifetime. They played with a ferocity that bordered on recklessness, pressing high, their tackles sharp and unforgiving.
Their playmaker, Kim Jun-hwan, was the heart of their resurgence. He moved with an intelligent urgency, his passes slicing through our midfield with the kind of precision that even I had to respect. The tides slowly shifted. Ours receded, while theirs rose higher and higher.
Around the fifty-fifth minute, Kim Jun-hwan received the ball just past the halfway line, feinted past one of our midfielders, and threaded a perfect through-ball behind our defensive line. Our defenders missed the interception by a thin margin.
Jeonbuk's striker, a boy with surprising pace, latched onto it. Our keeper rushed out, but the striker kept his cool and managed a composed finish, slotting it into the corner. The net bulged, this time from our side. 1-2.
The stadium roared its approval, and suddenly, there was life in the match again.
The next fifteen minutes were tense. Jeonbuk threw themselves forward, trying to make something from the spark of energy their goal gave them. And it very nearly paid off. Twice, their playmaker came close to threading another perfect ball in behind us. Twice, we were there with a crucial block, or a last-ditch tackle.
We were still up, but it didn't feel like it. They'd clawed their way back into this game.
And I didn't like that. It was the first time we were actually being pushed this hard, even in the previous matches that led us to this grand finale.
The air grew thick with a tension that hadn't been there before. The game had become a dogfight. My teammates, who had been playing with the relaxed confidence of a team leading 2-0, were now hesitant. Their passes were a fraction less certain, their runs a half-step slower.
They were reacting, not dictating.
Jeonbuk's growing pressure and relentless determination had turned the game on its head. It had us pinned in our own half. Pass after pass, attack after attack.
And that was when, after battering our defenses for so long, Jeonbuk finally scored.
It was in the 77th minute. The equalizer.
Kim Jun-hwan was again at the center of the storm. He found their striker making a late run into the penalty area. The pass was perfect; the timing impeccable. Their number nine fired a shot that the keeper had absolutely no chance saving.
Jeonbuk huddled in celebration. We watched, silent.
It was a sucker punch, a knockout blow. Our defense was staggering, legs heavy, heads bowed.
This was the turning point.
And I knew exactly what we had to do. The referee blew his whistle, and the game paused. A substitution. Jeonbuk were replacing one of their midfielder with another fresh set of legs.
The game resumed. We had the ball, ping-pongeing it between ourselves in midfield. Trying to regroup. What is this? I almost felt a flicker of disdain at such uncertainity. When a beast is cornered, it's supposed to bare its fangs, not hide them.
That was when I had enough.
I dropped deeper into the midfield, my movements economical. I didn't shout instructions. I didn't need to. My presence alone was a demand. Give me the ball. Now.
Jong-su saw me. His eyes widened, but he obeyed. The pass was slightly rushed, but it found me. Immediately, two Jeonbuk midfielders swarmed me, smelling blood, eager to dispossess the 'prodigy' and continue their onslaught. Come on now, I've dribbled past defenders twice their size and thrice their ruthlessness. What were these measly kids compared to Maldini?
I let them come.
With a simple drag-back, I evaded the first lunge. The second player overcommitted, and I slipped the ball through his open legs—a casual, almost insulting nutmeg—and pivoted into the space he'd abandoned. The field opened up.
The crowd cheered, clapping at the brief display of skill.
I accelerated. Two defenders converged, trying to create a pincer. I didn't use a trick. I used pure, explosive speed, bursting through the gap they thought they were closing.
The sheer momentum threw them off balance, leaving them to chase after me.
As I dove into their defensive line, I noticed Kim Jun-hwan again. This time, his clever positioning had taken him wide to my side. I played it simple, a quick one-two with a midfielder, drawing their defensive shape out of position. The ball returned to my feet. I exhaled, overworking my legs into a blur of unstoppable momentum.
The wind whistled in my ears. The first drops of rain pattered down, their impact cold and sudden, yet barely a hindrance to me.
Now it was just me and their last line of defense.
The defender was tall and looked terrified. He backpedaled, trying to keep me in front of him, anchored well within sight. I faked a shot, he lunged to block, his body committed. I shouldered past him. In that instant, I had my chance.
I could almost hear the collective intake of breath from everyone at the stadium.
That was it—
My dominant foot was ready to chip that baby in.
—Or that should've been the case.
But a desperate lunge from a defender I had left in my wake came from behind, taking my legs out from under me. My knees buckled, my head went down, and I skidded across the wet ground. The tackle was illegal—high and wild. As I picked myself up, a murmur of anticipation ran through the spectators. My teammates rushed to me. I waved them off.
The ref blew the whistle. Sharp and final. A red card flashed at the defender who had taken me down, before the latter proceeded to half-heartedly protest. No use, he was sent packing, out of the pitch. Then the referee pointed—straight to the spot. That dramatic arm swing, palm flat like a blade. Classic penalty sign. No room for debate.
I got up, brushing the wet grass off my legs. I was slightly indignant that my solo run had been interrupted. Still, a penalty, huh?
The Jeonbuk's defenders huddled together, their body language stiff and uncertain. Their voices were lost in the stadium noise.
I placed the ball, the penalty's mark.
I glanced up at the goalkeeper. His eyes were wide, the rain dripping off his hair. He was biting the inside of his cheek.
The stadium fell into a strange quiet. The rain picked up, steady but not torrential. I inhaled. My breath felt warm. My heart was beating steady and strong.
I looked at the ball. Waiting patiently on the spot like a loyal dog. If it could speak, the ball would be telling me: 'Please kick me into the net, daddy.'
So I took a few steps back. Ah, good ol' adrenaline.
I could almost imagine the collective breath being held.
The referee's whistle signaled the all-clear.
No room to doubt.
It's go-time.
My eyes met the keeper's. I stepped. Left. He stepped. Right.
Then my feet moved.
Three strides.
On the third, my right leg came back. I kept my eyes on the keeper.
His hands twitched, a small movement. His weight shifted.
Left again. His commitment. His decision. His gamble. His downfall.
My right leg came through, low and hard. The ball slashed through the air, low and to the right.
A clean, simple strike. Perfectly executed.
A beat passed, the longest moment. The keeper landed on his side, his outstretched arm useless, fingers grasping at empty air. The net rippled as the ball hit the back of it, settling deep into the goal. I stared at the net as it slowly returned to normal, the ripples calming.
Then, the crowd erupted into frenzied applause and cheers. The referee raised his hand, then waved.
3-2. Like ReplyReport Reactions:SquirtleTurtle, PassingBy, Demon_queen and 154 othersNneeilSep 10, 2025NewAdd bookmarkView discussionThreadmarks Chapter 27: The Final Whistle III (Conclusion) New View contentNneeilKnow what you're doing yet?Sep 10, 2025Add bookmark#64Chapter 27: The Final Whistle III (Conclusion)
Final minutes.
Jeonbuk's players fought against a growing feeling of inevitability. "Move! Move! Move!" The coaching staff at their bench screamed their lungs hoarse, arms flailing as he paced back and forth.
The ball zipped across the grass, slick with rain. Boots slipped. Bodies collided. Fouls were let go. Time was bleeding away. Jeonbuk tried to force one last desperate play. Kim Jun-hwan, tired but undaunted, conjured one last spell. A cross, curling beautifully inwards from the left. I saw their number ten darting toward it. Our defenders stretched. Jeonbuk's benchers were on their feet.
I held my breath.
The striker got a touch.
Just enough.
The ball clipped off his forehead, redirected it toward the top right. Our keeper leapt. Fingers grazing air.
But the ball didn't go in. It rattled off the bar.
A collective gasp rang out, followed by groans from the Jeonbuk section. The ball bounced down into the box—a chaotic, slippery mess of limbs and boots. One of their midfielders lunged. Tae-ho, one of our defenders, beat him to it, toeing it out just before the shot could come.
Corner.
Their coach screamed, waving everyone forward. Even the keeper. He sprinted past the halfway line like a soldier charging the frontlines, soaked jersey flapping, gloves still on.
Our defense shrank, forming a tight circle around the penalty spot.
The referee checked his watch.
I stood just outside, tracking the movement. Jun-hwan raised a hand and whipped the corner in hard—near the post this time.
Their keeper actually got to it first. Got his head on it. Sent the ball rocketing towards the net.
Our keeper was alert. He parried it away. The ball didn't go far.
The stadium erupted—half in relief, half in frustration.
One of Jeonbuk's midfielders stopped it with his chest. The ball bounced once, and then he shot. It wasn't neither hard nor unpredictable.
Our keeper easily blocked it. The ball bounced wildly.
Two more shots. Deflected, punched out.
Eventually, amidst the chaos, Tae-ho caught it, immediately becoming a target for countless Juonbuk players. "Oh fuck!"
I raised a hand.
Pointed.
Tae-ho saw it.
He didn't waste a second. He kicked it. The ball was out, and flying.
Long, low pass slicing the wet pitch. I had already taken off.
There was no one back. Their whole team was still in our box. Two defenders noticed, turned, shouted, but it was too late. Their legs were dead. Mine weren't. I had trained hard for this shit.
The ball rolled into space like it knew I'd be there.
And I was.
My first touch brought it under control. My second kept it close. Rain pelted my face. I ignored it.
I could hear them behind me. Yells. Footsteps. Panic. The beginning of an absolute meltdown; their keeper was still within our half.
But the noises were fading as I sped forth.
All except one. I glanced sideways—just a flick of the eyes—and saw him. I grinned, this guy...
Kim Jun-hwan.
He was chasing me. Full sprint. Full throttle. The last burst of fuel in a dying engine.
And somehow, he was gaining. This bastard was actually getting close.
My pulse kicked harder.
He wasn't giving up.
His lungs had to be burning. Legs like bricks. But his form didn't break. He was right there, inches behind, eating the distance between us with sheer willpower. For a second, I wondered if he might actually catch me. And he almost did.
But that's the thing.
Almost isn't enough. Not here. Not against me. Competing against me in pure speed? I actually respected that, if only because he must've been dying with each step he took towards me. Climbing a mountain wouldn't have been this hard, not when the culmination of his efforts was about to slip through his fingers. Just a couple of minutes left.
I kicked again, one more gear. My body responded—barely—but it was enough. I widened the gap just enough to matter.
Half a step. Then a full one. Then two. By the third, we both knew it was over. Still, he continued, gasping, nearly strumbling. His eyes crinkled, despair being the only motivation to keep running.
I could hear him breathing. Ragged. Desperate.
His hand stretched out, to grab my shirt, maybe. To push, trip, or hold. It didn't matter. Because he missed by miles. He had nothing left.
We were past the halfway line now. The goalpost was empty. No one between me and that net. Nothing. The stadium noise became a roar.
Jun-hwan's footsteps faded, but his shadow remained in the corner of my eye.
One final look at the goal.
I set the angle.
Right foot came down.
My boot connected.
The ball flew. I didn't curl it, didn't put a spin on it. Just straight, true power, dead center. No keeper to stop it. No defender to save them. Simple execution. Clean and precise.
The ball rocketed towards the open net. I saw it land and roll into its depths.
It bulged, rippled, and then, finally, calmed down.
Goal.
Final score: 4-2.
Kim Jun-hwan's legs gave in as he slumped to the ground behind me, panting hard, then leaned his head against the wet grass, covering his face just as the spectators erupted. The referee blew the whistle.
Game over.
I was surrounded by teammates before I could even blink. Arms wrapped around me; voices filled my ears. Jong-su bear-hugged me, lifting me off the ground. The coach was there too, shaking my shoulder vigorously.
We'd won the U-18 Final.
The stadium was still roaring. As were my teammates. The benchers. Assistants and managers. I pulled away from Jong-su's grip gently, gave Coach a nod, and stepped back.
My eyes found him again. Kim Jun-hwan hadn't moved.
He was still on the ground, crouched low with his knees down, head bowed, fingers clenched in the grass like he wanted to rip it out. A strangled cry left his throat, a sad, tragic sound. It made my excitement simmer a little, because, obviously, to win, someone has to lose.
It had been so long since I've felt what he was feeling. But that didn't mean that I forgot. I died in the midst of the most important tournament of my life.
The rain kept falling.
I walked toward him.
It was the right thing to do, after all.
Past camera flashes. Past teammates. Past everyone.
Step by step until I stood just a few feet away.
His shoulders were heaving. Breath shallow and uneven. I waited.
He must've sensed me, because slowly—almost reluctantly—he lifted his head.
His eyes locked on mine.
And in them, I saw everything.
Frustration. Humiliation. Rage.
And under all that—respect. Just enough to be real.
His lip curled, like he wanted to say something. Curse me. Tell me I was lucky. That I wasn't better.
But he didn't.
I held out my hand.
Didn't speak.
Didn't need to.
Rain trickled down my wrist. He stared at it. His jaw tightened.
For a second, I thought he'd leave me hanging.
But then—
He took it. Gripped it tight, like it cost him something. A piece of his pride.
I helped him up.
He stood, chest still rising hard, eyes locked on mine the whole time. His hand slipped from mine, slow and tense. Then he nodded once. Almost imperceptible. Like he hated that he had to give it.
I nodded back, a slight smile on my face. Then I turned and walked away, leaving him there.
I'd remember him as one of the toughest opponents I had to face so far in this life. And he'd remember me as the prodigy who shattered his dreams in the finale. Whether that was a good or bad memory, it didn't matter.
What mattered was what happened next.
Because when the dust settles…
Only those willing to sacrifice everything can reach the top.
And only the top...
Reaches for the stars.
xXx
The award ceremony was about as anticlimactic as expected. Trophies were distributed, pictures were taken, some speeches were given, but I couldn't really get excited about any of it. For me, these formalities were nothing more than obligation. The boring filler that bookended the main event. What mattered was on the field.
But nevertheless, I smiled and shook hands and posed for photos when it was required of me.
Still, I went through the motions. That's part of the job too.
I was about to retreat to the locker room when a production assistant flagged me down and pointed toward the touchline. A camera crew was waiting, flanked by a slim young reporter with a SPOTV mic in hand. She gestured me with her hand, wondering if—
Of course.
I plastered on my most approachable smile as they herded me over. The reporter smiled as the camera light flicked on.
"Cha Jae-il." She began brightly. "Congratulations on today's performance, truly a fantastic display."
I shrugged humbly. "I'm just grateful to have the opportunity to contribute." I recited with practiced modesty.
Her grin broadened. "Well, your contributions seem to be making quite the difference." She shifted the microphone. "People are calling you South Korea's greatest hope in years, perhaps even decades. How does that feel?"
I forced a soft laugh. "I'm honored, really. But the road ahead is still incredibly long. It's important to stay grounded." There was a fine line between being seen as arrogant or underconfident. "Right now, I'm just happy our hard work as a team is paying off."
"And it is paying off indeed." She agreed with a sharp nod. "But of course, individual achievements can't go unnoticed, especially on a stage like this."
Here it comes...
"With an excellent assist and three—not one, but three—breathtaking goals, you were truly the man of the match today."
I felt the camera zoom in. This was where they'd cut for highlights, probably. So, I obliged and gave them what they needed: a flash of confidence and a hint of excitement. "Yeah, I'm really happy with my personal performance today. When you step onto the pitch, you have a job to do. And today, I feel like I did that well." I paused, letting a small smile curve at my lips. "But it's not just me. My teammates also had incredible matches. "They deserve recognition, too. As does Jeonbuk Hyundai Motors for a great fight."
She nodded, the mic still steady in her hand. "They really pushed you guys to the wire."
"They did," I said with full honesty. "There was a moment where it could've gone either way. That's the kind of match you grow from, win or lose. Credit to them for making us dig deep."
A flicker of appreciation crossed her expression, like she hadn't expected me to say that.
Then she tilted her head with a practiced smile. "That final counterattack—it's already blowing up online. People are calling it stone-cold execution. I think one comment said, 'If that's a teenager, I'm retiring my cleats.'"
I couldn't help but laugh. "Hey, I'll take the compliment. But it wasn't just me. Tae-ho's pass was inch-perfect. All I had to do was run."
"Just run?" She echoed, amused. "You outran their entire backline and their captain."
I gave a small shrug. "Maybe I had a bit more fuel left. Or maybe I just really wanted to score."
That earned a chuckle from her and the camera crew alike.
She straightened, then glanced at her producer before returning her focus. "Alright, Cha Jae-il. Last one for the night. You've lifted an important trophy. You've got scouts watching from Europe. Everyone's calling you the future. So—what's your ultimate goal?"
I took a breath. This wasn't something I wanted to answer with a soundbite.
"To represent my country at the highest level." I said slowly, carefully. "And not just to be there. I want to help us win something we've never won before."
I looked straight at the lens now.
"I want to win the World Cup. For Korea."
There was a small silence. Not awkward, just enough to let the weight of it settle. The cameraman briefly dipped his head in an appreciative nod. Then the reporter gave a soft smile. "Big dreams."
I nodded. "Someone's gotta have them."
She grinned at that. "Well, we'll be watching. Congratulations again, Cha Jae-il."
"Thank you." I said, and gave a quick, respectful bow before heading off—finally—toward the tunnel, where my teammates were still shouting and laughing.
The interview lights dimmed behind me.Last ed
Chapter 28: Partying With Strangers
Mia's POV:
Mia sat quietly by the window of the restaurant where the awards celebration party was held.
The room buzzed with laughter and clinking glasses, the soft murmurs of conversations blending with the hum of background music.
Mia's gaze lingered on Jae-il as he engaged in light-hearted banter with his teammates. They all seemed to gravitate towards him naturally; it made sense—after all, he carried himself differently. There was a calmness about him, an unforced maturity that drew people in. He was always attentive to what others said, patient, and poised, even when the discussions delved into silliness. Especially when it did.
He'd always say the right thing. He'd always pay attention.
It didn't help that he was literally the team's MVP and the youngest individual present, yet easily the one dominating everyone's attention. Her dad drifted from table to table, refilling glasses and sharing bits of old stories, occasionally slipping into animated gestures that earned polite laughs and nods from the other parents.
Her mom, on the other hand, sat nearby, engaging in a light-hearted conversation, occasionally casting a glance towards Jae-il.
As for Su Ah, she was quiet, tucked away in her own world, earbuds plugged in. Predictable.
"Geez, lighten up, Mia. What's gotten to you all of a sudden?" Joo-ri Kang, her best friend, slid into the seat beside her. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine." Mia muttered quickly, dismissing her worries, although her brows furrowed slightly at her friend's teasing words.
"Oh yeah? If I squint hard enough, will I see your spirit flying overhead?"
Joo-ri grinned and playfully jabbed at Mia's ribs, causing her to frown a little. Mia swatted at her best friend's hands in annoyance.
"Okay, okay... that hurt!" Mia protested. She folded her arms defensively, muttering under her breath. "No ghosts here."
"Alright." Joo-ri conceded with a giggle. She leaned her chin on her palms, fixing Mia with a curious stare. Then, following her friend's line of sight, her own clear, green eyes fell on Jae-il.
"He's done amazingly, hasn't he?" She murmured thoughtfully, nodding toward Jae-il as if confirming his identity. "Not only that, but look at him. Does he even know how handsome he is?"
Mia felt her insides knot ever-so-slightly. She hoped the smile that she plastered on was believable.
"Yeah, it's ridiculous…" She murmured with a sigh.
What was even more absurd were the girls a few tables over, laughing too loud, tossing their hair like it would catch Jae-il's attention. Did they have no shame? Stupid bitches. Why did Jae-il's teammates have to bring their own sisters too? How old were those girls anyway? Seventeen, eighteen? At least that was what they looked like.
Didn't they realize it wasn't working? Hadn't they noticed that Jae-il was completely oblivious to their antics?
And yes, that was a blessing in disguise.
Or maybe Jae-il was just being polite?
Regardless, the whole situation made Mia's stomach churn, threatening to ruin her appetite.
"Is it true what they're saying?" Joo-ri suddenly inquired, leaning forward as if to share a secret. "That European scouts are taking an interest in him?"
Mia raised her eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at her lips.
"And here I thought gossip only interested you if it had to do with romance." Mia teased, her tone playful.
"Hey, don't get it twisted. I'm not stalking the kid; just passing along what's floating around." Joo-ri retorted. "But hey, with how good he is, it doesn't surprise me at all."
She shrugged nonchalantly as she picked up her glass of lemonade, taking a casual sip from the straw while glancing over at Jae-il. Football might've been the last of her interests, but she was aware of its global popularity and potential career prospects. Not to mention that the subject of those rumors was quite a striking figure in her opinion.
Mia, noticing Joo-ri's intense gaze, bit her lip and quietly uttered. "Can you not look at him like that?"
"Like what?" Joo-ri asked innocently.
"Like... he's some dessert on display..." Mia mumbled, cheeks tingling with faint embarrassment.
Joo-ri grinned mischievously at her. "Ohhh? Someone's getting defensive, hmm?"
Mia quickly protested, "No, it's not that—I'm just pointing out the obvious!"
"You sure about that?" Joo-ri prodded further, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Hmmm~?"
Before Mia could respond, however, a sudden, suave voice interjected.
"Ladies." A delicate young man chimed in with a hint of playfulness in his voice as he approached the pair with a slight bounce in his steps. "How are you faring in this wonderful celebration?" He gestured broadly to the lively restaurant, as if he was the owner.
He was one of the team's midfielders, not exactly an eye-catching talent, but not bad enough that he stuck out as someone who couldn't make it.
"Wonderful." Joo-ri responded dryly. "What more could one ask for than a room full of middle-aged men and kids having a dick contest over football?"
Jaeha laughed, seeming delighted by Joo-ri's sardonic humor. "Touché, Mademoiselle." He replied with a mock bow before turning to Mia. Gosh, not the fake Frenchness. As if a poorly pronounced mademoiselle and a half-baked bow could magically turn fried rice into escargot.
"Your little brother's something special, huh?" He continued, casually nodding towards Jae-il amidst the revelry. "Think I should start sucking up to him? Might need him to recommend me to clubs once he's strutting the turf in Europe."
"So it's true?" Joo-ri's eyes widened. "The scouts thing?"
"Why not?" Jaeha shrugged casually. "He's obviously the prodigy-type." He gestured loosely at Jae-il. "Everyone knows it. Makes us mere mortals look terrible sometimes. Besides, I've heard that there were scouts at the match earlier. The question isn't whether anyone saw him; it's who's smart enough to snatch him up first." He added jokingly. "Anyway, you ladies enjoying yourselves?" Jaeha asked, his tone light.
Joo-ri tilted her head, sipping her drink with a bored expression. "Oh, immensely." She said flatly, then sighed. "If only there were any boys worth looking at..."
Jaeha chuckled, unfazed. "You always this charming, or is it just when I'm around?"
Mia arched an eyebrow at the weak attempt. Joo-ri just blinked at him, slow and unimpressed.
Jaeha took that as his cue to lean in slightly, resting a hand on the back of her chair. "Look, I know I'm not the MVP or anything, but—how about we grab something to eat together sometime? Just you and me?"
Joo-ri cocked her head. "Are you asking me out on a date?"
"Something like that, yeah." He admitted sheepishly.
"I'm sorry, I'm actually busy studying for an exam for the next couple of centuries." Joo-ri said sweetly, smiling widely in fake politeness.
Jaeha blinked, thrown for half a second before he laughed and held up his hands. "Ouch. Alright, fair. Had to shoot my shot."
"Consider it blocked." Joo-ri said sweetly, returning her attention to her drink.
Jaeha gave a lopsided grin and a shrug. "Well, if you change your mind…" He winked. "Now, let's see if Jae-il is kinder to me." He easily backed out with elegance before sauntering away with a spring in his step. Mia chuckled to herself. What, was he going to seduce her little brother now?
Once he was out of earshot, Joo-ri muttered. "I'm surprised he didn't hit on you instead."
Mia shrugged, inwardly glad he didn't. "Probably because of how grumpy I look? Or he knows I'm related to Jae-il."
"Probably scared you'd break his arm." Joo-ri commented off-handedly.
Mia grinned mischievously. "Wise boy."
...
The rest of the dinner unfolded uneventfully, with jokes, laughs, and memories being shared as the plates piled high with food. As the evening came to a close, families began filtering out of the restaurant, offering congratulatory handshakes, hugs, and waves to the players. Some promised to support them at every game, while others joked about needing to rest their aging bones after tonight.
Amid the lingering crowd, Jae-il stood near his table, half-listening to his teammates' banter when his coach stepped up beside him. There was a subtle shift in the air. Mia and Joo-ri Kang, who had been approaching him, slowed down to a stop.
The older man's eyes were sharp, but there was warmth there too.
He placed a firm hand on Jae-il's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Congratulations, son. You were outstanding tonight."
Jae-il bowed his head slightly, his tone steady. "Thank you, sir."
The coach's expression grew more serious, though the pride never left his voice. "Word is, the U-17 national team is looking to bring you in for the upcoming FIFA World Cup. The call-up's not official yet, but my contact says it's practically guaranteed."
Mia's heart leaped into her throat. It wasn't surprising, but hearing it from the Coach… this meant that her baby brother's success was reaching new heights.
"I'll try my best." Jae-il responded, keeping his tone neutral. "We'll bring it home."
The coach's grip tightened. "Good lad. We'll miss you during the season, but the exposure will be excellent for your career."
"Yes, sir."
"You're young and hungry, exactly what the team needs." The coach continued. "This will open doors for you, many doors that you cannot possibly imagine." He released his grip and patted Jae-il's shoulder. His gaze softened as he added. "Keep it humble, work hard, and never let up."
The words echoed deeply.
Jae-il closed his eyes, smiling lightly. "I promise."
Satisfied with the response, the coach finally cracked a smile. "Enjoy your night, boy. You earned it. Stay focused, and stay away from alcohol—no matter how hard these buffoons will push you to celebrate tonight. You're fifteen and no alcoholic substance will go through your body on my watch." The coach said sternly, yet humorously. "Go home after this and enjoy the day with your family."
Jae-il chuckled, nodding. "Understood."
With that, the coach turned away, his broad frame vanishing into the thinning crowd.
As the older man walked off, the rest of the assistants and some of the players walked up to him one by one. Jae-il engaged with all of them with a practiced, attentive smile.
Joo-ri finally let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Damn." She muttered under her breath, still staring at Jae-il. "Up close, it really hits you, doesn't it?"
Mia glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "What does?"
"That he's not just talented." Joo-ri said, her voice unmistakably impressed. "He carries himself like he's twice his age. Like he knows exactly where he's going."
Jae-il stood tall, fielding a few handshakes and congratulations with a smile that was polite but never too eager, gracious but not showy. He didn't look like someone who had just been told his life might change overnight. Instead, he looked like as if it were to be expected, that this was all part of some pre-determined plan.
"He's fifteen." Mia reminded her.
"Exactly." Joo-ri said, shaking her head slightly. "When I was fifteen, I was still crying over secondhand K-pop lightsticks."
Mia smirked. "You still do."
"Don't change the subject." Joo-ri fired back with a grin. She turned her attention back to Jae-il. "He's going to be something, Mia. Like... scary big."
Mia didn't know why, but the observation felt weird to digest. Almost suffocating. "Yeah." She managed to whisper, watching as Jae-il eventually separated from the dwindling crowd and moved toward them. "I guess so."
When he was within a few strides of them, Jae-il finally caught their gaze. The corner of his lips twitched upward briefly, revealing his amusement at their startled expressions. Like ReplyReport Reactions:SquirtleTurtle, PassingBy, MrLusty and