I didn't think much of it before.
Maybe it's because I heard the term 'practice partner.'
Somehow, he looks different now.
As a college student, he definitely had a superior physical presence.
Among them, the most striking was a black man who looked to be at least two meters tall.
"Is that a body or armor?"
He gave a different kind of pressure than Devon.
Standing next to him was a white man of similar height to me.
Maybe he holds an important position in the team.
"Set up."
"Okay."
At the white man's command, everyone moved uniformly.
It seems that the white man is the leader and the striker.
The large black man feels like a key defender.
"Hmm."
It's like they plucked Carl and Ralph from the second year.
Seeing my expression,
"Did you think I brought just anyone?"
Devon shrugged.
"The clumsy one is Steve. He's upper-level even in the pros. The dark-skinned guy is Bob. He looks imposing, but he doesn't live up to his size. Still, his defense is passable."
To sum it up, there's no better opponent for a second-year comparison!
"How shall we fight?"
"Huh?"
"The strategy. You are the coach, after all."
"Will the strategy work?"
"…?"
"Just fight hard."
As if he hadn't seen a video, Devon let out a strange laugh.
After all, that white man is said to be top-level in the pros.
Not that he isn't.
Fa-pa-pa!
Of course, speed.
Whoosh.
The sudden change of direction, well.
"Almost like Ronaldo."
Since I'm also a striker, I won't have to face him often.
But.
Tennessee, the key to defense, will have to clash with this man all the time.
Especially since he's so competitive.
If he gets beaten badly…
'I wonder if he'll start asking us to stay behind for training every day again.'
Worried, I scratched my head for no reason.
***
Just before the game.
The teammates naturally gathered around Tennessee.
There wasn't a designated captain, but.
He was the only one with prior experience and the leader of the defensive line.
It was only natural for Tennessee to become the core of the team.
However, it seemed that Tennessee himself thought differently.
'Park Ji-hoon, this is your plan.'
The message Tennessee conveyed with his gaze was clear.
'You're the one who prepared this match against the second-years, wrote about it in the magazine to maximize its impact, and made it all happen. Naturally, being the captain is your role too!'
He's just trying to avoid responsibility, using that as an excuse…
Anyway.
Maybe that's why Tennessee's gaze lingered on me for so long.
Even the teammates subtly shifted their attention to me.
If I had no skills at all, it'd be one thing.
But I am undeniably the team's most reliable offensive option, so.
The teammates waited for my words with serious expressions.
'This feels a bit awkward.'
How could it not?
In my previous life, I lived far from the so-called "social butterfly" archetype.
Sweating, cooperating with others as part of youthful camaraderie…
'I had never even imagined it.'
Still, the fortunate thing is that this is my second life.
In other words.
I can use my past life as material to change myself however I want.
"Don't be afraid of losing."
I once heard a story about the Go player Lee Sedol.
During Lee Sedol's prime, a time when no one could rival him.
Junior players who faced him often played overly cautious games, thinking it was better to lose without humiliation since losing was inevitable anyway.
Apparently, Lee Sedol found that unacceptable.
—Why didn't you go all in for the win?
—If you pushed too hard, I might've lost badly…
—Whether you lose by half a point or get completely wiped out, losing is losing, isn't it? If you're a competitor, you should aim for that one decisive strike until the end.
When I heard that story, I understood the measure of the man called Lee Sedol.
He wasn't afraid of losing.
No, more than that.
He could never tolerate being afraid of losing.
Recalling that story, I continued to speak slowly.
"Even if we lose, let's play our way."
"...!"
"No running away, no stepping back. Let's play rugby the way it's meant to be played… charging forward with everything we've got."
The moment I finished speaking,
"Waaaah!"
Jack let out an abrupt war cry, like a soldier awakening his spirit before heading into battle.
"Waaaahhhh!"
Jack raised his voice even higher.
Perhaps the others were inspired as well.
Without anyone needing to take the lead, hands were raised one after another.
"One."
"Two."
"Fighting!"
And with that, we charged onto the field.
***
Beep!
The match began with Devon's whistle.
We had the first possession.
Bob, wasn't it?
I heard that black guy was the one coordinating their defensive line.
Strangely, though, Bob was positioned at the very front.
In contrast, the backmost position belonged to their striker, Steve.
'What's going on here?'
Thud.
Jack, who had received the ball, seemed equally puzzled.
Perhaps that's why, as if to test the waters,
Whoosh!
He started with a lively burst of speed.
Even by adult standards, Jack's sprinting ability was exceptionally fast.
It was undeniable.
But.
"..."
The opponents didn't flinch at all.
Two defenders immediately adjusted their spacing, surrounding Jack.
Jack, noticing this, feigned a glance to the side as if preparing to pass.
Whoosh! Bam!
Instead, he charged straight between the defenders.
Like a race car slamming on full throttle down a straightaway.
Vroom-vroom-vroom!
He shot forward with determination.
And incredibly—
"...!"
The winner was Jack.
The grown men had deliberately given way to their much younger opponent.
But for some reason, the opposing team showed no signs of being flustered.
By the time Jack started sensing that something was off—
"Right side!"
Bang!
Bob had already launched himself at Jack.
Crash!
Jack took the full brunt of Bob's massive tackle, his body helplessly flung into the air.
Though Jack tenaciously clung to the ball,
Snatch!
Bob tore the ball from his grip as if ripping tape off a sealed box.
At that moment, Devon's earlier assessment of Bob came to mind:
"He looks imposing, but he doesn't live up to his size."
That's what you call not living up to his size?
I turned to Devon, bewildered.
"Yup~ by my standards."
Devon gave me a playful wink.
Ugh!
What could we do now?
The only option was to stop their counterattack.
I naturally assumed Bob would charge forward using his sheer size.
But instead—
Bounce.
Bob dribbled the ball briefly against the ground, then,
Thwack!
He gritted his teeth and kicked it with all his might.
Whoosh!
In rugby, forward passes are not allowed.
If you pass the ball to someone ahead of you, it's a clear offside.
However, you can kick the ball into open space and have a teammate from behind sprint forward to claim it.
Well, there's nothing "impossible" in theory, but—
Amazingly,
Zoom!
The play, which seemed viable only in theory,
"...!"
Was actually executed by the opposing team!
Whoosh-whoosh-whoosh!
Like a cheetah, a man tore through the field at blistering speed—it was none other than Steve.
The same Steve who had been at the very back just moments ago was now racing through our defense with ferocious intensity.
'How is he this fast?'
Thunk!
The ball landed in the far corner.
Gary sprinted toward it, but—
"Ugh…"
Gary hesitated for a moment, lacking confidence in his speed.
That brief hesitation was enough.
Snatch.
Steve managed to claim the ball.
Gary stepped back, trying to create some distance.
He judged that keeping space was better than being immediately overpowered if he engaged too closely.
However, the moment the gap between him and the defense widened—
Thud.
Steve slammed the ball onto the ground.
Step.
Then, with all his might, he planted his foot forward.
Could he seriously be taking a shot from there?
It was a position so sharp it would be akin to taking a corner kick in soccer—no angle at all.
And yet—
Smack!
Steve confidently struck the ball with the top of his foot.
'This is ridiculous.'
As if mocking such thoughts,
Whooosh!
The ball curved like a boomerang.
And then—
"...!"
It sailed cleanly through the posts of the H-shaped goal.
'Ha!'
Even a soccer ball, when hit with that much power, would lose accuracy.
And he managed that with a rugby ball?
"...."
In rugby, the scoring team retains possession of the ball.
Which meant we were forced to defend again.
Before we could even recover from the shock, their next attack was already underway.
As expected—
Tap.
They passed the ball to Steve again.
Step, step.
Steve moved steadily toward our territory, as if he had all the time in the world.
If we rushed him, he'd beat us with speed.
If we gave him space, he'd take another shot like before.
Caught between a rock and a hard place—
Whoosh!
Steve suddenly shifted gears and sped up.
Damn it.
Even knowing it was coming didn't mean we could stop it.
"Close in!"
Jack and I both rushed toward him one after the other.
If we could block him from both sides, even someone like Steve would have fewer options.
At that moment—
Swish.
Steve swayed his body from side to side.
'Body feint!'
But by the time I realized it—
Zoom!
He had already darted past Jack.
Jack, the fastest on our team,
"...!"
Still couldn't match Steve's explosive acceleration.
Out of options, Jack attempted to stop him with a foul.
Tap.
But Steve dropped the ball and,
Bounce!
Sent a ground pass right between Jack's legs.
The ball landed perfectly at Bob's feet on the flank.
A level of technique unimaginable at the high school level.
Was this the famed "kick game" I'd heard of?
They say top-level players make rugby look like soccer, and Steve was proving it!
The only silver lining was—
Beep!
Devon blew his whistle.
"Offside!"
Perhaps he judged that they had been on the same line.
Steve squinted one eye, disappointed.
"Scrum ready for both teams!"
In soccer, a foul results in a change of possession.
But rugby is different.
For minor infractions, both teams form a scrum to contest possession of the ball.
The scrum consisted of three players.
Jack positioned on the left, me in the center, and Gary on the right.
We placed our hands on each other's shoulders, preparing for the scrum.
A so-called human bullfight.
The goal is to move as one and overpower the opposing team.
The problem?
Bob was on their side.
And the other two players looked at least 190 centimeters tall.
Just facing them was enough to feel their intimidating presence.
"Ready!"
My head pressed against their shoulder, and their head pressed against mine.
A brief exchange of tension, like wrestlers grappling for position.
Beep!
The whistle signaled the start of the clash.
"Rahhh!"
With Jack's war cry, we took the first step forward.
But to our dismay—
It was like pushing against a wall.
The opposing team didn't budge an inch.
As they started to advance—
Screech.
Our feet slid helplessly backward.
Sweat dripped onto the grass.
Damn it!
No way I'm backing down without a fight.
"Lower your stance!"
I shouted, and Jack and Gary clutched my back tightly.
"Focus on your legs!"
If we were outmatched in strength, our only option was to move as one.
"Now!"
But unfortunately—
Twitch.
Gary, exhausted, reacted a beat too late.
Thud.
Gary dropped to one knee, and the scrum collapsed with a clatter.
Tap.
The opposing team secured possession.
Smack!
Without hesitation, they launched the ball toward our goal.
It was, of course, Steve again.
Last time, he spun the ball.
Whoosh!
This time, a clean, straight shot.
Like a home run, the ball rocketed through the air.
"...!"
And passed effortlessly between the posts.
Coach, you said this team was meant to prepare us for the second-years, right?
Does this… really make sense?
I turned to Devon.
"You know I always go big."
He smiled brightly, as if nothing was wrong.
Seriously?
I sighed in frustration, but only briefly.
'Don't run away. Don't back down. Play rugby the way it's meant to be played… always move forward.'
I quietly repeated the words I'd told my teammates.