🗓 The Day Before the Competition
Min Son never stopped training.
Every day between the friendly and the upcoming tournament, he was on the pitch — early, hungry, focused. Rain or sun, bruised or breathless, he trained alone when no one else would. And trained harder when they finally did.
And now, finally — it was the day before the first match of the Korean Youth Golden Cup.
The entire squad was gathered around Coach Park on the grass. The evening air buzzed with nerves. Even the birds seemed quieter than usual.
Coach stood with his hands behind his back, looking at each of them in turn.
> "Tomorrow's game isn't just any match. It's the start of something bigger. Scouts will be watching. Clubs too. So we keep it simple—"
"4-4-2. Long ball counter."
He stepped over to the makeshift tactical board — barely a whiteboard, more like a battered clipboard — and began assigning roles.
> "Junho — you're anchoring the midfield. Sit deep. Sweep danger. And when there's space, release a through ball. You know when."
Junho nodded, calm and locked in.
Coach continued around the squad, naming names, pointing positions, tightening the plan.
Then he turned to Min Son.
> "You're in the middle. Attacking Midfield."
"Your job? Direct the tempo. Orchestrate the flow. Be the brain."
Everyone knew Min Son could play anywhere — Left Wing Forward, Right Midfield, Second Striker — he'd filled in across every attacking role this season.
But this time, Coach wanted him at the heart.
> "Don't overthink it. When we break forward, find the lane. When it stalls, open it. Make the final pass when it's time."
Min Son gave a single nod.
Coach then shifted to Jin-Woo, their towering striker.
> "And you — calm down in front of goal. You've been rushing it lately. This won't be like the games you've played before. You get a chance — you bury it. Every shot counts."
Jin-Woo clenched his jaw and nodded, swallowing whatever pride wanted to argue.
Then Coach turned back to Min Son, his voice lowering slightly.
> "One more thing — conserve your stamina."
> "You've got acceleration like lightning, but you burn out fast when you burst too much. Be smart. Pace yourself. Or you'll run out before the whistle."
Min Son looked at the grass for a moment, then nodded again. He knew it was true.
Coach scanned the squad one last time.
> "Go home. Eat well. Sleep early. Tell your parents to come. Support matters more than you think."
> "Be here tomorrow morning by 7 sharp. The academy bus leaves on time. No excuses."
He stepped back.
> "That's all. Let's make it count."
The boys dispersed slowly, murmurs of excitement and nerves mixing in the air.
And Min Son?
He stayed still a second longer — letting the moment sink in.
Tomorrow would be the beginning.
One shot.
One window.
And he couldn't afford to miss it
🏡 That Night at Home
When Min Son got home, the house felt strangely calm.
His father was there — slouched on the living room couch, a newspaper spread open in one hand and a half-empty bottle of beer in the other. The TV murmured quietly, but the volume was low. No shouting. No tension. Just… a pause.
From the kitchen, a soft sound floated in.
Singing.
His mother was humming one of her old melodies while stirring something on the stove. Her voice was tired, but the tune was gentle — almost like she was trying to hold the house together with sound.
Min Son stood still for a moment.
Then he reached into his worn-out bag and pulled out the Golden Cup invitation — clean and neatly folded. His name was printed clearly. The venue. The time. The message for parents to attend.
He walked to the kitchen and held it out to her.
> "Umma," he said quietly. "This is for tomorrow."
She took it with mild surprise, read it quickly, then looked up at him with a small, proud smile.
> "You should show your Appa first," she said, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Then come back. I'll make sure your uniform's ready."
Min Son nodded and turned toward the living room.
--
🧔 The Father's Response
Min Son stood in front of him, small and still.
"Appa…" he said quietly, holding out the Golden Cup invitation with both hands.
His father didn't look up right away. Just took another sip from his beer, then grabbed the paper with one hand. His eyes scanned it lazily.
A flick of the wrist, and he tossed it onto the low table.
> "No," he said bluntly. "I'm working tomorrow. That nonsense isn't feeding this house."
Min Son hesitated.
> "But—just for a few hours… it's important…"
The silence that followed felt dangerous.
His father set down the beer slowly. His head turned, and for a moment, their eyes met.
> "You think football is more important than work?" he said, voice rising. "That I should sit there and clap for you like some fool while money goes missing?"
Min Son tried again, more quietly.
> "I just wanted—"
The hand came fast.
A sharp slap across his cheek. Not the worst he'd taken — but enough to send his head sideways.
He didn't cry. Not yet.
He just lowered his gaze and stepped back, his hand pressed lightly to the side of his face.
---
🌙 That Night in the Room
The house was quiet again — only the low hum of the fridge and the soft clang of dishes in the kitchen.
And his mother, whispering through tears:
> "I'm sorry… I'm sorry…"
Min Son walked into his room and lay down without changing clothes.
The ache in his face pulsed gently. The sting in his ribs reminded him of days past. But more than that — the weight in his chest.
He pulled his knees up and turned to face the wall.
No tears came at first.
But then they did — slow and soundless, soaking into his pillow.
He cried the way someone cries when they know no one is listening.
Then, finally…
Darkness.
Sleep.
---
🏟 Match Day
Group Stage Match 1:
Blue Flame FC vs. Leon Marshall Academy
Under-10 Golden Cup
Venue: Seoul Youth Stadium
The stadium didn't just feel big.
It was big.
Far bigger than anything they'd ever played in.
The air felt heavier. The grass looked brighter. The noise — louder than it should've been.
Rows and rows of seats, many already filled. Flags waving. Phones raised. Parents with megaphones. Small drums being slapped in rhythm. The echo of children chanting team names.
Blue Flame walked out together, their cleats ticking against the concrete tunnel as they entered the pitch.
And the moment they did…
Boom.
The crowd exploded into cheers.
> "That many people… really came to watch us?" Junho whispered, eyes wide.
> "It's… packed," someone else muttered. "I didn't think it would be this packed…"
Even the older-looking kids in the squad — the ones who claimed they'd "been here before" — suddenly looked like deer in headlights.
They weren't just nervous.
They were shaken.
Their breathing had quickened. Their movements stiffened. A few stood still, eyes darting at the crowd.
It was supposed to be under-10 — but even they knew most of the kids on that field were older. Taller. Sharper. Everyone knew. No one said it.
Because this was the Golden Cup.
And rules bent where money spoke.
---
😶 Min Son
Min Son walked with them.
Same uniform. Same boots. Same nerves.
But inside, he was fighting a war of his own.
The cheering was overwhelming. The noise crawled into his chest, shook his lungs.
He turned slightly — scanning the crowd.
Hundreds of faces blurred past, but then… a few stood out.
> Tall. Pale. Cameras hanging from their necks. Blonde, some of them. And definitely not from Korea.
> "Scouts," he muttered under his breath.
From Europe. Maybe Germany. Maybe England. One even had the logo of a La Liga club on his windbreaker.
They weren't here for fun.
They were here for talent.
His pulse ticked faster.
He looked again — searching the stands with a flicker of hope.
> "Mom…?"
But she wasn't there.
No familiar figure. No waving hand. No cheap phone raised to capture a blurry picture of her boy.
Just strangers.
And silence from the one face that mattered.
A quiet ache rose in his chest.
> "She probably had work…" he told himself.
But it didn't stop the sting.
He looked down. Took a breath. Tightened his fists and pressed his toes into the grass.
> "This is it."
"Don't mess it up."
---
🔁 Captain's Ritual
At the center of the pitch, the referee stood between two captains.
Jin-Woo in blue.
Leon Marshall's captain in red and gold.
Jin-Woo's jaw was tight. His eyes locked on the opponent with quiet fire.
They exchanged handshakes, spoke with the ref, then nodded.
A coin was flipped.
Leon Marshall would kick off.
As the two captains jogged back, the referee raised the whistle to his lips.
---
🎙 Commentary Echo (from the speakers):
> "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Match One of the Golden Cup Under-10 Group Stage!"
> "Blue Flame FC… versus… Leon Marshall Academy!"
> "A lot of eyes are on these teams today. Big talent, big futures. Let's see who wants it more."
---
🧠 Min Son (Internal Monologue)
As Min Son jogged to position, heart pounding, he repeated the same thing in his head.
Not a tactic.
Not a line from the coach.
Just one sentence:
> "Play the way I practiced…"
Because the stadium, the scouts, the yelling — all of that didn't matter…
If he could just play like the kid who woke up every morning before sunrise.
The kid who kicked a worn-out ball until his ribs hurt.
The kid who knew how to bend a shot when no one was watching.
That kid wasn't scared.
And neither was he.
---
The players settled into formation.
4-4-2.
Min Son: Central Attacking Midfielder.
Junho: Defensive Midfielder.
Jin-Woo: Striker. Captain. Predator.
The referee checked both goalkeepers.
Raised his hand.
And blew the whistle.
> Kickoff.