I blinked, staring at the faint crack on the wall. Soone, maybe the school council or whoever was responsible for that kind of stuff, should definitely fix that up.
“I'm so sorry…” Dae Hee murmured. “I'm… uh... clumsy?” She finally managed to offer, though it ca out more like a question. She attempted a weak, disoriented smile. A small, apologetic grimace that seed almost endearing.
It didn't help. The situation was... bizarre.
“Yeah, don't worry about it.” I said dryly. I had no clue whether I should have been worried, impressed, or confused. Or a mixture of all three.
Her head, now with a red mark, bobbed in a nod, her cheeks still rosy. It reminded a lot of a rabbit caught in the middle of the road.
I didn't know whether I should've offered more support. 'Hmm, maybe not. Her friend is here.'
Go Bin pulled Dae Hee aside, whispering sothing fiercely while she clung onto the other girl's wrist. The conversation between the two remained an enigma.
In any case, as they conversed, it beca evident to that the crisis was diffused.
Ti to get the fuck outta here. I nodded once as a farewell gesture, then strode past them without another look.
"Wait—" Go Bin called.
My hand found the strap of my backpack. "Yes?"
She shuffled a bit, clearly nervous. "Just... well... thanks." Her words ca out in a hurried, breathy jumble.
I tilted my head. "I didn't do anything." It wasn’t a false humility, nor an attempt to brush away the situation's weight.
"You stopped them." She countered.
"Perhaps." I shook my head slowly. "Still, you don't owe anything."
I left the corridor, passing through the bustling throngs of other students. Go Bin's voice reached out one final ti.
"You could’ve pretended you didn’t see…”
I paused. I could feel her eyes on , her gaze expectant yet uncertain, but I didn't et her stare.
"What kind of human would that make , though?"
She didn't have an answer for that. And really, she didn't have to.
xXx
As I strolled outside, making my way through the sprawling school courtyard, the familiar sound of a ball bouncing against concrete caught my ear.
The soccer field was usually empty at this ti, reserved exclusively for the soccer team mbers during their practice sessions. But today, a lone figure dominated the landscape.
He seed so... focused. Lost in the rhythm of dribbling the ball. Back and forth. Back and forth. The movent was thodical, hypnotic almost, but there was an odd intensity to it. His concentration never wavered; it was as if the world had condensed into the singular point of interaction between him and that ball. Like nothing else existed.
I watched him for a while, leaning over the railing that overlooked the field. He wasn't particularly skilled—there were plenty of missteps, misplaced kicks, and monts when the ball nearly escaped him. And yet... there was sothing undeniably compelling about his determination.
He'd chase, kick, trip over the ball, and keep at it.
Again, and again, and again. Like clockwork, predictable in its unpredictability. He reminded of myself, back in the favelas, when soccer was all that kept going. When a lone dream was worth holding onto with an entire fist. I smirked a bit at the nostalgic mory.
That's why I decided to approach the kiddo.
I walked onto the field, keeping a safe distance, but ensuring that my presence would not be misinterpreted as intrusive. It took a while for him to notice , his eyes widening slightly in surprise.
"Who are you?"
I blinked. Not to hoot my own horn or anything, but in this school, the chances of not knowing who I was were slim. Yet, here this guy stood, completely oblivious.
"Just soone passing by."
His eyebrows furrowed a little as he scratched his unruly mop of black hair. “You watching or judging ?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it." I said honestly.
His eyebrows shot up, disbelieving. He must've expected a sarcastic reply. But it was true, there was no point in passing judgnt.
"Well... whatever." His focus shifted back to the football, his expression serious. I observed him, silently taking in his movents. He wasn’t terrible at dribbling the ball. A little rough, maybe. His technique lacked polish and his coordination was questionable.
I sighed. I guess this wasn't sothing I was willing to ignore.
“You can’t kick the ball with that form.”
My voice punctured the afternoon stillness.
His attention snapped to , eyes narrowing in surprise at the comnt.
"What's wrong with my form?"
"It's... not great."
He kicked at the ball in demonstration and it went sailing wildly, missing the goalpost by a wide margin. If that were a freekick in an official match, he'd likely have hit soone in the stands.
I arched an eyebrow.
“...Point made.” He grumbled.
"Hey." I shrugged off my bag and strolled over to where he was. “Let's try this again." I placed my hand over his shoulder to guide his posture. My movents were slow, deliberate, making sure my intentions were crystal clear. I then carefully moved his arms.
"Arms at a comfortable 90-degrees. Not too high, not too low." My fingers gently angled his legs, my grip on his thighs light. "And legs like this. Keep them spread apart." He started following my instructions. Good. "Okay, now maintain your balance and watch your surroundings. The goal, your opponents. Then you aim." I held the ball and gestured towards it. "Make a connection here." I tapped on his foot. "With the laces of your shoe, and keep it firm. Then swing it." I gave a slight push.
The ball rolled forward a few ters before stopping, but the motion was much more precise than his earlier attempt. I glanced at his face to gauge his reaction, which was a mixture of curiosity and concentration. He nodded once.
I backed off to observe.
His body moved with a noticeable shift in form, adhering to my advice. His kick connected well.
The ball arched into the air and slamd against the net, rebounding with a soft 'thump.'
His head snapped towards , his expression was an interesting mix between awe and determination. It was like he hadn’t quite processed what just happened.
"Damn." He muttered under his breath.
"Not bad." I remarked casually.
"Yeah, not bad." His voice held an edge of pride as a wide grin stretched across his face. I could feel my lips quirking in response to the infectious energy. He had that youthful twinkle in his eyes as he wiped his nose. “Hey... I think I'm gonna be a star." He added confidently.
A quiet chuckle slipped from my lips. I wasn't sure if it was hope speaking or sheer ignorance of what it would take. "Confident much?" I responded, amused.
He simply grinned.
"Since that's the case, co on. Let's see if you can nail the sa thing ten more tis.”
I moved over to the ball and picked it up.
"What?" He stuttered.
“Practice makes perfect, you know?" I said, my voice laced with a touch of humor.
He shook his head, a look of determination hardening in his eyes. “Alright, if that's what it takes.”
"It takes more than that." I responded dryly. He frowned a little, but I could see the spark of understanding in his gaze.
With the ball back at his feet, we resud our session.
I was no longer teaching, just observing. Watching and guiding. Overseeing every kick, pointing out faults in his technique. I was surprised that I enjoyed seeing him improve. Maybe because he was just so eager. I didn't fancy myself a teacher, but I had enough experience to share a thing or two.
When the practice ended, a heavy silence hung around us as he bent over, hands on knees. His breath was ragged and his shirt soaked. I observed his weariness. But it was a tiredness born of a job done well—a kind that brought satisfaction and a sense of achievent. "Beyond technique, you need to work on your stamina and speed. Seriously, it’s atrocious."
He lifted his head, eting my gaze with a weary smile and sweat-laced features. "Thanks." A deep bow followed as if he was honoring so sort of age-old tradition.
I patted his back firmly. "No need for formality." He straightened his posture at my words.
He hesitated montarily before extending a hand in my direction. "I’m Kwon Min-joon, by the way."
I took it firmly, gripping his smaller palm against my own.
"Cha Jae-il." I responded in kind. Even at the ntion of my na, for so reason he didn’t flinch or react in any way. Not that he should’ve, honestly, but to anyone remotely invested in football, my na should’ve rang a bell. His silence urged on. I sighed. "Say, what is your goal?" I had been curious—it didn’t seem like he was training just for the sake of it. To beco a superstar, that’s it?
Min-joon paused at the sudden inquiry before he finally voiced his response, each word laced with confidence and determination: “To beco the best footballer.”
I blinked.
He wasn’t joking. Not in the slightest. His eyes were fiery.
My face remained impassive. “How long have you been playing for?"
Min-joon glanced up with a mix of stubbornness and optimism in his voice. “Not too long.”
A faint chuckle left my lips at his determination. It reminded of a younger, less cynical . I smiled a bit, and his expression softened, as though my approval ant sothing. It shouldn’t have, but... well.
"Good luck then."
His grin widened at the small acknowledgnt.
“But you’ve to get in line first, kid." I gently reminded him. "There are more people than vying for the spot, you know?"
“Not a problem." His voice brimd with self-assurance as he gave a thumbs-up. “You’ll see next ti. I’ll work hard." I could tell he ant those words. Well, we’ll see.
I slung my backpack over my shoulder, bidding him farewell. He waved energetically as he watched walk away.
I waved back, then, sensing soone's gaze, I turned my eyes up to the fence I had been leaning over earlier. Dae Hee had been watching. Her eyes t mine, then blushed, looked away, and hurriedly walked off.
"......”
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