🏟️ Three Days Before the Second Match
Four days had passed since their first game. The academy buzzed again — this time, with a quiet kind of energy. Not the nervous hum of match day, but the restless shuffle of preparation.
Coach Park stood in front of the boys, hands behind his back, whistle tucked into his shirt.
"We train today, again tomorrow. After that, two days off. Understood?"
The kids nodded, some with relief, others already eager for the next match.
"No drills today. No formations. Just sharpen your technique. Get your mind and body ready. Tomorrow, we play against ourselves. That's all."
Then he waved them off.
With no structured routine, the players broke into small groups. Some began stretching, others did light jogging, a few juggling balls in place. Quiet conversations and laughter filled the warm air.
Over by the far bench, Jin-Woo sat with Mok Gyeongwoon, the two towering over their gym bags like kings at rest.
They weren't stretching. They weren't running. They were gisting.
"You know the way people were talking after the match?" Mok started, unwrapping a candy with one hand and popping it in. "Someone told my dad I looked like a wall out there."
Jin-Woo grinned, arms crossed behind his head. "You are a wall. You just don't jump high."
Mok smirked. "That's why we've got you, goal machine. Everyone's saying you're the next big thing. Someone even asked me if you're already talking to scouts."
Jin-Woo rolled his eyes but didn't stop smiling. "They say anything after three goals."
"But it's true, though," Mok said. "That third heading? Cold. Like you knew exactly where the ball would land."
Jin-Woo's smile thinned slightly, gaze drifting toward the pitch where Min Son was off by himself, juggling with precision — focused, distant.
"Still not enough," Jin-Woo muttered.
"Huh?"
"Everyone's looking at him now."
Mok followed his eyes, watching Min Son in silence for a beat.
"Yeah," he admitted. "That curler? I swear I still hear the bar ringing."
Jin-Woo didn't answer.
Mok nudged him with his elbow. "Don't sweat it. You're still the one scoring the goals. Scouts love goals, bro."
Jin-Woo nodded, but something stirred in his chest.
> I'll train harder.
Even if I'm not as naturally gifted... I'll make them remember me.
The air around the academy softened again, kids scattered like puzzle pieces, each working on their edge.
Tomorrow, they would face each other in a mock match. And after that — the next big stage.
⚙️ Solo Training – Refining the Blitzcurl
Min Son stood by the edge of the pitch, sweat clinging to his hair and shirt. His breath came in calm, controlled bursts.
The ball rolled softly to his feet again.
One step.
Strike.
Whoosh.
The ball curled, beautifully — arcing wide, then slicing back, kissing the edge of the net.
He didn't react with a cheer or a fist pump.
Just a quiet, satisfied nod.
"That's five out of ten today."
He'd been counting. Out of ten attempts, five Blitz curls had curled properly — sharp, clean, perfect bend on the drop.
It wasn't just luck anymore.
He was doing it consistently.
A thin smile crept onto his lips.
He was proud — quietly, humbly proud. The move that once seemed impossible now felt… doable. Not easy, but reachable. And that meant a lot.
But he didn't keep shooting.
Instead, he stopped.
Picked up the ball.
And stood still at the penalty arc, staring at the goal.
He didn't need more practice shots right now.
He needed something else.
Balance.
Posture.
The perfect strike was no good if he couldn't do it under pressure. In real games, with two defenders biting at his heels and a DMF built like a truck closing in, his shots would fall apart.
"It's not about just knowing how to bend it anymore."
"It's about doing it while falling sideways… when I'm off balance… when someone's screaming in my ear or tugging my jersey."
He planted the ball and walked backward, slowly, mimicking the game — not training-mode Min Son, but match-mode Min Son: tired, hunted, pushed off his rhythm.
He adjusted his footing. Shoulders low. Arms loose. One quick breath.
Then the run-up.
Strike — but this time with a slight lean, as if shoved mid-step.
The ball veered off wildly.
No bend. No grace. Just a thud and a spin into nowhere.
"Exactly what I feared."
He nodded to himself.
Then set it up again.
This was his new drill now.
Mastering the Blitz Curl… under chaos.
👥 Calling for Pressure – The Missing Piece
After the fourth wide strike in a row, Min Son exhaled sharply and picked up the ball again.
He knew what was missing now.
It wasn't the footwork.
Not the angle.
Not even the timing.
> "It's the pressure. I can't simulate it alone."
No one would give him time to shoot in a real match. No one.
And if he couldn't curl it with a body on his back, then all the practice meant nothing.
He glanced around the pitch.
Most of the team was scattered — some stretching, some doing shuttle runs, and Jin-Woo as usual, lounging with Mok Gyeongwoon and laughing about something that probably wasn't funny.
But further off near the cones was someone else.
Junho.
Tall. Strong. A defensive wall.
The academy's best DMF… and Min Son's quiet friend.
He walked over, ball in hand.
"Junho."
The boy turned, his black hair bobbing as he straightened up. "Yeah?"
"I need your help," Min Son said plainly. "I need pressure. The kind you give in a match."
Junho squinted. "You want me to mark you?"
"Like it's the finals. Don't go easy."
Junho smirked lightly. "You sure? You usually make fun of my size."
Min Son gave a small nod. "That's why I need you. You're perfect for this."
Junho cracked his knuckles, stepped into position, and gestured toward the ball. "Alright then. Try not to cry."
---
🏋️♂️ Training Under Pressure – Reality Check
They set it up.
Min Son would receive a pass, try to beat Junho with a dribble, and immediately go for a Blitz Curler — fast, under pressure, like it was the final minute of a real game.
First attempt?
He dribbled past Junho cleanly… but stumbled slightly in his follow-through. The shot went off wide.
> "Damn… not clean enough."
Second attempt?
Junho bodied him before he could even plant his foot.
Third?
Dribbled through again — but by the time he reset his balance, Junho was already back in front of him.
> "He doesn't just get beat and give up."
> "He recovers fast. That's what real defenders do."
And that was the problem.
Beating one man wasn't enough.
You had to destroy the angle — make them disappear — or be able to shoot while off-balance, leaning, shoving, twisting.
That was the level.
---
They repeated the drill again and again, sweat pouring, Junho refusing to give him even a second of clean space.
Min Son didn't complain.
This was exactly what he needed.
— he wanted chaos. Real match chaos.
And one day soon…
He'd find a way to curl it even through that.