90 — Group Stage – South Korea vs Iran III
Song Sung-tae's POV:
What makes a great footballer?
He asked himself that a lot—especially lately.
Not that he hadn't before; saying otherwise would make him seem pretty damn stupid and unreflective.
But recently, over the past few months, the past few days, and even during today's match, the question had come up more and more often. He had come to a realization, one that probably needed some unpacking so as not to sound vague or cryptic.
What is the one thing that a great footballer must absolutely possess? Or rather, how many of those qualities must he hold at once? The amount of skill necessary to rise among the very top is unfathomable.
They aren't even in another league, but in another planet entirely, another universe even, compared to regular players like him, and Jae-il was definitely the most extreme example he had the privilege and honor to have on the same team, let alone be able to play on the same pitch and in the starting XI as well.
The answer to his previous question was… many.
Not only a single trait or ability.
Not solely talent, skill, technical and physical prowess, stamina, willpower, tactical knowledge, intelligence, and so on. All of them together.
The ones that can take a ball, stand alone, surrounded and outnumbered on an empty pitch, and score against you without even batting an eyelash. Those who don't let anyone come near them. Those who could carry their entire team to the next level just from being on the pitch, a beacon of light and inspiration, just by being there to shine brighter than any other. That would push themselves to their very limits, past what one would consider a human's capability and then some.
Those people were freaks, aliens and monsters.
His father had once told him that there were talents and then there were generational talents. The former would make a good life playing professionally, in decent teams in good leagues. The latter were the stuff of legends, the ones who would not just have statues erected for them, but entire cities to bear witness to their greatness.
Those were the very same players that redefined eras. Decades later, thirty, forty years down the line, people would speak of them with pride and nostalgia, saying.
"Back in my day, I watched him play."
Their voices would carry that reverence reserved only for legends, the kind of tone used when speaking about ghosts who once ruled the earth.
Song-tae could already imagine it: old men in cafes, screens flickering with grainy replays, younger generations listening half-interested as they recounted the goals, the moments, the impossible feats that seemed to defy physics.
It wasn't a difficult thing to tell the difference between those two. You'd always be able to tell a generational talent when you saw one.
There were only a few people in the world, at least in football, at any rate, that fit that definition. Some were still up-and-coming, others already proven beyond any doubt.
He looked at the boy standing next to him.
Number 9, the forward and team captain of South Korea. He was one of the latter ones.
It was hard to tell whether Jae-il would stay consistent enough to earn that statue and city. It was hard to tell if he'd keep up the same pace even outside this tiny well that was South Korea. Perhaps he'd die out as quickly as he ignited. Just ashes of 'what ifs' for future generations to wonder.
Perhaps the harshness and cruel reality of what lay outside the U-17 would kill the star inside of Jae-il.
But damn if the young man next to him, right now, was unstoppable. And damn, he had the feeling he was seeing one of the ghosts he'd thought about just moments earlier.
As they walked back into position for the second, Jae-il turned and caught Sung-tae's glance... and gave him a tiny, encouraging smile.
Sung-tae felt a warmth in his chest. His fists clenched at his sides.
And that's when he knew, in the middle of this match. He would become one of those guys who would say:
Yeah, I was there, when he was starting off. It feels so long ago now, but I was part of the squad when he first hit the world stage.
And not only him.
Because South Korea, this generation, wasn't blessed with just one.
He glanced at Jun-hwan, and Jae-il's left foot in the middle. Their play was almost symbiotic, they knew exactly how to complement one another, they had an amazing chemistry.
They were generational talents in the making. He was convinced of it.
And they were playing for Korea, alongside him.
"......"
Sung-tae thought of himself as talented enough for a professional career, and even luckier than most to have the opportunity to be here and now, to witness this greatness at this point in history. His parents had supported him all these years, from that very first moment to where he was right now.
But… the thought remained…
'Will I be able to follow them when we leave this place? Will I be worthy of their presence in years to come, on a professional pitch, when they've risen above me, towering over mountains while I remain among the dust and rock of earth?'
The ref's whistle rang out again. The game was back in action.
This half, the kickoff was theirs. The ball rolled, and then was passed back, where the Iranians began playing it amongst each other while the crowd's excitement turned to a dull roar. Sung-tae immediately surged up to press, not letting them breathe for too long.
He managed to put in a challenge, but a neat one-two pass made him lose it.
"Shit!" Sung-tae cursed, before trying to get back. He didn't let his frustration affect him, though. He had to stay level-headed and maintain composure if he wanted to contribute to his team's cause. As the Iranian slowly pushed into the Korean's side of the field, he saw Jong-su and Min-Jun, another defender, moving in sync to try and block any potential attacks.
The Iranians, however, had other ideas. With a quick flick of their right winger's foot, the ball was suddenly at the Korean penalty area.
"Close him down!"
The ball went out, bouncing right in the penalty box, an Iranian striker moving forward and ready to shoot—
The keeper, that glorious motherfucker, ran up to intercept right as the Iranian forward pulled his leg back. He tackled the striker's legs and got a grip on the ball in one motion.
"YES!" Jong-su roared, pumping his fist in the air. The Iranian's face was red with anger. The keeper got back up, cradling the ball against his chest. With a swift kick, the ball soared high into the sky. Dae-hyun won the fight for it and immediately passed it.
From defense, straight to midfield and into their striker's feet.
With a powerful kick, he sent the ball flying from the right all the way to the left.
Sung-tae received the ball on the left side of midfield, almost losing control of it from how far and strong the cross was.
But he caught his balance, looked up to find Jae-il making the perfect run in the middle of the field and played the pass.
Well, he tried to. The ball arrived a tad shy of perfect, forcing Jae-il to tap the brakes just a smidge. Which meant that he had lost a bit of advantage over his opponent.
Then Sung-tae saw two defenders making a maddening run towards Jae-il, trying to box him. They were so damn close too.
That's when Sung-tae was reminded, yet again, that Jae-il operated on a different plane of existence.
As the first defender lunged in like a man trying to catch a falling anvil, Jae-il didn't even break his stride. He gave the ball a little love-tap to the right, and the defender found himself starring in his own personal 'how-to-get-nutmegged' tutorial, the sphere rolling neatly between his legs.
The second defender, their Number 4, the same shaved bastard that Jae-il had already faced and punished earlier in the game, went on to shoulder Jae-il.
A futile gesture.
Jae-il, with a magician's subtlety, dragged the ball back just enough to make Number 4 lunge wildly forward. Then, he tapped it forward. Right. Between. His. Fucking. Legs. Again. These weren't your playground nutmegs; they were acts of high-speed, high-pressure sorcery.
Number 4 was left looking like a statue, and Jae-il, the glorious football deity he was, moved to explode forward, and exploded he did.
The crowd went wild, as usual.
Sung-tae shook his head, chuckling to himself as he surged forward to help his teammate. 'Un-fucking-real.'
Jun-hwan, ever-present and omnipresent, followed suit.
The other South Korean players ran upfield to join in on the counterattack.
Sung-tae struggled to catch up to Jae-il's speed, and when he did, the latter had already dispatched another defender, before feinting to the right, and passing it to him.
To him.
Sung-tae was alone.
Everyone had moved to circle around Jae-il.
Everyone on the opposing team had been caught off guard, not expecting Jae-il to send the ball back to Sung-tae of all people. It was one hell of an opportunity. He was alone. No Iranian player in between. The goal was close. Just forty feet away, and the keeper was standing right in the middle of it.
'You've been given the perfect pass by Jae-Il.' Sung-tae told himself, trying not to feel overwhelmed. 'Now shoot!' He urged himself on.
His heart raced. He lined up to hit it, his right leg arched back. As he was about to kick—
'What? What is it? What are you—?!'
The Iranian keeper, instead of standing there like a good boy, came running out at Sung-tae, looking to block his shot. His eyes were intense, determined.
He was running, and he was fast.
The young Korean was frozen in surprise, fear and uncertainty. His eyes went wide.
Sung-tae clenched his jaw. He couldn't freeze. Not again! He had to do something!
He had to think quickly! A shot wouldn't cut it, it wasn't his forte either. His body was tense, but not from a lack of confidence this time.
Sung-tae, to his merit, had adapted to the pace of this game quite nicely. It had taken a while, and Jae-il and Jun-hwan's amazing performance had given the rest of them space to breathe.
He could focus on himself rather than constantly trying to figure out what those two were going to do.
His muscles tensed as he heard footsteps. His eyes snapped wide open.
Ah…
The answer was right behind him, all along.
Sung-tae played a no-look backheel to Jun-hwan, whose shadowy, elusive presence went unseen, underappreciated and unmarked.
He knew exactly what he needed to do next. The pass had reached him perfectly.
With so much space open for a shot, Sung-tae knew that his other monster in their team wouldn't miss.
Jun-hwan didn't disappoint. As if the Gods themselves had pumped his right leg with divine strength. Jun-hwan slammed the laces of his boot right through the center of the football, which rocketed towards the keeper.
A thunderous, devastating strike that hit the top-right corner in a millisecond. A bolt from the skies above that tore through Iran's goal and left a ringing echo that was just as powerful as the crowd that was screaming and jumping with elation.
It was so strong the net bulged and the Iranian keeper's shoulder's drooped, his arms fell limp to his sides, and his face crumpled in horror as he stared back at this thrice defiled goalpost.
"GOOOAAAALLLLL!"
Sung-tae exulted, running to Jun-hwan and hugging the shit out of that guy, while the latter seemed to want to do a lap of celebration around the field.
"Jun-hwan, you beautiful bastard!" Dae-hyun screamed in pure happiness.
Jae-il ran up to exchange a quick hug with Jun-hwan, while Jong-su ran all the way from midfield to hitch a ride on the midfielder's back. Just as it had happened with Jae-il earlier, Jun-hwan was quickly felled and dogpiled upon—because such is the fate of generational talents.
Then, once the high and madness of the celebration was over, Jae-il and Jun-hwan both gave him a thumbs-up.
"Nice pass, Sung-tae."
Jae-il and Jun-hwan hung a loose arm around his shoulders, shaking him out of his momentary stupor.
"......"
Sung-tae's throat tightened as his heart pumped with fiery excitement. Tears welled up at the corner of his eyes before he forcefully blinked them away.
He could proudly tell, one day, that right there and now, he not only played with such prodigies, he was also acknowledged by them.