Match day dawned sharp and golden, Barcelona already pulsing with energy as the sun broke over the rooftops. Ji-hye's nerves woke her before her alarm could, a coiled tightness in her stomach that made breakfast taste like cardboard. She met her teammates in the Olympic village cafeteria, the air thick with excitement and old routines. The captain cracked jokes, the younger girls fidgeted with their uniforms, and Coach Min walked the tables, voice pitched low and steady.
"Play your game. We trained for this. Don't get lost in the noise."
Ji-hye felt the sidelong glances—admiration, expectation, envy all tangled up—but today, for once, it didn't bother her. She tugged her ponytail tight, finished her juice, and grinned at the captain across the table. "Let's go make some South Americans cry."
