"And look at that speed! Number 10, Sohn Nari, tearing down the left flank- she's past Kim, past Lee… oh! She's weaving through defenders like they're standing still! Can she make it to the goal? The crowd is on their feet!"
The ball glided silently along the wet grass, almost whispering past the defenders' outstretched legs. Nari's body twisted just enough to deceive them- her left foot faked a long cross, her eyes flicked to the far post, and her right foot nudged the ball with the faintest angle. Timing was perfect; too early, and it would have been intercepted, too late, and the shot would have been wasted. The defenders lunged at her feet instinctively, but she had already vanished from their focus, leaving the ball to carry itself to the teammate who blasted it home.
"And it's received! The shot- YES! GOAL! GOAL! GOAL! Sohn Nari! What a phenomenal setup, what composure under pressure! South Korea takes the lead at the final minutes!"
The roar of the crowd hit her like a wave, loud and sharp, but strangely distant. Every cheer seemed to echo from far away, reverberating in her chest. Her lungs burned, her legs trembled.
A dull pressure pressed against her ribs. Sharp, sudden. Her vision flickered at the edges- green of the pitch bleeding into white lights above, the colors blending like watercolors in motion.
Her left foot slipped on the wet grass. She stumbled, barely catching herself. The defenders didn't notice; the play continued. But she felt the world tilt beneath her.
Hands clutching her sides, she tried to draw a breath. Nothing came easy. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, uneven, alarming. Sweat stung her eyes. Mud smeared her knees. The ball rolled past, irrelevant now.
A whistle. Sharp, insistent. Closer than she remembered, cutting through the crowd's roar.
Her knees buckled. The turf rose up to meet her. Grass pressed into her palms, damp and cold. She lay there, body heavy, chest heaving. Every sense screamed exhaustion. The cheers, the lights, even the smell of wet grass- it all dulled, faded, became a background hum to the pounding of her heart.
Somewhere in the blur of adrenaline and pain, she thought: Why am I still running? Why do I keep pushing?
And then, nothing but the wet pitch beneath her. The stadium, the fans, the goal- it all became distant, leaving her alone with the dizzy, pounding awareness of her body- beep.
- - -
Beep. Beep. Beep. [ 7 years later ]
Her eyes snapped open. The alarm clock glared at her from the bedside table, insistent, rhythmic. She blinked the memory of that night away. The stadium. The goal. The collapse. It felt like another life.
She yawned, stretching, and glanced at the window. Pale sunlight slanted through the curtains. A normal day, she reminded herself. Mundane. Predictable.
Toothbrush in hand, she checked her phone. A message from her hoobae at the sauna blinked on the screen. "Unni (elder sister in Korean / here used for a close senior colleague), some weird men just showed up… they look like gangsters or loan sharks. I'm scared. Can you come?"
Her stomach lurched, but she grabbed a lunch box from the kitchen anyway. Glasses on, hat low over her eyes- almost unrecognizable as the famous Sohn Nari #10. She moved faster than she probably should have.
When she arrived, the sauna's front desk was in chaos. Her junior stood rigid, a little pale. The "gangsters" had spread out, laughing loudly, demanding discounts, mocking the staff.
"Full price!" Nari called as she stepped forward, voice firm.
One of them smirked. "Full price, huh? You sure about that?"
They started some nonsense, waving arms, bringing in more of their crew. Nari reached for her phone to call the police, but they laughed, leaning in closer, voices harsh and mocking. Her heart raced.
Then a voice cut through. "Hey! That's enough."
Three young men appeared, moving with precision and confidence. One of them stepped forward, broad-shouldered, calm, unmistakable even through casual clothes: Nam Giung. His friends flanked him.
"Hey, aren't you… Nam Giung?" said one of the gangsters.
Giung says, "So?"
The gangsters hesitated, glancing at one another, then back at the footballers. The tension snapped. With little more than a glare, the gangsters paid the full price and left, grumbling but subdued.
Nari exhaled, hands trembling slightly. "Thank… you," she said, almost breathless.
Giung's friend tilted his head, studying her. "Wait… why do you look so familiar? Have we met before?"
Heat rushed to Nari's cheeks. Her heart thumped violently, anxiety spiking. She shook her head. "No… I don't think so," she murmured, voice tight.
The group moved on. Payments settled, gangsters gone, leaving the sauna peaceful once more. Nari straightened her hat, adjusted her glasses, and tried to calm her racing heart.
Huh.. another normal day in the sauna.
- - -
Jung Ha-yeon slumped into the couch, a glass of beer balanced on his thigh, his hair still damp from the shower. The TV flickered through muted sports highlights, replaying the same goal- his goal- again and again. He laughed under his breath, chest heaving with pride. "Who's the king now?" he muttered, raising his glass to his own reflection in the darkened screen.
The doorbell chimed. A sharp, artificial ding-dong from the digital lock.
Ha-yeon frowned. "Who the hell- "
He dragged himself up, padded over, and checked the small monitor beside the door. Two faces stared back- both from his team. He sighed, thumbed the unlock code, and the door clicked open with a mechanical beep.
"Hyung (elder brother)!" one of them grinned, a wiry midfielder named Min-seok. The other, taller and quieter, followed with a hesitant bow. "We were just nearby. Thought we'd celebrate with you- "
"Celebrate?" Ha-yeon barked a laugh. "You think I need an audience for that?" He stepped aside anyway. They came in with plastic bags of beer and fried chicken, setting them on the low table.
Soon the room was loud- Min-seok bragging, the other one nodding, Ha-yeon pacing with restless energy. He cracked open another can, spilling foam on the floor.
"You saw the press?" Min-seok said between bites. "They're eating it up. Everyone thinks Gi-ung's finished. No comeback for that bastard after this."
Ha-yeon grinned. "Good. Let him rot in silence. The field doesn't need two suns."
The quiet one- Jae-won- shifted uneasily. "Hyung... about that thing."
"What thing?"
"The locker footage." Jae-won's voice was almost a whisper. "The one from the training hall. It's still there. If someone checks the CCTV- "
The room went dead still. Even Min-seok stopped chewing.
Ha-yeon turned slowly. His grin vanished. "I told you to wipe it."
"I tried," Jae-won said. "But the staff changed the security system last week. We'd need admin access- "
Ha-yeon slammed the can down, beer splattering across the table. "You son of a-" His voice dropped low, dangerous. "Do you want all of us screwed?"
"Hyung, calm down- " Min-seok began, but Ha-yeon had already grabbed his jacket.
"Get out," he said, pointing to the door. "Both of you. Now."
They hesitated, confused.
"I said get out!"
The lock beeped again as they stumbled into the hallway, the door slamming shut behind them.
For a long moment, Ha-yeon stood motionless. The only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant city noise filtering through the window.
He sat back on the couch, breathing hard. His pulse was still racing, but now not from pride. His fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the beer again. The taste had turned bitter.
On the TV, Gi-ung's old highlight reel played- a flash of his face, calm, focused, determined.
Ha-yeon's jaw tightened. "You won't rise again," he whispered, but his voice didn't sound sure anymore.
Outside, thunder rolled over Seoul.
- - -
Light rain fell beyond the Han River, soft and uncertain. The clouds still glowed from the storm over Seoul, faint flickers of lightning brushing the horizon like the memory of an argument.
In a quieter district across the water - neither quite Incheon nor quite city - rows of narrow apartments leaned close together, their windows breathing mist. Neon from a corner mart blinked weakly through the drizzle.
At the bus stop near the overpass, Sohn Dae-ho, suit damp from the rain, pressed his phone to his ear.
"Yes, yes, I'm waiting for the bus," he said, voice gentle, amused. "I didn't forget to pick up your favorite snack, don't worry. Okay… then I'll hang up? Alright. Muah, bye."
He lowered the phone and smiled to himself, shaking water from his hair. Across the road, puddles rippled with each drop, the reflections of headlights swaying like ghosts. He looked up; the sky over Seoul was still flashing faintly, streaks of thunder light spilling across the low clouds.
The bus arrived with a hiss of brakes and the smell of wet metal. Dae-ho climbed aboard, paid, and scanned for a seat. The vehicle was nearly full - office workers, a mother with a sleeping child, two students nodding off against the window. He took an empty spot midway, right in front of three young people clustered at the back.
Their voices were low but energetic - two girls and a boy, still in sports jackets, sneakers flecked with mud. Footballers, he realized. They had that restless energy about them, that quiet impatience only youth could afford.
Rain streaked the bus windows as they started moving. The city lights stretched thin outside, blending with the silver glow of street lamps.
A few minutes passed before one of the girls suddenly spoke up, voice sharp with surprise.
"Wait- look at this!"
The others leaned closer. She held up her phone, brightness flashing across their faces.
"We might have a new female coach at NFC Paju soon," she read aloud. "Says current KFA House Women's coach, Yoon Se-muk."
Dae-ho blinked.
Yoon Se-muk. That name was old, familiar - a voice from his own past.
He turned slightly, not enough to be noticed, just enough to catch the edges of their conversation as the bus hummed along the rainy road.
The bus rattled on through the drizzle, headlights gliding across the slick road. The chatter from the three footballers had died down, replaced by the hum of the engine and the soft rhythm of rain.
"Who could it be?" one of the girls murmured.
"Maybe someone from overseas?"
"Or a retired player," said the boy. "There were a few legends who disappeared after 2018. Could be any of them."
Their laughter faded into the rain. Dae-ho turned his gaze forward again, but the name Yoon Se-muk kept ringing in his head like a half-heard insult.
His jaw tightened. The coach's voice came back to him - that same tone, year after year, standing at their doorstep with hands clasped like he carried sincerity instead of guilt.
"She was born for the field, Dae-ho. You can't cage a heartbeat."
"You almost stopped hers once," he had said back then.
He remembered the trembling in Nari's hands every time the man called. The way she would smile faintly and say, "He's just trying to help, Appa (father)."
He gritted his teeth, looking out at the rain.
"Help," he muttered under his breath. "He just wants his precious team back."
When the bus reached his stop, Dae-ho stood abruptly. The driver glanced up but said nothing. He stepped off into the drizzle, umbrella half-open, shoes splashing through puddles that smelled of asphalt and wet leaves. The air was cooler now, filled with the whisper of faraway thunder.
Pulling out his phone, he scrolled down his contact list until he found the name he didn't want to see. Yoon Se-muk.
He pressed call.
"Coach Yoon."
A familiar voice answered, bright, unsuspecting. "Ah, Dae-ho! It's been a while- "
"Cut it." His tone was sharp enough to make the line quiet. "We need to talk."
"Talk?" The voice hesitated. "What about?"
"You know exactly what."
"...Where?"
"My neighborhood. The café across from the bus stop. Tomorrow. Six."
He ended the call before Se-muk could respond.
For a long moment, Dae-ho just stood there, rain sliding down his umbrella, pooling around his shoes. Across the river, Seoul still flickered under restless clouds - the sky itself seemed to remember something it couldn't forget.