From a parent's standpoint, the scene that unfolded in front of Eun Ha was a parent's worst nightmare—except maybe the death of a child. In hindsight, that seemed a bit dramatic to say, yet she couldn't help but flinch and then recoil in fear of her child becoming the target of their aggression.
"I want to complain! My child's talent is wasted here!" An irate parent demanded, taking it out on one of the assistants.
"We assure you we will evaluate every child appropriately, ma'am." The poor man tried to placate her with a strained smile. He'd probably done this a million times.
'That's why parents should come separately.'
Eun Ha could feel a migraine setting in, the noise grating against her already frazzled nerves.
She glanced at the retreating back of Coach Park, then back to the chaotic mess before her.
Yeong Gu, who'd been silent beside her, finally stirred.
"This..." He said slowly, shaking his head, disbelief in his voice. "Unreal. Did you see him move?"
"Of course." She managed to force a chuckle despite her nerves. "You kept saying, 'Look! There!' every few seconds. And so did Mia!"
"......" Mia simply coughed in her hand.
To be honest, Jae-il's performance was indeed unreal. She hadn't been exaggerating her words to Yeong Gu that evening on the balcony, about her son having something that set him apart. Anyone with a functioning head could’ve noticed that.
But she hadn't quite anticipated this level of contrast.
There had been a few standout kids, but Jae-il had been something else entirely. He played with a sophistication and nuance that Eun Ha didn't even pretend to understand. It was beyond his age. Beyond any seven year-old's ability, actually.
And that was actually coming from a woman that didn't exactly know much about football at all, or what it meant.
One thing, though, was obvious—he stood out, and that wasn't always a positive thing.
Yeong Gu had often mentioned the potential problems of being ‘too outstanding.’ How people might react differently. And she saw that here. She saw how the children from the other team started to grow bitter. How they started looking at the kids from Team B, especially Jae-il and Hyunwoo, with growing envy.
Envy in kids was just envy; they wouldn’t be able to understand it until they got older. What really troubled her was how the adults seemed to be worse in that aspect.
However, despite her concerns, Jae-il looked perfectly unbothered, unfazed, and almost… professional, she'd call it, in the face of the chaos that ensued after the game had been blown to hell by the sheer difference in abilities between the two teams. He merely waved in their direction and headed for the changing rooms.
She wondered where her little Jae had learned this composure and how she had failed to see him develop in such a way. Surely, it wasn't just a result of football alone. There was something more, wasn't there? Something that she was missing.
'Was I really so busy that I failed to notice the way he’s grown?'
The crowd was beginning to thin. Several of the other parents, their complaints not having found any traction, retreated back to their cars with disappointed children.
A few, still buzzing with discontent, lingered, hoping their objections would somehow miraculously alter their child's performance or perhaps get them another chance.
'Unlikely.'
Their attention shifted towards the ongoing match on another match, which was still proceeding normally, as the game wasn’t as one-sided.
"They didn't let the team finish." She heard Yeong Gu muse aloud, clearly also watching the match unfold. "It's unusual for trials to be cut short. But they couldn't afford to continue anyway with how one-sided the match became. They wanted to see how children play and see how they react when things don't go as well."
In fact, despite the match on the other pitch being drastically more even and well-played, it still didn't elicit nearly the excitement of Jae-il's spectacle.
The other games didn't have the explosive energy and devastating effectiveness that Jae-il had displayed with Hyunwoo at his back.
That duo alone had decimated any opposition that the other team could have possibly put forth.
'Definitely an eye opener. If he can play like that here… what would he look like on the international stage?'
xXx
Jae-il's POV:
Sung Hyunwoo was waiting at my table. It wasn't entirely unusual for players from the same tryout group to share a table in the cafeteria. But Hyunwoo had a look in his eyes, something more than just the usual camaraderie.
He'd sought me out.
"Cha Jae-il. I've never seen anything like the way you play." His admiration was evident, his smile wide. "Do you play every day?"
“Only in the mornings.” I replied, taking a seat at the lunch table across from Hyunwoo.
"Just the mornings? You train every morning?" His surprise was almost comical.
"Yeah, pretty much. Every morning. That way, the rest of my day is free to study and do stuff."
"Oh." Hyunwoo mused as he took out a snack. "That's cool, I wish I had enough discipline to do that."
"I guess it’s something you develop over time."
"Yeah. Maybe." A sudden thought lit up his face, his eyes widening with excitement. "Hey! Since you're so good, do you want to practice with me someday? I know this great park, lots of space and the pitch is well-kept!" The invitation, tinged with the innocence and excitement unique to a seven-year-old's earnest desire to spend time with someone he admired, was sincere.
I briefly paused mid-bite to look at that eager face of his. "Sorry, Hyunwoo." You're not at my level; is what I wanted to say, but held my tongue. I didn’t have to destroy this child's dreams. "I prefer practicing on my own, actually." Not technically a lie.
"Alright." Hyunwoo's face faltered, the smile slipping a fraction. "Maybe another day. It'll be really fun!" His enthusiasm didn't waver.
I gave him a noncommittal smile, turning my attention back to the meal. 'Not going to happen.'
The kid had potential. Maybe we'd even go far together, but we were a long way off that. I had no interest in practicing with anyone at his level.
'No offense kid, but I need to take bigger leaps than you.'
"Maybe." I replied to his insistence.
Hyunwoo nodded, returning his focus to his lunch, the initial disappointment now replaced by a hopeful expectancy, clearly believing 'no' would eventually become 'yes.'
...
Coach Park strode into the room, his presence commanding an instant hush.
"U-8s! The evaluation is now closed. After a careful, thorough, and objective assessment by the coaching panel, I am pleased to announce the names of those who have made it onto the list of our newly minted FC Seoul Youth Academy U-8 players. Those who have been chosen, please proceed directly to Coach Lim. She'll take down your information and direct you to where you can sign the appropriate contracts for enrollment in the program." He looked over the group of children with stern appraisal before nodding. "Good work, all of you. The successful players are as follows:"
He consulted a clipboard. "Chae Min Jun." The first name elicited a sharp breath and a sudden enthusiastic outburst of "Yes!" as Chae ran over to Coach Lim's side, beaming from ear to ear.
The next few announcements—Yi Kyung-soo, Choi Yun-seok—were greeted with similar excitement.
Hyunwoo sat straighter, eyes gleaming, as his name was announced next.
I didn't react to mine.
What was the point? It wasn't a question of 'if', it was always 'when'.
I merely walked over to Coach Lim.
Hyunwoo joined me shortly after his celebration ended and was now next to me in front of the registration table, practically bouncing with excitement.
Coach Lim's smile was perfunctory as she handed out a couple of sheets with instructions and rules and other formalities. Then she ushered us to follow her into an administrative building. The sun was relentless, beating down on our small procession of the chosen few—maybe fifteen, I counted—who trudged behind her.
“Have your parents read these documents. Make sure they agree to all the terms before they sign them.”
Then, almost predictably, she looked straight at me when she said:
“I hope they won’t be making a mistake.”
I returned a calm, measured nod, understanding her insinuations and the implications of being the youngest member of the U-8 squad.
But it didn't matter. Whatever worries they had were irrelevant. I had proved myself on that pitch, and that's what mattered.
"I'll keep that in mind, Miss." I said simply, already envisioning the celebrations Yeong Gu and the girls would throw upon my return.
After I bid Hyunwoo goodbye and the last of the chosen kids vanished from view, I turned my steps toward the main parking lot. A sea of vehicles greeted me, with my family's car standing among the others, unmistakable.
As I drew near, I caught sight of Yeong Gu and Mia deep in an animated conversation. Su Ah, ever the reserved one, seemed to be listening intently, a book held delicately in her hands. Eun Ha was, as always, a pillar of serene strength beside them. The picture they painted—one of anticipation and support, was heartwarming.
"Jae-il!" Yeong Gu was the first to notice my approach, his voice cutting their conversation short, causing their attention to shift immediately to me.
I lifted my chin a notch and flashed him a smile.
The document in my hand was clear: the contract and enrollment form for the FC Seoul Youth Academy.