April 26, 2029
In the Argentine Primera División, also known as the Liga Profesional de Fútbol, the city of Buenos Aires buzzed with excitement on the day of the 50th-round match between Boca Juniors and Sarmiento.
"Papa! Look at that!"
The streets were filled with people heading toward the stadium, most of them wearing Boca Juniors jerseys.
"Yu!"
As I walked toward the meeting point, I spotted Diego Rossi from a distance waving his hand enthusiastically.
I smirked.
Beside him, Guillermo Darín stood with his hands in his pockets, chewing on something as he gave a casual nod.
"What's that in your hand?"
Diego's hands were full of various snacks.
"People recognized me on the way and kept handing me food," he explained.
"Here," Guillermo handed me a pork skewer.
"...Did you poison this or something?"
"What?! Of course not!"
"It's just unusual for you to share food with others. You're not exactly the generous type."
Having spent time with Guillermo during U-20 training, I'd come to know his habits. Among them was his reluctance to share food with anyone.
"Ha ha ha!"
Guillermo's eyes widened at my words, while Diego turned away, struggling to stifle his laughter.
"Don't laugh, Diego!"
"Yu."
"Yeah?"
"When Guillermo shares food, it means he trusts you."
Huh?
"This guy doesn't express himself much, but when he does, he uses food to show it. Just take it."
I accepted the skewer from Guillermo, who blushed deeply and started walking off like a stiff robot.
Watching Diego mimic his walk behind him made me smile slightly.
It was strange.
When I was with these two, I felt at ease. Smiling came naturally.
"Hey, Guillermo! Yu is laughing again!"
"What? Yu has laughed around me a few times before."
"What?! Ahhh! It's because I'm stuck in the 2nd team and don't see you guys often! Hurry up and get promoted to the 2nd team already!"
"Come down here! You'll drop the food!"
As Diego climbed onto Guillermo's back and complained, Guillermo shouted back, trying to protect his food.
Walking together toward the stadium, we noticed an unusually large number of police officers. They were stationed at every corner, controlling access and blocking entry for anyone without a ticket.
"Security's tight," I remarked.
"There are a lot of hooligans here. People often try to sneak in without tickets, so they have to enforce strict controls," Diego explained.
The streets, true to the country's love of football, were alive with passion for the sport.
"Excuse me."
As we walked toward the stadium, a woman's voice called from behind.
"Are you Yu? The U-20 player?"
I turned to see a woman with her children looking at me.
"Yes, that's me."
"I knew it! Could we take a picture with you? My son's a big fan of yours!"
"You know who I am?"
"Of course! In the Boca Juniors fan community, everyone knows your name!"
The relationship between players and fans was undeniable.
Growing up watching football, I remembered one quote from a superstar that stayed with me:
"Footballers only exist because of the fans. Without them, football is just a stupid game played by fools."
I lived by these words, treating them as my personal creed.
After taking pictures with the kids, their mother smiled brightly and thanked me repeatedly.
"Thank you so much! Are you here to watch the game?"
"Yes, there's no training today."
"I hope you and your friends make it to the first team soon. The league standings are just so..."
"We'll do our best."
After bidding farewell, we continued walking.
Fifteen minutes later—
"There it is," Diego said.
Looking ahead, I saw it.
A massive stadium loomed in the distance, its colors—a blend of blue and yellow—instantly captivating.
Murals of legendary players adorned the exterior, adding to its grandeur.
Thump.
Thump.
My heart raced just at the sight of it.
Diego, noticing my expression, grinned and pointed at the stadium.
"Welcome to the temple of football! Welcome to La Bombonera!"
---
Known affectionately as La Bombonera ("The Chocolate Box"), Boca Juniors' stadium was a sacred place for fans.
Unlike the typical round stadiums, it had a unique semicircular shape and a color scheme that made it look like a packaged chocolate box.
Its size and grandeur were leagues beyond the youth stadiums I was used to.
After taking in the breathtaking sight of the stadium, we headed to the seats indicated on our tickets.
"This is your first match in Argentina, right?" Diego asked.
"Yeah."
As we talked, I glanced at Guillermo, who sat beside me with an armful of snacks.
"Did you really need to buy so much?"
"The skewers they sell here are great. Try one. You'll love it."
"Wait, is this skewer stick edible? The one outside had wooden sticks."
"Yep, the ones sold inside the stadium are edible. They had to switch to this type after an incident where someone stabbed another fan with a wooden skewer out of anger during a match."
"What? Shouldn't they have banned skewers entirely after that?"
"They're a top-seller, so the club decided to compromise by making them edible."
Ah... That made sense. The taste was incredible, after all.
As I bit into the skewer, the crowd erupted with red flares lighting up the stands.
"It's starting," Diego said.
"Wow."
The electrifying atmosphere of La Bombonera enveloped us completely.
"This is on another level."
The atmosphere was on a completely different scale compared to the mini El Superclásico.
Now I understood why "mini" was used.
If the excitement of a regular league match was this intense, I couldn't help but wonder what the actual El Superclásico would be like.
"How is it? Amazing, right?"
"Absolutely."
"Heh heh heh. Yu's eyes are bigger than usual. They look like the tomatoes on the fruit skewer."
Soon after, the players from both clubs entered the field, and the 50th round of the league began.
From the start, both teams played aggressively, aiming for each other's goals with dynamic, unrelenting energy. My eyes darted back and forth, trying to keep up with every play, unable to look away for even a moment.
And then, it happened.
A player who caught my attention had the ball.
"Javier's got it," someone said.
The current ace of Boca Juniors.
When he had the ball, it was like magic.
With explosive speed, near-perfect passing accuracy, and his aggressive playmaking, he created chances everywhere.
Tuk.
With a step-over, he dodged a pressing defender and made a pass.
Boom!
The ball left Javier's foot like a shot across the ground, perfectly finding a forward making a run. However, the finish was lacking.
The shot missed wide to the right of the goalpost, eliciting groans from the crowd.
"Ah, come on! How did Ricardo miss that?"
"Ricardo's getting old. He's been missing these kinds of passes all season! He did well in the first half of the season—what happened?"
"What's the point of Javier playing so well when there's no one to finish his fantastic passes?"
"This is all because Philo left for Europe. At least with him, we managed to reach second place last year."
Frustration rippled through the crowd.
The game continued to revolve around Javier's near one-man show.
With graceful yet deadly movements, he evaded the press from Sarmiento's defenders, delivering razor-sharp passes that seemed to pierce the heart of the opposition.
Whether it was passing, dribbling, or shooting, Javier excelled in all aspects. Watching him, it was easy to see why he was not only Boca Juniors' star but also a player catching the attention of European football.
"Ugh! Javier's passes are the best! Yu, don't you want to play with him?"
"Huh? Out of nowhere?"
"I've always dreamed of it. Getting promoted to the first team, receiving a pass from Javier, and scoring a goal."
Hearing Diego's words, my heart raced.
I wanted to be on the field and receive one of those passes myself.
At the 34th minute of the first half, Javier Casero sprinted up from deep near the halfway line with explosive acceleration.
Ahead of him was a perfectly timed pass.
Tuk!
As he pushed the ball forward, he shook off a trailing defender and took off running.
Since Sarmiento had pushed their defensive line forward during a corner kick, the backfield was wide open.
Thud thud thud!
Javier tore through the open space with his blistering speed.
A defender tried to challenge him, running alongside him, but—
Tuk!
Javier slid the ball through the defender's legs, effortlessly evading him.
"Wow."
I couldn't help but be amazed.
His play was flawless, flowing as smoothly as water.
Finally, just outside the penalty area, he curled the ball with his right foot.
Thump!
The ball flew into the top corner of the net, securing the opening goal.
"We were waiting for that, Javier!"
"You're the only one who can make it happen!"
"At least get us to second place! Just keep playing like this for the rest of the season!"
After scoring, Javier celebrated by sliding on the field as the rest of the Boca Juniors players piled on top of him.
"Boca! Boca! Boca! Boca!"
The stadium roared like it was about to explode.
The fans' voices thundered like the heavens, and their stomping felt like it could shake the earth itself.
This was Avalancha.
This was the real Avalancha.
It was clear why this was a country obsessed with football.
Aaaahhhh!
Whenever a player narrowly missed a chance, the crowd groaned with them.
Woooooaaahhh!
And whenever a goal was scored, they shared in the euphoria.
I wanted to play here.
As soon as possible.
In front of these passionate fans.
"Guillermo, I think Yu's gone crazy," Diego teased.
"Want another skewer? They're great," Guillermo said, completely focused on his food.
And then I glanced over.
– "Javier! Javier! Javier!"
I wanted to be on the field with that dazzling No. 7 player.
---
After the match, back in the locker room, Javier Casero was approached by another player.
"Javier! Those two goals today were incredible!"
"I told you not to touch my hair, Ricardo."
"Oh, look at you acting all grown up!"
"Ahhh! Stop it!"
Ricardo Mesa, a 37-year-old veteran, was a living legend at Boca Juniors.
Before Javier Casero emerged, Ricardo had been the pillar holding the club together during its darkest days, earning unwavering support from the fans.
"By the way, did you see them?"
As Ricardo packed his gear, he asked Javier.
"See what?"
"Our kids were watching today. They stayed long after the match ended, too."
"Ah, Diego waved at me during the game, so I waved back. I know him from training sometimes."
As Ricardo packed up his gear, the face of one particular player came to mind.
"What about the kid standing next to him?"
"The one from Asia? His name is..."
"Jiwoo Yu. Word is, he's tearing it up down below."
Javier Casero had heard the name a few times. He also vividly remembered the look in his eyes.
With a faint smirk, he said, "I'm looking forward to the day I can play alongside those guys."
Hearing this, Ricardo Mesa also smiled.
"Does that mean it's about time for me to step back?"
"What?!" Javier exclaimed, startled.
"What are you talking about? You can't leave! Who's saying your performance has dropped? Bring them here, and I'll knock some sense into them!"
Ricardo had been the one who supported Javier when he first joined the first team, keeping him steady through his struggles. For Javier, anything involving Ricardo was more important than even family.
Pat.
Ricardo reached out and gently ruffled Javier's hair.
This time, Javier didn't resist and simply accepted the touch.
"...Your hand is still warm, Ricardo."
"It's warm because I'm alive. What, you want me dead or something?"
"Ah, can't even joke around with you."
It was just like back then.
The warmth of the hand that had reached out to him when he was lost and struggling to find his place.
"See you tomorrow."
"...Don't talk about retiring," Javier muttered.
"What, you want me to play until I'm 40?"
"Let's retire together when I do."
"You brat, just how far are you planning to work me? Jorge! Esteban! Did you hear this?!"
Ricardo put Javier in a playful headlock.
"I'm stronger than you now!" Javier protested.
"Oh, really?!"
"Ha ha ha ha ha! Javier, no matter how much you struggle, you're still not even close to Ricardo's level."
"Is it another strength contest? All right, let's make bets!"
"My money's on Ricardo!"
"Always Ricardo, no question."
The atmosphere in Boca Juniors' first team was always cheerful.
"What?! Why is no one on my side?!" Javier exclaimed, feigning outrage, but he couldn't help but laugh.
This place, where he'd been transformed from a beggar on the streets into a star, was his heaven.
The teammates who shared the hard times and celebrated the good.
And most importantly, his mentor and emotional anchor.
'You've gotten weaker.'
Javier could have overpowered Ricardo if he'd really tried, but he didn't. While still caught in the headlock, he softly murmured,
"...Don't leave."
Tears slowly welled up in his eyes.
"Hey, wait. Are you crying?" Ricardo bent down to look at his face, but Javier pushed him away as much as he could.
"Ha ha ha ha ha! Guys, this kid is crying!"
Ricardo burst into laughter when he saw Javier's tears and started shouting loudly, drawing the attention of everyone around.
"What? Javier's crying?"
"Hey, someone get their phone! This is a million views for sure if we post it!"
The atmosphere turned into a joyful, party-like scene.
Javier wiped his tears and joined in with a bright smile.
'Even if you do leave, I'll make sure to bring you the South American championship trophy.'
Winning the South American championship and presenting the trophy to the soon-to-retire Ricardo Mesa.
That was Javier's ultimate goal.