U-17 AFC, Finals.

  South Korea vs Qatar.

  Last game of the AFC U-17 Tournament

  Here we are. The final of something. Certainly not the most important or high pressure tournament, but a final nonetheless. An end of a cycle, and the beginning of a more important one. The World Cup already had our names on it, but a trophy was still a trophy, and having gotten thus far, wouldn't it be good to see a silver and a shiny piece in hand before the real thing came up?

  The stadium wasn't as jam-packed as you'd expect from most finals. Still, there were some 20,000 seats packed and taken with loud chants, fans showing colors, and an almost religious devotion. If religion had a passion for football, that is.

  They were there. Our people. The South Korean faithful.

  Thousands and thousands of spectators coming from around the country, and probably around the world.

  All eyes would be on the squad. The other Asian teams got some hype for sure, but South Korea, at this point in the tournament, were the favorites to take it home. And right now, we could snatch the entire damn thing, bring home glory and adoration and more attention from all the sport-focused press outlets out there.

  Coach Ahn ki-seok paced back and forth in the locker room like a man about to become a father. I tied the ces of my boots, tugging the thick ends tightly enough so I wouldn't be stumbling over them ter in the match. I wiggled my toes experimentally, feeling them stir as blood flowed, but no discomfort.

  Around me, teammates chatted amongst themselves. The room was abuzz, the noise coming from a combination of conversations, whispers, ughter, nervous pacing, shuffling feet, and a constant buzz coming from the TVs positioned on the locker room's walls.

  A whiteboard with several diagrams, lines, crosses, arrows, and pys written in green chalk hung off the side of the room.

  Key pys. Set-pieces. Some team tactics. All kinds of things Coach had covered with us before the game, so we could all go into the pitch knowing what we had to do.

  One of the assistants erased some random gibberish at the bottom and wrote GO OUT THERE AND BRING HOME GLORY!!!! in thick capital letters. We all stared at that little sentence for a moment, no one really saying anything. I'm sure all of us were thinking, in different ways, 'oh wow, such words of wisdom.'

  The assistant coach wanted to smack himself with an invisible hand right after writing those highly motivating words.

  That was how the nerves manifested, though. And trust me, everyone was on the edge. Qatar wasn't exactly the most feared opponents in this tournament, and it was quite surprising that they got here and reached the finale, but you can't ignore results and performances.

  And usually every final tended to be that one step everyone faltered on, so even a supposedly easy job wasn't that easy, at all. It was a title fight, so you'd have to give it your all and beyond. Messing it up here would be even more disappointing since we all know we had the tools.

  And honestly, a title was a title, and when you make it this far you really wanted to hold it in your hands.

  Serves as an idealization point of reference. Something to boast about.

  Sure, this wasn't exactly a top competition, but you couldn't dismiss these trophies or their significance. It was still proof you belonged here. It was the validation everyone craved.

  Besides... this would mean more scouts would look at you with interested eyes. More agents. More news articles and talk show interviews, not that those would have happened even without a cup win, but still, the point stands.

  Coach Ahn finally stopped his pacing and pnted himself near the bench, just beneath the whiteboard. He didn't need any fancy tools, since the attention of 20-odd football pyers was pretty much already focused on him.

  I tossed my old tape aside, grabbing another fresh roll—I was a superstitious one, had been since youth. I always liked to start the match with new tape. It's just something I've been doing for as far as I remember.

  "Guys..."

  The coach started, with all eyes on him, a sharp pause followed by him folding his arms behind his back, chest puffed up and shoulders raised, spine straight and proud like the perfect military posture you could expect from anyone who had gone through military service in their youth, which was probably the case for him.

  We waited patiently. The coach let out a sharp breath.

  "You all know the situation, so there's no reason to repeat it to you. This isn't the biggest stage you'll all py for, but the principle is the same. One step at a time. One step at a time. These guys shouldn't be underestimated because of their form throughout the tournament or their st record in these kinds of games. Anything could happen. Anything can go wrong. Do you understand that? Do you understand that?!"

  Coach said, and was met with unanimous nods. Everyone agreed, and nobody disputed what he was saying.

  "Right, you'll all head out in 15 minutes. Listen, I'll keep it short today." His lips curved into an affectionate smirk. "All I have to say, is... you've been great these past few weeks. Brilliant, actually. To be the best is one thing, but to keep it is entirely another. That's why I am confidently saying: that we'll win. That's why I have every confidence in you!"

  We all started cpping and whistling, the assistant coaches giving pats on the backs, the general staff helping out, getting the equipment.

  "Can't believe we've made it this far." Jong-su muttered as he finished tying his ces. "It feels... surreal."

  I stretched my legs, feeling the muscles loosen and warm up. "Getting sentimental, all of a sudden? You?" I raised an eyebrow.

  Jong-su's face soured. "Shut it. I'm just saying... it's been a bit of a wild ride. Like, out of all the countries in this tournament, we're the st two standing. Crazy." He chuckled. "Would you look at that. Us."

  Sung-tae, who had been sitting quietly near us, piped up. "It's because we're the best. It's that simple."

  Jong-su rolled his eyes. "No shit, Sherlock." He pointed at me. "These two motherfuckers right here have been carrying us. And the rest of you have been doing your parts, I guess." A broad, goofy grin spread across his lips.

  Sung-tae's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

  The assistant coach walked over with the captain's armband.

  "Here you go, Cha." He said, handing me the band. "Make something special happen."

  As usual, the burden of being captain fell to me. Not because I wanted it, but because the coach and the team seemed to think that I was the best fit. That I could lead by example. That I could inspire. I never thought myself the best leader, but perhaps my maturity and athletic skill made it somewhat natural to pce this kind of burden on my shoulders.

  I didn't argue. I just took the band and slipped it over my bicep.

  The locker room started to empty out, one by one, guys filing out through the door. Outside, it was a hubbub of activity, with staff personnel and tournament officials moving this way and that way with some hurry in their steps.

  Jong-su grinned. "Well, gentlemen. Let's all be going." He held out his hand.

  Sung-tae lightly swatted his hand, clicking his tongue. "Ugh, don't be me."

  The click-cck of cleats on concrete rang throughout the tunnel. I looked to the left, where Qatar's line-up aligned with us. I caught more than a few gnces from the white jerseys of my soon-to-be rivals, all wearing expressions that ranged from determined and fiery to downright nervous.

  This match was as important to us as it was to them.

  Some of them began whispering to each other while stealing glimpses at me. I frowned.

  "Don't worry, captain. They're just saying how mighty dashing you look." Jong-su supplied helpfully, patting my shoulder. "Very dapper, I imagine."

  "Very reassuring." I snorted.

  It didn't take long for the announcement to come, for our names to ring out through the stadium, for the roar of expectant aficionados to turn into a wave. I prepared myself, bouncing on my feet before walking forward. The light at the end of the tunnel was gring and bright.

  It swallowed me whole before my boots stepped on grass, and I heard the whole crowd erupt in cheers.

  I smiled.

  Everything became a haze as we walked to the center circle for the pre-game ritual, taking care of the national anthem and all that.

  Then the coin toss happened, which we won, and I picked the side and goal to favor us in, since we would have the sun behind us. It'd likely start to fall by halftime, which meant that Qatar would have it gre right in their faces, and we'd likely not have to face it when we switched sides.

  I wanted to use any advantage we could get.

  We stood at the center circle, the ball right in the middle. Everyone was spread out. Sung-tae was in front of me, loosening his arm and giving his st couple of warm-up bounces.

  I exhaled, looking back at everyone to gauge their positions.

  The ref's whistle bred to signal the match, and off the pyers went.

  I have two polls going on guys, I'd appreciate if you could leave a vote.

  One for a Jungle Juice fanfiction, here -> Jungle Juice Poll

  One for an original story, here -> Original Story Poll

  A/N: Please consider supporting me on and get access to over 30 chapters, illustrations, and even gifs. :)

  Or if you simply want to buy me a Monster Energy ->