The Beautiful Game |Kim Minji|

Chapter 1 |New Begginings|

There are moments when the human body can overcome things you would never expect.

-Andrés Iniesta

‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣୧ - - - - - ୨˚̣̣̣୧‿︵‿︵‿︵

I've been training at FC Seoul ever since I was a kid. It's funny how everything starts with a dream—small at first, just a flicker of hope when I watched my first match on TV. But then it became my reality. A pair of boots, a ball, and endless days chasing that feeling of scoring a perfect goal.

From the beginning, I was trained to play as a right winger and in midfield. The coaches said I had the agility for it, the ability to slip between defenders and make the runs others couldn't see. I adapted to the Mezzala playstyle. It's a term a lot of casual fans don't know—basically, it means I push up the field from midfield, weaving between defenders and creating chances. It requires balance, endurance, and vision. It's not glamorous, but it's vital. Iniesta was who I idolized for the longest time. The way he moved, so fluid, so effortless. He made every pass count, and every step on the field seemed intentional. I wanted to be that kind of player.

Other players like Pogba, with his strength and vision, and Park Ji Sung, the tireless engine, were also names I loved growing up. Park was especially meaningful—he's a legend in Korea, an inspiration to every kid who ever touched a ball here. Now, I watch guys like Bernardo Silva for their creativity and work rate, and Valverde—man, that guy can run for days. He's relentless. If I could have just a fraction of that drive, maybe I'd really make a name for myself.

Well, now I've been promoted to the senior squad after one of the star midfielders left for Europe. A huge step for me, though I knew this was coming. The academy coaches always told me I had potential, but hearing it and living it are two different things. When the call-up came, everything changed.

The journey to the top starts now.

I got up early today, my nerves buzzing through me like electricity. My body was on autopilot as I went downstairs for breakfast. Eggs, toast—nothing fancy, but my stomach was too tight to handle anything more. I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside me. My mom noticed my silence but didn't say much. She knows me well enough to understand when to give me space.

I hesitated for a moment before asking her to drive me to the training facility. It felt weird—being this old and still relying on my mom for a ride, but today felt different. There was something grounding about having her there. She'd been with me through all of it, driving me to games when I was still just a kid with a dream. Now, I was stepping into a whole new world, and part of me wanted her to see it with me.

The drive was quiet. Mom didn't ask me how I was feeling or if I was nervous. She didn't have to. I knew she was proud, though, I could see it in her eyes. When we pulled up to the facility, my heart was hammering in my chest. This wasn't just a visit anymore—this was it. My first day with the senior team.

The building was massive, more imposing than it had ever seemed before. Maybe because, in the past, I'd always been the kid, the hopeful. Now, I was one of them. Or at least, I was about to be.

I met the manager as soon as I stepped inside. He gave me a nod, his face calm, professional. He didn't need to give me a pep talk or anything; he was a man of few words. "We've got high hopes for you," he said simply, before motioning toward someone standing nearby.

It was the Jesse Lingard. The guy I'd watched lead the team on TV countless times was standing right there, shaking my hand. His grip was firm, and there was a sense of respect in his eyes, but also expectation. I wasn't just some kid anymore. I was now a teammate, someone who had to pull his weight.