Chapter 18: The First Holiday that Flew Away Cleanly (2)

Chris repeated the same actions a few more times.

He deliberately made mistakes and, at the last moment, stretched out to block the ball. Then he sighed.

Since there were hardly any shots that were impossible to save, it was clear he was doing it on purpose.

I was starting to guess what kind of match-fixing this was about.

I didn't know the exact numbers, but it was likely related to conceding goals. It could simply be a desire for AFC Wimbledon to lose, or it might be specific instructions related to conceding goals, irrespective of the win or loss.

If my assumption was correct, then if he just prevented any goals, he could avoid match-fixing.

Chris's expression grew darker, and his movements slowed. With the first half nearing its end, I felt certain he would act in the second half.

And for some reason, his face resembled that of a child in need of help.

I clenched my fists.

Born in March 1999.

That was Chris's birthdate I found through a search.

He was the same age as the youngest, making him a high school senior by Korean standards. So, how did someone not yet an adult get involved in match-fixing?

I recalled the first day I met Chris with Harry when I joined the agency.

"There's no extension. I'm really sorry. I understand your situation..."

Harry had said that.

And Harry had also mentioned that Chris should contact him if he faced any difficulties, expressing concern for Chris's well-being.

Was there a problem at home?

Chris had mentioned he had a sponsor. Perhaps that sponsor was the broker. It was just a guess, but it seemed plausible.

Chris had smiled sadly at that time.

The shouts of Bristol fans rang out. I looked up to see Chris had made another save.

This time, he stared blankly at his gloves, ignoring the pats on the shoulder from his teammates.

Seeing that expression stirred something in my chest.

"Ah, damn..."

I had only thought of him as a potential world-class player, but now I felt emotionally invested.

I had to stop the match-fixing. I couldn't allow a gem that could shine in the future to be wasted on such nonsense. And I couldn't just sit back and let brokers ruin a sacred game enjoyed by so many fans.

I looked at the scoreboard: 43 minutes had passed; it was time for the first half to end.

There was no way I could get to the dressing room, and I couldn't be sure that Chris would stop his actions just because I yelled out.

Still, I had a few ideas I had thought of during the first half. Among them, one seemed promising.

However, if it failed, I would be quite embarrassed. There was also a low chance I could get hit by the supporters.

I was scared, but I gathered my thoughts, recalling the day I went for the interview at the agency.

The determination I felt just before meeting Aaron Ramsey.

"Be confident and proud!"

And the back of the representative who had resolved Sebastián's issues in one go also came to mind.

If I wanted to reach that level, I couldn't take a passive attitude. I had to act.

The security personnel would protect me. If I could avoid the risk of being hit, then it would just be embarrassing.

Okay, let's go!

As soon as I heard the whistle signaling the end of the first half, I quickly made my way to the stadium corridor. I dodged people and ran towards the AFC Wimbledon official merchandise store.

I found a jersey marked with Chris's name and grabbed it, buying a scarf to commemorate today's match. As I made my card payment, I took off my coat and put on the jersey.

Wrapping the scarf around my neck, I sprinted towards the second seat in the home supporters' section.

"Ha, ha, ha... I'm not late."

Fortunately, it was just before the second half was about to begin. The players were standing in their positions, ready to start.

In front of me was Chris's back.

His profile looked even paler than before, as if he was about to do something right away.

I rushed to the front of the Wimbledon home supporters' section for my plan.

The bald supporter leader, glittering with enthusiasm, waved the AFC Wimbledon flag along with the other members.

It seemed like a chant was about to begin.

The whistle blew to signal the start of the second half, and as the leader prepared to start the chant, I seized the moment and shouted.

"No Save, Match Fixing!"

(If you can't save it, it's match-fixing!)

I screamed like I was in military training.

"No Save, Match Fixing!"

I raised my hands in front of the supporters and shouted again.

"No Save, Match Fixing!"

Naturally, all eyes were on me, including the leader's and all the supporters.

The looks were those of people watching a madman. I hoped they wouldn't turn violent.

Anyway, as the second half began, the home supporters who should have been energizing the game fell into silence.

...

...

...

I think I messed up.

This reaction was not what I expected.

My plan was to recreate the group behavior I had seen earlier. If I spoke alone, it wouldn't have the same impact as saying it together with the fans, which would reach Chris more effectively.

'No, Save, Match, Fixing.'

A simple, four-word chant that was catchy and had a familiar rhythm. Plus, my appearance as a foreign enthusiastic supporter decked out in the merchandise I just bought. To top it off, I was wearing a replica of Chris's jersey, pretending to be one of his fans.

The Bristol fans followed the antics of that crazy guy, but here it seemed like they were being quite stingy.

What should I do?

"No! Save! Match…."

"Ha ha ha ha ha!"

I thought, whatever happens, happens, and shouted the chant again, but the bald leader was looking at me and laughing heartily.

Then he shouted to the supporters.

"No Save, Match Fixing!"

It worked!

The supporters started chanting one by one, following the leader.

Together.

A thrill started from my waist and traveled up my neck to the back of my head.

I shouted along with the leader until my throat went dry, glancing back at Chris's figure.

I didn't know what expression he had, but I hoped he was shaken. This was the best I could do. I wished that whatever remained of his conscience and love for football would keep him in the sport.

At that moment, a Bristol midfielder took a shot from distance that seemed hard to save.

Even if he couldn't save it, no one would say anything about that shot, yet Chris sprinted with all his might to make the save.

Bristol's ensuing corner kick was wasted, and AFC Wimbledon began to attack again.

A different chant started. It was a powerful song with a familiar rhythm. I didn't know the lyrics, but I fervently cheered for the players battling on the opposite side.

Please, don't let the ball come this way.

Then, my eyes met Chris's.

To be precise, he didn't see me; he scanned the entire home supporters' section. His expression was quite strange.

It was understandable; the message had surely struck a chord with him.

To be precise, he didn't see me; he scanned the entire home supporters' section. His expression was quite strange.

The chant must have struck a chord with him, so I could understand why he looked that way.

And then the bald leader who had helped me appeared in front of me.

"Where are you from?"

"South Korea!"

"Great! A warrior from Korea who knows how to cheer! How touching, how touching that you came all the way here to cheer with such passion. Now, let's cheer together!"

The bald leader threw his arm around me and began singing all sorts of songs.

Ziiing.

It seemed that the leader also had the helper activated as a supporter.

I didn't even think of confirming that. My endorphins seemed to be malfunctioning. Otherwise, I wouldn't feel this ecstatic to the point of losing my mind. Shouting in front of the supporters and syncing my cheers with them was truly fantastic.

Whenever the ball approached Chris, we repeated the chant I had spread.

In the end, Chris didn't concede a single goal until the match ended.

No, I should say he couldn't.

The 2-0 victory displayed on the scoreboard excited the supporters, and some rushed forward, pounding my head in celebration. I yelled in joy, but it hurt so much that I ended up screaming halfway through.

Thanks to the helper, my phone vibrated constantly, driving me insane.

Fortunately, the bald leader pulled me out.

"Want to grab a beer together?"

The supporters, who stopped pounding me, started chanting "Beer! Beer!" as they spun around.

Beer sounds great. I might get more information about Chris.

But just then, my phone vibrated again, and I realized the supporters had all dispersed.

What was that?

There's only one reason for this.

[Milo Connery]

He is furious.

Who was Milo Connery...!

Ah! The broker who proposed match-fixing to Chris!

In my excitement over the cheers, I had forgotten to be on guard. I pulled the scarf up to cover my face.

I quickly scanned my surroundings. I saw some supporters in the upper seats pointing at me while talking to some bulky men in suits. Among them was broker Milo Connery.

Damn, what should I do?

Would I be able to communicate with him?

The moment I locked eyes with Milo Connery, I gave up on trying to talk.

He had a look that said he wanted to grab me and beat me up.

I told the bald leader I would see him later and bolted into the corridor. Just as I stepped out into the corridor, I caught a glimpse of the group in black suits running towards me through the crowd.

If I stop, I'll die!

The first thing that came to my mind was where I had parked the car I borrowed from Sebastian.

If I went down the stairs to the opposite corner from my current position, I would reach the parking lot. So I ran.

I considered hiding somewhere along the way and looked around the stadium corners, but since it was a small stadium, there weren't many places to escape.

I decided to head to the parking lot as originally planned, sprinting through the crowd of spectators heading home after the match. Glancing back, I saw the black-suited men pushing through the crowd and running toward me.

"Damn it!"

There were only a few visible, so it seemed they had taken another route. Was it okay to run like this? Were they waiting for me in the parking lot?

Running in a straight line, I turned sharply at a deep curve.

I must have reached the first corner.

And just as I rounded that deep curve, someone beckoned me from the equipment storage room.

I hesitated for a moment because I couldn't see the silhouette clearly, but the sound of running footsteps behind me urged me to rush into the storage room.

As the storage room door closed behind me, I heard it lock from the outside.

"A suspicious uncle. I'll open it again when they leave. You better know you'll die if you touch Erin."

As I crouched and gasped for breath, I listened closely to the woman's voice coming from outside.

Then the silhouette calling me approached and spoke toward the door.

"Don't worry, Lily."

From what I could see of the silhouette, it was a woman.

She came closer to me, turned on the light in the storage room.

I was trying to calm my racing heart with deep breaths after running, but as soon as the light turned on, I couldn't help but hold my breath.

"Ugh..."

The woman with chestnut-brown hair tied in a ponytail had features that were absolutely perfect.

Her blue eyes were watching me with a hint of caution, almost like a blue Russian Blue cat.

She looked familiar. Was she a model or an actress?

While I was momentarily dazed, she opened her mouth.

There was a sharpness in her voice as if she could grab me by the collar at any moment.

"Did Chris try to fix the match? What do you know?"