Chapter 17: The First Holiday that Flew Away Cleanly (1)

I was looking at the stadium, buried in a crowd of people. Each person wore a scarf supporting their team and was chatting about the game. There were not only middle-aged men but also many families, and a warm combination of grandfathers and children among the fans.

It was Sunday at 3 PM, and I was standing in front of the AFC Wimbledon stadium.

Last night, I couldn't sleep again because of the red message I received right after the game. I hadn't had a good night's sleep on Saturdays for three weeks; I wondered if I was cursed and briefly contemplated whether I would be able to sleep next Saturday.

Anyway, the blue message suggesting I take the representative as a mentor was 'advice,' while the green color change in the information about Sebastián, as his game sense recovered, was an 'update.'

The identity of the red message was easy to predict.

It was probably a 'warning.'

I looked at the note I had made when I first arrived here regarding Chris.

[Chris Allen]

Potential Ability: ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Current Ability: ★★★ (Position Mismatch)

Deeply troubled.

*20 days left until deletion.

After drawing two red lines on the 20th day, I changed it to one day. I also made sure not to forget the information I had noted about Milo Connery along with Chris Allen.

[Milo Connery]

Belongs to the gang Red Knife

Broker

Offered Chris Allen a match-fixing proposal

From racial discrimination to match-fixing. I had been here for less than a month, yet I felt I had seen all the dirty aspects of football.

'Chris Allen, a player with great potential, is deeply troubled by Milo Connery's match-fixing proposal. The deletion of this information likely means he will no longer be associated with the football world. In other words, Chris Allen will engage in match-fixing and be expelled from the football scene.'

I had written this speculation three weeks ago. And I had completely forgotten about it, overshadowed by Sebastián's racial discrimination issue.

Now that the incident was resolved and I had some time to spare, my ambition for Chris Allen had reignited.

This guy had a potential ability rated at seven stars, meaning he had talent greater than Sebastián or Aaron Ramsey.

He was a player who might become world-class but was in crisis without signing with an agency.

I didn't know the reason behind his inclination toward match-fixing, but that was something I could find out directly. After all, I had a helper.

What if I helped this player and made him mine?

Chris could gain experience in the agency until he grows, and when he finally spreads his wings, he could break away and start his own agency. Sounds like a fantastic plan.

"Alright."

I muttered lightly and thought about asking Sebastián for a day off tomorrow.

I couldn't sleep, so I spent the night looking up videos of Chris for the first time in a while.

"I'm so tired since it's been a few months since I played a game. I think I'll just stay home today."

"Really?"

It felt like fate was guiding me. I got a day off even before I said a word, and I drove the car rented by the agency up to London.

And that's how I ended up at AFC Wimbledon, Chris Allen's team.

In an hour, the match-fixing that could ruin Chris Allen's life would begin. It would be a loss to the entire football community if a player with such talent quit football.

If he was someone who could casually engage in match-fixing, he wouldn't be worth my time. But what if he wasn't…?

Then what should I do?

Putting my worries aside, I encountered a problem.

"You're neither an acquaintance nor a club official. You can't enter. You can't meet him."

"How can I do something about it…?"

Perhaps because it had been so natural for me to enter the training ground or the stadium with Sebastián, I had been careless. I thought he might not know about the contract termination since I said I was with EW Agency, but the staff shook their heads.

I had intended to talk to him face-to-face before the game.

I wanted to surprise him by saying, "I know you're trying to fix the match!" to prevent him from even attempting it.

All the plans I had made on the drive up had gone up in smoke.

I headed to the ticket booth and purchased two tickets.

Two of the worst seats: one in the away supporters' section and the other next to the home supporters' section. Given the proximity to the goal, there was nothing I could do. Despite being a League One match, it was nearly sold out. After all, this is football in England.

I didn't go straight to my seat. Looking at the internal structure of the stadium drawn outside, I decided to head to the terminal where the players enter. I thought that if I got within 10 meters, I might receive additional information from my helper that I could use.

Even though there were still 30 minutes left until the game started, many people were already standing near the passage, eager to see the players. I squeezed in and endured for over 20 minutes, eventually seeing the players lining up.

The referee came out, and the players lined up behind him.

Ziiing.

It worked.

I slipped away from the crowd and stole a glance at Chris. It was almost like I hadn't seen him in a week, yet it didn't feel awkward. Had I watched him so many times in videos that it felt familiar?

I didn't head to my seat immediately; instead, I watched them decide which side to defend. I wanted to sit in the section where Chris was guarding the goal.

Then I turned on my phone.

[Chris Allen]

Loves football.

I felt a jolt in my brow.

Oh no.

So he loves football. What does that matter?

A guy like that is getting involved in match-fixing?

Why did this kind of information come up…?

At the stadium, the referee and the two captains were deciding the sides and ball possession through a coin toss. AFC Wimbledon, the team Chris was with, would start the game on the side with the away supporters.

I dashed out to the aisle and headed toward my seat.

As I found my seat, the away fans started cheering. I had missed when the whistle blew; the game had already begun. The cheering was so loud that my ears felt numb.

The support was led by the away team, Bristol Rovers. Most of the people around me were also away fans, singing along with the Bristol Rovers' chants.

Then, insults towards the players poured out.

Particularly, there were many insults directed at Chris, who was lonely in front of the goal.

Basic finger gestures and curses like "get lost, you f***ing jerk" and "slip and fall" were just the beginning. Watching the game without thinking too much about the fact that swearing was normal at a football match, I heard what seemed to be an overly enthusiastic fan yell.

"I'll shove my d*** into your ass!"

Whoa.

This place is really scary. It felt so real that it was even scarier. Chris seemed unfazed by these insults, focusing on the game. He was completely different from Sebastián, who would grin at the fans' reactions.

Perhaps finding the enthusiastic fan's insults amusing, the fans started unleashing similar taunts at Chris. I worried that things were getting a bit too heated, but I wasn't the only one thinking that; security personnel began to rush in.

Then, the enthusiastic fan who started this whole chant was dragged out.

The away fans showered him with boos as he was taken away. Then they began chanting some strange slogans.

I felt like I had been thrown into the middle of hell. Soon, I found myself chanting along with those around me. I couldn't concentrate on the game at all.

I wondered why I wasn't joining in.

Reluctantly, I started to chant along with them.

And at one point, I realized that I was the one chanting the loudest.

It was embarrassing, but… it turned out to be quite fun.

Group behavior is terrifying.

Only after the commotion settled down could I enjoy the game, hearing normal chants and slogans mixed with some playful curses. Although it was League One, the quality of play was high enough to entertain me. The occasional clumsy play added its own unique enjoyment. Football is always fun.

AFC Wimbledon dominated the game. Therefore, Chris didn't get to touch the ball even once.

That was a relief. I didn't know what kind of match-fixing he was planning, but if the ball didn't come to him in the first place, he couldn't do anything. I hoped it would stay that way for the entire 90 minutes.

About 20 minutes into the match, the away team Bristol finally began a counterattack. The wingers from Bristol were sprinting down both sides. As a defender kicked a long ball toward the left winger, the away fans and supporters began to rise from their seats, shouting.

At that moment, focusing solely on Chris, I could tell.

Chris was hesitating. In the game videos I watched all night, Chris covered his lack of shot-stopping ability with excellent judgment.

He was a 'sweeper-keeper' type who usually created situations that didn't require him to rush forward to make a save.

Bristol's long pass was a sloppy one that Chris could easily rush out and clear, yet he didn't move forward.

The left winger from Bristol received the ball and, just as he was about to enter the penalty box, sent a low, fast cross to an incoming attacker.

The defensive line was not set up properly.

Bristol's attacker took the cross and bounced it off the post. However, it had been saved by Chris, who had decided to throw himself at the attacker at the last moment.

"Save it! You're f***ing lucky!"

The fans around me roared, but Chris seemed lost in his thoughts.

The result was the same whether the ball had gone into the goal or had been saved. He was stuck in a situation he couldn't escape.

Before long, Bristol, having finally gotten into a rhythm, began to take control of the game.

The sun was setting in the west, and darkness slowly spread over the stadium. The bright floodlights of the stadium gradually illuminated the field.

I wondered what it would be like to play under the lights. Suddenly, my worries and anticipation turned into regret. I felt like I was witnessing a world-class player fading away.

"Goodbye, Chris Allen."