Became The Premier League’S Youngest Manager [EN]: Chapter 234

234: The End is Myth

“Haa…! Haa…!”

After a grueling 90-minute battle, his lungs burned, desperately gasping for air after yet another sprint across the midfield.

His sweat-soaked blonde hair fluttered in the breeze, but he ignored such trivialities.

No, there was no time to care.

He paid even less attention to the Real Madrid midfielder who crumpled to the grass after his shoulder barge.

Now, at this moment.

His entire world narrowed to the white ball, a falling star illuminated by the stadium lights.

His legs and thighs, pushed to their limit for 90 minutes, screamed in protest with fatigue and pain.

First, his left foot.

The anticipated landing point was still distant.

Again, his right foot.

The ball, plummeting from the sky, allowed him no respite.

Again, his left foot.

His gaze, initially fixed on the sky as he sprinted, gradually shifted forward.

Again, his right foot.

Above his head, at forehead level.

Again, his left foot.

From his forehead to eye level.

Again, his right foot.

From his eyes to his chest.

Again, his left foot, and his right foot.

And from his chest to his thigh, and then to his knee again.

Again, his left foot.

The ball, nearing the end of its descent – a descent that felt both long and fleeting – was about to kiss the grass.

In a trance, Nicholas Seywald, Burnley’s captain, who had surged across the field to reach the landing point first, drew his right foot back.

“Uwaaaaaaa!!!!!”

The roar of the crowd, a cacophony of anticipation, excitement, fear, and despair, engulfed Wembley Stadium, but Nicholas Seywald remained deaf to it.

Only the ball, connecting with his right foot in a powerful sweep across the grass, existed in his universe.

And the ball, which had previously soared high before falling, began to climb again, as if skimming the surface.

The stars symbolizing the Champions League, emblazoned on its surface, were now clearly visible.

Thus, the ball, devoid of spin, hurtled across the pitch, steadily gaining altitude.

From ankle height to knee height, from knee height to thigh height.

As it ascended from thigh height to chest height, it bypassed two Real Madrid center backs wearing expressions of desperation, and the bright face of Benjamin Sesko, who watched the ball with unconcealed anticipation.

And then, as it reached head height from his chest, Real Madrid goalkeeper Thibaut Courtois appeared, leaping desperately and reaching out his hands, but the ball, given a second chance to soar, ignored the goalkeeper’s desperate touch that had thwarted its journey countless times over the past 90 minutes.

Thus, the ball flew unimpeded.

It crashed powerfully into the net, completing its journey towards the night sky illuminated by the floodlights.

“Uwaaaaaaa!!!!!”

Behind the Real Madrid penalty box, Burnley fans erupted – roaring, screaming, crying, and shouting – jumping from their seats and pumping their fists in the air, lost in the euphoria of taking the lead.

Nicholas Seywald, himself in disbelief at the goal he had scored, calmly tugged at the team emblem on the left side of his jersey and kissed it.

A blue background on a gold-rimmed shield.

Inside, a roaring black lion and a golden palm on another golden shield, encircled by two golden bees in flight.

The bees symbolizing the industry of the Burnley region.

The palm symbolizing the Burnley borough’s motto, “Hold to the Truth.”

And the lion symbolizing Burnley Football Club being the first football club in British history to be visited by royalty.

A historical record established in 1886 when Queen Victoria’s grandson, Prince Albert Victor, attended a game against Bolton Wanderers.

Thus, the football club, founded in 1882 and carrying on a 122-year tradition, was finally conquering the European stage, breaking a silence of over a century.

3 to 2.

It was Burnley’s go-ahead goal.

***

Bwee!

The referee, having confirmed both goals, blew his whistle with a long blast.

“Uwaaaaaaa!!!!!”

Wembley Stadium reverberated with the shouts of Burnley fans celebrating their victory, while Hyungmin, clenching both fists on the sideline, roared.

“Uwaaaa!! We won!! We won!!”

Amidst the players who surged from the bench, cheering wildly, Taejin jumped onto his friend’s back and screamed.

“Uwaaaaaaa!!!!”

Hyungmin, who had been hugging each other and roaring, suddenly came to his senses.

“Wait! Just a minute!”

Leaving his friend, who was still roaring and running onto the field, Hyungmin crossed the neutral zone, where cheers and despair mingled, and headed towards the opposite sideline.

“Congratulations.”

Seeing him approach, Carlo Ancelotti, looking weary and defeated, extended his hand, and Hyungmin grasped it firmly.

“Thank you.”

The veteran manager, who had overseen his retirement match on the grandest stage and lost, quietly nodded and turned to his players.

And Hyungmin, having exchanged a brief greeting with the opposing manager, turned around and was immediately swarmed by his players.

“Manager! We won!”

“We won!!”

“We are the champions of Europe!!!”

“Uwaaaaaaa!!!!”

Beyond the claret-clad players who were enthusiastically cheering and celebrating around their manager, someone approached a player in a white uniform who had collapsed on the field, head in his hands.

“Yo, Karim.”

Nicholas Seywald, sitting casually next to Real Madrid’s young star, soon lay down on the grass, using his arm as a pillow.

“Are you crying?”

“Tch, who’s crying!”

Nicholas Seywald chuckled at Karim Adeyemi’s irritated response to his friend’s words.

“Ah, I would have teased you as ‘Crybaby Karim’ for the rest of your life if you had cried. What a shame.”

“Hmph! I’m just disappointed! I thought I could win my first Champions League title!”

“Hah. In your dreams. Not while I’m managed by Hyungmin at Burnley.”

Karim Adeyemi glared at his friend, with whom he had nurtured his dreams of becoming a soccer player since childhood, with an annoyed expression.

“Shut up, you. It’s not easy to even get to the Champions League final!”

“Well, I have a feeling I’ll be getting there often in the future?”

Karim Adeyemi kicked his friend’s outstretched leg at his nonchalant reply.

“Ouch! Hey, that’s a foul!”

“Hmph, the game’s been over for a long time. The referee’s already gone home!”

“Why would the referee go home! There’s still the awards ceremony left!”

“Why does the referee need to be at the awards ceremony! The UEFA [Union of European Football Associations] president gives out the trophy and medals!”

The two friends’ bickering, which continued for a while, ended with Karim Adeyemi lying down next to Nicholas Seywald.

“…Is Real Madrid good?”

“Well, there are good things and bad things.”

“The bad thing is that I’m not there. What’s good?”

“Haa…”

Karim Adeyemi, sighing in vain, glared at his friend before sighing again.

“Yeah, I have to be patient. I am benevolent. I am Saint Karim.”

“So, what’s good about Real Madrid without me, Saint Karim?”

“Well, the history and tradition of countless victories, and training facilities that are more state-of-the-art than Burnley’s.”

Of course, he doesn’t really like the obsessive fans, the paparazzi who constantly chase him, or the endless media attention.

“Ah, the weather is definitely better.”

“I see…”

The captain of the Champions League-winning team nodded, listening to his friend’s words.

“Yeah, there are good things and bad things.”

“….”

A comfortable silence settled between the two friends who had met after a long time.

The two young men, who had been lying side by side on the grass, watching the night sky illuminated by the lights and quietly listening to the noise of the cheering crowds and players in the stands and on the field, got up and sat down almost simultaneously, as if they had planned it.

“Congratulations.”

Nicholas Seywald firmly grasped Karim Adeyemi’s outstretched hand.

“Thanks.”

“Tell the manager congratulations too.”

At his friend’s words, Nicholas Seywald pointed with his thumb to the sideline where the Burnley players were densely packed, cheering.

“Why don’t you go and tell him yourself?”

“Eh. Still, I don’t think it’s right for me to go there now. Later.”

Nicholas Seywald nodded, looking at the white uniform his friend was wearing.

“Okay. I’ll tell him.”

***

“Uwaaaa!! We won!!”

“That’s right, that’s right!”

“Hahaha! Manager! This is so exciting!!”

“Oh, yeah. I see.”

Amidst the chaos of being grabbed, hugged, shaken, cheered, screamed at, and sung to from all directions, Hyungmin casually responded to the congratulations and cheers of the Burnley Football Club officials who had come out to the sideline, searching for a figure that did not appear.

“Helena! Helena, where are you?!”

“I’m here.”

Turning around at the laughing voice coming from behind, Helena was standing there with a bright smile.

“Congratulations, honey!”

“Helena!”

Having finally found her, Hyungmin wrapped his arms around her and spun her around in place.

“We won! We won!!”

“Yes! We won!”

And Hyungmin, having put his lover back on the ground, hugged her tightly.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Me too.”

As if overwhelmed, the two lovers, oblivious to the surrounding chaos, were embracing each other for a long time when a song began to be heard from somewhere behind them.

A sound that was small at first, but gradually increasing in volume.

Helena, who was in Hyungmin’s arms and ignoring the sound, thinking it was just noise or a cheer from the stadium, tilted her head, puzzled by the increasingly loud singing, and asked, burying her face in his chest.

“What’s that sound?”

After waiting for a long time without an answer, Helena raised her head and looked at her lover’s face.

“Hyungmin?”

The young maestro, who had ended the 64-year and 122-year wait of the rural soccer club in northwestern England, was staring at the stands with wide eyes.

“Ah…!”

Helena turned her head and let out a low exclamation.

Already, on one side of the 90,000-seat Wembley Stadium, a huge banner was being unfurled, large enough to completely cover the stands.

The image emblazoned on the pure white background was a side view of the young Asian man standing on the sideline, passionately waving his arms and directing the game.

Under the banner, which thousands of Burnley fans were shaking together, the words were clearly engraved.

Forever and ever.

Burnley fans, filling half of Wembley Stadium with a claret wave.

They were raising both hands high and singing a new cheer, reminiscent of Northern European folk songs with its lyrical lyrics, towards their manager.

“I stand alone in the darkness!”

“The winter of my life came so fast!”

“Memories go back to my childhood!”

“To days I still recall!”

“Oh how happy I was then!”

“There was no sorrow there was no pain!”

“Walking through the green fields!”

“Sunshine in my eyes!”

The Burnley fans, singing in unison, raised their voices even louder.

“Kim’s still there, everywhere!”

“Kim’s the dust in the wind!”

“Kim’s the star in the northern sky!”