#jiyeong

everyone's cheers and chants are weaving into a deafening sound that vibrates through his bones. including your own too as you stand on the pitch.

you're sweat-soaked and breathless, your legs heavy like lead after playing since the 45th minute.

the scoreboard glares down at you.

2-2, extra time, 120th minute.

the other team scored first in the 37th, and luckily saebyeok scored before she got subbed off in the 70th minute for noeul. this championship game is apart of the annual tournament that happens every year. think of this like a champions league title.

this match has stretched every nerve in your body to its limit.

as a left winger for the city’s biggest club, you’ve danced with the ball, darted past defenders, and delivered crosses that nearly broke the deadlock.

now, with penalties looming, the weight of the moment presses against your chest.

you’re tired, so tired, but you’re on the penalty kicker list, and you know you’ll stay on the pitch until the end... or if an injury comes.

when the whistle shrieks, signaling the end of extra time, you knew that it was time for penalties.

your heart lurches, but you force a slow breath, grounding yourself. the crowd’s noise swells, a wave of anticipation flooding through everyone's chest.

you turn instinctively, your eyes scanning the stands for the one person who keeps you calm in moments like this.

daeho. he’s there, unmistakable in your black number 7 jersey, his broad smile cutting through the chaos of the supports in the crowd.

your fiancé is throwing heart signals with his hands, his fingers forming clumsy but earnest shapes that make your lips twitch into a smile despite the exhaustion.

you raise a hand at daeho, waving back, your heart swelling at the sight of him.

daeho used to be your childhood friend who lived just down the street, who knew you when you were all scraped knees and wild dreams of soccer stardom.

now he’s here, and yours, surrounded by his friends... your friends now, too, a family forged through years of happy moments.

next to daeho stands jungbae, older, steady, a father figure to him with his funny wisdom and warm laugh. hyunju, your closest friend off the pitch, is there too, her eyes bright with pride as she cheers for you.

yong-sik and geum-ja, daeho’s longtime friend and his mother, are beside hyunju, their voices lost in the crowd but their presence a comfort.

they’re all here for you, this patchwork family that’s grown around you like ivy... aka strong.

“i’m up first to kick,” noeul says, cutting off your moment. the woman's voice is trembling as she jogs up to you.

your defensive teammate’s usually unshakable confidence is wavering, with her dark eyes wide with nerves. y

ou stop waving at daeho and turn to her, forcing a grin.

“yeah, because you’re our best penalty kicker,” you counter, your tone light but firm, trying to bolster her.

noeul’s lips quirk, but the tension doesn’t leave her shoulders. before you can say more, jiyeong and sae-byeok... your teammates who are so obviously not dating, despite the lingering looks and subtle touches everyone pretends not to notice... run up, their energy electric and exciting since they're confident in their girls.

“good luck bitches!” jiyeong calls, her voice bright, while sae-byeok claps you and noeul on the shoulders, her grip strong. the rest of the penalty kickers follow... mi-na, maxine, yeonjoo, alexia, and the others. twenty-two women stand on the pitch, eleven women between each team on the pitch.

all want to win for their team.

your teammates, noeul being captain, form a huddle, arms slung around each other, a fortress of black jerseys against the cyan blue jerseys that the other team wear.

as the team disperses to line up for penalties, you take your place among them, your back to the stands where daeho watches.

you don’t see him, but you feel his gaze like sunlight on your skin. he’s watching you, you know he is, admiring the way you stand, one arm draped around noeul, the other around mi-na.

your stance is confident, even if your body screams for rest.

daeho’s always said he loves that about you... how you carry yourself, how you face pressure head-on, even when it feels like the world is watching.

they are.

the penalties begin, and the stadium holds its breath.

noeul steps up first, her shot clean and true, the ball slamming into the net. the crowd erupts, and you squeeze mi-na’s shoulder, a silent cheer as all of your teammates scream all types of profanities ("lets fucking goooo") in excitement.

the opposing team answers, their kicker matching noeul’s precision. back and forth it goes, each kick a heartbeat, each save or goal shifting the momentum.

by the time it’s 7-7, your pulse is a drumbeat in your ears when the cnterback on the other team misses her penalty.

you’re up next.

the eighth kicker.

the one who could decide it all since the other girl on the opposite side missed.

you step forward, the ball at your feet, the world narrowing so you ignore the eyes all on you.

40,000 spectators, thousands more watching on television, their eyes burning into you.

you feel the weight of it, the expectation, the hope, the fear.

it sits on your shoulders, heavy.

daeho knows this about you... how you let the world’s weight settle there, how you carry it because you believe you can. he’s seen it since you were kids, when you’d race him down the street, your laughter trailing behind him like a shadow.

you glance up at the big screen. there’s your face, larger than life, your expression focused but soft, your eyes sharp.

daeho’s watching that same screen, his breath catching at the sight of you.

he’s always thought you were beautiful, but in this moment so sweat-streaked, determined, standing tall under the stadium lights... you’re radiant.

daeho leans forward while standing in-front of in his seat, hands clasped tightly, his heart pounding in time with yours.

the opposing goalkeeper is studying her water bottle, her eyes flicking between it and you. you know what that bottle holds... notes, maybe, on your kicking habits, your tendencies.

you’ve faced her before, studied her too in past seasons.

she’s good, quick to her right, but you’ve been coached on how she hesitates on low shots to her left.

you take a deep breath, then another, steadying yourself.

the whistle blows.

you back up, your steps measured, your eyes locked on the goal. the crowd fades to a distant hum. it’s just you, the ball, and the keeper. you run, your body moving on instinct, muscle memory honed by years of practice.

your foot connects with the ball, a clean strike, sending it soaring to the right... her left, low and precise. the goalkeeper dives right, just as you’d hoped, her fingers grazing the air where the ball isn’t.

it hits the net, the sound final.

the stadium explodes. your teammates scream, a wave of black jerseys rushing toward you. you’re running too, toward the corner flag, your arms outstretched, your heart a wildfire.

they all catch up, piling onto you, their laughter and shouts blending into a single, joyous cacophony.

you’re buried under their weight, their arms, their love, but you’re laughing, breathless, alive.

you’re champions.

as your teammates start to drift back, giving you space to breathe, you turn toward the stands since you wanted to see that one person.

daeho’s already moving, breaking away from jungbae, hyunju, yong-sik, and geum-ja. the man's eyes are locked on you, bright with pride and with love.

he’s halfway down the bleacher stairs when a security guard steps in front of him, arm outstretched.

“sorry, sir, you can’t pass—”

“no no, he’s with me!” you call out, your voice cutting through the noise.

the guard glances at you, then steps aside, and daeho vaults over the barrier with an ease that makes your heart skip.

he’s on the field in seconds, his arms wrapping around you, lifting you slightly as you laugh.

“we won!” you say, your hands clutching his shoulders.

“you won!” he replies, his grin wide, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

he presses a kiss to your temple, soft and warm, and you feel it like a spark, igniting something deep in your chest.

hand in hand, you run toward the center of the field, where your teammates are still celebrating, the crowd’s cheers washing over you like a tide.

“you were incredible, everyone loves you!” he says as you slow down the running, his voice low, meant just for you.

“you were here,” you reply, “that love is what matters to me.”

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