Keep it in the Family (77) - Group Stage - South Korea vs Iraq (Patreon)

"So, Jae-il, what do you think our chances are?" Jong-su asked me, puffing out his chest with a misplaced sense of pride. "Think we'll make it?"

"Doesn't matter what I think." I answered, tersely. "We will make it. So we better."

I heard him chuckle, but said nothing. I just kept stretching, one arm crossing my body, pulling the other with it, feeling the pull in my shoulders, the satisfying burn.

We were in our locker room, getting ready for our first qualifying match. Our first hurdle on the road to the World Cup. The atmosphere was thick with tension, with the weight of expectation. It was one thing to play a friendly. Another thing entirely to play a match with real, tangible consequences hanging in the balance.

We had to win the quarter finals of the AFC U-17 Asian Cup to qualify for the World Cup. 

The round was divided into groups, and the winners from each group, as well as the runners-up with the best results from all the groups, would move forward.

South Korea was the host nation for Group C, which meant we had to compete against Iraq, Yemen, and Iran. It's funny how geography works sometimes. We were stuck in the middle of our regional rivals. The powerhouse. The underdog. The dark horse. And us.

The host nation.

I barely registered the loud, booming voice of our coach giving his pre-match speech. I'd heard it a thousand times before. About passion. About heart. About representing our country with pride. It was all true, and yet, it felt secondary. My mind was already on the field.

He slammed a hand against the whiteboard. "We start strong. We end strong. We dominate possession, we control the tempo, and we leave no room for doubt. Understood?!"

A chorus of "YES, COACH!" echoed through the room.

"Then get out there. And make me proud."

We all stood up, and I heard the click-clacking of cleats against the tiled floor. The air buzzed with an electric energy.

We walked through the tunnel. A single file as I led my teammates out. Right next to us, was the Iraqi team, their faces grim, set with a determination that mirrored our own. Bedecked in their white uniform, looking quite big and threatening.

Compared to Thailand, they weren't that special. Decent. Capable. They could make it difficult if we let them.

On paper, we should win.

But football is not played on paper. It's played on grass.

I felt a slight breeze on my face, heard the low hum of the crowd. Close to three thousand spectators, as far as I've been told. Which was a lot more compared to what this type of tournament usually got.

'You've made so many people come just to watch you, Jae-il. Do you know what that means?' Coach Ahn Ki-seok had told me earlier, his eyes staring right into me. 'It means you have a responsibility to them. They're all watching you. So give them a good reason to keep watching.'

And then he gave me the armband—which meant I had a responsibility to my team as well. 

The sound of the crowd started to build, becoming a roar as we emerged onto the pitch. The green turf was perfect, a lush carpet under our feet. I took a deep breath, marveling, preening, under the deafening roar that welcomed us. A sea of red. The sound of a nation. Our nation. The Seoul World Cup Stadium came alive.

The floodlights bathed the pitch in a near-daylight glow. Outside, the sky darkened ever so slightly. 

This was my domain.

Then the national anthems began. Iraq's first. I stood there, listening to the foreign melody, my mind a blank slate. Then came ours. I put my hand over my heart, felt the steady beat against my ribs. I opened my mouth, and the familiar words came out. For a moment, I wasn't Jair Campinho. I wasn't a reincarnated Brazilian legend. I was Cha Jae-il. A South Korean boy, about to play for his country, singing his heart out to a flag that now felt less foreign.

Once the anthems ended, we went to our positions. On my left, Sung-tae. On my right, Dae-hyun. Behind me, Kim Jun-hwan. In front of me, the Iraqi offense. Me and Iraq's captain met in front of the referee for the coin toss ritual

I picked heads. The coin flicked, spinning in the air. It landed, shining under the stadium lights. Heads.

"We'll take the kickoff." I said to their captain, a mountain of a man with a thick beard and sharp, dark eyes. 

What in the loving fuck did they eat over there for 17 year old kids to be already like this.

He simply nodded.

xXx

Mia’s POV: 

It was only obvious that Mia would be there, in the VIP section of the Seoul World Cup Stadium, with her younger sister, her mother, and her father. The man in question had briefly come back home, for a quick pit-stop to see his dear son's opening match. 

Since it was in Seoul, it was more accessible for everyone in the family to attend. Then again, Mia told herself she'd go anywhere, fly across the world, just to see Jae-il play. Her brother. Her—

"It's starting."

The Cha patriarch grunted, leaning forward.

Mia's eyes were already fixed on the pitch. It was easy to spot him. Even amongst the other players. Her little brother. She smiled, eyes crinkling as she held her chin in both hands. 

He stood near the center circle, the captain's armband wrapped around his bicep. 

Pride swelled in her chest. Pride and something else. A secret, thrilling heat that she'd never dare voice aloud. It made her thoughts wander a little bit. 

She remembered the weight of his body on hers, the feeling of his skin against her skin, the sound of his voice against her neck and the ragged huffs and groans that followed the thrusts and slapping sounds of their joined bodies.

She shivered, just thinking about it. The feel of his hands squeezing her ass, his large hands fitting her hips perfectly.

Fuck, the last few weeks had been brutal. They hadn't seen each other since that one night, despite jokingly promising a more recurring hook-up in the near future. Multiple ones, even. 

And so all of the sexual frustration had coiled deep in the pit of her belly, twisting and growing every night. She was trying her damndest to relieve herself, fingers deep inside herself, the memories fresh on her mind and body. 

The raunchy texts and calls hadn't been of help, on the contrary, making it worse, teasing her and reminding her of her delicious failure, of the intensity of that memory, of that forbidden night, just enough so that she was left aching at the very thought and insatiably horny afterwards.

She lost count of how many times she had to take matters in her own hands.

What's a girl to do? She was a sexually healthy person, damnit.

...Perhaps a small part of her even wanted the guilt and shame to feed the pleasure and drive her mad. That was, probably, the sort of complex only a sibling-fucker would ever admit and confess to, however. 

At this point, the excitement of their relationship, the whole experience of their rendezvous, made any type of sensuous memory become an equally sensuous torture. 

The secrecy and taboo of it all had become such a potent aphrodisiac for Mia. Who’d have thought. 

Jae-il's gaze briefly darted to the VIP boxes, and he tilted his head, like he was sending a silent signal, acknowledging that he saw them.

No one really noticed the subtle gesture, except his sisters and parents. Su Ah and Eun Ha grinned broadly. Yeong Gu merely looked down, snickering. Mia gushed internally.

She had her hands on the railings of the VIP boxes, as was the fashion. She didn't like to sit around. The announcer spoke, drawing in the crowds, hyping the audience. A rowdy crowd. Most of these people were probably Korean. After all, it was South Korea that hosted Group C. 

The referee blew the whistle. 

Mia watched as Jae-il received the ball and passed it back. From then on, everything became a sort of blur. Mia didn't know much about football, but what little she did know was the kind of impression her little brother could bring to the field. The South Korean fans erupted whenever Jae-il made contact, whenever he had possession of the ball.

She even heard a small, dedicated group chanting his name.

Jae-il himself, as if drawing strength from it, dribbled past a defender, nutmegged another, and launched a pass, all with almost surreal smoothness. She barely had time to blink.

That player ran forward, but he was closed down by the offside defender. He didn't lose possession though, passing the ball forward, finding Sung-tae in an open spot.

"Oho!" Mia's father exclaimed, voice booming. "The boy did well."

In that instant, the man on defense leapt up, stole the ball from Jong-su, but in doing so he had committed a foul. The referee's whistle had the Iraqi player seemingly complain to the referee. Mia expected a yellow card; she always found it extremely amusing when football players protested.

No yellow card. Just a warning.

"Tch." Both Mia and Yeong Gu clicked their tongues at the same time.

Freekick. 

And not from a dangerous position.

Kim Jun-hwan stepped up to it. He took a couple of steps back, scanned the field, and waited for the referee to blow the whistle.

A sharp shrill pierced the air.

Kim Jun-hwan moved.

A swift kick. A clean, direct cross, flying fast and curling towards the penalty box. For a moment, Mia held her breath. And then, Jae-il moved. 

He sprang forward, chest angled perfectly, and the ball slammed into him. He absorbed the impact, his body acting as a shield against the Iraqi defender lunging for the interception. With a sharp grunt, he twisted slightly, physically fending off the challenge.

He let the ball drop gently to the ground in front of him, just enough to tap it forward, keeping it under complete control. The defender skidded past, too late to react, and Jae-il had a fraction of a second to assess the goal.

His eyes locked onto the top corner. He planted his foot, coiled his body, and unleashed a shot. 

The ball screamed off his instep, a precise, curling missile that beat the keeper before he could react, lodging high into the net. It was a brutal and elegant, professional, nearly impassable finish.

A half-second of silence, as if the entire stadium was processing what it had just seen. Then, chaos.

The crowd roared, a deafening wave of sound that washed over the stadium. Mia felt it in her chest. Yeong Gu was screaming. Her mother was jumping up and down in delight. Su Ah... well, Su Ah just stared, jaw-slacked, a rare flicker of raw, unadulterated excitement on her face.

"GOOOOOOOLLLLL! GOOOOOOL!" The announcer's voice thundered over the speakers, nearly as loud as the crowd. "THE CAPTAIN! CHA JAE-IL! IN THE 8TH MINUTE!"

A/N: To be revised.