Devil’s Music

The first half was over.

At the Emirates Stadium, only a quiet murmur remained, and the scoreboard marked a 2:0 result, leaving fans to only sigh in pity as they watched the players weakly enter the locker room.

The game, which had been balanced at 1:0, tipped at the 40th minute of the first half when Luis Suarez got a clear chance and Mathieu Debuchy, a defender, committed a dangerous tackle, resulting in a penalty kick and changing the score to 2:0.

Fortunately avoiding a red card, Mathieu Debuchy vehemently protested to the referee, and just as the referee was about to pull out a card, the experienced Mertesacker quickly intervened to calm the situation.

During halftime, people heading to the restroom stood up with either lifeless expressions or faces filled with dissatisfaction.

Geon, watching them, also bowed his head with pity, but soon lifted it at the sound of an unfamiliar voice calling him.

"Excuse me…"

Geon’s eyes met a young-looking woman with a box of hotdogs slung over her shoulder. The woman offered a hotdog wrapped in paper and held out a cup of beer with her other hand.

“A fan paid for you to have this.”

Looking around to wave in gratitude, Geon saw the hotdog girl pointing behind him and then tilting her head in confusion.

“Over there, behind… Oh? Where did they go?”

As Geon stood to look behind him, he noticed three empty seats among the crowded spectators. The girl seemed slightly flustered and said,

“Just until now, there were three men. One with long black hair and sunglasses said he was a fan of Kay and had given money for everyone in his group to have hotdogs and beer.”

Geon looked around the empty seats but only saw other fans looking at him admiringly. Shrugging, he sat down and extended his hand.

“They must have gone to the restroom. Anyway, thanks. If you see them later, please tell them I said thanks for the food.”

The girl handed Geon the beer and hotdog, her face flushing as she hurried to distribute hotdogs and beer to the rest of her group.

As she walked away, she kept turning back to steal glances at Geon’s face, her cheeks reddening further.

“Wow… He’s really handsome up close…”

Byungjun, who had taken Geon’s hotdog, offered his own hotdog in return and said,

“You’re just going to eat without knowing what’s in it? I’ll eat this one, and you eat mine. Wait, let me check if it's fine first.”

Taking an excessively big bite to check, Byungjun’s eyes rolled as he savored the warm hotdog rolling in his mouth, then swapped his beer for Geon’s and gulped it down.

“Ah! Delicious! It’s fine, go ahead and eat.”

As Kevin and Shizuka began drinking their beers, the large screen at the top of the stadium lit up with text. The murmuring crowd pointed and said,

“A new chant?”

“Oh, a new one? Not enough with just seven?”

“Ha, let's cheer with all we have then.”

The stadium’s speakers started playing a slow piano tune, prompting discussions about the game or trips to the restroom to pause as heads turned toward the sound.

The bass lines climbing over piano sounds brought to mind the superb plays of Arsenal players from the first half, despite the loss.

As people quietly listened, the tempo of the electronic guitar quickened, and the lyrics of the new chant appeared on the big screen, gradually enticing the crowd to sing along.

The simplicity of the melody made it easy to follow, and soon Kevin looked back at Geon, smiling.

“It’s catchy because it’s your music, right?”

Geon, smiling silently, observed the crowd’s reaction. After the tutorial song ended, the large screen displayed “All Together with Energy!”, and the music started again from the beginning, prompting the 60,000 spectators to sing along in unison.

Even when you are wounded and wandering and failing,

We always cheer for you,

So you and we will not be afraid,

Do not be frustrated if you fall!

If you fall, you can happen again,

The only thing that can happen is someone around you,

I am by your side, stand up and look at me.

Women in the crowd waved flags and shed tears, hoping their voices would reach the players in the locker room, their voices blending with men who clenched their fists and sang with reddened eyes.

We love you Arsenal, we do?!

One nil, to the Arsenal.

Forty-nine, forty-nine undefeated!

We're by far the greatest team

And it's Arsenal.

Arsenal FC!

In the locker room, Coach Arsène Wenger, usually animated during halftime of a losing game—shouting and kicking trash bins, or hitting the locker room walls

to motivate his players—stood silently, hands in his pockets.

He watched the coaches distributing chocolate bars and drinks to rejuvenate the tired players.

As the players breathed heavily to relieve their fatigue or chewed on chocolate bars, awaiting instructions from the coach who remained silent, they gradually turned their eyes towards Arsène Wenger.

Catching their gaze, Arsène Wenger began to speak in a faint voice.

“I’m… sorry. My strategy wasn’t enough…”

As he spoke, the locker room TV suddenly turned on. Wenger’s attention, along with the players’, turned to the TV, which displayed the crowd of spectators.

They saw fans arm-in-arm, crying as they sang the chants. A woman’s face was so covered in tears it washed away her face paint.

Do not be frustrated if you fall!

If you fall, you can happen again,

The only thing that can happen is someone around you,

I am by your side, stand up and look at me.

Captain Mertesacker stopped chewing his chocolate bar and stared deeply at the screen, then slowly put down his chocolate bar and focused intently.

A senior man climbed onto a chair, waving a homemade flag that seemed not to be an official fan flag. The flag, white with the Arsenal emblem and red text, caught the eyes of the players and coaches.

‘Arsenal is the strongest team until I die!’

Despite nearly falling several times, the old man continued waving the flag, and eventually, young men around him steadied his legs as he pointed and waved at the screen.

Aaron Ramsey, looking teary-eyed at the old man, set aside his sports drink and said,

“What… is he saying?”

Petr Cech, who had briefly removed his headgear during halftime, stared at the screen then put his headgear back on and tightened the straps.

“Don’t give up. That’s what he’s saying.”

Petr Cech, the eldest, smacked his head with both hands, making thumping sounds, then locked eyes with Captain Mertesacker.

Their intense gaze seemed to light up as Mertesacker turned to each player sitting in the locker room.

Some players still couldn’t tear their eyes away from the tears of the fans on the TV, and others seemed ready to rush back to the field, twitching their thigh muscles in anticipation.

While the coaches massaged the players’ legs but kept their eyes fixed on the TV, their eyelids reddened, and even Arsène Wenger watched in a sad daze.

Mertesacker stood up and approached Wenger.

As the towering figure neared, Wenger turned and looked up at Mertesacker, who simply nodded towards the TV without a word.

Wenger’s expression shifted, regaining its usual sharpness as he crossed his arms and closed his eyes. Mertesacker, satisfied, exchanged a smile with a seated Petr Cech.

Moments later, Wenger shouted,

“Bring the strategy board! Everyone gather around!”

The heated players quickly huddled around Wenger, standing close enough for a pre-game huddle, all eyes on the strategy board he held.

“We play the second half with speed. Walcott, Welbeck, Sanchez! How about it? Can we do it?”

Theo Walcott, looking agile, grinned, showing his teeth, and smacked his thick thighs.

“Absolutely!”

A playful-looking Alexis Sanchez raised his head to look at the TV.

“How can you say we can’t after seeing that? Can’t you hear this chant?”

The eleven players and the coach all lifted their faces to watch the TV screen again.

Still tear-streaked faces continued to sing the anthem loudly.

“Alright! Go out there and play a game that these fans won’t be ashamed of!”

Captain Mertesacker shouted loudly, his voice resonating deeply.

“One nil!!!”

The players, arm-in-arm, chorused together robustly.

“To the Arsenal, WOW!!”

With that spirited shout, the players, not wasting a moment, dashed out of the locker room. As they ran through the long, dark corridor, the voices of the 60,000 spectators, who had been supporting them unwaveringly for over a century, filled their ears.

We love you Arsenal, we do?!

One nil, to the Arsenal.

Forty-nine, forty-nine undefeated!

We're by far the greatest team

And it's Arsenal,

Arsenal FC!

At the end of the long, dark tunnel, the players saw a space filled with light, where their fans awaited them eagerly.

>

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