The fire happened just before the senior national team took on Colombia in Busan, which ended in a goalless draw on the evening of March 29th. This tragedy was the reason why the players wore black armbands throughout the match. This piece is my tribute to them, those lives that were taken so early at a time where they should still be playing and laughing among us. May their souls rest in peace.

Like a comet, blazing cross the evening sky
Gone too soon
Like a rainbow, fading in the twinkling of an eye
Gone too soon

Shining, sparkling and splendidly bright
Here one day, gone one night
Like the loss of sunlight on a cloudy afternoon
Gone too soon

Like a castle, built upon a sandy beach
Gone too soon
Like a perfect flower, that is just beyond your reach
Gone too soon

Born to amuse, to inspire, to delight
Here one day, gone one night
Like a sunset, dying with the rising of the moon
Gone too soon

"Gone too Soon" - Michael Jackson

Chonnan, South Korea
March 26th 2003
22.45 p.m.

The stench was still thick in the air when he arrived, permeating the night's coldness and his nostrils with its smoky residue. Every step he took was tentative, ashen whispers against the soles of his shoes and rubble slipping beneath his weight. He was armed only with a flashlight and a strength of will, though the latter had been steadily crumbling the further he went into the darkened pit of debris, reminded every second of the horror that had taken place here.

He heard children screaming inside his head, the ghostly echoes of their desperate cries for help and their little bodies struggling to get out, heaving against the smoke, fighting for their lives. His entire being shuddered at the images, trying to shun them away at best he could, but they stayed, a persistent nightmare that would surely deny him of sleep for many nights to come.

"Be careful, Sir..we're still not sure if the roof is going to hold. It would be best for you not to step inside."

He nodded and waved away the rescue worker that had addressed him. By all means he had no right to be here, of course-he was no fireman or paramedic or anything of the sort. But as soon as he heard of what happened he felt like he had to, he needed to be here. Needed to see it for himself to believe that it had actually happened, needed to smell the stench and see the sights and whatnot, needed to be here to grasp the sheer tragedy of it all. And that, perhaps, was the only reason they allowed him in.

On the television it was all tears and panic, grief-stricken mothers collapsing to the ground in screaming agony, sirens wailing as ambulances rushed about, paramedics attending to the injured victims and yes, carrying the tell-tale bags filled with little bodies whose lives had been ended before they had scarcely begun.

The building was typical of a football players' boarding house in South Korea-primary schools with little money or government funding were forced to house the players in their youth footballing program in small, second-rate buildings where the rent was cheap-often without proper ventilation systems or fire exits. This place was no different, and already the papers and channels were filled with angry parents claiming that neglect and the inability to provide proper housing had led to this tragedy, to lives being lost.

Lives. Children's lives. Eight of them, all under the age of twelve.

Twelve. He remembered being twelve, he remembered being carefree and filled with wonder, still an innocent child in many regards, still dreaming of someday making it big in the world, of playing for the biggest clubs and scoring the best of goals. These children no doubt dreamt those same dreams, wanted those same things..

..and now would forever be denied of ever achieving them.

Against his better judgement, he stepped through the hole in the wall and found himself in the remains of what had been the room where those children slept, the room that the fire had almost completely consumed-the room where those lives were lost.

He shone his flashlight around, every object he saw bringing a fresh surge of pain into his already aching chest-little bedrolls spread on the floor, toy cars and plastic soccer balls, charred and blackened, a pair of child-sized cleats that narrowly escaped being burned all the way through, children's storybooks opened at certain pages. Burnt remains of uniforms, shinguards, some still hanging in cupboards, some trampled on the floor in silent witness to the chaos that had taken place here.

They never even had a chance. So young, so afraid, clambering over each other in the darkness and the smoke that was slowly killing them, crying and screaming to be let out, and his heart broke just thinking about it. He didn't want to think about it, but how could he not? He was here, in this place, ground zero or whatever they choose to call it, and it was as real as it could possibly get.

Every step he took something inside him was screaming at him to get out-it was too much, it hurt to much. He shouldn't be here. If he wanted to grieve, he should be somewhere praying for them and not here, soaking in the horror and the carnage. He kept his flashlight fixed on the floor, lighting his path as he tread carefully amongst the debris, remains of a once-happy place where children played and slept, sharing their toys and their laughter, dreaming of tomorrow-a tomorrow that never came for eight of them.

His thoughts stopped along with his movements when his flashlight fleeted over an object that seemed familiar. It was a flash of color, red, and not just any red-something more distinctive, something he knew and knew personally. He knelt down, brushed away the ash and debris with one hand as he uncovered what had caught his attention. And when he did, his breath left him completely.

It was a picture of him.

He remembered when it was taken, remembered it because it was one of the finest moments in his life. Gazing skywards, hair flowing in the wind as he ran, his lips kissing the golden wedding band on his left hand. His figure was white against a background of crimson-a stadium full of red-clad supporters, their screams and shouts and drum-banging still echoing in his head to this day.

The picture had survived the fire, though slightly crumpled, a tiny hole punctured into the top as evidence that it had once been hung proudly on the wall, and a child's scrawny writing with black marker along the bottom of the picture.

'Ahn Jung-Hwan, Korean football hero. Someday, I will be like him.'

The tears came surging out of his eyes before he could stop them, and soon his flashlight fell clattering onto the ground as both of his hands braced themselves on the debris-strewn floor, supporting his weight as he heaved with each sob that came out of him, unstoppable, every inch of his being crying out in pain.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fucking fair. An object so trivial as a picture of him, something so meaningless, had been allowed to survive, while those eight children had not.

He couldn't bear the thought that the child whose hand had scribbled that note could be one of the eight that had perished, but he realized that if he searched around in the darkness he would surely find many more pictures, many more posters and autographed photos and the like, of him or of the other players, a similar dream attached to them, a similar desire to grow up to be like them, to do what they had done. He cried, releasing the swelling pain that had built up in his chest for an entire day, unable to stop it.

When he felt a hand on his shoulder, and somebody kneeling beside him, he thought it was one of the rescue workers, here to help him out of the building and offer one or two words of sympathy. But the voice that spoke against his ear was deep and familiar, calling his name.

"Jung-Hwan.."

He turned around, darkness only allowing him to see the shilouette of the man who knelt beside him, but he knew who it was. Light reflected off the frame of the glasses he wore, a face wise with age and full of knowing.

"Hwang-Sae?" he said, and his voice croaked. "What-what are you.."

"What am I doing here?" the older man asked. "Same as you, I guess."

Realizing that he looked like a mess, Ahn Jung-Hwan tried to wipe away the tears that were still streaming down his cheeks, but his hand was stained with dust and debris and he realized it too late. Wincing as he realized his mistake and trying to frantically wipe his hand at the fabric of his trousers, he suddenly felt another hand on his face.

"Here, let me help you.."

Hwang-Sae held his head gently and wiped his tears away, using the pads of his fingers as Jung-Hwan remained still, unable to talk or think as the older man attended to him, every bit as gentle and kind as he remembered Hwang-Sae to be.

"No need to hide your tears.." the voice said again when his hand was done and Jung-Hwan's face was cleared of ash and tears. "I cried, too."

"Anyone would, if they knew what happened here." he replied, finally finding his voice. "It's unbearable..they were so young, Hwang-Sae."

"I know." the older man nodded. "I can't bear it, either. Come now, let's get out of here. I think we've both seen enough."

Jung-Hwan relented, allowing Hwang-Sae to help him back on his feet, picking up his flashlight in the process. With an arm around his shoulder, the older man led him out of the room, back through the gaping hole in the wall and into the coldness of the night. With a few words to the workers and firemen who stood watch over the scene they left, walking quietly towards the school's gate as a cold breeze swept by.

"Wait.." Jung-Hwan said as he noticed something that caught his attention. Along the entry gate to the school someone had created a makeshift shrine, with candles and flowers with tiny notes scribbled with messages of grief, tiny pictures and gifts, even stuffed animals. Candles in a multitude of shapes and sizes were arranged in a half-circle around a stone figurine of an angel, perhaps from a nearby church, and the other objects lay around it.

Jung-Hwan knelt before the shrine, letting the warm golden glow of the candles soothe his aching spirit, determined to take this sad yet beautiful image with him home, let it stay in his mind in place of the blackened horror he'd witnessed inside that burnt-out building. The teddy bears with black bows tied on their necks, the messages written on tear-stained notepapers, and the pictures..

So young. They were all so young. The pictures were of innocent little faces, eyes bright and full of life. So young. They shouldn't have died. Children that young aren't supposed to die. They're supposed to go on and live their full lives and play in the sunlight of many days and years, and grow up to be their parents' pride and joy.

Hwang-Sae knelt beside him, quietly crossing himself and starting to mutter a prayer. Jung-Hwan followed suit, knowing that if anything could help him cope with this, it was his faith. He said a quick prayer and opened his eyes, while beside him Hwang-Sae took in a sharp breath, and Jung-Hwan knew he must have been thinking of his own children. His son, especially, and how it could have been him, how it could have been anyone's child, anyone's life.

"They are safe now.." the older man said. "God has them."

"Yes..God has them." Jung-Hwan repeated.

He was about to stand back up when he noticed that one of the candles had gone out, doubtless because of the strong wind.

"You have a lighter?"

Hwang-Sae fished around his jacket pocket for a while and produced a small lighter, handing it to Jung-Hwan who then used it to re-light the candle, then watching it for a few seconds to make sure it didn't go out again.

Such a small gesture, he thought, but it did wonders to make him feel like he was doing something to help.

"Let's find someplace nice and warm to talk, shall we?" Hwang-Sae offered, and Jung-Hwan nodded his agreement. The two men stood up and left the schoolgrounds, walking back towards the parking lot where their cars were parked.

They found a small coffee shop in the town where the school was located, run by a middle-aged man who didn't seem to know who they were and didn't seem like he would give a damn even if he knew. Jung-Hwan sat across Hwang-Sae, stirring his strong black coffee with a small spoon, knowing that caffeine was probably not recommended two days before a match, but he couldn't care less.

They were set to take on Colombia on the 29th, at Seoul World Cup stadium. A friendly, the first match under their new Portuguese coach. But how can one think of a match at times like these? Only the fact that those little boys who died had belonged to a football school saved the whole thing from being entirely irrelevant.

"When did you arrive from Japan?" Hwang-Sae asked.

"Yesterday." Jung-Hwan replied. "When I heard the news about what happened, I felt like I just had to be here. I don't know-something in me just won't let me come to terms with this until I see it for myself."

Hwang-Sae nodded understandingly. "I felt that way, too."

"Hye-Won wanted to come with me, but I forbade her." Jung-Hwan spoke again. "And I'm glad I did."

"How is she?"

"She's doing fine. She's staying at the hotel-as soon as I move to Paju she's going to use her time to be with her family." Jung-Hwan said. "Speaking of family..how's yours?"

"Good. They're all good." Hwang-Sae said, then gave a wistful smile. "It's weird for my children that their daddy isn't playing football anymore, but I've tried my best to explain it to them."

Jung-Hwan caught the sadness in the older man's voice and felt it within him, too. "I'm sorry you had to retire..I was hoping you'd go on another four years or so."

"Well, that flatters me.." Hwang-Sae's smile widened, this time it was one of amusement. "But I've accomplished everything I set out to do, Jung-Hwan. I have no regrets."

No regrets. Of course not. How could one be regretful at the end of a long, illustrious career, spanning over a decade and filled with triumphs and losses, tears and joy, and the bond of friendship? Jung-Hwan could only hope that in decades to come he could be telling his children stories of his old days, and he'd be proud if he could tell them that he'd achieved just half of the things Hwang Sun-Hong had done.

He had a face that grew wise with his age, Hwang-Sae did. The lines underneath his eyes seemed to deepen with each passing year but they did not dim the fire that burned above, always with that fiery spirit intact. Jung-Hwan had always looked up to him in admiration, and the young ones were drawn to him because he was open and playful, the most friendly and gentle of the senior players he knew, though on the pitch he was a fierce competitor who would not hesitate to play hard and play rough.

"I heard..that you're planning on being a coach." Jung-Hwan said. "That you're going to go to England and study."

"My, word travels fast.." Hwang-Sae said amusedly. "Yes, you heard correct. I'm just processing the paperwork right now-shouldn't be too long."

"Well, then I wish you luck." Jung-Hwan said. "I think you'd make a great coach."

Hwang-Sae smiled. "Thank you."

So sure of himself, so full of confidence. No wonder people found so much to like in old Hwang-Sae. And no wonder that one man in particular had found in him an eternal friend, a companion to share years and years of experience, both on the pitch and off. Their lives ran almost parallel to each other, ever intertwined, to this very day.

"Has anyone.." Jung-Hwan began. "..tried to contact Hong about this? Do the Koreans in Los Angeles know about what happened here?"

"I called Myung-Bo as soon as I found out." Hwang-Sae said. "Over there they've been getting nothing on the news but the fucking war."

"I can imagine.."

"No doubt the Korean community will get wind of it, but I thought I'd get a head start and tell him myself."

Jung-Hwan swallowed hard. It wasn't easy for him to talk about Hong Myung-Bo, not even in the most detached manner. Not with Hwang-Sae. "It must be difficult for him.."

"He was shocked. And very troubled, as you might imagine." Hwang-Sae explained. "I'm sure that once word reaches the community leaders, some sort of memorial service will be held to give them a chance to grieve."

Jung-Hwan nodded, looking down on his pale fingers as they danced along the rim of the coffee mug. It wasn't hard to picture Hong in his mind, so far away yet still close in his heart, kept in the same place he'd resided for nearly a year now, all attempts at letting go having proved unsuccessful.

The man sitting in front of him wasn't questioning his silence. He knew. He must have. Hwang-Sae knew, and Jung-Hwan didn't need anybody telling him that for him to be sure of it. This man, too, had loved Hong. Loved him still, just like him. Had been loved by Hong in return, just like him. But unlike him, Hwang-Sae and Hong had loved each other for all the right reasons. How could they not love each other, with all they've been through? The togetherness, the shared triumphs and defeats, the friendship..

..whereas he had fallen into the older man's arms simply because he was needy and desperate.

"You knew, didn't you?" he asked, and it wasn't even a question. "You must have known.."

Hwang-Sae's response was a brief silence, followed by the sound of a breath being released slowly. "Jung-Hwan.."

"He must have told you." Jung-Hwan continued. "Or you must have found out for yourself."

In front of him Hwang-Sae's hands were gathered into a knot resting on the tabletop, slight wrinkles visible at his knuckles.

"I knew.." he said calmly. "He didn't tell me as it was happening-I figured there was something going on, but he never told me about it-he didn't say anything to me until it was over."

It was over. Indeed it was. Jung-Hwan found it frustrating that while his heart and mind knew that it was over, that ending it was the right thing to do, some parts of him were still longing, still in need of that man's touch, his presence, the calmness he brought to Jung-Hwan's life, the balance he provided.

But no more. In one night, Hong had proven to be as frail and vulnerable as Jung-Hwan couldn't afford to be, and that was the end of it. It was over.

"I love my wife." he said slowly. "Every day I've lived since then, I've tried to make it up to her, even though she doesn't know. It was wrong-it shouldn't have happened."

"Nobody ever doubted your love for Hye-Won, and Hong never loved Sumi and his children any less." Hwang-Sae said. "You say it was wrong, and it probably is, but when did wrong or right ever stop us?"

Jung-Hwan smiled bitterly. "That's another thing entirely, isn't it? In this part of the world, the notion of two men being in love alone is regarded as..wrong."

"Do you think so?"

"No." Jung-Hwan replied. "But two *married* men being in love can't possibly be right no matter how you look at it."

"You regret, then?"

Jung-Hwan looked into the older man's eyes behind his glasses, but he saw no condemnation there, no judgement. It was a simple question asked with no other intention than to seek an honest answer.

"I wish I could say yes.." Jung-Hwan said. "I wish I could just say 'yes, I regret it. It was wrong and 'sinful' and whatnot, but I can't."

Hwang-Sae's expression remained solemn, but he inched forward to rest his elbows on the table and looked right into Jung-Hwan's eyes.

"Then you should know..he feels the same."

"I loved him." Jung-Hwan said before he could stop himself. "I never questioned that. It wasn't a crush, a moment's passion, or anything of the sort. I loved him."

So did I, Hwang-Sae's eyes were saying. He didn't need to say those words out loud. Jung-Hwan could see it clearly, and he was meant to see.

"A man like him isn't loved only to be so easily forgotten.." Hwang-Sae said. "..especially when you are not sure whether you really want to forget."

"For the sake of my own life, my own family, I have to." Jung-Hwan said firmly. "And I'm only hoping he will do the same."

He was twisting the wedding band around his left ringfinger, something he habitually did whenever his mind was deep in thought, out of his own consciousness. This was the sacred seal that bound his fate to one person. And that person was not Hong Myung-Bo..it was Lee Hye-Won. And he would not have it any other way.

"When I married Hye-Won.." he began after a long, awkward silence. "Most people thought we were simply doing it to gain from each other's fame-that it was convenient."

"I am not 'most people'. And neither are those whom you can really call your friends." Hwang-Sae said.

Jung-Hwan nodded. "I still have so much to prove..to her, to the rest of the world, to myself. I can't afford to fail. Not again."

A warm hand closed over his, stilling his movements. The grip was firm but gentle, and as he looked up the face was now smiling at him, in a way that made him feel like Hwang-Sae truly knew how he felt, not a sympathetic facade simply to appease him.

"And they once said you were the one who didn't have a fighting spirit.." the older man said bemusedly. "Such bullshit."

Jung-Hwan returned the smile, feeling a little more of the guilt he'd been holding inside of him being lifted off his shoulders. The process had been slow, painful, but he knew nobody could heal him now but himself. After what he'd seen that night, the horror he'd witnessed, his own problems seemed to lose its meaning-there were families out there grieving the loss of their children, and here he was moping about a love that was never meant to be.

It couldn't continue. He had to move on. The slow baby steps he'd been taking had to pick up their pace. That, perhaps, was the real reason he even came here. He needed to see something so humbling, something that reminded him of how lucky he was to be alive, the more painful the better-his spirit was in dire need of a wakeup call.

KLM Flight 742
Schiphol - Incheon

With a heavy sigh, Kim Nam-Il folded the Korean edition newspaper the stewardess had provided them with and handed it over to his flying companion. Lee Young-Pyo took one look at the bundle being offered to him and shook his head weakly.

"I don't think I even want to read about it.."

Nam-Il nodded and pushed the folded newspaper into the back pocket of the seat in front of him. "It's not pleasant, I can tell you that."

"Kids.." Young-Pyo muttered, shaking his head. "Kids, for God's sake! All of them."

"Young-Pyo.."

"They could have stopped it." Young-Pyo muttered angrily. "They could've provided them a better place to live, or at least made sure that the building had proper fire exits.."

"Well, I'm sure they'll look into it now. If anything, this is going to start a nationwide movement for better conditions in places like that." Nam-Il said.

"It's not enough.." Young-Pyo said. "It won't bring them back."

Nam-Il looked at his friend sadly and shook his head. "No..it won't."

"What did Uke say to you..on the phone?"

"All he knows is what he saw in the news.." Nam-Il said, calling to mind the phone conversations in which Uke had related the news, word by word, painfully, as he struggled to maintain his composure. "And it's not pretty."

"I'll bet.." Young-Pyo muttered. "I'm not even sure I still want to play this match."

"Seems pointless now, doesn't it?" Nam-Il said. "But the Colombian team has arrived, the tickets have been sold..I don't think they're going to back out of this one."

"I know, I know..I wasn't implying that we should." Young-Pyo said. "I just wish we could play under different circumstances..without this, the war, everything else.."

Nam-Il closely observed his companion. Young-Pyo's mood had gradually worsened ever since they met at the airport for this flight home. They were the only ones from the Holland contingent to make the trip back-a deal previously struck between Feyenoord and the KFA stated very clearly that Chong-Gug could not be called up for this match, while Ji-Sung was sidelined with a knee injury that required surgery.

Nam-Il knew that with Ji-Sung being injured, Young-Pyo had been carrying the weight of expectations towards Hiddink's Asian investments alone-he knew he had to play and play well if he was to prove to the rest of the world that 2002 wasn't a flash in the pan. Young-Pyo had done extremely well in Ji-Sung's absence, but the strain of it all was starting to show in the lines of the midfielder's face. He'd had to adapt very quickly, and while nobody would rate him as anything but a success, the effort had obviously exhausted him.

"Have you called Tae-Young?"

"Huh?" the question seemed to catch Young-Pyo off guard. "Oh, that..yes, I've called him."

"He must miss you very much.."

Young-Pyo nodded, but his eyes were staring off distantly. "Yes, very much.."

Nam-Il didn't like this. The mention of Tae-Young's name used to be a sure way of getting Young-Pyo to perk up even in the worst of times, but this time it didn't seem to be working. Either that, or there was a different problem altogether when it concerned Tae-Young. And thinking of that was not pleasant.

"Young-Pyo.." he asked tentatively. "Is everything okay..I mean, between you and Tae-Young?"

His answer took a long, long while to come, silence in which his sense of foreboding grew rapidly. Young-Pyo was looking out the window on his left side, watching as the wingtip glistened in the sun.

"How old are you, Nam-Il?" he finally asked.

"Huh?" it was Nam-Il's turn to be caught off guard. "I'm twenty-six this year..same as you. Why?"

"Same as me..that's correct." Young-Pyo murmured. "I wonder.."

"Wonder about what?" Nam-Il said. "Look, if you don't want to talk about it with me that's perfectly fine-but at least don't leave me hanging."

"Sorry, that wasn't my intention." Young-Pyo said, but his voice was listless.

"Young-Pyo..are you going to tell me what this is all about? Because if you'd rather have me shut up and mind my own business, I'll gladly do so." Nam-Il said.

"Promise me one thing.." Young-Pyo said as he turned to face his friend. "Whatever I'm going to say to you, don't tell Uke."

Nam-Il frowned deeply. It was decidedly strange for Young-Pyo to be keeping secrets from his best friend-and even stranger that he would consider sharing it with Nam-Il, but not Uke. But Young-Pyo wasn't kidding around with him-the look on his face was all seriousness.

"Okay.." Nam-Il said. "I promise."

Young-Pyo nodded and seemed to be gathering his courage to speak, hands knotting nervously on his lap.

"My parents.." he said. "My father has become rather frail in health lately..with his age, it doesn't come as too much of a surprise."

"I'm sorry to hear that.." Nam-Il said, still not sure where this would lead.

"I sat down with him before I left, just to have a father-son conversation..and he said that before he died, he would very much like to see me..get married."

Nam-Il chewed his bottom lip nervously. Young-Pyo didn't need to say anything else. Those few words were enough.

His parents wanted him to get married. As any parent with a son in his late twenties would. Young-Pyo was good-natured and kind, financially sound, with a promising career and a bright future. He could afford to support a family. His parents were growing old, and his father was ailing. They wanted to see their grandchildren, see them grow up in the same ageless wonder they had experienced watching their son grow up.

It all made sense. It all made perfect sense. Nobody would blame them for wanting to see their son married. It was everything that parents would wish for their children, a happy married life and a family of their own.

It was everything Nam-Il knew Young-Pyo didn't want.

"Young-Pyo.."

"I couldn't tell them. I just couldn't, Nam-Il." Young-Pyo said before his companion could say anything further. "How do I say it? How am I supposed to tell them?"

Nam-Il didn't know, either. His own parents had never even brought this subject up with him. Easy to understand why-he was the youngest child with three older brothers, all of whom were now married and had provided their parents with beautiful grandchildren. He was always regarded as the baby, and even he would admit that he hadn't fully made the transition to maturity-still a child in many regards, even in his parent's eyes.

The question was still some years away, despite his age being the same as Young-Pyo's.

But for Young-Pyo, the time had come. And Nam-Il knew there was no way he would have the heart to tell to his expectant parents that the only person he cared to be with was a man, an older man, a divorced man with two children he barely knew.

"I don't know what to do, what to say..I didn't see this one coming-maybe I should have, maybe that's my mistake."

"Mistake? What mistake?"

Young-Pyo shook his head. "All I've been doing until now is just living the moment, day by day, not thinking about tomorrow or what might happen. At times it seems like that's the best way to do it-because really, what else can you do?"

Nam-Il could only nod in understanding. He knew how it felt-that was how he and Uke had lived out their relationships. Certainly there was no talk of a happily ever after, a dream house in the suburbs, growing old together-they did not dare to dream such lofty heights, because tomorrow it could all come crashing down on them.

Apparently, in Young-Pyo's case, it had.

"I never questioned the way I feel for Tae-Young..I never questioned whether it was wrong or right.." Young-Pyo continued. "..but I also never thought about what I would say to everyone else if they started asking questions..least of all my own parents."

"And..what are you going to do?"

"I have no fucking idea." Young-Pyo shook his head. "I have a lot of thinking to do."

"Is there a woman..I mean, do you have any close female friends, that your parents think might be your girlfriend?" Nam-Il asked nervously. He really didn't know how to handle the subject-he wasn't sure he even wanted to.

"Well, there's this one college friend of mine..we've been friends for years and dated for a while, but really nothing serious. I'm still friend with her, butI don't think my parents had a specific person in mind.." Young-Pyo said. "..they just want to see me married."

Nam-Il's thumb was playing about the buttons on his armrests, not daring to look Young-Pyo in his eyes. Perhaps he should've kept his big mouth shut, after all. He wasn't ready for this. He was the last person Young-Pyo should be asking opinions from, in this sort of matter.

"Why.." he said. "Why don't you want Uke to know?"

Young-Pyo sighed heavily. "Uke is very smart. He sees things that other people do not."

"I know that." Nam-Il said. "But why-"

"Nam-Il..if he were to find out, how long would it take for him to start thinking that maybe you would be asked the same question?" Young-Pyo cut him off. "How long until he is filled with fear that you are going to leave him, that you're going to walk away?"

"Is that what you're going to do?" Nam-Il's voice rose significantly. "You're going to leave Tae-Young?"

"I don't know, Nam-Il!" Young-Pyo looked on the verge of tears.

"You can't keep something like this a secret forever, Young-Pyo! Not from Uke, not from Tae-Young, not from anyone!" Nam-Il said.

"It's no secret.." Young-Pyo said, and his voice became withery. "Tae-Young knows."

National Football Training Centre
Paju, Kyongji Province

March 27th 2003
21.15 p.m.

"Jung-Hwan-hyung, it is good to see you. Welcome." the tall, short-haired man who was evidently Jung-Hwan's roommate for the duration of this very brief training camp bowed his head politely at his senior, and at first Jung-Hwan couldn't recognize him. But as soon as he saw the other man's eyes, his slightly upturned lips, he knew who it was.

"Dong-Gook, no need to be so formal with me." he said with a smile.. "Come now, let's unpack our stuff and head for dinner. I'm starving."

Lee Dong-Gook returned his smile, albeit nervously, and both of them began to arrange what little luggage they carried inside the small, two-person room they had been assigned to. Each room in the Paju dormitories slept two people, with a bathroom included, but dining and entertainment facilities were communal, to encourage socialization.

Jung-Hwan paid close attention to Dong-Gook as they unpacked their things. He knew that Dong-Gook had joined the military after failing to secure exemption by way of an Asian Games gold medal, having to quit Pohang Steelers to link up with Sangmu Phoenix instead. But the man who now stood with him inside this room was very, very different than the uncertain youngster who got booted out of Hiddink's World Cup 23 almost a year ago.

His physique had become stronger, his skin slightly tanned-no doubt from basic training, and the ever-changing hairstyle and color had been replaced with a standard military crew-cut. Dong-Gook's face was studious, solemn, far removed from the quirky youngster Jung-Hwan had known in his own glory days in the K-League, before his ill-fated move to Perugia. He and Dong-Gook had even starred in several TV commercials together, when the younger man was touted as the next big thing in Korean football.

Look where it's all led them now, Jung-Hwan thought.

"You seem very fine and fit.." he commented. "Settling in the military quite well, are you?"

Dong-Gook shrugged his shoulders. "It was very tough at first..but I got used to it."

"You must be performing very well in the league if Coelho decided to pick you for this match.."

There was no response, and Jung-Hwan turned around to see that Dong-Gook was now smiling wistfully at him.

"Coelho doesn't yet know enough about us to know who is good and who is not.." the youngster said. "..and that is why I'm here."

"Oh, come on.." Jung-Hwan countered. "Why are you being so hard on yourself?"

"I've been complacent far too long." Dong-Gook said with a calmness that was startling. "It's about time I start being hard on myself."

Jung-Hwan breathed a heavy sigh. He knew that feeling all too well-only sheer determination had saved him from suffering Dong-Gook's fate of being kicked out of Hiddink's team, and while he was not about to suggest that Dong-Gook had not been determined enough, or that he hadn't given it his all, he wasn't about to argue with the younger man.

"Yet here you are.." Jung-Hwan said.

"But not for long." Dong-Gook said as he opened the small cupboard in his side of the room and arranged his clothes in it. "Not for long.."

The younger man's voice had withered as his hand wandered over the smooth white cloth of the national team jersey that lay at the top of his pile, and Jung-Hwan saw his fingers passing over the number 20 that was printed red on it reverently.

20. He was wearing Hong's number. For the first time since Hong's retirement from the national team last November, someone else would be wearing his number.

Even Dong-Gook's best efforts could not hide the mixture of doubt and longing that played about his face, its boyish features intact despite the newfound ruggedness of his military experience. Jung-Hwan could easily understand why-Hong and Dong-Gook had been teammates at Pohang Steelers, and Jung-Hwan was pretty sure that some words of wisdom had been spoken between them prior to Hong's departure to Los Angeles-that was within his character.

"Did you..talk to him before he left? With Hong?" Jung-Hwan asked.

Dong-Gook's body language tensed, and for a while he said nothing. But slowly he turned around, the white jersey in hand, looking at Jung-Hwan straight in the eyes.

"He told me..he told me that I should wear this.." the younger man's voice was halting. "..and that I should wear this proudly. That was all he said."

Jung-Hwan nodded. "Then you should believe it. Hong Myung-Bo is a man of his words."

He turned his back on Dong-Gook, arranging his things on his bed even as his mind fought to quell the rising voices that cursed him for some of the things he'd said.

--Hong Myung-Bo is a man of his words.--

Well, most of the time.

"Has anyone told him..about what happened in Chonnan?" the voice asked from behind him, and Jung-Hwan's breath was caught in his throat.

"Who..Hong?"

"Yes." Dong-Gook said. "I doubt the news over there would broadcast it.."

"He knows." Jung-Hwan replied tersely. "Hwang-Sae called him."

"Oh, I see."

No, you didn't. You didn't see that place-didn't see that dark, smoky pit where those children died. You weren't there. You didn't see the things I saw-the burnt toys, the trampled posters and whatnot, the images that come to mind, how it must have felt.

"We'd better get inside."

"No."

"Someone might see us here.."

"I don't care, Uke."

"Nam-Il.."

"A while longer..please?"

The two dark, deep eyes looked up from his chest and drilled straight into his own, lips that were already swollen with kisses and still inviting more. "Okay.."

Nam-Il placed a palm at the back of his lover's head and brought their lips together again, as intense as it had been the first time, the second time, the third time they kissed ever since Uke had noticed Nam-Il wandering the hallways in search of the room he'd been assigned to. The tall midfielder's luggage lay in a messy heap at their feet, silent witness to the ruckus that had taken place as soon as they had been reunited.

If ever there was a time that Nam-Il would gladly liken himself to the poetic heroes of those exaggerated romantic TV dramas he loathed so much, whispering sweet nothings in his lover's ears and holding the object of his affection so tight in his arms bones might break, this was it. With Uke, he wouldn't mind being silly and lovestruck. He wouldn't mind anything. With Uke, nothing else seemed to matter.

He mouthed the words 'I love you' in his lover's ears many times, knowing each time was worth it, knowing he could never say it enough to feel that it would sustain them. But Uke never needed his words-not that he didn't like hearing them, but they had other, more profound ways. And this was one of it.

Uke felt ready to suck the last breath out of his lungs-not that Nam-Il minded all that much, except that he'd rather not have the kiss of death just yet, and he could barely feel his lips when finally, after God knows how long, they parted.

"I missed you.." he said.

Their separation had scarcely been two months, and he was ready to fall all over himself with longing. Not that he'd been miserable during his time away-he was doing what he'd always wanted to do, trying to achieve his goals, but being away from Uke was the definite negative of all the wonderful, positive things being in Holland meant for him.

"Where.." Uke said, pausing to swallow into what was an undoubtedly dry, parched throat. "Where is Young-Pyo?"

Nam-Il smiled. Of course, naturally once they had done away with the passionate reunion they were entitled to, Uke's thoughts turned to his best friend. "I dropped him off about two hallways down..I think he knew where Tae-Young's room was."

Uke gave a slight pout. "He..didn't want to see me?"

Echoes of his conversation with Young-Pyo on the plane came to the surface, but Nam-Il quelled it. "No..he just wanted to see Tae-Young first. Hey, I didn't hang around to meet him and went off straight to find you, did I?"

A shrug of the little striker's shoulders, and Nam-Il was reminded of just how cute his lover could look. "I guess so.."

"So..can I just move into your room or do I have to kick someone out in the process?"

Uke smiled widely. "We're in luck. I've been assigned to a room with Young-Pyo, and you've been assigned to a room with Tae-Young. I suppose that you dropped Young-Pyo at what was supposed to be your room, and he's gonna stay there..so we can just head straight to mine."

Nam-Il nodded, and immediately bent down to start picking up his forgotten luggage to disguise the unease on his face. Well, he was pretty sure Young-Pyo *would* stay in Tae-Young's room, problems notwithstanding, but for how much longer?

"When's dinner? I can't wait to see everybody else.."

"It's fifteen minutes from now, so you can take a quick shower if you want." Uke said. "Oh, and Nam-Il?"

"Yes?"

Uke straightened up, one of Nam-Il's bags in his hands, and his expression was serious. "You and I both know that there's someone at the table we won't be particularly happy to see.."

Nam-Il wasn't quite catching what that meant. "There is? Who?"

"Our new captain."

It took a while for his jet-lagged brain to comprehend, but Nam-Il finally understood.

"Yoo Sang-Chul."

Uke nodded, and Nam-Il knew he was right. They were both still very angry with Sang-Chul over the incident of the videotape he'd sent that nearly had Chong-Gug killing himself, and Nam-Il knew that there would definitely be contact with the older man, because he was once again assuming the responsibility of national captain-as he had done during France '98 and at other times in Hong Myung-Bo's absence.

On one hand, he wanted to lash out at Sang-Chul for that thoroughly inconsiderate act, because his aim was to hurt Chong-Gug and nothing else, even if it was an act of retribution for Chong-Gug hurting Chun-Soo with his words. But they couldn't possibly let Sang-Chul in on the fact that they knew about the tape, and it was a safe bet that Chun-Soo had no clue, either.

"Just smile at him and let him be, okay?" Uke pleaded. "We don't want a scene, and I'd feel sorry for Chun-Soo if he had to explain everything all over again.."

"Don't worry..it won't happen." Nam-Il assured his lover. Not for Sang-Chul's sake, but for Chun-Soo's, he added in his mind, knowing full well that Uke was thinking the same.

He might not have liked Sang-Chul for what he'd done-loathed him, to be honest-but in truth Nam-Il still respected Sang-Chul as a player and there was no doubt that he would make a great captain for the national team-he was the sort of man who rose to his task with calmness, as he'd demonstrated countless times before. Personal life notwithstanding, Yoo Sang-Chul was their captain and thus commanded their respect.

Even with the national team gathered at full strength, the European contingent back home and sharing stories as they sat in the large dining hall, the atmosphere was rather subdued. The tragedy in Chonnan dominated the conversations, and while all of them knew how important it was to carry on with the match plans, it was also evident that it dawned on all of them that there was more to life than simply football, playing and winning.

Jung-Hwan watched from his table as not far from him, sitting in a rather secluded corner where not many people would notice, Choi Tae-Uk proceeded to feed spoonfuls of miyok soup into the mouth of a very willing Kim Nam-Il, both of them smiling at each other all the way. Jung-Hwan smiled too, an inkling of warmth lit inside his rather draughty soul.

He knew about them of course-had known since the match against Brazil last November. Nam-Il had told him, though the explanation as to why and how was left for another time and place-and not now, Jung-Hwan could tell. It was apparent that Park Ji-Sung was out of the picture and Choi Tae-Uk was in. And by the look of things, they were just as in love as they had been the first time round, and Jung-Hwan was glad to see it. There are those kinds of love, he told himself, that are worth fighting for.

Sitting in a more prominent place, where he was clearly visible and looked somewhat wanting to be seen, was Yoo Sang-Chul. A cluster of young players had gathered around him, including the unmistakeable bleached-blonde heads of Sang-Chul's two Ulsan Tigers teammates, Lee Chun-Soo and the newly signed rookie from Korea University, Choi Sung-Kuk. If not for the fact that Chun-Soo was rather lean while Sung-Kuk was smaller and pudgier, it would've been difficult telling them apart.

Little Sung-Kuk looked like he'd been taking cues in almost every aspect of life-how he played, how he dressed, what colour his hair was-from Chun-Soo these days, but the original bleached blonde bad boy didn't seem to mind. Sang-Chul was entertaining the youngsters with stories of his old days in the national team, who listened in awe. Well, Chun-Soo wasn't exactly sitting there with his mouth gaping open-he was no stranger to the international scene nor to such revered figures as Yoo Sang-Chul.

Next to Sang-Chul, the other high-profile senior in the team was Kim Tae-Young. He was having a much quieter dinner at the other side of the room, close to Uke and Nam-Il, and also accompanied by Lee Young-Pyo. The Eindhoven midfielder looked rather tired and weary, though Jung-Hwan suspected that the flight home, combined with his grueling schedule in Holland, was cause for his fatigue.

There were other familiar faces of course-the likes of Lee Woon-Jae, Choi Jin-Cheul, and on the younger side there were Seol Ki-Hyeon and Cha Doo-Ri, having arrived from Belgium and Germany, respectively. And then there were the new faces-well, not exactly new. Some of them were K-League veterans who had been in and out of the national team over the years, but had fallen out of Hiddink's favor in his final selection. Then there were the young ones, like Sung-Kuk and Jung Jo-Gook, newly promoted from the U-21 side and looking eager to prove themselves.

The new coach, Coelho, sat with his team of assistants, interpereters, physical trainers and officials off at a table in the corner. While Jung-Hwan liked the man enough for his kind demeanor, and his courage to move for an offensive style of play, a large part of him still doubted their new coach, doubted him in the same way everybody else in the team, if not the country, must have felt.

But for the time being at least, Coelho need not worry. He had the backing of the KFA, the press, the coaching stuff, and he was obviously pleased with the condition of the Paju facility. A state-of-the-art training complex equipped with a stadium, several small training pitches, dormitories, a fitness and health center, all maintained and monitored with the utmost care and highest degree of attention.

It was a far cry from Chonnan, from children having to sleep in bunks and bedrolls on the floor, cramped into a small room because their school couldn't afford better, fire exits blocked by cupboards and shelves, neglected ventilation systems clogged with dust and dirt over the years..

Jung-Hwan closed his eyes briefly, and opened them again. Uke was now brushing his fingers through Nam-Il's left eyebrow, evidently trying to pick out a bit of rice that had somehow managed to lodge itself there, testimony to Nam-Il's very messy eating habits. Jung-Hwan allowed himself a smile.

The memory of the children of Chonnan would be well-served if he could just stop being so miserable about their deaths and start celebrating what they reminded him of-that life was to be lived and to be lived with love, and here he was surrounded by it.

After dinner the team gathered for a quick briefing in one of the small conference room, where their coach outlined the plans for their training the following morning, aided by a projector screen and his interpreter. They only had one day to prepare and it would be no easy task, considering that the lineup was fairly new, but Coelho seemed determined to get this version of the national team up and running in no time.

Before they were dismissed, Yoo Sang-Chul stepped up to the front of the room, looking poised and confident as always, and spoke to them briefly.

"I know that the tragedy in Chonnan has left a dark cloud hanging over us, and I understand that none of us has had the chance to grieve properly, as it happened only yesterday. However, I also think it's important that we do not let this dampen our spirits for the game with Colombia, as we owe it to those children to do the best we can, so that they may look down on us from Heaven proudly."

There was a murmur of agreement in the room, and heads were nodding.

"As captain, I've taken the initiative to request that black bands be provided for us and the Colombian team, to be worn on the left sleeves of our jerseys during the match. I trust everyone is okay with that?"

Another round of nods.

"Good. Then have a good night's sleep-and I'll see you all on the pitch tomorrow."

The players stood up and left the room, chairs being pushed around every which way as they made their way to the exit. Nam-Il flung his arm around Uke's shoulder in a friendly manner and walked with him towards the door, Tae-Young and Young-Pyo following closely behind.

"Damn show-off.." Uke muttered under his breath, and Nam-Il knew who he meant.

"Well, at least he's actually good. You know, at this captaining thing."

"I know that.." Uke said seethingly. "Never doubted him for a second, but..God, the things that man is capable of."

Nam-Il smiled and gave Uke's short hair a ruffle. As the crowd in front of them dispersed and the four of them could walk back to their rooms in relative quiet, Nam-Il released Uke and saw him immediately link up with Young-Pyo, and the two friends were soon engaged in a conversation. Nam-Il didn't have to stay alone long, though, as sure enough a strong arm was soon flung around his neck and he turned his head to stare into the eyes of Kim Tae-Young, hidden behind a recently applied coloring of auburn and blonde.

"How was the flight?" the voice asked, and Nam-Il soon realized just how much he'd missed his best friend.

"I've had better.." Nam-Il said, discreetly eyeing the pair walking just a few steps ahead of them. "The news reached us just as we were boarding, and after that..well, let's just the modd wasn't at all cheerful."

Tae-Young was smiling at him, nodding understandingly, but Nam-Il noticed that the lines of his face looked deeper than the last he'd glanced at him up close, and there was sadness lurking somewhere within those dark brown eyes.

"How..how have you been?" he asked tentatively.

Uke had just told Young-Pyo something that made the Eindhoven player laugh, but Tae-Young's glance in their direction was not one of delight.

"I've been better, too.." he muttered, and Nam-Il felt his stomach churning.

"Tae-Young.."

"Told you, did he?" Tae-Young asked, in a low tone the other two couldn't overhear. "On the flight home?"

His words failing him, Nam-Il could only nod. He was vaguely aware of Uke chiding Young-Pyo for a blunder he made at one of his Eindhoven matches, and their ringing laughter seemed miles away from where he was, walking with a sullen Kim Tae-Young beside him, feeling helpless to ease his best friend's pain.

"I should've known.." Tae-Young spoke again. "I should've known the day would come."

"Tae-Young, I-"

His words were halted by a finger that rose against his lips, and Tae-Young's softly muttered "Shhh.." was a whiff of air that came upon his face, causing him to close his eyes. The warmth of the older man's face drew closer until Nam-Il at last felt those lips kissing his forehead lightly, before drawing back.

"Don't burden yourself with my troubles, Nam-Il." he said gently yet firmly. "You be with Uke now, okay? Take good care of him.."

Nam-Il could only nod slowly-he knew that other people's relationships, never mind that it was Tae-Young and Young-Pyo's was no business of his, and he should leave it to them to sort their own matters out. They'd sort it out..wouldn't they?

They reached the door of Uke and Nam-Il's-well, it was supposed to be Uke and Young-Pyo's room-first and bid farewell to the other two. Nam-Il was almost sorry to see them go, as he'd been hoping to have some time with Tae-Young, but told himself he'd make up for it tomorrow. Besides, the prospect of spending the night with Uke after two months of not seeing each other was hardly something he could pass up on.

Uke seemed to be of the similar mind, as he grabbed hold of Nam-Il by the collar of his shirt and flung him inside the room, with a strength surprising for one so small by comparison, and frantically closed and locked the door behind him.

Nam-Il smirked deviously as he reached for the switch on the wall and turned the lights out, leaving them in darkness. He was not taken by surprise even when the thud uf Uke's weight hit his chest, and he allowed both of them to fall onto one of the beds, his arms gripping Uke tightly around the little striker's body.

"Not much space, this thing here.." Uke commented, and quite rightly. A single bed was by no means the best choice for a night's passionate lovemaking, but Nam-Il was content to make do with whatever they had.

"We've done with less before..remember the back seat of your car?"

In the darkness Uke's eyes gave a naughty glint. "Oh, how could I forget? Our first time..drunk and reeking of beer and potato chips. How romantic.."

His recital was halted a second later, as Nam-Il pulled his face down forcefully and kissed him.

"So..is this..it?"

"What do you mean, 'it'?"

"You know what I mean.." Pause. "Are you..leaving me?"

"I didn't say that! How can you..I didn't..I don't want to!"

"I know you don't want to! But..you said it yourself, your parents-"

"I don't know what to do, or what to say to them! I don't know anything right now, and it's killing me!"

"Young-Pyo.."

"It's not because of you, not because of you at all.." Pause. "I love you. Don't you dare doubt me on that."

"I never did, Young-Pyo.." Pause. "But-"

"But what? WHAT?! You expect me to come in here and know all the answers? To make a decision here and now? I can't, I just CAN'T!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"And why are you just standing there?"

"Huh? What do you want me to-"

"Can't you see I'm falling to pieces here? Can't you just hold me, for instance? Or maybe you just don't care anymore!"

"Don't say that!"

"Then why aren't you holding me?"

In a flash Kim Tae-Young had strode across the room and gathered his lover into his arms, clasping him tightly against his chest as Young-Pyo clung onto him, tears wetting his face as he buried his head against the older man's shoulders.

"There, now.." Tae-Young whispered gently. "I'm holding you.."

Young-Pyo's tears were not new to him. He'd cried before, a few times, but he had never seen his lover so distraught before. He truly did not know which direction he was supposed to take, what he was supposed to say or do, and Tae-Young felt gradually worse as he realized that he was not the one who could provide guidance or answers, either. He didn't want Young-Pyo to leave him. He didn't want to let go. He was sure he would die if Young-Pyo left him, taking away most of what his life was worth living for.

But he couldn't bear the thought of putting Young-Pyo through the pain of having to tell his parents the truth, couldn't bear imagining what their reaction would be like, what would happen if somebody else found out, and word got out..

No. That couldn't happen. He had to put Young-Pyo first. He had to ensure Young-Pyo would be protected.

But at what cost? His own?

"I love you.." came the murmured whisper against his chest. "I don't want..I don't want to leave you.."

Deep in his heart Tae-Young wondered, if what they want or didn't want even mattered anymore.

The next day dawned bright as they gathered for morning training, the winter's chill replaced by an early spring wind, though they kept their cold weather training gear just to be safe. Jogging and physical exercise was followed by passing and scoring games, one-two touches, interrupted by briefings and corrections from the coach and his staff.

Jung-Hwan looked up to the bright blue sky and savored each drop of sweat that came rising on his flesh, breathing the air into his lungs as he looked around, at scenes that were so familiar to him and yet, so different.

Jung-Hwan could almost see him there-standing proudly and calmly, directing the young ones to do this technique or that and giving them advice afterwards, black hair fluttering in the wind. He talked and waved his hands about, as always, legs strong and sturdy, a study in composure and maturity. Those were the images he'd been carrying with him all this time, sometimes desperate to let go of, at other times gladly dwelling in their memory.

"Jung-Hwan, over here! Let's try that one again!" one of the assistant coaches called out, and he dutifully did as he was told, joining a circle of players that had assembled in a part of the field. Above him, the sun slowly slid from its peak and began its long journey westward.

The day was fast coming to a close.

"Do we have to do this now?"

"Yes."

"Sang-Chul, I'm very tired.."

"Since when did that matter?"

"..well.."

"My point exactly. Now, just be a good boy will you?"

"Good? Me?"

"Oh, don't be so difficult, Chun-Soo! you know what I mean by that."

"Fine-but don't be surprised if I pass out somewhere along the way."

"No problem."

"I mean, I'm so tired I don't think I can even-you know-"

"Good. Less work for me. Now lie back and spread your legs."

"Darn it, you are so mean sometimes."

"And you're loving it, aren't you? Up you go, come on.."

"Wake me up when you're done."

"Sure."

Later that afternoon the team relocated to Seoul, checking in at the Intercontinental, located a short distance away from the Sangam World Cup Stadium. They attended a banquet hosted by the KFA for both teams at the main ballroom, and it was here that the Colombian coach spoke on behalf of his team their sincere condolences for the tragedy at Chonnan. The banquet did not carry on until late at night, both teams needing their night's rest for tomorrow, and after a short team briefing, they were allowed to return to their rooms.

That night, Nam-Il found himself sharing his bed not with Uke but with Tae-Young, part of the agreement they'd come to earlier that day. Each of them would get to spend the second night with their best friend-their originally assigned roommates-while the switch would be back on the third and final night.

It had started to rain sometime during the banquet, and Nam-Il could still hear the dying splatters against the hotel window, the faint dripping sounds carrying the time into the late hours of the night. He watched the light coming through the small gap in the curtains swaying slowly against the flesh of Tae-Young's chest, his finger following its movements back and forth.

They had remained silent for most of the nght because he'd sensed that Tae-Young wanted it to stay that way, but now he sensed that the older man would welcome a word or two. Young-Pyo and Uke were right next door, and faintly they could hear them laughing once or twice, and Nam-Il didn't need to see Tae-Young's face to know what he was thinking.

"You talked to him again?"

Tae-Young shifted slightly, his chin resting against Nam-Il's forehead. "Tried to. But we ended right back where we started."

"Which is?" Nam-Il was almost afraid to ask.

A wistful sigh, and Nam-Il felt the breath against his skin. "Nowhere. No answers. No clue."

Nam-Il's right arm moved across Tae-Young's body to embrace him. "I wish..there was something I could do."

"Never mind that.." Tae-Young said quickly, as Nam-Il knew he would. "I told you, didn't I? Don't burden yourself with my troubles."

Nam-Il looked up, his expression defiant. "We're friends. Friends are supposed to share burdens."

A hand was raised, and it came gently upon his cheek, stroking him. "Haven't I burdened you enough in the past?"

"That past is over and done with." Nam-Il said firmly. "Last few months, you've been the best friend in the world."

Tae-Young smiled at this, but the dimness in his eyes remained. "Thank you."

Laughter from the room next door, and both glanced at the wall that separated them, needing only a little imagination to know what was going on in there. Nam-Il pictured Uke's face, smiling as beautifully as anyone can, and God knows what Tae-Young must be feeling at the moment.

"He didn't want me to tell Uke."

Tae-Young nodded slowly. "I know. That's what he said to me, too."

"But why?"

"He didn't tell you?"

Nam-Il shrugged. "He said he didn't want Uke to be..afraid, that it might happen to us, too.." a shiver went through him at the thought. "..but it doesn't make any sense."

Tae-Young sensed his unease and calmed him with a kiss on his forehead. "I'm sure he has his reasons. Whatever they are."

Muffled voices speaking through the wall, exuberant with joy and oblivious to troubles. Nam-Il envied them, envied Uke, at the very least, for the moment not knowing of his best friend's turmoils, and Young-Pyo must be working very hard not to let it show.

"Enjoying themselves, aren't they?" Tae-Young said amusedly. "They must miss each other greatly."

"No more than I missed you.." Nam-Il muttered against the older man's chest, and there was a pleasant feeling stirring somewhere in Tae-Young, like a momentary relief from all that was troubling his mind.

The hand reached for his face again, this time turning it upwards, and Nam-Il knew what was coming and closed his eyes to welcome it.

He'd almost forgotten how good Tae-Young was when it came to kissing-the lips were moist and soft, enveloping his own, and just the faintest shift in his posture could make anyone drown in his charms. Nam-Il had missed this too-the gentle treatment, the caring nature, the protectiveness. Of course, Uke often spoiled him, royally too, but it was with Tae-Young that he felt the safest.

Ironic, when one considered the events that had happened in the past, but to Nam-Il it made perfect sense. Tae-Young wasn't playing any games with him, wasn't entertaining any notions other than wanting to give his friend the best of his attentions.

Tae-Young was over him now, holding him tightly, and the heat stirring between them was steadily building, and all Nam-Il had to do now was give in and lose himself in the moment, and everything would be all right.

Sangam World Cup Stadium
Seoul

March 29th 2003
17.45 p.m.

When Jung-Hwan entered the dressing room, his first reaction was to let out a soft gasp. Judging by the nonchalance of his teammates, it was clear that everyone had made the same noise when they first saw what had been laid out for them.

A corner of the dressing room had been cleared of lockers and converted to a small shrine, sitting on top of a small wooden table covered in a white tablecloth. Prayer candles and incense were alight, sending softly-scented fumes drifting onto the air. The wall behind the shrine was swathed in black fabric, and seated in a prominent place on a small raised platform was a framed picture that held the faces of the eight children killed in the fire in Chonnan-Jung-Hwan only had to look to know what it was.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned around to see Lee Chun-Soo, already in his kit and looking very much ready to go.

"Sang-Chul arranged for this..talked it over with the coaches and had the picture brought from a local newspaper."

Jung-Hwan nodded, his eyes returning to the shrine.

"I hope none of us find it too disturbing.."

Disturbing? Jung-Hwan swallowed hard. Seeing the blackened hole in the wall of the room where the children had died, *that* had been disturbing. Actually walking the ashes of the place where those lives were lost had nearly gutted him. This, by comparison, was the most beautiful thing he could ever hope to encounter in his ongoing struggle to come to terms with the tragedy-and it was clear that the struggle was shared by everyone in the team.

"It's beautiful, Chun-Soo.." Jung-Hwan muttered. "Good on Sang-Chul for thinking of it and having it set up on such short notice.."

Chun-Soo smiled, then backed away to allow Jung-Hwan his own thoughts. Wading his way through the crowd of players already gathered, mumbling short greetings, he finally made it to where the shrine was, and he could see it in full view.

Eight pairs of eyes stared out from behind the glass, and he was almost overcome with that same twist of pain that he'd encountered in Chonnan. Innocent smiles of innocent faces, in their school uniforms, their names written underneath each picture and Jung-Hwan read them, one by one, determined to remember all of them, keep them in his heart and never forget them.

God has them, he reminded himself of Hwang-Sae's words. God has them now..they are safe.

Only one player was praying at the shrine at the moment, kneeling on one of the small cushions that had also been provided, his eyes closed and his hands clasped together, prayer beads draping over his long fingers.

Lee Dong-Gook's lips were moving, muttering silently as Jung-Hwan knelt beside him, quietly observing. The tall striker was already in his jersey and shorts, the number he had so revered emblazoned in red on his chest, a black band already tied around his left arm. Jung-Hwan had to admit that seeing Dong-Gook wearing the number that everyone had so long associated with Hong Myung-Bo was difficult at first, as if it wasn't quite how things were supposed to be.

Of course, he only had to remind himself that Hong had wanted Dong-Gook to wear number, and wanted him to wear it proudly.

Dong-Gook's eyes opened slowly, and he did not seem too surprised that Jung-Hwan was beside him. Slowly he placed each hand on the floor in front of him and bowed, prostrating himself before the altar, a final gesture of respect for the departed souls. Then he straightened back up and turned slowly to face Jung-Hwan.

"Do you think they will be watching us?"

The voice that spoke was Dong-Gook's, deep with a grown man's vocal timbre, but within it was contained a childlike wonder, one that Jung-Hwan had never heard from him before, and for some reason it made the corners of his eyes fill with unshed tears.

"I hope so, Dong-Gook..I hope so."

Dong-Gook smiled faintly and stood up, gesturing at Jung-Hwan to take his place. "Your turn.."

As the minutes wore on more and more players took their turns praying at the altar, some taking more time than others, but nobody was complaining. It was a way for them to grieve, both personally and collectively, and while the atmosphere in the dressing room became rather subdued as a result, Jung-Hwan knew that each of them rose from their altar feeling ever more determined that they would perform to their best tonight.

It was five minutes to kick off, and the coach came in with his interpreter for a few last words. He too, took time to pray before the altar, before giving them their final briefing, his interpreter translating his words every few sentences. Then, an official gave them the signal and they filtered out onto the tunnel, ready for the match.

They met with the Colombian team in the tunnel, standing ready in their yellow and blue kit, faces sympathetic and black bands worn around their left arms. The Colombian captain spoke a few words to Sang-Chul, though his voice was loud enough for everyone to ear, and their Korean-born interpreter stepped in a moment after he'd finished his brief speech.

"The Colombian team would like to once again express our deepest sympathies for the loss of those children's lives. We hope that today's match will be played in their honor and that we will give them something worth watching from above."

Sang-Chul smiled and shook the Colombian captain's hand, and Jung-Hwan saw that Sang-Chul wore his black armband around his right arm. Of course he was, for around his left arm was the captain's armband.

"I hope you're watching this too, Hong.." Jung-Hwan muttered in a voice he knew only he could hear.

The roar of the crowd was audible as they walked closer to the tunnel's edge, and the children that had stood waiting there welcomed them gleefully, offering their small, exuberant hands.

Jung-Hwan took the hand of the little boy he was to walk out with and observed his face. He had large eyes and a mop of black hair that fell across his forehead, his lips smiling and the skin of his hand baby-soft as Jung-Hwan held it. He smiled back, admiring the sparkle in the little boy's eyes and bending down to speak to him.

"Do you know my name?"

"Yes." the boy answered in a small, enthusiastic voice. "You're Ahn Jung-Hwan."

"And what is your name?"

"Hae-Soo. Yoon Hae-Soo."

"Hae-Soo." Jung-Hwan repeated, his smile growing wider as he stroked the little boy's hair. "Hae-Soo."

That name too, he told himself, he will remember.