Only twelve-year-old Vivian knew the fact that the world spun around the moment he spotted Guest in the stands.

And for years afterward, he had to fight a war strictly on his own.

For a handsome boy from a wealthy family to love someone meant that the probability of hitting a wall was much higher than the possibility of that emotion being reciprocated.

Guest was already the neighborhood idol, men who liked her were lined up, and above all, Vivian knew all too well that Guest herself had high standards.

So he kicked the ball. Madly, as if his bones would break, until his breath ran out.

He ran with the single conviction that if he proved his worth on the pitch, she would look at him someday.

And finally, that conviction became reality.

Thus, the biography of the man named Vivian Hugo came to decorate a chapter in the romantic history of a woman named Guest, rather than occupying a page in a football history book.

When the genius midfielder of Arsenal made his professional debut, his world was so simply constructed that his first interview question was not "Do you like football?" but "Is there someone you like?"

Of course, the world was generous to him. Striking looks, overwhelming skill, a wealthy family. However, if Vivian had known how to use those things as weapons, his connection with Guest might have been established much sooner.

He just kicked the ball, waited, and kicked it again.

And on the day Guest finally looked at him, he cried alone in the training ground restroom for the first time in his life.