A Star Is Born in the Weight Room
*Paang—!*
The ball once again traced a clean arc through the air.
A trajectory every bit as perfect as the three kicks he'd taken with his right foot moments ago—like déjà vu made flesh.
Sailing over the wall of training dummies, it buried itself precisely in the top-left corner of the goal, exactly as before.
"...... Wow."
"He's insane. Seriously... his left foot is just as good?"
"Is that... is that even a person?"
The players had passed beyond shock into something close to a trance. Scoring like that with his dominant foot alone would have been impressive enough—but his *weak* foot too?
"Hey... at that level, isn't he legit world-class at free kicks?"
"Both feet are that good? Is that even possible?"
"Or maybe his condition today is just freakishly good. A fluke?"
"Bro, calling four straight 30-meter strikes into that corner a fluke is a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"
The murmuring among the players swelled again.
The earlier snickering and skepticism had vanished without a trace, replaced entirely by sheer astonishment at Hanbin's free kicks.
Watching it all unfold, Yoon Hyeonjin's face had hardened into stone.
He was the team's designated set-piece taker, and he took considerable pride in that role.
And now some rookie—out of nowhere, and straight out of middle school at that—was demonstrating free kick ability on both feet that utterly dwarfed his own. His pride must have been wounded beyond repair.
He walked back to the free kick spot once more.
As if determined to succeed this time, he prepared his kick with far more care than before.
But perhaps it was the excessive tension, the crushing weight of expectation. The ball clipped the bottom of the dummy wall mid-flight and bounced back out.
"······."
Yoon Hyeonjin turned away without a word. Behind that turned back, you could almost feel the frustration and fury radiating off him.
The other players no longer cracked jokes or jeered at him either. The atmosphere sank back into an awkward hush.
"Our free kick duties are 100 percent Hanbin's now, no question."
"No kidding. If Hanbin's not on the pitch, shouldn't we sub him in just to take them?"
A few players whispered among themselves in low voices.
Quiet as they tried to be, the words would have carried clearly to Yoon Hyeonjin's ears.
The free kick duel was, for all practical purposes, ending in a landslide victory for Kim Hanbin.
Just then, the veteran midfielder—the one who'd picked a fight with Kim Hanbin in the first place—ambled over with an embarrassed expression.
"Hey, Hanbin."
"Yes, sunbaenim?"
"...... What I said earlier was pretty... y'know. My bad."
He fidgeted as he offered the apology.
"Your free kicks are the real deal. Looking forward to working with you."
Kim Hanbin took the veteran player's outstretched hand without hesitation.
"Likewise. Please take good care of me, sunbaenim."
Manager Kim watched the two of them with a fond smile, then clapped his hands to gather the players' attention.
"Alright, alright! That's enough of the free kick contest! Training starts for real now! Everybody, focus up!"
At the manager's direction, the players scattered to their respective positions and began preparing for field play drills.
***
With the home match against Gangwon Ocean FC coming up this very Sunday, today's session was apparently limited to light technique work for condition management.
*So this is what real training feels like, finally.*
Until now, his only "training partners" on that pitch had been an empty goal, training cones, and a cement wall.
But not anymore. Real training—syncing up with living, breathing teammates under the coaches' guidance! How long had he waited for this moment?
The first drill was simple: two-man pairs, passing back and forth.
And my first partner was... of all people, Yoon Hyeonjin, who'd been glaring daggers at me this whole time.
With Antonio gone—terminated after his drunk-driving disaster—Yoon Hyeonjin was Suwon Blue Sky's starting forward and designated free kick specialist.
He probably figured I'd well and truly humiliated him in the free kick contest, because his expression was still set in stone.
*Well, nothing I can do about it. Let's just do our best.*
I plastered on an air of nonchalance, walked over, and gave him a light nod. He answered with nothing but a curt tilt of his head.
For the first few exchanges, the passes flowed smoothly.
Yoon Hyeonjin was a professional, after all—his basic passing accuracy was excellent. I did my part too, delivering the ball precisely where it was easiest for him to receive.
But after a few rotations, something started to feel off.
The quality of Yoon Hyeonjin's passes subtly changed. At first I wondered if he'd simply made a mistake.
But as it kept happening, I grew certain this was no accident.
The ball would arrive a step or two to the side of my feet instead of at them, or come in too hard or too soft to control cleanly.
And it *only* happened when the coaches were looking the other way. Suspicion couldn't help but harden into conviction.
'...He's doing this on purpose, isn't he?'
One of Yoon Hyeonjin's passes sailed well wide of me and went rolling off across the grass.
As I sprinted after the stray ball, I caught it clearly—a smug little smirk flickering across his lips.
'This son of a—...?'
A surge of heat shot up through me. No professional player messes up a pass this badly. He wasn't some youth academy kid.
This was deliberate, plain and simple. A message: *screw you.*
'Fine. So that's how you want to play it, huh?'
I strolled back with the ball, grinning to myself. Then came my turn.
I drove an inside-foot pass straight at Yoon Hyeonjin's midsection—hard as I could, fast as I could.
"Ugh!"
Yoon Hyeonjin twisted away on pure reflex, barely dodging my pass. His face was a mess of shock and fury.
I put on my most innocent expression.
"Oh, sorry about that, sunbaenim! My ball control's still a bit sloppy! Haha!"
At my apology, Yoon Hyeonjin's face flushed scarlet.
He seemed about to fire back with something, but under the eyes of the nearby coaches he couldn't quite bring himself to open his mouth—just huffed and puffed in silence.
And so our little standoff fizzled out. After my one counterstrike, he apparently realized how childish the whole thing was, and the drill proceeded without further incident.
Passing drills done, a short break followed, and then the next exercise began.
Shooting practice.
Out on the field sat not a full-size goal but a futsal goal—small enough to carry with one hand.
And standing guard in front of it was the team's starting goalkeeper, Choi Hyunsoo.
That's how small the goal was: if Choi Hyunsoo stretched both arms out, his fingertips would just barely touch either post.
*Yeah, it really is tiny.*
According to the coach, the drill was designed to sharpen finishing precision.
Scoring on a miniature goal—and against a professional goalkeeper, no less—was far harder than it sounded.
'Training against a keeper, huh...? This is basically a first for me. On that pitch, it was always an empty goal.'
A slight nervousness mixed with a strange sense of anticipation stirred in me at the new challenge.
Would my shots work against a pro keeper, too?
The players took their turns one by one.
As expected, hemmed in by the tiny goal and Choi Hyunsoo's saves, few managed to score.
Yoon Hyeonjin let fly with a few sharp attempts as well, but they either missed the frame or were parried by Choi Hyunsoo's hands.
Finally, my turn. I received a teammate's pass near the top of the penalty arc and, without a moment's delay, drove it hard with the inside of my right foot. Target: the bottom-left corner.
*Thwack—!*
The ball was sucked into exactly the spot I'd aimed for.
Choi Hyunsoo threw himself at it, but it was already beyond saving.
"Ooh! Hanbin's got a great touch on him!"
Still sprawled on the ground from his dive, Choi Hyunsoo turned and let out a whistle of admiration.
"And it's not just free kicks! Look at that strike impact!"
"Thank you, sunbaenim!"
I answered with a grin.
I buried the next shot calmly as well.
Left-footed strike, right-footed strike, a thundering instep drive.
From all sorts of angles and situations, the vast majority of my shots rippled the net.
Granted, the futsal-sized goal and Choi Hyunsoo's saves stopped me a few times, but overall the results were more than satisfying.
And with that, the shooting drills wrapped up, and today's team training came to an end.
The players wiped off their sweat and drifted toward the locker room.
A strange sense of dissatisfaction washed over me.
*That's it...?*
I glanced at the clock. Barely two hours of training.
After spending all that time hammering out over a thousand shots a day, ending this early left my hands and feet twitching with restless energy.
My body, conditioned to the insane training volume on that other pitch, barely even broke a proper sweat from this.
I walked over to Kangmin, who was gulping down water beside me.
"Um... Kangmin-hyung. Is team training always this short?"
At my question, Cha Kangmin turned to me with a puzzled look.
"Short? *This?* Hey, we've got a match in four days. That's why we're pacing ourselves with light technique work. Normally it's way more brutal than this."
"Oh... really?"
"What, you want more?"
Cha Kangmin must have read my expression, because he smirked.
"If anyone wants extra work after this, individual training's allowed. Hit the gym for some lifting, or go practice your shooting more."
Individual training. My ears perked right up.
"Oh, right! Hanbin!"
Cha Kangmin suddenly clapped his hands as if remembering something.
"Speaking of which—your body is no joke. Spot me on weights today, would you?"
"Huh? Me?"
"Yeah. Looking at your build, you clearly know your way around the iron. Let me get a PT session from you. I just finished rehab, so I need to start building muscle again. What do you say?"
Cha Kangmin's offer. And honestly? Not a bad one for me either.
'I was planning to do individual training anyway... and checking out the weight room facilities while I'm at it wouldn't hurt.'
"Sure, hyung. I'll help you however I can, within what I know."
"Deal! Then let's go pump some iron right now!"
Cha Kangmin slung an arm around my shoulder and steered me toward the fitness center.
Located inside the clubhouse, the gym was bigger than I'd expected, with weight machines and plates of every denomination neatly racked.
'Figures a pro club would have a proper gym. Compared to that other pitch's weight room, this is almost unfair.'
A few players were already there, stretching out after training or doing their own lifting routines.
When Kangmin and I walked in, several senior players spotted us and waved.
"Oh! Kangmin! And Hanbin's here too!"
"Come straight to lift after afternoon training, have you?"
Among them, a defender sunbae—famous within the team for his physique—was sweating buckets on the bench press.
He looked me up and down, then asked with eyes full of curiosity.
"Hey, Hanbin. Your build says you've trained seriously. What's your 3-lift total?"
Total 3-lift weight. The combined max of bench press, deadlift, and squat—among gym-goers, something of a power-level scanner.
"Uh... my 3-lift? Last time I measured, I got up to about 650kg, but I never tested beyond that, so I'm not really sure."
At my answer, every movement in the fitness center froze.
The sunbae on the bench press stopped mid-lift and just stared at me, and the player running on the treadmill slowed down and turned our way.
"...... What?"
"650?!"
The muscular defender sunbae who'd asked the question in the first place echoed it in disbelief.
"Holy— hey, are you a powerlifter? What kind of footballer puts up a 650 total?!"
At his outburst, the other sunbaes started stirring too.
"Come on, no way. He must've misspoken—550, not 650."
"I dunno, though. Look at the kid's frame... the muscle is *not* normal."
One sunbae tilted his head doubtfully.
"But seriously, how high do footballers like us usually get? I thought anything over 400 was considered strong."
Another sunbae clicked his tongue in reply.
"400, my ass. Honestly, if you averaged our whole team, being in the mid-300s would be a blessing. We only dabble in the offseason—who's actually doing serious strength work mid-season?"
"True... I'm what, 350 or so? And that's on a good day."
The players murmured among themselves, estimating each other's 3-lift totals.
'And even that 650kg... the weight room on that pitch ran out of plates, so that's as far as I could measure. If I'd had more, I could've gone as high as I wanted...'
I thought it to myself, but saw no reason to say it aloud.
Amid the sunbaes' stunned reactions, Cha Kangmin's eyes suddenly lit up like floodlights.
He smacked his knee and shouted.
"Yo! Kim Hanbin! This is pure YouTube gold!"
"Huh? YouTube?"
"Yes! 'Legendary Physical Rookie Appears in K League! 3-Lift 650?!' Oooh~ you can practically *hear* the clickbait pulling people in from the title alone!"
Cha Kangmin worked himself up into a one-man frenzy, then suddenly yelled "Hold on!" and sprinted off toward the locker room.
A moment later, he reappeared holding a small action cam in his hand.
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
"Hyung. Why do you have an action cam stashed in the locker room?"
Kangmin powered the cam on and answered with triumphant pride.
"A prepared YouTuber has his action cam with him anytime, anywhere. Now then, Hanbin! Time to properly revive hyung's channel today! Shall we start with bench?"
Camera ready, he beckoned me over, and just like that, a YouTube shoot had begun.
I walked toward the bench press, pretending to be dragged along.
'Well then—shall we film a 3-lift 700 today?'