The Preliminary Roster and a Sharp Question

Inside the holding area, moments before the press conference announcing the Olympic national team's preliminary call-up roster was set to begin, U-23 head coach Baek Seungnam was fidgeting with his phone.

After a moment, he seemed to make up his mind and dialed a number. The person on the other end was Kim Seongcheol, manager of Suwon Blue Sky.

The ringtone sounded a few times before Kim Seongcheol's voice came through.

—Hello?

"Ah, Seongcheol, it's me. Sorry to call when you're busy."

—Oh, yes, sunbaenim. It's no problem. What can I do for you...

There was an unmistakable awkwardness threaded through Kim Seongcheol's voice.

Baek Seungnam understood exactly how the man felt, so he chose his words carefully.

"Seongcheol, you're not too angry with me, are you? I feel like I've dumped a enormous burden on you this time."

A long, heavy sigh drifted through the receiver. Whew...

—Well, what can I do about players getting called up to the Olympic team, right? It's a huge thing for the players individually, and for the nation as a whole. It's a good opportunity, too...

Resignation and regret mingled in the Suwon manager's voice.

—Still... sunbaenim, taking two of them at once — isn't that pushing it a bit far? Suwon hasn't even fully climbed out of the bottom of the table yet! Kangmin and Hanbin ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠are the pillars of this team right now. You know better than anyone how much those two mean to us...

In the end, his grievances came pouring out before he could hold them back.

All Baek Seungnam could offer in return was apology.

"I'm sorry, Seongcheol. Truly. I know Suwon's situation, but... it's the Olympics, you know? There was no way around it. And besides, what we're announcing this time isn't the final entry — it's the preliminary training squad. You know as well as I do that we call them in, train, and then have to cut twenty-eight players down to the final twenty-two."

Baek Seungnam was clearly doing his best to placate him.

"Cha Kangmin, as a wildcard, is a given. But Kim Hanbin... we'll have to see. After this training camp and the friendlies, if he doesn't measure up, well, we could still leave him off the final list. And we already have the U-23 Asian Cup-winning squad, after all. You know Kim Honggeon, right? Honggeon's been playing brilliantly."

At that, Kim Seongcheol let out a short, dry laugh, and when he spoke again, there was pure conviction in his voice.

—Ha... Sunbaenim, I don't think you know Hanbin well ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠enough yet. I'd suggest you just treat that one forward slot on the Olympic team as already locked in for Hanbin, and spend your energy worrying about the other positions instead.

"Still, we decide after seeing how he combines with the squad in training and how the friendlies go. That's how it works."

Baek Seungnam held his ground, but Kim Seongcheol wouldn't back down.

—Come on! Sunbaenim, I'm telling you, I mean it! Kim Hanbin — even if you were picking the senior national team for the World Cup, not the Olympic squad, he'd be a lock for a forward spot. I guarantee it.

The certainty in that answer caught Baek Seungnam slightly off guard.

Seongcheol... going this far? The man had one of the sharpest eyes for talent in the business, and he was famously stingy with praise.

Kim Seongcheol was well known, even in private company, for his harsh evaluations of players. He was absolutely not the type to inflate a rating just because someone wore his own team's badge.

And yet here he was, speaking with that level of unshakable conviction.

Just how good is this Kim Hanbin kid, anyway...?

Baek Seungnam's curiosity about the young striker grew even larger.

"Anyway, Seongcheol, I'm sorry about this call-up. Let's grab a drink sometime — I'll pick a good place and it's on me."

—*Sigh*... It's fine... You're just doing your job, sunbaenim... I was... just letting off a little steam, that's all. Haha...

Kim Seongcheol forced out a laugh.

—Sunbaenim. In return, you have to win a medal and sort out the boys' military service. That's the only way I'll have anything to say to the club front office on their behalf.

"Understood. For your sake and Suwon's, I'll see to it that Cha Kangmin and Kim Hanbin get their service exemptions sorted. And until the team departs, I'll work with the federation to make sure the league schedule isn't disrupted as much as possible."

—Thank you, sunbaenim... Well, I suppose I'd better go tell the boys congratulations, then. Haha...

The call ended with Kim Seongcheol's bitter laugh still hanging in the air.

Baek Seungnam closed his eyes for a moment and let out a deep sigh.

Without the friendship he'd built over years of national team service together, stretching all the way back to his own playing days, this call-up would have been far from easy.

The Olympics is not a FIFA-run competition, which meant that if a club simply refused to release a player, there was effectively no way to force the issue.

And ripping away not one but two core aces mid-season, with the league in full swing? For a Suwon side riding a wave of momentum, it would be a devastating blow.

Relegation was already being whispered about, and in this critical stretch, the fact that Suwon had agreed to release its two stars at all was only possible because of his relationship with his junior, Kim Seongcheol.

I really do owe Seongcheol a massive debt...

He was still lost in that thought when he heard a knock at the door.

Knock knock—

"Coach, it's time. They're ready for you."

"Ah, yes. Understood."

Baek Seungnam rose from his seat, gathering the press conference materials he'd prepared.

The article spread across every internet community in an instant.

And on the big football communities in particular — the ones whose users normally consumed overseas football rather than the K League — the call-up set off a flood of posts.

Kim Hanbin was scrolling through articles about himself on his phone during a short break in training.

Hmm... yeah, like I thought. A lot of people really don't want the team chemistry messed with.

The news that he'd made the Olympic preliminary roster.

The moment the press conference wrapped up last night, the manager, the coaching staff, and all his teammates had already showered him with congratulations.

Some of them had treated it as the most obvious thing in the world. "Who in Korea plays better than you at your age right now?" they'd said.

Just then, Cha Kangmin, who'd been stretching nearby, ambled over and gave Hanbin a thump on the shoulder.

"Hey, Kim Hanbin. What are you doing standing around? Get your stuff packed — you need to be ready to head to Paju."

"Paju?"

Hanbin echoed the word with a puzzled look.

"You forgot your call-up training starts today? You're headed to the Paju National Football Center."

"Ah... right, the training camp..."

Only now did Hanbin recall today's schedule. He'd been so swept up in the flood of congratulations that he'd forgotten the one thing that actually mattered.

"Are you coming too, hyung?"

"I'm a wildcard, remember? Wildcards are locked into the final entry, so we're exempt from the training camp. The ones heading to Paju now are the guys who just made the preliminary roster — like you. It's the process of whittling things down to the final twenty-two through the residential camp."

Cha Kangmin said with a shrug.

"Oh... then how am I supposed to get there? Is there like a team bus or something?"

"Just take a taxi, you dummy. You're sitting pretty on goal bonus money and you're worried about a bus?"

"Ah... the goal bonus..."

At Cha Kangmin's words, the deposit notification floated back into Hanbin's mind.

Come to think of it, just yesterday, the bonus for the six goals he'd scored over the previous three matches had landed in his account.

One million won per goal — six million in total.

He didn't have an agent yet, so the full amount had come through, minus only the 3.3 percent withholding tax.

And since it was a bonus paid on top of his regular salary rather than part of it, it was a serious chunk of change.

Watching him, Cha Kangmin put on a serious face one more time.

"Anyway, when you get to Paju, work your tail off. Honestly, knowing Coach Baek's tactical style, I'd bet he puts a forward like you on the final roster no question — but do NOT slack, you hear me? Coach Baek is absolutely ruthless about that kind of thing. No exceptions."

"Yes, hyung. Of course I'm going to work hard."

And so, training complete, Hanbin headed straight back to the dorm, packed his things, and hailed a taxi outside the main gate of the Suwon club house.

Will a cab even go all the way from Suwon to Paju? he'd worried — but as luck would have it, the driver who picked him up was a die-hard Suwon Blue Sky fan.

The moment Hanbin said he was heading to the Paju National Football Center, the driver gripped the wheel with a grin. "Well, what an honor this is!"

The whole way there, the driver fretted — "Oh dear, what's poor Suwon going to do... lose Cha Kangmin AND Kim Hanbin, who's going to carry the league for us..." — and yet, clearly proud that players from the team he loved had made the Olympic squad, he kept firing off words of encouragement at Hanbin the entire trip.

Thanks to him, the ride to Paju was anything but boring.

After the long drive, they arrived at the Paju National Football Center. Hanbin thanked the driver warmly and stepped out of the cab.

Dragging his suitcase up the hill road, a large, brand-new building came into view.

The entrance was, unsurprisingly, under tight security, but the guard on duty recognized Hanbin's face at a glance and waved him through without any real checks.

In front of the building entrance, in what looked like a designated photo zone, stood an advertising wall plastered with the logos of the national team's sponsors.

And in front of it, dozens of reporters had dug in with cameras and microphones at the ready.

Whoa... this many reporters showed up? Guess the Olympics really is the Olympics.

A global sporting festival held once every four years. And football, one of its highest-profile sports. Public interest was bound to be white-hot.

The moment Kim Hanbin came into view, a murmur rippled through the press corps and camera flashes began popping.

"Oh! There he is — Kim Hanbin!"

"Is that really the guy from the Guinness book?"

"He's way bigger than he looked in the photos?"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The reporters' whispers buzzed at the edge of his hearing, but Hanbin did his best to look nonchalant as he made for the entrance.

Just then, an usher wearing a Football Association badge around his neck approached.

"Player Kim Hanbin, over this way please, just for a moment. We'll run a short photo time and a brief interview."

"Oh... yes, of course."

Hanbin followed the usher toward the advertising wall.

Countless camera lenses and microphones swung toward him all at once. This was attention on a completely different scale from any of the interviews he'd done so far.

As he took his place in front of the wall, dozens of lenses trained on him simultaneously.

One reporter, microphone in hand, threw out the first question.

"Player Kim Hanbin, hello. First — barely a month into your professional debut, you've been unusually selected for this U-23 Olympic preliminary roster. How are you feeling?"

The expected question. Hanbin answered with as much courtesy as he could muster.

"Uh... first of all, I'm truly honored and delighted. Having been given an opportunity this big, I want to throw myself into training and earn my name on the final entry as well."

"Yes, your recent form in the K League has been remarkable. That said, some are arguing that since the existing U-23 squad already won the Asian Cup and built excellent chemistry, it would be better to keep the roster as it was for the sake of team cohesion. What are your thoughts on that?"

A potentially delicate question. But Kim Hanbin answered calmly, without missing a beat.

"Uh... that decision is, of course, Coach Baek Seungnam's to make — he knows the U-23 squad best. I'm within the age range myself, so all I can do is show everything I have at this training camp and earn my place on the national team through fair competition."

Several reporters nodded at the measured yet confident answer.

A few more questions and answers passed back and forth like that, and the interview was drawing to a close.

Then, from a corner of the pack, a young reporter thrust his hand high into the air.

There was something distinctly sharp in his eyes.

"A question for player Kim Hanbin. We understand you're quite active on social media — in particular, that you frequently post on 'Subalgal,' the Suwon Blue Sky fan community, using rather coarse language and profanity. You've now been named to the national team, and one could say a public figure's responsibilities come with that. How do you view those past posts, and could you share your plans for your social media activity going forward?"

"Ahem...!"

At the completely unexpected question, Hanbin felt his throat seize up of its own accord, and a cough escaped him.