Prove You Belong
The morning after yesterday's hellish endurance training — no, after that "manners lesson," as Cha Kangmin would have called it — the players gathered on the training pitch. The fatigue from the previous day's grind was still written plainly across every face. One player kept yawning between stretches; another groaned softly every time he bent down to touch his toes.
But there was a single exception: Kim Hanbin.
Hanbin warmed up with a lightness and vigor that made it seem as though nothing had happened at all yesterday. Watching him, the physical coach pulled out his notebook.
Hmm... Kim Hanbin. He digested training at that intensity and looks completely fine today? Recovery rate... top-tier. Check.
The coach carefully noted the observation next to Hanbin's name. In an Olympic tournament where matches came every three to four days — far shorter than the usual rhythm of club football — a player's recovery ability was nothing short of decisive. By that measure alone, Hanbin already possessed an enormous advantage.
While the players went about their warmups, Manager Baek Seungnam and his coaching staff walked onto the pitch.
"Alright, everyone, eyes on me!"
At the manager's voice, every head turned toward him. He swept his gaze across the squad once, then got straight to the point.
"The players I call out will come forward and put on a vest. This morning's training will be an intra-squad match."
One of the staff members standing beside him unfolded a roster and began reading names one by one.
"Kim Hanbin, Park Sungjun, Lee Hyunsoo..."
Hanbin's name was on the list too. He stepped forward with the other called players and pulled on an orange vest.
"Players in vests, gather over here on the left. Players without vests, line up on the right."
Following the manager's instructions, the squad split into two teams — and once they had, the logic behind Baek Seungnam's selection became painfully obvious.
The players standing on the right, vest-less, were mostly the heroes of last month's U-23 Asian Cup triumph. These were the so-called "starting members" whose teamwork and match understanding had already been proven through years of playing side by side. Their faces carried not only confidence but even a kind of leisurely ease, as if to say they were here to evaluate the newcomers.
The players on the left in orange vests — Hanbin among them — were made up of those attending this training camp for the first time, or those who had failed to leave much of a mark at the Asian Cup. Even at a glance, the gap in quality between the two sides was glaring.
Hanbin thought to himself.
Hmm... so he wants to show us the gap in our levels? Or is he testing how the new players combine with each other?
Most of the starting group had been called up to youth national teams together since childhood, playing alongside one another for years. They would hold an overwhelming edge in organization.
Hanbin scanned the faces of his own teammates. In contrast, every single player on the vest team — himself included — had never set foot on a pitch together before today.
Even I don't recognize a single face on this team... this won't be easy.
They had all been called up to an Olympic training camp, so each of them was clearly talented — but expecting perfect chemistry to form in such a short window was a stretch. Similar thoughts seemed to flicker across the other vest players' faces. Nobody said anything, but their expressions were thick with unspoken resentment.
There was no way Manager Baek was oblivious to the mood. Yet his expression remained indifferent as he continued.
"Gather with your teams, discuss your tactics, and settle on a starting lineup. You have ten minutes."
At the manager's instruction, both teams formed their huddles and began their tactical meetings.
Hanbin looked around at his vest-team teammates.
Twenty-eight players called up in total. Split into two teams, that's fourteen each — but only eleven take the pitch, so... three per team will have to start on the bench.
For a long while, the vest team simply stood there, exchanging awkward glances. Nobody knew who should speak first, or what to even say. Across the pitch, by contrast, the starting team was already laughing and chatting as they divided up positions — old friends, clearly at ease.
"......"
"......"
Silence from the vest team. It was Hanbin who finally broke it, deliberately brightening his voice to cut through the awkwardness.
"So... um, for our team... would anyone like to start on the bench and come in as a substitute later?"
The moment he spoke, several players cautiously raised their hands as if they'd been waiting for exactly this.
"I... I think it'd be better for me to come on in the second half."
"Me too, a bit later would be..."
Exactly the reaction he'd expected. Hanbin clicked his tongue inwardly.
They know we'll get overrun early by that starting team, so most of them want to come off the bench and show something then... Well, fair enough, I suppose.
First impressions mattered. Nobody wanted to look helpless in front of the coaching staff from the very first intra-squad match.
Hanbin nodded and asked again.
"Okay, good. Then... anyone who actually wants to start?"
This time only a handful of players reluctantly raised their hands — noticeably fewer than before. No one seemed eager to throw themselves in front of the bullets in a match everyone expected to lose.
"Fine — I'll be starting too, so could you starters sort out the positions among yourselves? Fill everything except my spot as the striker, and that's us done."
At Hanbin's words, the players grudgingly began claiming their preferred positions. Thankfully, there was little overlap, and by the time three unlucky players were cut from the discussion, a starting eleven of eleven had barely cobbled itself together.
But an air of unease still hung over the entire team.
Losing the mental battle before the match has even kicked off... that's not good.
Feeling the deflated mood of his teammates, Hanbin let out a quiet sigh and stole a glance toward Manager Baek Seungnam. The manager stood there with no change in expression whatsoever, simply watching the pitch.
Peep—!
The brief tactical meeting came to an end, and with the referee's whistle, the intra-squad match began. Deployed as the lone striker, Hanbin bustled about the opposition half, waiting for a pass to find its way to him.
And just as predicted, the match unfolded as a total rout.
From the very first midfield battle, the vest team was utterly dominated. The starting team's organized movement and passing play — honed over years together — was simply too much for a group of players who had formed a team that very morning. Passes were cut out time and again, and even when the ball did reach the attacking third, a lack of precision meant possession was surrendered almost immediately.
Stranded up front on his own, Hanbin couldn't even get the ball played to him. All he could do was watch.
This is... way worse than I thought.
Time kept ticking, but there was no sign of things improving. If he stayed planted up front like this, he'd finish the entire first half without touching the ball once.
Finally, Hanbin made his decision. He drifted slowly out of position and began dropping back toward the midfield line. If the ball wouldn't come to him, he'd go get it and create chances with his own two feet.
The moment Hanbin dropped into midfield, his opportunity arrived. A ball cleared from the defensive third rolled loose, and Hanbin nipped in to intercept it a step ahead of the opposing midfielder.
There it is!
At last, the ball was at his feet. Instinctively, Hanbin lifted his head and scanned his teammates' movement.
Back at Suwon Blue Sky, this was the moment the wingbacks would charge forward on overlapping runs, or wingers like Enzo would come sprinting into the space down the flanks. But right now, Hanbin saw no one worth passing to. His teammates were either pinned in place by the starting team's pressure or hesitating, unable to read his movement.
Damn it... there's no one to play to.
Hanbin had no choice but to hold the ball up on his own and buy time. Shielding the ball against the pressing midfielder bearing down on his back, he desperately searched for a way to keep the attack alive.
Then, belatedly reading the situation, his team's right wingback came tearing up the flank.
Now!
Hanbin threaded a precise through ball into the wingback's run. The pass itself was perfect — but the aftereffects of yesterday's brutal conditioning session clearly lingered, because the wingback's legs looked heavy. He never caught up to the ball, which rolled harmlessly out over the goal line.
Ha... this is not easy.
Manager Baek Seungnam stood up in the stands, watching the intra-squad match alongside his coaching staff.
"It's only the twentieth minute and the score's already 2-0... The vest team's being pushed around even more one-sidedly than I expected. Honestly, it's getting to the point where I'm worried, sir."
The tactical coach spoke while scribbling notes at a rapid pace. The attacking coach added his own lament with a sympathetic look.
"That through pass Kim Hanbin played after dropping deep early on was really quite good... If the wingback had been just a little faster and that had gone in, the flow of the match might look completely different right now. Hmm... disappointing on every front."
Just as the coaches were trading their regrets, the vest team was finally awarded their first corner kick — the ball had deflected off a defender's foot and out of play during an attack. The instant the corner was declared, the mood among the staff in the stands changed in a heartbeat.
The tactical coach in particular adjusted his glasses and began studying Kim Hanbin intently as he walked toward the penalty box. The other coaches swallowed dryly, their eyes locked on his every movement.
The reason the staff were watching the vest team's set-piece movements this closely was simple. If the overwhelming aerial dominance and heading ability Kim Hanbin had shown in his K League matches were not a fluke but genuine skill, then the tactical arsenal available to this Olympic squad could change completely.
Manager Baek Seungnam betrayed nothing on his face, but it was obvious he was following Hanbin's every step.
And it wasn't only the coaching staff keeping a close eye on Kim Hanbin. His opponents on the starting team were paying very close attention too.
The moment Hanbin stepped into the penalty box to prepare for the corner, at least two starting-team defenders closed in on him and began marking him man-to-man. The message was unmistakable: they were determined not to let him anywhere near a heading contest.
Peep—!
With the whistle, the vest team's kicker sent the ball arcing toward Hanbin in front of goal. And in that exact instant, Hanbin exploded off the ground and rose into the air.
The defenders marking him leapt with him, bodies tangled against his — but Hanbin's jump carried him a full head higher than any of them.
Bang—!
The ball struck Kim Hanbin squarely on the forehead and became a thunderous power header, tearing into the corner of the net. The desperate man-marking of the defenders swarming around him proved utterly useless — Hanbin shrugged off their interference with absurd ease, won the aerial duel in complete fashion, and pulled a goal back for his team.
"Wow...!"
Gasps of awe burst simultaneously from the coaching staff who had just witnessed that dominant header. A satisfied smile spread across the tactical coach's lips.
"Wow, isn't that basically prime Ronaldo's leap? Seriously... that's insane."
The attacking coach could barely contain his excitement either.
"It's not just the jumping — the header itself was so clean. With that kind of aerial presence, imagine pairing him with Cha Kangmin when he joins as a wildcard and just parking the two of them on every corner kick. It'd be hell for opposing defenses."
Another coach nodded in agreement.
"And since he and Kangmin are both Suwon players, they've already built up a partnership at their club. The timing should come naturally."
While the coaching staff showered Hanbin with praise, the starting-team defenders who had just conceded stood staring at each other in hollow disbelief, shaking their heads.
"Seriously... where did that monster come from all of a sudden? I've been playing football in this country for over fifteen years, and I've never seen anyone my age like him..."
One defender muttered under his breath as if he couldn't quite believe it himself.
Kim Hanbin's goal had gone in, but it fell far short of bridging the gulf in quality between the two sides. The match lumbered on, the vest team conceded once more, and the final whistle blew on a 3-1 victory for the starting team.
When the full-time whistle sounded, the starting players wore satisfied smiles — they had proven their worth. The vest players, on the other hand, who had failed to show anything all match and lost without a fight, mostly stood with their heads bowed.
The moment the match ended, Manager Baek Seungnam sent the starting team inside to rest. Then he summoned the vest team alone and gathered them in front of the stands.
Amid the heavy silence, Manager Baek calmly looked his players over and began to speak.
"Good work out there today. I'm sure you all have a lot going through your heads right now. 'Why is the manager doing this? It's not the eighties — why split the teams so lopsidedly and make us play a match like this? At orientation he said there'd be no favors, that only ability would matter...' Those thoughts. It's only natural to have them."
The vest players bowed their heads, their inner feelings laid bare.
The manager watched them for a moment, then continued.
"And I'm sure some of you are thinking, 'How are we supposed to win this? Those guys have played together for years. Most of our team met for the first time today... It's a lost cause anyway, so why bother.'"
"......"
"Today's match was never going to be easy. Those starters who went inside to rest first — as everyone knows — have been called up to youth national teams together year after year, building chemistry the whole way. You lot, on the other hand, have drifted in and out of your age-group teams over the years, or for some of you, this is your very first call-up."
Manager Baek paused and looked each player in the eye, one by one. Then he spoke again.
"But the reason we've all gathered here is to take the field on the biggest stage there is — the Olympics. And only a limited number of players get to go to that stage. In today's match, Kim Hanbin showed his value beyond any doubt. The rest of you, however, need to look honestly at yourselves and ask what potential you actually showed today."
At the manager's words, several faces hardened.
"Of course, I won't judge everything off a single match. But as you all know perfectly well, the starting team has already proven itself with the U-23 Asian Cup title. They're a unit with a high degree of completeness as a team. Football isn't a sport you play alone, so I don't think I need to explain how much of an advantage that is."
Manager Baek looked over the players once more.
"That's the situation. So if you want to be chosen over proven, established players, you have to give me a clear reason to do it — with your own performances. If I shake up the squad list without justification and we come back from the Olympic finals with a poor result, the blame falls entirely on me, the manager. 'Why did he abandon proven players and drag those new kids along to disgrace the nation' — that's what they'll say."
It was a cold, unsparing dose of reality.
"So for the one month of training camp that remains, you must give me absolute certainty. Show me, over these remaining weeks, that you can be a better choice than those starters. A month may not sound like much, but the time is fixed — it won't grow any longer. I will do my utmost to watch over you during it. I expect you to do the same. That's all. Dismissed."
With those words, Manager Baek turned and walked away.