A Different Level
I sat in the corner of the stand, catching my breath and sipping water.
The first half had gone more smoothly than I'd expected. Three goals. Even a showing like this might not be enough to catch a scout's eye in Sunday league. But—
If this could at least open the door to Seoul City's youth team or a reserve practice match, it would be a real win. I could show what I was truly capable of once I got there.
Of course, the second half was still ahead. No room for complacency.
That was when someone walked up beside me.
"Hey there. You're really good—do you play here often?"
I turned my head with a quick "Hello," and got a look at the man.
A tall, powerfully built figure wearing sport goggles.
The opposing team's center-back. The one who'd been marking me for most of the first half.
If it hadn't been for this guy, I'd have scored at least five.
"No, actually. I only came out today as a favor to someone I know."
I'd come as a hired gun through Foreman Choi, so it wasn't exactly a lie.
The center-back nodded and looked me up and down. I could practically feel his gaze through the goggles.
"Really? Man, you're way too good for that. You seriously only played through middle school?"
There was genuine admiration in the goggled man's voice.
"Yes. I quit after middle school—family circumstances, and... a bunch of other reasons. After that I just practiced on my own, here and there."
"Wow... well, it shows. Honestly, you're better than most college players. Especially the shooting and the physical play... that genuinely caught me off guard."
The compliments kept coming. I had shoved through him a few times in the first half. Had that rattled him a little?
Even though I'd overpowered him physically, he was no pushover himself. Strong, and with reaction speed well beyond what you'd expect from Sunday league. It seemed his claim of having played through high school wasn't empty talk.
I answered, trying to hide my embarrassment.
"Aw, come on. I've still got a long way to go."
"No, seriously—you're good. Do you... have any plans to keep playing? Ah, I mean—not like this, as a hobby. I'm asking if you've thought about playing for real. As a pro."
I hesitated for a moment at the question. But there was no reason to hide it. The scout was here anyway.
"Yes. As a matter of fact... around late November, a few K League clubs are holding open tryouts. I'm planning to apply to one of them."
At my answer, the center-back went quiet for a moment.
"Is that so?"
There was something subtly different in his tone now.
I couldn't read his expression behind the goggles, but he seemed lost in thought about something.
The silence didn't last long, though.
Peep—!
The break was over, and the whistle sounded for the second half.
"Ah, right then... Looking forward to the second half too."
The center-back gave a brief farewell and headed back to his team's half.
I got up, loosened up with a few light stretches, and stepped onto the pitch.
I'll have to focus even harder this half.
Three goals in the first half or not, that center-back's defense was nothing to sneeze at. He might come at me even harder this time.
**
Before the second-half whistle blew, I could see that center-back huddled with his teammates, saying something to them.
And once the match restarted, the game took on a completely different shape from the first half.
Especially that center-back who'd struck up a conversation with me earlier. His movement itself had changed. No—it was like he was a different person entirely.
Perhaps he'd decided from our first-half collisions that he couldn't win a straight physical battle, because he was moving far more cleverly now.
He avoided frontal contests and focused instead on cutting off space and passing lanes.
It wasn't just about stopping me when I had the ball. He read not only my movement but our midfielders' fields of vision too, sealing the most dangerous space before the pass ever left the boot.
It felt like he was watching the entire game from above.
He never took his eyes off me for a second, shadowing me like a phantom.
The moment I moved to receive a pass, he'd materialize in front of me and block the lane. The moment I took a touch, he'd be on me in an instant, pressing hard.
And yet he wasn't just blindly charging in, either.
He kept the right distance depending on the situation, making it difficult for me to attempt a dribble or carve out a shooting angle.
Sometimes he'd sneak a handful of my jersey where the referee couldn't see, or slyly work an elbow in during a physical challenge—he didn't shy away from rough play at all.
I'd noticed in the first half that he was strong, but it turned out strength was only the beginning. Anticipation, positioning, tackle timing—and a dash of cunning on top. He played like a former pro in his prime.
...What is this? He's completely different. No, wait—a mere high school player is THIS good? Then how monstrous are actual pros supposed to be?!
Even against that defense, my speed still seemed to weigh on him heavily.
I picked up the ball near the halfway line and exploded forward at full tilt. For an instant, I saw a flash of panic cross the center-back's face as he closed in, narrowing the angle, reading me in advance.
Judging he couldn't match my pace, he chased me desperately and grabbed the hem of my jersey from behind.
Seriously? You're going THIS far?!
The fabric stretched taut and my speed dipped slightly, but I paid it no mind—leaning my torso further forward, powering through as if to shake him off by brute force.
In the end, with help from another defender, he barely managed to clear the ball away, but his face carried a look of hollow disbelief, as if to say, you're telling me you got through that?
It was the moment all his desperate, foul-including defending came to nothing.
It was the same at the edge of the penalty box.
The center-back latched onto me in a heartbeat, refusing to give me any shooting angle, but I shielded him off with my back and my strength, then unleashed a sneaky turning shot half a beat before he expected it.
The ball clipped a defender's foot and deflected, agonizingly wide of the post. On the center-back's face bloomed astonishment, as if to say, a shot from this distance, at this timing?
Even against their defense, chances kept coming my way.
This time a cross came in from the flank.
The cross was inaccurate, but I attacked the ball first anyway.
Yet the center-back had cut across my path before I knew it, clipping the ball away with a precise tackle. A defense of perfect timing.
In that tackle I felt something different from the first half—a desperation.
Someone of this level, and he's only a high school graduate? The world is wide and full of monsters... But this side of the pitch has my future career riding on it!
Right—football isn't a sport you play alone. I decided to change how I played.
Rather than forcing everything on my own, I needed to make better use of my teammates.
While the center-back and the entire opposing defense were fixated on me, space began to open up for the rest of our players.
I received the ball and quickly linked up with those around me.
Sometimes I deliberately dragged defenders toward me, creating room for someone else.
But that center-back read situations fast.
He must have caught on that I was trying to use my teammates, because he stopped focusing on me alone—turning his head to shout instructions at the other defenders, adjusting their positions, directing the whole back line.
The instant I tried to release a pass, he'd close the lane; he'd read passes headed for other attackers and cut them out in advance.
A defense exerting influence across every corner of the pitch—it was simply not a level of play that belonged in Sunday league.
Time flowed on, and the match stayed dead even. Then, from a corner kick, that center-back rose for a header and buried it—3-1.
We were still ahead, but the clock ticking by without another goal made me uneasy.
That was when it happened. Our midfielder, squeezed by the press, fumbled the ball slightly and sent it toward me in a bad state.
The center-back pounced on the instant without missing a beat. The intent was clear: swallow me up the second I touched the ball and take it away.
But then, luck smiled on me. The ball happened to land on a patch of thinned grass and popped up unpredictably.
That tiny difference knocked his tackle timing off by just a hair.
Now!
I reacted on instinct. Daintily trapping the bouncing ball with the top of my foot, I evaded his tackle and swiveled my body in the opposite direction—all in one motion.
Perhaps thanks to the training I'd done for decades in that frozen time, the instep trap flowed as naturally as water.
The center-back looked flustered, but I could already feel him chasing me down again from behind.
Too late!
Once I exploded forward at full speed, no amount of desperate chasing could catch me. The gap only widened.
There was no one in front of goal but the goalkeeper. Without a second's delay, I drove my right instep hard into the heart of the ball.
BOOM—!
With a thunderous crack, the ball flew like a bullet and ripped into the top corner of the net.
The goalkeeper threw himself at it, but the trajectory was already beyond saving.
"Hoo..."
Instead of a celebration, I let out a short breath of relief. That one had taken a lot out of me.
I watched the ball roll around inside the net, then glanced back at the center-back who'd done everything to stop me.
He stood there a moment, looking rueful—then gave me a small nod and raised his thumb.
Finally broke through. What an opponent.
That goal made it 4-1—a dagger to seal the game.
***
Peeeep—!
The final whistle blew.
Final score: 4-1. A crushing defeat for Cha Kangmin's team. No—more precisely, it was a match where Cha Kangmin had been toyed with, start to finish, by some middle-school-graduate mercenary.
"Man. Good work out there!"
"That guy on their side is the real deal. He was tearing through us like we weren't even there."
His teammates came over, clapping him on the shoulder with words that might have been consolation, might have been awe.
Cha Kangmin forced a bitter smile and answered.
"Haha... good work, everyone. I was supposed to stop him. Came up short."
Inside, though, his thoughts were boiling over.
I got completely exposed... Does this even make sense? Me—the active national team player Cha Kangmin—in Sunday league, against some middle-school dropout?!
When the guy said he was trying out for pro clubs in late November, Kangmin had gone all-out in the second half despite still rehabbing his body. No—he'd gone beyond all-out.
He'd mixed in fouls you should never commit in Sunday league, trying to stop him. Jerking his jersey, throwing elbows, borderline tackles.
And still that guy had endured it all like a monster—and in the end, he'd broken through Cha Kangmin himself.
That last goal... yeah. He had no choice but to admit it.
Call it luck if you wanted, but that split-second judgment, that speed, that finishing—those were real.
Where did a monster like that come from out of nowhere? A middle-school player? Ha. Unbelievable.
Cha Kangmin trudged over to the corner of the pitch, where the PD was packing up his camera. The moment the PD saw him, his face filled with sympathy.
"Aw, hyung-nim. Tough one out there. You look worn out... how's the body holding up?"
"Body's fine. Heart's not, kid."
Cha Kangmin twisted open his water bottle and gulped it down in great swigs.
"You saw that mercenary guy, right? What even WAS that? Come on, this isn't some cruel hidden-camera prank you set up, is it?"
The PD waved his hands and jumped back in protest.
"Hyung-nim! Would I ever trick you? My jaw hit the floor watching too. That physique, that shooting... it was insane. Is he some hidden prospect or what? Is that why he says he only played through middle school?"
Cha Kangmin let out a hollow laugh.
"No, that's real. I asked him during the break—he played until middle school, then quit because of money troubles at home. Says he's just been practicing alone ever since."
"What? He got THAT good practicing alone? Whoa... that makes even less sense. If it's not a lie, the man's a certified genius."
The PD's eyes went wide. He was speechless for a moment—then leaned in closer, chuckling quietly.
"Still... you did go a bit easy on him in the second half, right? I mean, you're recovering from injury, and... you're an active national team player, for crying out loud. Surely you didn't go full effort and get played like that..."
Cha Kangmin cut him off, his face dead serious.
"Nope. Went full effort. Got my ass handed to me."
"......What?"
"Ass. Handed to me. I tried everything in the second half, fouls included—didn't work. He's just... on another level. Honestly, he reminded me of some of the elite pros I've faced."
At those words, the PD stood there with his mouth hanging open, unable to say a thing.
Today's hidden-camera content was a total bust. The star of the show wasn't Cha Kangmin—it had become that mystery mercenary instead.
Damn it... do I salvage this in editing, or what... no, editing isn't the problem here.
He was frowning over the edit in his head when another thought suddenly flashed through his mind. He couldn't get that guy's play out of his head.
The overwhelming physique. The powerful, pinpoint shooting that erupted from both feet. And even the split-second instinct he'd shown on that final goal.
Wait a second... with talent like that...
Cha Kangmin shouted, "Hey, hold on a sec!" at the PD, then set off toward where the mercenary guy was.
Up close, the guy was talking with two men who looked to be in their forties.
One of them had a face Kangmin felt like he'd seen somewhere before; the other was a complete stranger.
Cha Kangmin wedged himself into a gap in their conversation and addressed the mercenary.
"Excuse me—got a second?"
At his sudden appearance, the mercenary and the two men turned to look at him.
Cha Kangmin got straight to the point.
"That match was really something. If you don't mind... could I get your phone number?"
At the request, the mercenary's expression turned slightly puzzled.
A total stranger—and an opposing defender he'd just spent a rough half battling in the trenches—suddenly asking for his number. Anyone would be thrown off.
But after a brief hesitation, the guy typed his number into Kangmin's phone.
"Ah, thank you. I'll give you a call sometime."
Cha Kangmin said his goodbyes and quickly left the spot.
He could feel the two men in their forties staring after him in bewilderment, but he paid it no mind.
When he got back to the PD, the man asked, brimming with curiosity.
"Hyung-nim? What was that about?"
Cha Kangmin looked down at the number saved in his phone and murmured,
"Dunno. Just... something about him felt right."
Talent like that, rotting away in the Sunday league scene? That was a crime.
A gem belongs to whoever picks it up first—before someone else does.