The Scout's Eye

Manager Park Cheolmin let out a long sigh as he pulled on his jacket.

A business card bearing his name and title. To outsiders it looked glamorous, but life in this line of work had its fair share of headaches.

People assumed being a scout was some cushy, powerful position.

As soon as word got around that you knew a scout, the calls flooded in from everyone with even a passing acquaintance who played football.

'Manager Park, my son plays football — could you take a look at him sometime?'

'My nephew is the real deal. Surely you could get him a tryout, at least...'

'There's a guy I know, a coach at some pro team, and he recommended this kid—'

The endless stream of favors and requests never stopped. Strangers were easy enough to brush off with a polite excuse, but when it came to friends or seniors in the industry, turning them down was a genuinely awkward business.

And what if he ever took so much as a penny under the table? In this tiny football world, word would get out in no time. Well — at that point, you might as well hand in your resignation on the spot.

In the end, he had to sift gold from gravel on skill alone, and that process was anything but easy.

The reason he'd come out to today's morning league match was no different. An old friend of his had been droning on about it into his ear until the words practically wore a groove there.

'Cheolmin, there's a young fella working under me, and I'm telling you, the kid is something else! Strength? Speed? I've never seen anyone stronger than him! He used to play football up through middle school, too. Just go take one look at him!'

Honestly, his first reaction had been to snort at it.

A player who quit back in middle school? How many of those were floating around out there?

The vast majority were just people clinging to faded dreams of talent they never really had. And at a morning league match, of all places.

Chances were high it would be a waste of his time. But the request had been so earnest, and he owed the man one from way back, so he had grudgingly carved out the hours.

'Haah, fine. It's a favor for a close hyung. I'll just show my face, maybe score a free cup of coffee, and head home.'

That was how he arrived at the pitch with zero expectations. He watched the kid his friend pointed out — the youngest member of the construction crew team. Kim Hanbin, was it?

'Oh. Decent physique, actually.'

The first impression wasn't bad. Tall, well-built, with the kind of solid frame clearly forged through punishing physical labor.

But that was where it ended. Flashy-looking aspiring players were a dime a dozen. What really mattered was how you handled a ball.

Besides, a kid who'd quit in middle school — expecting crisp fundamentals or flashes of real insight would be asking too much.

The match kicked off, and he watched idly with his arms crossed. Before long, Park Cheolmin realized his arms had somehow come uncrossed on their own.

In the first half, that kid Kim Hanbin started hammering goals in.

One goal. Two goals... When the net rippled for the third, he murmured quietly to himself.

'...He's actually good, isn't he?'

It wasn't just that he was scoring. The shots themselves were something out of the ordinary.

Powerful, precise strikes launched from a clean, stripped-down form with no wasted motion at all.

Especially his clinical eye for the corners of the goal — it went beyond amateur level. A degree of polish that was hard to square with someone who'd supposedly quit in middle school.

His physical play was impressive too. The opposing center-back was a sizable man with unusually sharp movement for this level, yet Kim Hanbin didn't get pushed off the ball once.

If anything, there were several moments where he held his ground through sheer strength or shoved the defender clean off him.

'Physique and finishing clearly stand out. Among amateurs he's top-class. No — he might even cut it at the pro level? But... judged by professional standards, there's still a lot missing. His link-up play in particular looks rough.'

He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a few lines.

'The link-up play looks a bit lacking, but hmm... with proper coaching, he might turn out fine.'

That was it. That was the extent of his evaluation. A level worth a trial with some bottom-tier K League 2 side, maybe.

Playing for a top-tier K League 1 club like Seoul Citizen? He'd thought the boy was still miles away from that.

Then the second half began, and something entirely unexpected happened.

The opposing team's center-back. He'd shown respectable defending in the first half, but now he looked like a completely different player.

'...Huh?'

He narrowed his eyes and began tracking the center-back's every movement.

How the man was defending against Kim Hanbin had changed entirely.

Rather than going shoulder-to-shoulder, he was cleverly claiming space ahead of time and cutting off passing lanes.

He wasn't just reading Hanbin's movement — he seemed to anticipate the runs of the surrounding teammates and the direction of every pass. Extraordinarily wide vision.

He was even tormenting Hanbin with sly, deliberate little fouls.

'That movement... that defending style... where have I seen this before?'

A faint memory surfaced from somewhere deep in his head.

Cha Kangmin — national team center-back and one of the defining defenders of the K League. It was strikingly similar to Cha Kangmin's style: tenacious to the point of obsession, yet razor-sharp and cunning.

'...No way. It can't be. Why would he be playing morning league of all things...'

He shook his head and forced the thought away. But his gaze stayed locked on that center-back all the same.

Under the center-back's transformed defense, Kim Hanbin was clearly struggling.

'Kim Hanbin is having a rough second half. That center-back's defending is no joke. So then — can he show me something even under that kind of pressure?'

He started taking notes again. This time, his observations covered not just Hanbin but the opposing center-back as well.

The match kept getting more and more compelling. Even under the center-back's tight marking, Kim Hanbin refused to give up.

Once beating the man on his own became too difficult, he started showing genuinely clever play, using his teammates to unlock the defense.

There were still moments where the center-back's covering play snuffed him out, but Hanbin's speed and shooting remained a constant menace to the entire back line.

Before he knew it, Cheolmin was gripping the armrest of nothing, sweat in his palms, utterly absorbed in the match. Never had he imagined feeling this kind of tension at a mere morning league game.

And in the dying minutes, at long last, the chance came again.

The instantaneous reaction speed that never lost an erratic bounce. The supple, fluid footwork that evaded the center-back's sliding tackle. And finally, a flawless finishing shot that left the keeper with absolutely nothing to play with.

"Hoo..."

An exclamation of pure admiration escaped his lips.

This kid was the real thing. His technical and tactical polish might still fall short, but that physique, that clinical finishing, and that focus in the decisive moment were unmistakably special.

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If that sequence — buildup to finish — wasn't a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck but something he could reproduce consistently, then he could absolutely survive on the professional stage.

When the match ended, Manager Park approached his old friend.

"Hyung. That Kim Hanbin kid — you're sure he only played football up through middle school, right?"

The hyung gave a hearty laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Me, I've only ever seen the boy hauling materials on a job site! Today was the first time I ever watched him kick a ball! Sounds like you saw something too, though, eh Cheolmin?"

"Yes... He's quite something, that kid."

And so, after the referee's whistle blew the match to a close at 4–1, he made his way over to Kim Hanbin, who was surrounded by his jubilant teammates.

He stepped up to Hanbin and held out his card.

"Hanbin-ssi, was it? Here's my card. Give me a call sometime this week, whenever's convenient. I'd like to sit down and talk in more detail."

A kid of this caliber was more than worth an official trial with their team.

Just then — the opposing center-back who'd shown that brilliant defense earlier appeared out of nowhere and asked Kim Hanbin for his number.

'So he sensed it too, I suppose.'

He watched Hanbin hand his number over to the center-back.

He'd come out for nothing more than a free cup of coffee, and somehow he'd walked away having discovered a genuine gem.

'Hmm... That center-back has me curious too, but for now, let's focus on Kim Hanbin.'

"Ah, thank you very much. I'll give you a call sometime."

The center-back who'd asked for his number gave a small bow and turned away.

Feeling slightly dazed, I watched his retreating back.

'Why did he even ask for my number? Just because I played well?'

I couldn't figure out the reason, but I decided not to dwell on it.

Right now, there was something far more important in my hand.

The business card I'd just received from a scout called Manager Park Cheolmin.

"Hahaha, Hanbin! Look at you, a proper star in the making today! That center-back from the other team, and now Manager Park himself — everyone's after you!"

Foreman Choi came over and thumped me on the shoulder with a booming laugh.

Manager Park smiled warmly at the sight of him.

"Great work out there, Hanbin-ssi. I was genuinely impressed by what you showed today. Do give me a call."

"Yes, sir! I'll call you, I promise! Thank you so much!"

I bowed deeply once more.

Manager Park and Foreman Choi exchanged farewells with the others and made their way off the pitch.

Foreman Choi... thank you. Truly.

I offered him a silent, heartfelt debt of gratitude. Without him, an opportunity like this would have been unthinkable.

Scouts were already hounded on all sides by people begging them to take a look at someone — getting one to come out to a match like this wouldn't have been easy at all.

I was just the youngest kid on the same construction crew, and yet he'd connected me all the way to a professional scout.

I resolved to pay him back properly someday, without fail.

I stood there for a while, looking down at the card clutched in my hand.

'This is it. The chance is finally here.'

One hundred million practice shots. Decades inside the stopped-time ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠space. It felt as though all of that effort was being rewarded in this single little card.

No — this was only the beginning. The real reward was something I had to build from here.

"Hanbin-ssi! You were amazing out there today!"

"Next time you're free, let's kick the ball around again!"

"I'm rooting for your pro dream! With your skills, you'll absolutely make it!"

The teammates I'd played with came over to offer their farewells, and I accepted them with an awkward smile.

I'd met all of them for the first time today, but the simple fact of having sweated alongside them and kicked the same ball stirred a strange sense of camaraderie.

'I really did love football, didn't I?'

I realized it all over again — how much joy there was in playing with other people like this.

I helped with the brief cleanup and left the pitch.

Step by step, the walk back to my studio apartment felt lighter than usual.

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I pulled the business card out of my pocket again and turned it over in my fingers.

'Seoul Citizen... a storied K League 1 club.'

Could I really play there? I'd shown my potential today, sure, but my shortcomings had been just as clear.

Just thinking back on how I'd struggled against that center-back in the second half made my stomach clench.

'That guy... is he really just a former high school player?'

If that level of defense came from someone who'd only ever played through high school, then the professional stage would be harder than I could even imagine.

'My link-up play was definitely lacking. When the center-back read my movement and tried to cut the connection between me and my teammates, I should have judged the situation faster and more precisely — played the pass immediately, or changed my run. Instead, I let good chances slip again and again.'

I replayed the second half in my head, scene by scene.

My own weaknesses stood out with painful clarity. These were things I'd never been able to notice training alone inside stopped time.

'Still, the hopeful part is that my physique and shooting clearly work at this level.'

I shook my head. No dwelling on the negatives. If I was missing something, I could learn it.

Above all, I had nowhere to go back to. No — there was a reason I couldn't go back.

'Dad... Mom...'

My father lying in a hospital bed. My mother caring for him while working herself to the bone at a restaurant.

I wanted to end their suffering. My success in football was their only hope.

That's right. I had to make it.

I got back to my studio apartment, finished a shower, and lay down on my bed.

I was exhausted, but sleep wouldn't come. Staring at the ceiling, I thought about next week's meeting with the scout.

What should I say? My strengths and weaknesses. The reason I'd come back to football in the first place...

Should I honestly tell him why I'd quit in middle school? The time-stop story was obviously off the table.

'How am I supposed to explain it?'

My mind was a tangled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mess.

'It's fine. Whatever I'm missing, I can just train like a madman and learn it. Link-up play, tactics — all of it.

Whatever the training is, if there's one thing I'm confident about, it's training.'

Meanwhile, a man who'd slipped away from the football pitch sat in the driver's seat of his car, holding his phone to his ear.

The stuffy silicone mask and goggles that had covered his face were already tossed onto the passenger seat.

Cha Kangmin — starting center-back for Suwon Blue Sky and the national team — was faintly visible in the darkness.

After a few rings, the other side picked up.

"Oh, Kangmin? Rehab going well? What's up, calling at this hour?"

The familiar voice of the Suwon Blue Sky manager came through the receiver.

"Manager, it's me, Kangmin. My rehab's in the final stage. That's not why I'm calling, though..."

Cha Kangmin paused to draw a breath.

"By any chance... could our team use one absolutely insane striker?"

There was something in Cha Kangmin's voice — a lilt you couldn't quite tell was teasing or dead serious.

"Because today, I saw a genuinely interesting kid."