National High School Football Tournament Finals (1)

The National High School Football Tournament had first kicked off in 2024, and by 2036 it was still going strong.

Baekhwa High had entered every single one of the twelve tournaments held so far, yet this was the first time they had ever advanced past the quarterfinals.

Their opponents in the final, Seohyeon High, were a different story entirely. Reaching the semifinals was practically routine for them. Seven tournament titles. Undisputed powerhouses of high school football.

Twenty-four players had already graduated from Seohyeon High into the professional ranks, and that number only climbed with every passing year. The squad competing this time around was known as the Golden Generation—three of them already selected for the youth national team, the so-called Cheongdae.

Kim Dongyeop and Choi Dongwook of Namseo High, whom they had faced earlier, had also been youth internationals, but they were among the younger members of the squad and had been crowded out by seniors in the same positions. The players at Seohyeon High, by contrast, were first-team regulars for the youth national side.

If Ian had to name one of them who stood out in his memory, it was a single player.

…Choi Seungwon.

The third Korean to join Tottenham Hotspur in the English Premier League after Lee Young-pyo and Son Heung-min. Coincidentally, just as Lee Young-pyo had been a left fullback and Son Heung-min a left winger, Choi too operated on the left side of midfield.

Ian could not recall the exact figures, but he remembered hearing that Choi had left his parent club for a transfer fee of thirty-five billion won.

The Korean who signed right after Son Heung-min… the pressure must have been crushing.

Son’s towering performances at Tottenham meant Choi was constantly measured against him. In any case, Choi’s role was that of an advanced playmaker—someone who slipped into the pockets of space between the opposition midfield and defense, linking play so that his teammates’ passes flowed smoothly.

But that was only half the story. Advanced playmakers could switch from attack to defense in a heartbeat, and a single touch from them was enough to create genuine danger.

“This is going to be a hard fight,” the coach said.

He had gathered the entire squad in front of the whiteboard covered with notes on Seohyeon High’s players and their playing styles. The words were the sort that might have stung, yet no one spoke up. The silence had nothing to do with the usual hierarchy of Korean football. It came from the simple fact that none of them truly believed they could beat Seohyeon High—and it showed in every slumped shoulder and averted gaze.

“Advancing to the final at all is a first for this football team since the day it was founded. But winning the title…”

…I didn’t know that. First time ever reaching the final, then.

“…still, I want you to give it everything you’ve got.”

“Yes, sir.”

The reply came out quieter than usual. The coach was the type who only felt satisfied when the answer rang out loud, yet this time he merely nodded and said nothing.

“This is the starting lineup for tomorrow’s final against Seohyeon High.”

It was nearly the same lineup they had used in the semifinal, except that left winger Lee Dae-eun—who had made that costly mistake—had been dropped, and Ian’s name now sat in his place.

So he only puts me in the starting eleven once we reach the final?

It was irritating, but Ian decided to let it go. Even a coach who prized experience above all else was facing something brand-new when it came to a final. The look the coach gave him as he nodded carried a quiet plea, as if he were placing the match in Ian’s hands.

Then I’ll just have to show him.

While everyone else left to prepare for the next day’s match, Ian stayed behind for another two hours of shooting practice before heading home.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠match began with Baekhwa High’s kickoff.

Seo Junhyeok strode purposefully up the pitch while Jeong Jimin positioned himself in the space between the opposition midfield and attack. Attacking midfielder Yoo Gwanhee received the ball, scanned the field, and slipped a pass out to Ian.

“Go!”

Ian had been tapping the ball lightly, carving out space, when an opposing midfielder suddenly closed him down and forced him to check his stride.

Well, look at that.

Two players stood squarely in his path. Two markers, dedicated solely to him. The Seohyeon High coach’s intention was written all over the pitch: shut Ian down completely.

Against two fully developed professionals it would have been difficult, and Ian’s body was still far from its peak. But against kids who had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not yet piled up enough experience, it was easy.

He poked the ball through the straddling legs of the first defender, then squeezed between the pair. A long ball out to the right followed. Jeong Jimin’s first touch was clean, but a tackle sent him tumbling sideways.

The referee’s whistle cut through the air. A verbal warning went to Seohyeon High’s left fullback for burying his foot too deep in the challenge. Luck had handed Baekhwa a free kick from a promising position.

Free-kick specialist Jeong Inho stepped up to the spray-marked spot. Players from both sides crowded the box in front of goal.

The ball sailed high and true onto Seo Junhyeok’s forehead—only to glance skyward. A wasted chance, but early in the first half no one had expected a goal anyway.

“It’s fine. Take it slow, step by step!”

Seo Taeseong’s steady voice settled the team as they dropped back for the goal kick.

Seohyeon High’s keeper played it short to a center-back. Seo Junhyeok pressed immediately, but the defender simply rolled the ball out to the fullback and escaped the pressure. The fullback found the defensive midfielder, who laid it off to his partner and pushed forward. Kim Minhwan tried to intercept, only to be completely beaten by a neat one-two.

The next touch belonged to Choi Seungwon.

With Baekhwa’s defensive midfielder Kang Junmin in front of him, Choi peeled him off with a flip-flap, then used a Cruyff turn—respectable for a high-schooler—to leave Seo Taeseong standing in the defensive space before unleashing a shot. The ball cannoned off the post and spun out of play.

“Get your heads on straight!”

Goalkeeper Ju Ingyu barked at Seo Taeseong as he collected the ball. Unlike Seohyeon’s short restart, Ju’s goal kick was a long one, aimed precisely at Jeong Jimin. Before Jimin could touch it, Seohyeon’s left fullback leapt high and headed the ball out for a throw-in.

Ian walked over to right fullback Kim Seongsu, who was preparing to take it.

“Hyung, drop back. I’ll throw it.”

“You? Why?”

“They keep sticking two guys on me. I want to make sure they can’t even get close.”

“…All right, then.”

Kim Seongsu handed over the ball and retreated to his position. Ian cradled it in both hands and surveyed the field. Jeong Jimin kept making deceptive runs; Kang Junmin drifted closer. Ian chose Junmin. The return pass came instantly, and Ian threaded ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a ball into the tight angle for the advancing Jimin. At the same moment Ian sprinted straight into the center. Jimin juggled the ball once, twice, then lofted it into the middle.

Seo Junhyeok’s forehead met it cleanly—only for the ball to smash against the crossbar and rebound. Chaos erupted in the box until a Seohyeon boot finally cleared it outside the area.

“Ian!”

Kim Minhwan somehow found the loose ball and laid it off. Ian struck it first-time with his left foot, curling it toward goal. Seohyeon’s keeper flung himself full length and tipped it over the bar.

“I’ve got this!”

Before Jeong Inho or Jeong Jimin could reach the corner flag, Ian was already there.

I thought Namseo High would come through… but Baekhwa High made it instead. That’s a massive variable.

The Seohyeon High coach had fully expected Namseo to eliminate Baekhwa. The result had been the opposite: Baekhwa had beaten them 4–2. For a side that had prepared specifically for Namseo, it was a deeply unsettling turn of events.

Especially that number 10…

Coming off the bench from the round of sixteen onward, he had produced ten goals and one assist across three matches. The hat-trick against Namseo High in particular had been a performance that even a coach who had seen countless talents found staggering. After watching those games, the Seohyeon coach had abandoned any notion that Baekhwa would be an easy opponent. As long as Seong Ian was on the pitch, victory could not be guaranteed.

So the plan had been simple: put two dedicated markers on Ian at all times.

Yet once the match actually began, the tactic proved almost meaningless.

In one sense the coach’s intention had succeeded—Ian had not scored, and Seohyeon had found the net once before the first half wound down. But Ian already had two assists to his name. He was using his teammates like tools, manufacturing chances with surgical precision. A corner-kick cross had met Seo Junhyeok’s head and bulged the net. Seohyeon had clawed one back, only for Jeong Jimin to ghost into the space left vacant by the double-marking and fire off several long-range efforts. One of them found the net. The score stood at 2–1.

…When the kids come in at half-time I’ll tell them to ease off Ian’s pressure.

At that exact moment Ian received the ball from Jimin and his feet began ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to dance. A dummy sold one defender; then two consecutive La Croquetas left a pair of Seohyeon players in his wake.

No way…

The impossible became fact. Ian’s right foot guided the ball gently, almost casually, into the near side of the goal.

The net rippled. Somewhere on the touchline, a single strand of the Seohyeon High coach’s hair fell out.