The Sons of God
AFC Ajax.
A club based in Amsterdam, the Netherlands — one that has unearthed countless star players and built what is widely regarded as one of the finest youth training systems in all of Europe.
They go by many nicknames, but if one had to choose just a single moniker, it would be De Godenzonen — in English, "the Sons of God."
Looking at the records they have set, it is hard to argue with the title. Three consecutive UEFA Champions League titles. An undefeated double, claiming both the league and the Champions League without a single loss. Beyond that, a treble, three straight European Cups — and a place among only six clubs in history to hold the UEFA Badge of Honour, awarded for five Champions League triumphs or three consecutive ones.
But for all that deep history, the Dutch powerhouse was slowly letting the glory of its past slip away.
The previous season, Ajax had scraped into the Champions League spots with a fourth-place finish in the Eredivisie. Against their bitter rivals Feyenoord Rotterdam, they had lost both meetings of the season — 3–1 and 2–0. Against another rival, PSV Eindhoven, they managed only a 1–1 draw and a 2–1 defeat. Ajax's form had hit rock bottom.
That did not mean the old reputation simply vanished. This dark stretch of stagnation would be completely behind them in three years' time.
The growth of their youth players would be the spark of Ajax's revival.
In that sense, facing the prospects who would soon lead Ajax into a brighter future was more than a chance to measure the gap between ourselves and Europe's best young talent — it was a chance to meet, ahead of time, the players we might one day share a pitch with.
"Everyone here?"
Having left Incheon International Airport and landed at Amsterdam Schiphol, we each grabbed our bags and headed for the lodging under the production crew's watch.
The hotel sat not far from the airport, off to the southwest.
"Alright. When you go in, the coach who'll be guiding you is already there~ Make sure you greet him properly, okay?"
"What? You're not doing it, hyung?"
"Of course not. I've got a coaching license, sure, but I don't have the tactical sense or the teaching instincts. That's why the coach is coming in."
"So who is this coach…?"
"You'll see. Just wait — you'll meet him soon~"
The crew filmed us chatting easily with Go Yunseong and Eunhye, cameras rolling as if we were old friends.
When we arrived at the hotel entrance, a middle-aged man stood waiting with half a dozen staff members.
"Alright, everyone off~ Staff, double-check the mics and camera gear before you get down~"
We stepped out first, and the crew followed with the luggage.
"Holy— wait a second…"
Baek Namjin, who had been about to head straight into the hotel, dragged his suitcase back toward me.
"What? What is it?"
"No, just— hang on. Why is he here?"
"Alright, gather up, kids."
We lined up in a single row at Go Yunseong's word.
"Let me introduce you. Taking charge as coach of our Korean team is—"
At the same moment, the middle-aged man who had been standing in front of the hotel walked over to us.
"Huh?"
"Whoa…"
The others each looked stunned. I was not particularly surprised.
I had already seen him before the regression.
"Hello. From today, I'll be coaching the Korean team. Kim Taesik."
Kim Taesik.
He had managed in Seoul and Ulsan, and until not long ago had been the manager at Incheon. K League fans who learned he was appearing on a broadcast were shocked, and more than a few looked on with skepticism — but from Kim Taesik's perspective, this show would become a major turning point in his life.
From this program onward, coaching offers from abroad would start pouring in.
"We'll begin proper training from tomorrow, and in a week we'll face Ajax."
"What about today, then?"
"Today… is free time!"
The moment Eunhye said we were free to enjoy ourselves for the day, the kids looked ready to leap for joy.
"We've already told you where we're going, right?"
"Yes."
"England, Spain, and the Netherlands — three stops total. On arrival days we want to film you sightseeing without training, so come out in comfortable clothes and go explore~"
We nodded at the staff member's words and headed inside the hotel.
My assigned room was 602. The other kids were paired two to a room, but left on my own, I got a room to myself.
The problem was…
"Oh~ Ian, you're dressed really well today."
Eunhye noona was in 601 — right across from mine.
She had come out in black skinny jeans and a V-neck collared short-sleeve crop top, with a loose-fit denim jacket over it. Perfect fit from head to toe. The one she was complimenting — me — was just wearing black slacks, a black tee, and a white jacket on top.
"You look pretty too, noona."
"Ah, come on…"
I gave her a thumbs-up with the praise, and Eunhye looked away, a little embarrassed.
We took the elevator down and met the others in the hotel lobby.
"Hey, Seong Ian. You dress up like that to pick up foreign girls or what?"
"No, I did not…!"
While Baek Namgi had me in a headlock and I was grumbling through it, the production crew came over with cameras.
"There's a museum nearby, and a supermarket too, so look around freely and gather back by six."
It was 2:30 now.
Four and a half hours of free time.
"Ian, where are you headed?"
"Ah… I heard there's a park nearby, so I was thinking of going there."
"What's it called, specifically?"
"Toolenburgerplas Hoofddorp…? I think?"
I opened the map app and read it off roughly the way the English looked, then told Eunhye.
"Yeah? Hmm… where should I go…"
"…Want to come with me? There's a skate park nearby, and a garden supply shop too."
"Nah, I'm good. I'll stay here. I need to call the members and all…"
"Ah… okay. See you later, then."
I left the hotel and walked toward the park.
Why, of all the options, had I chosen the park?
Because of a casual football club that played right in front of it.
Doing my best to ignore the cameraman trailing me, I reached the park, sat on a bench, and caught my breath.
"…Here."
I pulled a hamburger from a vending machine and held one out to the cameraman.
The Netherlands had no shortage of strange things.
The strangest of all, though, was the fast-food vending machine.
Staff stocked it with burgers, and people paid and took them out just like any other vending machine. It meant you never had to hunt down a fast-food restaurant — incredibly convenient.
I took a big bite of the cheeseburger and watched the club match.
I did not know Dutch, but the things players shout while running around are more or less the same anywhere in the world.
"Shoot it!" or "Pass!" — that was about the extent of it.
The cameraman filmed with one hand and ate his burger with the other.
"%@&-!"
"#^@."
A Dutch player in a fluorescent vest collected the ball and played a long pass out to a winger opening up on the flank.
The pass was accurate, but the man receiving it was clearly no professional — he misjudged the drop and never got a foot to it cleanly. Only after the ball bounced and deflected off the ground did the winger finally gather it. He saw a teammate arriving from behind and played a cutback.
The player who took it gave the ball a soft touch, then struck a low shot toward the near post on the diagonal.
Thwip—.
The ball rippled the net. Being a casual kickabout, they did not overdo the celebration. The players jogged back into their own half, offering the scorer a few words of praise.
The side that had just conceded, on the other hand, started bickering among themselves — and for reasons I could not yet make out, one of them began walking toward us.
"Hey. You."
"Me?"
"Yeah. You play football?"
"Yes. I'm a high school footballer from Korea."
A player from the team that had just conceded had come over and spoken to me in English. Thanks to my parents, I could handle English well enough, and I answered without hesitation.
"Yeah? What's your position?"
"I can play left wing, right wing, and attacking midfield."
"That so? Hey! Ismail! Give him your vest and come off!"
"Wait— what?"
I asked, thrown by the sudden turn.
"You said you can play. So play."
"I mean… I'm dressed like this."
It was not that the clothes looked strange. They just were not built for running around on a pitch.
"Who cares what you're wearing. Get in there! We've got three minutes left!"
The man who had approached handed me a vest. I left my jacket with the camera director for a moment, pulled the vest on, and stepped onto the field.
Fortunately, the man coming off had roughly my shoe size, so the boots were not a problem.
"Hey!"
Our side, in the orange vests, took the kickoff, and the match was on again.
I received a pass from the English-speaking man and calmly took stock — the opposing defenders holding their shape in the space ahead, and the camera director filming me from the touchline.
At this rate… the program's first NeoTube exclusive clip was probably going to be me.
I slipped past the defender who stuck a foot in with a light La Croqueta, then shook free of the ones tracking me with an Elastico.
I drove the ball forward in short touches. The defenders closed tight. I pushed the ball out to the right, drawing them with me —
—and at the same time flicked a backheel pass to the man who had spoken to me in English.
Thwip—!
His shot, full of power, buried itself in the far corner of the post and split the netting.
"…O mijn God."
Even without Dutch, I understood that one.
Oh my God. The Dutch men stood stunned, calling on their God.
But that goal had taken three minutes of the allotted time.
There were still seven minutes left.