The Road to Valencia
In the end, it wasn't a dream.
Torres's business card was still sitting intact in my pants pocket.
After mulling it over before bed last night, I'd arrived at my answer.
Join the Spanish national team.
The reasons were simple. First, before my regression, I'd seen with my own eyes just how corrupt the Korean Football Association had been. Joining the Spanish national team would bring a host of advantages.
For one, I wouldn't take up a non-EU quota, which meant offers could come in from European clubs whose non-EU slots were already full. It also meant I wouldn't have to endure the humiliation of scrambling to secure a non-EU spot.
Second, I wouldn't have to take long-haul flights for A-matches.
A perfect example was the story of Lee Kang-in and Mallorca. Before the 2022 Qatar World Cup, Lee Kang-in had been called up for a friendly and flown all the way to Korea—only to be given zero minutes. He never set foot on the pitch and flew straight back to Mallorca. The time he'd spent on planes alone, without ever getting a chance, came to a full twenty-six hours.
Long-haul flights take a physical toll, and with a seven-hour time difference between Spain and Korea, getting back into match rhythm took a considerable amount of time. But if A-matches were played within Europe? No jet lag to deal with, and if I wasn't playing in England, I could simply hop on a car or a train.
And third, my market value would rise. For a footballer, market value is everything. Sponsorships, wages, transfer fees—they're all set according to what you're worth. There were plenty of other benefits, but those could wait for now.
I still hadn't contacted Torres. Even if he'd recognized my talent, there was no telling what others would think—especially the Spanish Football Federation. No matter how hard Torres pushed, if they didn't see my ability for themselves, it would all come to nothing. I still had about a year. Conservatively, I could wait until this program wrapped up and the overseas offers started pouring in for real. That would be soon enough.
The real question is whether the Korean public will accept it...
People who actually followed football would almost certainly support the decision. They knew full well how rotten the Korean FA was. But the casual fans who only tuned in once every four years might not understand.
With the schedule pressing, I packed my things at the lodging and headed outside. A large coach bus was already waiting for the players, getting ready to depart.
"You're out already? I haven't even called everyone yet. The kids aren't out."
"I figured it was about time to go."
After a bit of small talk with Eunhye noona, the others started filtering out. I climbed onto the bus and claimed a good seat early.
Our destination was Valencia, on Spain's eastern coast.
Valencia.
It was a name that would ring familiar to most Koreans. Lee Kang-in had moved from Incheon United FC's U-12 to Flying FC, and from there into Valencia's youth academy. He'd joined Valencia's youth setup in 2011, progressed through the reserve side Valencia CF Mestalla, and made his first-team debut in 2018.
But the club owner had only ever used him for political ends, never truly backed him, forced his loan deals to fall through, and ignored transfer requests—petty, underhanded stuff. In the end, Lee Kang-in became a free agent and signed with Mallorca.
Still, setting that aside, Valencia was a club with real history. They'd won La Liga, Spain's top flight, six times, and the Copa del Rey—the King's Cup—eight times. But after nearly getting relegated in 2023, they'd bounced around the lower half of the table and had only recently clawed their way back into mid-table. That didn't mean they were a team to take lightly, even if their youth system had completely fallen apart.
"Alright~ Our program has finally started airing its first episode!"
"Whoa~"
It was indeed about time for the first broadcast. It was 8 a.m. on a Saturday in Spain right now... which made it 3 p.m. Saturday in Korea. The show ran from 7 to 9 p.m. on Saturdays, so it wouldn't be fully out yet. The communities were just saying they were looking forward to it—no real news yet. A few leaks had been floating around, though. People knew the first opponent was Ajax. Thankfully, Aletti hadn't leaked.
"We've got a bit of a drive to Valencia, right? So we decided to play a little mini-game."
Go Yunseong, sitting up front, turned around in his seat.
"What is it?"
"Simple. Everyone builds their best XI out of their favorite players. Hmm... shall we start with Ian?"
Handing me the first turn was a surprise, but putting together an all-time best XI was easy enough.
"We'll go with a basic 4-3-3 formation."
Go Yunseong pulled out a big whiteboard and took a black marker in one hand.
"Start with the goalkeeper, then the defenders, midfielders, and finally the attackers. Build it up that way. Easy, right? And no players from too far back in history."
"Alright. Then first..."
There were countless legends in the goalkeeper position. Lev Yashin, the first goalkeeper ever to win the Ballon d'Or. Manuel Neuer, the legend of Germany and Bayern Munich. If I were picking the greatest of all time, it would have to be Yashin—but with the "no ancient players" rule...
"I'll put Gianluigi Buffon in goal."
"Oh... you know Buffon?"
"Of course. He's so cool I used to watch his highlight reels."
Gianluigi Buffon was a legendary Italian goalkeeper. He'd won Serie A ten times with Juventus—an individual record—and racked up five hundred clean sheets across his career, a mark unmatched in world football history. If more of Lev Yashin's performances had survived on film, maybe it would be different. But based on the footage I'd actually seen, I considered Buffon the greatest goalkeeper of all time.
"Next... hmm... next? Center-backs?"
"Easy. Ramos and Baresi."
Sergio Ramos had spent his prime at Real Madrid, winning five La Ligas, two Copas del Rey, and four Champions Leagues—the finest center-back of his era. His international résumé was just as flawless: World Cup winner in 2010, Euro champion in both 2008 and 2012. That he was one of the greatest center-backs in history was beyond dispute.
Franco Baresi was another center-back no one could touch. Six Serie A titles, four Champions League crowns. His international career was thinner—only the 1982 World Cup win—but that didn't change the fact that he ranked among the absolute best. He'd even finished second in the Ballon d'Or voting as a center-back. There were others—Beckenbauer, Bobby Moore, Elías Figueroa—but they all fell under the "too old" rule, so they were out.
"Ramos and Baresi... I actually watched Ramos play live. He was ridiculously good..."
"Right? There's a reason for every pick."
The other kids had already lost interest, messing around among themselves or glued to their phones, so no one pushed back. The production staff and MCs seemed content to respect my choices... so I decided to indulge a little personal bias when it came to the attackers.
"Okay, full-backs?"
"Left-back: Maldini. Right-back: Cafu."
Paolo Maldini was the greatest left-back in history. Seven Serie A titles, five Champions Leagues. His international career was more bittersweet—runners-up in both the World Cup and the Euros. But the legendary records he left behind had been passed down through the generations.
Cafu, my pick at right-back, was the opposite. One Serie A title each with AS Roma and AC Milan, plus a Champions League with Milan. But his international career was even more glittering. Two World Cups—1994 and 2002—and two Copa América titles. An extraordinary run.
Go Yunseong seemed to find every name I offered reasonable; at any rate, he wrote them on the whiteboard without a word of protest.
"For midfield... hmm... Modric, Iniesta, and Xavi."
"Oh? Interesting... Since you're a Chelsea fan, I figured you'd go for Lampard. Or maybe Essien or Makelele."
"Come on... these three are the proper picks."
Luka Modric had been the other driving force behind Real Madrid's golden era alongside Ramos. Three La Ligas, five Champions Leagues, and with the national team he'd led the supposedly modest Croatia to a World Cup final in 2018 and third place in 2022. And in the 2010s, when Messi and Ronaldo had split every Ballon d'Or between them, the only man to break that monopoly was Modric himself.
Andrés Iniesta and Xavi Hernández were, of course, legends of both Barcelona and Spain. Together with Busquets they formed the famous midfield trio that shared every glory at Barcelona. Iniesta: nine La Ligas, four Champions Leagues, six Copas del Rey. Xavi: eight La Ligas, four Champions Leagues, three Copas del Rey. Both had a World Cup and two Euro titles with the national team—true legends by any measure.
Of course I knew there were countless other legends—Ballack, Gerrard, Lampard, Matthäus, and more. But this was purely personal taste. Not everyone would see it the same way.
"And the big one—the front three? What do you think?"
"In my opinion... Hazard, Ronaldo, and Messi."
"Hazard...?"
Go Yunseong had every right to look puzzled. After all, Hazard had flopped after his move to Real Madrid. But to a Chelsea fan like me, he was still one of the greatest. Watching him operate as a true Crack, flipping the script of games that had been going against us—my heart still raced at the memory. It was a shame he'd never lifted the Champions League with Chelsea, but looking at everything he had won, he remained a Chelsea legend. Two Premier League titles, two Europa Leagues, and at Real Madrid two more La Ligas plus a Champions League.
As for Ronaldo and Messi... everyone already knew. No need to add anything.
After jotting down my best XI for safekeeping, I watched Yunseong hyung move on to question the other kids. I leaned against the window and closed my eyes.
And so we drove for about three hours and arrived in Valencia.