The Giant of Manchester
Ask any football fan about Manchester and two clubs spring to mind.
One is the red of Manchester United. The other is the sky blue of Manchester City.
Through the 2000s and into the very early 2010s, United stood as the undisputed strongest side in English football. But after their eternal leader, Alex Ferguson, retired, the club slid into decline — and they have never quite recaptured that golden age.
Manchester City, by contrast, entered its own prime after being acquired by the Emirati billionaire Mansour. From the late 2010s through the 2020s, they reigned as the finest team in England.
Of the two, the side we would be facing was Manchester City U-19 — a squad filled mostly with prospects who had poured in once the senior team started thriving. The club had hit a mild downturn in the 2030s, but sitting comfortably inside the top four was still enough for young players to trust their futures there.
That, at least, was the assumption. In reality, Manchester City's academy system made a first-team debut extraordinarily difficult. How else could you explain that Phil Foden was essentially the only academy graduate to break into the senior side and stay there for any meaningful stretch?
Their development program itself was excellent. Kasper Schmeichel, who helped write Leicester City's fairy-tale title win; Kieran Trippier, who went on to play for Atlético and Newcastle; Jadon Sancho, who even had a stint at Manchester United — all of them were products of that system.
But Manchester City also possessed overwhelming financial power. That meant academy players had to compete with world-class first-team talent, and every transfer window the club simply bought the best available. For a youth player, getting minutes with the seniors was like plucking stars from the sky.
So they moved on to other clubs. Of those who left, only a handful ever truly exploded. Some became rotation pieces elsewhere. In the worst cases, they left the game entirely.
Either way, City aren't an easy opponent…
Until now they had only been faces on a television screen. But on the current Manchester City U-19 roster was someone I had faced myself.
It was before the regression — after the season had ended, a charity match arranged by some corporation between Manchester City and a K League All-Star side. I had been at my peak in the K League then, still free of the injury that would later ruin everything, and I had fully expected to put on a show.
That was pure arrogance.
All I managed were two chances created, one of which luckily became an assist. I was pulled off the pitch after only fifty-five minutes. Shot or pass, every attempt was snuffed out by the opposing centre-back.
Darwin Diaz…
He shared a surname with Rúben Dias, who had played for Manchester City, and like him he operated as a centre-back. Before making his senior debut, though, Darwin Diaz had been a right-back.
Either way, he would be the one marking me. He still had no idea who I was — and this time I fully intended to tear him apart.
And after that…
Performing well in the next match mattered, of course. But so did the offers flooding in for someone as noisy as me.
My father had decided to handle me temporarily while he searched for a proper agent, and he had already whittled the dozen-plus offers down to seven of the most important ones.
In order: Arsenal, Burnley, Atlético Madrid, Mallorca, Borussia Mönchengladbach, Leverkusen, and Ajax.
Arsenal looks best on paper…
As a footballer, Arsenal was an attractive destination. As a lifelong Chelsea fan, the idea of going there made my skin crawl. Ideally I wanted a club no Korean player had ever joined. The absolute best-case scenario, of course, was Chelsea themselves coming in for me.
Stripping Arsenal out of the list, the strongest remaining option was Atlético. Ajax were no pushovers either, but I had zero desire to play in the Dutch league. Mönchengladbach was the same — I still had no idea how a German club even knew I existed when I had never set foot on a Bundesliga pitch, and joining them felt awkward. Sure, they could reach the Europa League at minimum, but I had no interest in the Bundesliga, so they had to go.
If I'm going somewhere, it should be competitive and fun.
In my mind, that meant the Premier League or La Liga. Celtic was out of the question — a Scottish powerhouse with more titles than anyone, yes, but they had already taken in the striker Oh Hyeon-gyu, so I had to pass.
That leaves Burnley and Atlético… and Burnley get relegated the year after next…
In the end, the destination had to be Atlético. I had no idea what my Madridista grandfather and mother would say about it… but it was the best choice available.
I let out a long breath and sat on the edge of the hotel bed. If I put in a strong performance this match, maybe more clubs would come calling. Holding onto that vague hope, I closed my eyes.
Ding—.
…If not for the sudden chime of an incoming text, I might have drifted straight off to sleep. The journey from London to Manchester had been a long one.
I read the message that followed — and froze.
Because the club written there was Chelsea.
"What are you staring at so hard?"
"…Ah. Apparently it's some variety show that's popular in Korea right now. Korean and Japanese prospects going up against academy sides from overseas clubs… Japan's win rate is pretty abysmal."
Parma, in the Emilia-Romagna region of Italy — home of Parma Calcio 1913. Luca Scalini, who worked there, had always taken a keen interest in Korean culture, and right now he was watching Project X, a series produced through a joint deal between TVM, an international OTT service, and Netflix.
Whether it was pure occupational habit or not, the scout was mentally evaluating every player who appeared on screen.
"Yeah? So who's the best one, in your opinion?"
"Uh… this kid."
Luca Scalini fiddled with his laptop, then pulled up the broadcast of the match between Korea and Atlético Madrid.
The clip opened with a wing burst the instant the second half kicked off — a Ronaldo chop to change direction, space carved open by Kang Seungwook's screen. He left the defender for dead with a nutmeg, drove the ball toward the near post, and when the keeper parried it, he was there to smash home the rebound.
"…How old is this kid supposed to be?"
"Seventeen on the show, so fifteen by European counting… wait, his birthday's already passed. Sixteen."
Korea had officially switched to international age reckoning some time ago, but most Koreans still hadn't fully adjusted.
As the footage replayed, other Parma scouts drifted over one by one. A cluster of full-grown men craning around a tiny laptop screen might have looked ridiculous from the outside — but they were simply doing their jobs.
"With passing like that, he could play midfield. As a playmaker…"
"Attacking midfielder suits him better. You can't just park him in the middle and make him a pure passer — his shooting and dribbling are too good."
"And that speed? The dribbling and passing are excellent, sure, but the way he torches the flanks is pure raw pace."
The debate was in full swing when a man walked in.
"Ahem… What are you all looking at?"
"Ah… well…"
The men who had been dissecting Seong Ian's play exchanged glances and quietly dispersed, until only Luca Scalini — the owner of the laptop — remained.
"I was watching a Korean broadcast for a moment. They gather prospects and pit them against overseas football clubs."
"Is that so? Then we should invite them ourselves. Why…"
"…Boss. You know why."
Luca Scalini offered a bitter smile.
"There are barely any prospects left who even know our club exists."
"…Yeah. Fair enough."
It was a raw wound, but there was no arguing with the truth. Ever since their relegation in the 2020–21 season, Parma had spent roughly sixteen years bouncing around Serie B, the glory days of the "Seven Princesses of Serie A" long forgotten. Their name had been taken from them ages ago. Their spiritual pillar had retired long since. They had forgotten what a winning mentality even felt like.
"Anyway — if he polishes the dribbling just a little, he'd be complete. The quality of his passing and shooting is top-tier. Good-looking kid, too… and Korean? That'd be fantastic for Asian marketing."
"He holds Spanish nationality as well, apparently… but yeah, basically."
Watching the footage Luca Scalini played for him, Parma's manager, Pietro Mendes, found himself intrigued.
"Any contact details? I'd like to at least talk to him…"
"Nothing here, but if I work my network I should be able to reach him somehow."
"Then do it. If he doesn't know us, we'll make sure he does. I'll give him a personal tour of the club museum myself."
Pietro Mendes was unaware of two things.
First: other big clubs were already eyeing the boy because of that very performance.
Second: Seong Ian already knew Parma perfectly well.
Ignorant of both, Pietro headed back to his office, firmly convinced that the moment contact was made, Seong Ian would come to Parma.
That conviction lasted until he saw the article titled: