The Transfer Saga Concludes
Among the flurry of articles about my future, one piece in particular caught my eye.
Comments on news articles had been locked for over a decade, but the sheer volume of Angry reactions told me everything I needed to know.
Koreans were rejecting my decision to join the Spanish national team.
There was, however, one corner of the internet that saw things differently.
Ordinary people would never understand it.
A Korean representing another country on the pitch? Unthinkable, right?
Especially for those who only watched football once every four years.
But the ones who followed the game overseas respected my choice and rooted for me. Just as that post said, I had simply chosen Spain — one of my parents' nationalities — and I hadn't spent years living there just to force the issue. Another point they made: talent like mine had no business staying confined to Korea.
"Ian. Come in."
I slipped my phone into my pocket and stepped into the office.
"The medical came back completely clean. Impressive, considering you played a match not long ago."
"Haha… the club took excellent care of me. I was able to get plenty of rest."
Somewhere inside Stamford Bridge, I sat down with a member of Chelsea's board and talked things through.
In the end, I had decided to join Chelsea.
I'd given them a heads-up in advance, and right after the Japan match I'd flown straight to England for the medical. The result, of course, was a pass. Liverpool had jumped in late after watching my performance against Japan, but they were too late. Chelsea, having seen the same display, had significantly improved their offer from before.
"As we discussed, you'll need to go out on loan for the first season."
"Yes."
Exactly what I'd hoped for.
I had confidence in my ability, but I'd always carried doubts about whether my physique was ready to survive the Premier League.
"And here's the list of candidates… these two clubs really want you. The terms are far better than anywhere else, too."
The Chelsea board member handed me a list of teams looking to take me on loan. Most were second-division sides; a few first-division clubs were mixed in, but none of them particularly tempted me.
The man sitting across from me recommended two clubs in particular: Blackburn of the English Championship, and Granada of Spain's second division.
Given my nationality, Granada would have made sense — but for someone who already knew the future, it wasn't an appealing option.
"I'll go here."
I tapped the box with that club's name with my index finger.
"Why there…?"
"It's got romance, doesn't it?"
"Haha… fair enough. I'll get in touch with them. You can stay in London until it's time to move."
I signed the contract and received a jersey with my name on it.
IAN
17
I'd wondered if they might print it as Sung, but thankfully they'd gone with IAN.
I stood with him in front of the cameras and took the official photos.
The club's official announcement wouldn't drop for a few more hours, but Romano had already fired off his Here We Go.
Any overseas football fan would know: Fabrizio Romano, the tier-one journalist, got his sources from insiders, and when a deal was all but locked in he posted that famous phrase. His hit rate was remarkably high — and today, once again, he'd gotten it right.
The headline felt like it was asking me the question directly, and I found myself answering out loud.
"Parma."
A few days later, once the clubs had finalized the agreement, I boarded a flight to Italy without delay.
A flight to Milan, specifically.
After landing, I immediately took transport further southwest, toward the city of Parma.
My reasons for choosing Parma were these.
First: they would play me as a starter. They had no choice, really. They had recently been forced to sell their left winger to AC Milan and desperately needed a replacement.
Second: the club had romance and history. It still felt like yesterday that they'd been called one of Serie A's Seven Princesses. And Alessandro Lucarelli — the legendary figure who had dragged Parma back up to Serie A after the owner's schemes had sent them crashing down to the third division — was still here.
On the first day I had dinner with Parma's executives, then spent a few days resting, adjusting to the time difference and the atmosphere around me. Before long, the official announcement day arrived.
My signing would be unveiled in the dressing room. The hype from the broadcast had cooled somewhat with time, but plenty of journalists had still shown up.
"We officially announce the signing of Seong Ian!"
A Parma executive declared my loan arrival in front of a throng of reporters. I simply walked in, smiling awkwardly, and took a seat in the dressing room.
I gestured toward one of the raised hands and took the question.
"Do you speak Italian, by any chance?"
"Yes. I do."
My mother had taught me. Italy was the home of luxury fashion brands, and as a model she had needed the language. She'd passed it on to me.
Then an East Asian reporter raised his hand.
"Do you have anything to say to the Japanese players you defeated?"
"It was a good match… and just as I gave everything I had, I'm sure the Japanese players did the same. Beyond that, I don't have much to add."
They may have drawn massive attention, but they were still just kids. Losing 3–0 at home and facing the wrath of their own fans would have been a brutal memory to carry.
Next up was a white reporter. The Spanish flag on his name badge marked him as part of the Spanish press.
"According to our sources, you turned down an offer from the Korean national team and accepted one from Spain. Is that true?"
"Uh… well, it's true that I received a call-up from the Spanish youth national team. And I chose them. Beyond that, I don't really know."
I had received a call from the Korean national team.
Far too late, though. I had already conveyed my decision to Fernando Torres, and the paperwork was finished. There was no going back.
"What do you think of Kendry Páez, who's currently at Chelsea FC? Do you believe he needs a move the way Casadei did?"
"Uh… both Páez and Casadei are incredible players. Whether he transfers or not remains to be seen. I'm looking forward to the day I get to play alongside him. That could be as soon as next year."
My contract with Parma was for one year. The goal was to prove myself over that year and break into Chelsea's first-team senior squad the following season.
A few more questions and answers followed, and before long an executive signaled that time was up. I was ready to wrap things up.
"One last question, truly! May I ask one final question?"
A white female reporter thrust her hand high into the air.
"…Yes."
"I've heard you received offers from many clubs. So why did you choose Parma, of all places?"
…That was a question I absolutely could not dodge.
The executives were watching me expectantly, and a room full of media was hanging on every word.
So I opened my mouth.
"I've heard the story of Alessandro Lucarelli."
Alessandro Lucarelli.
When a fraudulent owner bankrupted the club and Parma had to start over from the fourth division — when core players like Antonio Cassano and Gabriel Paletta walked away and the team fell apart — he was the one who stayed until the end and dragged them back to the top flight in three years.
I respected him deeply. Not just for his ability, but for his spirit, his mentality, and the love he held for this club.
I spoke in front of the cameras and the gathered press.
"Do you mean this season?"
"Yes. Of course."
At a glance, it might have looked like the reckless bravado of a kid who still knew nothing.
But my resolve was anything but that.
I had regressed. I was no longer a child.
I would win Serie B with Parma and promote them to Serie A. That was my first vow.