A Day of Rest

"Well done, son."

As I climbed into the back seat, my father spoke from behind the wheel.

"Three goals today, I hear?"

"Sí! I came on as a sub and put away three — just like Lewandowski!"

"Haha… a true Madridista like your mother, and she's got a Barça player's name coming out of her mouth. You must've really been on fire today."

"Well… haha…"

"¡Puta madre! Why would you bring that name up? I meant Lewandowski from his Bayern days!"

My mother, seated in the passenger seat, snapped at my father.

Her name was Cristina Blanco. One look at her was enough to know she was Spanish — a former model, in fact. She had been so popular that her retirement announcement in her late twenties had caused a stir across the industry. And as my father's remark made clear, she was a hardcore Madridista, a devoted fan of Real Madrid.

My father's name was Seong Juhyeon, a classical music performer by profession. The two of them had met when he traveled to Spain for a small concert, fallen for each other, and eventually gotten married — a thoroughly romantic story.

"By the way, Ian — when's your next match?"

"In three days. They told me to rest up until then."

"Good. Playing hard matters, but your health comes first. Understood?"

"Of course."

I nodded.

"Oh, right. Take a look at that paper in the back there."

I picked up the sheet my father pointed to and switched on the rear cabin light.

This is…

I knew this program. Even before my regression, my father had told me about the same one. Honestly, I had written it off as impossible — a production of this scale simply couldn't happen. Or so I'd thought.

The premise was simple: two ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠teams, one Korean and one Japanese, would travel abroad with their own national players and face off against youth squads from various overseas clubs. The catch was that the production team refused to name which clubs were involved — or even the filming dates — until the day of shooting.

I had assumed it would amount to nothing more than the Vietnamese league or some Middle Eastern side, so I hadn't bothered to participate. My prediction had been completely wrong.

They brought in clubs from Europe's top five leagues — and the Dutch league on top of that. The whole country went wild.

From what I remembered, a few of the participants had even earned moves to overseas clubs afterward. The exposure had paid real dividends.

"Interested?"

"Obviously."

This time, I would appear on it no matter what. For the sake of my future.

After about twenty minutes in the car, we arrived at a nearby lodging. The moment I walked in, I collapsed face-first onto the bed.

The next day, I stepped outside for a rare stretch of rest. There was someone I needed to meet at a quiet café.

"Hello."

I had already ordered a coffee and settled into a seat when a short-haired woman in a suit approached and spoke to me.

"Ah… I don't really do Instagram…"

"…I'm Han Yejin, team leader of the football division at TSM Magazine. I texted you earlier."

She pulled a business card from the inner pocket of her blazer and handed it to me.

"Sorry about that. People keep coming up to me asking for photos."

"Well… with a face like that, I imagine the attention is nice."

"Oh, I don't know about that… haha."

Yejin set her laptop on the table, placed her drink beside it, and looked at me.

"We're about to start the interview. You don't seem nervous at all."

"Come on — I'm plenty nervous right now."

"Is that so? Hmm…"

I had done interviews countless times before the regression. Only about three of them had been positive; the rest had been nothing but criticism. Still, interviews were something I knew inside and out.

"Could you start with a self-introduction?"

"Hello. I'm Seong Ian, currently a student at Baekhwa High School. I'm seventeen, and I primarily play as a second-line attacker."

"Congratulations on scoring a hat-trick in the round of sixteen of the National High School Football Championship."

"Thank you."

I gave Yejin a slight nod.

"I looked into your profile briefly — your mother is quite well-known, isn't she?"

"Yes. She worked as a model when she was younger."

"That explains it. Your looks must come from your parents' genes."

"Haha… my mother would be delighted to hear that."

If she heard it, she would laugh and claim it was all thanks to her.

"What do you usually do on your days off?"

"I play a lot of football games. FM, the FC series — that kind of thing."

The quality was lower than what I remembered from before the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠regression, but they were still solid. FM, in particular, was excellent for studying tactics.

"Ahem… Who are you closest with on the Baekhwa High football team?"

She cleared her throat, steadied her voice, and moved on to a different question. Even for a regressor, this one was hard to answer.

Who was I closest with back then…?

Jeong Inho, if I remembered right. We had even debuted in the K League together later on.

"Jeong Inho."

"Is that so? How did you two become close?"

"Well, our positions overlap a lot on the pitch. Just look at the last match — he kept surging forward to help with the attack. You can't help but get close after that."

"I see…"

I coasted through a string of unremarkable questions after that, ready to wrap things up.

"One last question. Seong Ian, you were born to a Korean father and a Spanish mother, so you hold dual citizenship. Once you turn of age, which national team do you intend to play for?"

"The national team…"

The national team. A position that meant representing an entire country against the best of every other. Anyone would call it an honor to wear the Korean jersey — but I knew better. I knew exactly how much of a mess the football association was.

Still, my regression might change things. So I gave an answer carefully balanced between both sides.

"Hard to say. Either way, one of the two countries has to call me up first, right? How am I supposed to go if nobody invites me?"

"Fair enough. The eligibility rules for dual nationals have changed recently, so I wanted to ask."

I nodded. Yejin gave a small, understanding smile and closed her laptop.

"Thank you for your time."

"You too, Team Leader."

"Team Leader? Don't be so formal. Just call me Noona."

"Huh? How old are you, if you don't mind…?"

"…Twenty-seven."

"Ah — sorry. You said team leader, so I figured you were older. You look young."

"Forget it. Let's grab a meal sometime."

"Sure. Team Lea— I mean, Yejin Noona."

Only then did Han Yejin nod in satisfaction and leave the café.

"Honestly…"

I still had no idea what she was after.

"Faster! Stay focused!"

The day before the match, we gathered again and threw ourselves into training. The weather was cold, but the atmosphere among us was burning hot.

"Ian!"

Number 14, wearing a fluorescent training vest, fed me a pass. I struck the ball cleanly into the net.

"Nice!"

"This kid's been scoring like crazy lately. His form is insane!"

The seniors jogged over, clapped me on the back, and crossed back over the line. Even in the practice matches, my finishing had been sharp — sharper, if anything, than before the regression.

Probably thanks to everything I lived through the first time around.

People always say the one thing a prospect needs most is experience. That was why so many European clubs loaned their young players out, or let them season in the reserves before promoting them. In that regard, I held an overwhelming advantage over any prospect ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my age: experience. Roughly two hundred K League matches and one national team appearance under my belt. Granted, most of those had been forced, scraped-together minutes — but they still counted.

"All right, everyone gather up."

Once one of the two sides hit the three-goal mark the coach had set as the threshold for a break, he called us over.

"I'll keep this short. Our quarterfinal opponents, Pohang Buk High, just dismantled Seosa High — last tournament's third-place finishers — three-nil. Do not take them lightly. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

The entire squad answered in unison.

"Good. Here's the starting lineup for this match."

The coach held up the whiteboard he had been carrying so everyone could see.

A 4-3-3. Not a bad choice. But the important part was what was missing — my name was nowhere on the starting sheet.

…So a hat-trick off the bench still isn't enough?

Aside from Lee Gwanghyeon, Jeong Inho, and Jeong Jimin, I didn't recognize a single name. That meant most of them never made it to the pros. But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠if we won this tournament? A few of the others might still get their shot.

"Ian. Stay behind for a second."

I had been about to head back onto the pitch with the rest of the team when the coach called me aside.

"What is it, Coach?"

"Look, I saw that hat-trick last match — you did well. But this is your first time in a tournament of this scale. Gwanghyeon's got the experience, so he needs to start. Right? Makes sense?"

Apparently, leaving a hat-trick scorer on the bench had been eating at him enough that he felt the need to explain it face-to-face.

"Of course it does. Gwanghyeon's got that experience in tournaments like this."

"Exactly. That's our Ian — smart, just like your parents! Haha!"

I felt the coach clap me on the shoulder and thought to myself:

I need to get out of this team as soon as possible.