National High School Football Championship — Quarterfinals (1)
Based on my memories from before the regression, we should have been eliminated in the round of sixteen. The quarterfinal should have been a matchup between Pohang North High and Changrim High.
But thanks to the hat trick I'd scored in the round of sixteen, we'd advanced in Changrim High's place.
Fortunately, our quarterfinal opponent hadn't changed.
Pohang North High.
Until recently, they'd been a weak side — the kind of team that had the dubious distinction of crashing out in the group stage of the previous tournament. Lately, though, a coaching change, outstanding performances from the new first-years, and the leadership of the senior players had combined into something formidable. Their form had been so strong that more than a few people were already tipping them as champions.
And they really did make it to the semis.
After dismantling Changrim High 2–0 in the quarters, Pohang North High had run into Namseo High in the semis and gone out — narrowly. Before the regression, I'd been eliminated myself and hadn't bothered watching other teams' matches, so I had no useful knowledge of their starting lineup, strengths, or weaknesses.
But that had been true before the regression, too.
Where's the fun in playing with a walkthrough open?
I pulled on my kit again and slipped a fluorescent training vest over it.
Their formation was a 5-2-3 — five at the back, two in midfield, three up front. Ours was a 4-3-3. Looking at the numbers alone, you'd think we held the advantage in the middle of the park. That was an illusion.
After Pohang North High's training session the day before, the coach had called us in and put their round-of-sixteen match on the screen. Even then, they'd lined up in a 5-2-3 — and played it in a way no one expected.
In attack, they pushed both wing-backs high, turning them into de facto wingers. In defense, they dropped those same wing-backs and even pulled the central midfielders deeper. An impregnable wall. That was Pohang North High's signature.
And right now, the match was unfolding exactly that way.
"Jimin!"
Jeong Inho drove the ball up through midfield and lofted a long switch to the opposite flank.
"Nice!"
Jimin read the landing spot and stretched a foot toward it in advance.
Thud!
But the player who got there first was Pohang North High's left wing-back.
"Counter — now!"
"Get back on defense!"
The wing-back laid it off to a center-back, who immediately launched a long ball into central midfield. Pohang North High's midfielder took it cleanly, then used a simple turn to shrug off a standing tackle from one of Baekhwa High's midfielders. In the same motion, he floated a lofted pass toward the winger bursting down the left.
Our right fullback managed to get a body on it and snuffed out the counter — but Pohang North High simply dropped their line again without missing a beat.
Thirty minutes of the first half had already drained away like this. Every time a pass was broken up, a razor-sharp counterattack followed, leaving the defenders constantly on edge. And with the attacking play stuck in the mud, the forwards were growing visibly frustrated.
You only had to look at Lee Gwanghyeon, weaving between defenders and screaming for the ball. He was supposed to be shaking their back line — but he wasn't creating any real danger. Isolated among the defenders: that was Gwanghyeon's current state.
Even if you wanted to feed him, losing the ball to their back line was worse than not passing at all. So Baekhwa High's three midfielders kept circulating the ball among themselves in the relatively open middle third, waiting for something to open up.
Then number nine, striker Seo Junhyeok, raised a hand and made his run — a perfect dart between the center-backs. Midfielder Yu Gwanhee, who had the ball, clipped a lofted pass into his path. The assistant referee on the touchline kept his flag down.
"Hit it!"
Junhyeok heard his teammate and set himself to finish. The keeper was coming off his line, but too late. The center-backs didn't have time to react either. All he had to do was get a touch on the dropping ball…
Boom!
What was meant to be a soft side-foot finish turned into a wild blast. The ball rocketed skyward and sailed over the goal line. Possession went to Pohang North High.
"Ah…"
"Damn it!"
Pohang North High's keeper barked something and launched a long ball toward the right. Waiting there were Baekhwa High midfielder Kim Munhwan and Pohang North High's right winger. Both leapt for it. Pohang North High won the header.
Their midfielder collected the knockdown and immediately sent a long pass toward the left wing-back, who was already charging into open space. The lofted through ball arrived perfectly; he took possession with ease and began toying with Baekhwa High's right fullback, tapping the ball from foot to foot.
Tap-tap—!
A simple step-over and he was past the fullback. He cut inside and slid a pass into the box. Center-back Seo Taeseong managed to clear it out of the area — only for the ball to fall straight to a Pohang North High midfielder.
Crack!
He hit it first-time on the volley. Luck was on our side — the ball struck the right post and spun out of play.
"What are you doing? Focus!"
Seo Taeseong shouted at his teammates as he reorganized the line. But he knew it himself. He'd just handed them a golden chance.
…We're screwed.
Aside from me, Lee Gwanghyeon was the strongest player on the team — and he was contributing nothing. Yet no one yelled at him. No one cursed him. Not even the coach.
Ace or not, the dependency is way too high. And this is where the problems with Korean football show themselves again…
As I'd said before, Korea's hierarchical culture ran deeper than most countries. Just because someone was a year or two older, you couldn't say a word and were forced to feed them the ball. It was absurd.
"Haa…"
The coach had risen from the bench at some point, arms folded, watching the match. Judging by the sigh, the lack of rhythm was eating at him. But he couldn't afford a rash substitution. We only had three changes, and the first half wasn't even over. If he was going to make a move, it would be after the break.
Another ten minutes ticked by. Just as the first half was winding down, the breakthrough came.
Thud—!
As Lee Gwanghyeon tried to play a back pass to Jeong Inho, a Pohang North High midfielder stepped into the lane and intercepted. He immediately fed his midfield partner, who slipped a through ball into the open space on the left.
"Seongsu! Stop him!"
Kim Seongsu, Baekhwa High's right fullback, had been watching the mistake unfold on the left and had drifted out of position. He snapped his head around at his teammates' shouts and sprinted toward the ball — but it was too late.
Tap.
Pohang North High's left wing-forward, bursting into the empty space, took a long first touch and left Seongsu grasping at air. Still determined not to let the man past, Seongsu closed in to force a collision —
Whoosh—.
The wing-forward spun a full one-eighty and left Seongsu completely beaten.
Whoom—!
An inswinging cross curled into the box. Seo Taeseong, standing in the middle, felt a surge of confidence as he prepared to clear it.
And then —
Thump—!
Pohang North High's right winger came flying in from the right diagonal, launched himself into the air, and met the ball with his forehead. The header, carrying the full momentum of his run, arrowed into the open space on the left side of the goal.
The keeper had come slightly off his line to deal with the incoming cross, which didn't help — but the real question was who had been marking their right winger. By position, it should have been Jeong Inho. But because Inho pushed forward so often in attack, the coach had assigned center-back Taeseong to pick him up.
In the end, the man responsible for the goal was Seo Taeseong — the same player who'd been holding the defense together until now. He dropped his head and let out a bitter sigh.
"It's fine! It's only one goal! Just one!"
Captain Lee Gwanghyeon clapped his hands, trying to lift the deflated squad. They were both third-years, but saying nothing at all felt wrong.
No matter how you look at it, that was Taeseong failing to check his surroundings…
The other players simply trudged back to their positions in silence. Baekhwa High kicked off again at the referee's whistle — and the whistle blew once more almost immediately.
Halftime.
"…All right. You held them well in the first half. Conceding at the end was unfortunate, but still."
The players said nothing. Not just the ones who'd been on the pitch — even the substitutes on the bench sat in complete silence.
"Seo Taeseong."
"…Yes, Coach."
"I told you to watch their right winger. And Jeong Inho."
"Yes."
"I'll give Taeseong a pass for not seeing him — but what the hell were you doing? When we attack, fine, go attack. But when they attack, you're a defender. You understand that?"
"Yes…"
"So a defender just stands there and lets a forward run past him? Just watches?"
"I'm sorry."
Under the coach's dressing-down, the two who'd given up the goal bowed their heads even lower.
"Haa… There's nothing more to say. We already conceded. No point dwelling on what's done."
The coach let out a long breath, erased a few names from the whiteboard, and wrote in new ones.
Attack: Lee Gwanghyeon, Seo Junhyeok, Jeong Jimin
Midfield: Kim Min-hwan, Seong Ian, Kang Junmin
Defense: Jeong Inho, Do Jihun, Jang Jeongsu, Kim Seongsu
Keeper: Ju Minseong
Two substitutions. A shift to a 4-2-3-1.
"This is how we're going out in the second half. Clear?"
"Yes!"
"It's not over yet, so don't look so miserable. All right?"
The coach forced a smile and nodded.
"Let's go! We turn this around in the second half!"
Lee Gwanghyeon clapped his hands and strapped the captain's armband back on, and we headed out of the locker room. Do Jihun and I, the two substitutes coming on, started warming up along the touchline.
Everyone else had steeled themselves for the second half. Only one player remained sunk in gloom.
Seo Taeseong. His face was dark.