National High School Football Tournament — Quarterfinals (2)
OUT No. 30 Yu Gwanhee → IN No. 10 Seong Ian
OUT No. 3 Seo Taeseong → IN No. 28 Do Jihun
After the second-half kickoff, it took about three minutes for the ball to go out of play along the sideline.
Jeong Inho dragged the ball near the touchline, and the moment an opponent closed in, he spun and drove the ball straight into the defender's shin. The ball caromed off the Pohang Buk High defender and out of bounds — our possession.
"Let's go!"
Yu Gwanhee clapped from the bench, trying to lift the team's spirits. Seo Taeseong was another story. He just sat there with his head bowed, watching the match in silence.
I'll deal with that later…
Worrying about a senior zoning out over doubts about his own ability could wait. Focusing on a match we were losing was more important.
My position for this game was attacking midfielder — and attacking midfielders generally fall into two types.
The first is the advanced playmaker, known by names like enganche, trequartista, or media punta. The second is the false attacking midfielder — a player who lines up in the number ten role but drops deep and operates more like a central midfielder once the match is underway.
I could handle either, but the role I primarily played was the former: advanced playmaker. An advanced playmaker's job is varied, but it boils down to something simple. Feed your teammates well, and when the moment calls for it — score.
Right now, I was executing that role to perfection.
"Ian!"
Jeong Jimin, having just burned past Pohang Buk High's left wing-back, threw up a hand and called my name. I gauged the distance in a heartbeat and lofted the pass. The ball dropped cleanly at Jimin's feet.
"Nice!"
Thud—.
Jimin took a long first touch and drove the ball inside. Defenders flooded back after him, and Baekhwa High's forwards pushed up along the line in response. But Jimin had no intention of playing a cutback.
As the goalkeeper narrowed the angle, closing down on the charging Jimin, he struck the ball with the inside of his foot — a low shot threaded straight through the keeper's legs.
Thwack!
With astonishing reflexes, Pohang Buk High's goalkeeper clamped his legs shut and snuffed out the attempt. The ball spun out of play.
"Corner kick! Get up here!"
The forwards piled into the box, and even a center-back and a defensive midfielder pushed forward. Jeong Jimin, taking the corner, set the ball down in the arc and took a few steps back. He ran onto it and whipped it in with his left foot. A Pohang Buk High defender got his head to it and cleared it out the other side.
Jeong Inho, who handled corners from the opposite flank, started toward the flag — but this time I headed over there myself.
"Huh? Ian, what are you doing?"
"Mind if I take this one?"
"Sure, go ahead… but if you don't think you can hit it, hand it right back to me."
Inho passed me the ball and drifted toward a position near the line.
No chance I miss this.
Before the regression, my nickname had been the Beckham of the K League.
I took several steps back, then drove off the ground into my run-up.
Whump—!
A clean, ringing strike sent the ball curling on a beautiful arc into the box. It bent between the defenders and found Baekhwa High's striker, Seo Junhyeok.
"Junhyeok!"
"Huh?"
Junhyeok, who'd mistimed his jump, just stared at the ball flying toward him. It smacked him square in the face, deflected, and nestled into the bottom-left corner of the net.
"Nice!"
I sprinted toward Junhyeok as he wheeled away from the goal.
"Hyung, that header was filthy. Thought I was watching Klose for a second."
"Ah… yeah…? Ugh…"
Even from my angle, I could see the ball had hit him flush in the face — but I pretended not to notice and kept running. That way, they'd keep letting me take the corners.
Junhyeok forced an awkward smile, clutching his face. A thin line of red was already running from his nose.
"Ah."
"Ah."
Junhyeok was substituted off with a broken nose.
My original plan had been to force a comeback off the head of Seo Junhyeok — a guy built like a utility pole. Against a team this solid defensively, set pieces like corners were the best way through, and Junhyeok, standing just over six-two, wasn't exactly sharp in open play anyway.
What I hadn't counted on was Junhyeok fracturing his nose on a single corner and getting hauled off. And the player coming on wore the number fifteen — not a seasoned third-year like Junhyeok, but a first-year, same age as me. He was about five-eleven, not short, but to win headers between Pohang Buk High's center-backs, you needed at least Junhyeok's height.
Set pieces… I'll have to scrap that plan.
I needed another way.
Pohang Buk High took possession, and the score was back to square one at 1–1.
"@$#!"
Whatever the opponent was shouting, they launched a long ball — only for Jeong Inho to snuff out its path with a monstrous tackle. He fed it straight to our defensive midfielder, Kim Munhwan.
Munhwan carried it a few touches before the pressure from Pohang Buk High's central midfielders became too much, and he laid it off to me.
"Haa… these options are garbage…"
"Ian! Ball!"
Every senior yelling for the ball was standing in a terrible spot — places where a pass would get cut out for certain, or where even a successful delivery wouldn't create anything special.
Fine. I'll go myself.
I started carrying the ball forward, slowly dismantling the wall in front of me.
Tap. Thud—.
One of Pohang Buk High's central midfielders lunged in close. I slipped him with a La Croqueta. The other central midfielder stuck a foot out next — I beat him with another La Croqueta.
"Ian! Pass the damn ball!"
Lee Gwanghyeon shoved a center-back with his back — the classic hold-up play — and bellowed at me. I had no intention of giving it to him. Even if I did, he wouldn't get a proper shot off.
I took the onrushing sweeper with a flip-flap and left him behind. Fortunately, the remaining center-backs and defenders were too busy marking Baekhwa High's forwards, and the defensive line simply collapsed.
"Wha—!"
All that stood between me and the goal was Pohang Buk High's keeper. I rolled the ball lightly onto a right-diagonal angle and slipped it through the keeper's legs.
Shhhk—.
The ball wasn't particularly fast, but it nestled into the net all the same. The moment I saw it go in, I sprinted straight toward the stands. There weren't many of them, but a few reporters had cameras raised.
I stopped upright and threw both arms wide.
"Vamos!"
"Holy shit…"
"From now on, you're not Seong Ian. You're Lionel Ian! Huh?! Or should I call you Ian Hazard?"
The seniors swarmed in and wrapped me up, shouting over each other.
"Hazard? If you mean Chelsard, I'll take it."
"Obviously I meant Chelsard!"
I smirked at their answers. If they'd just said Hazard, my mother would have had a heart attack.
…I could put a few more past them.
Over my shoulder, I could hear the cracks forming in Pohang Buk High's back line. Their captain — the sweeper — was chewing out both center-backs for not tucking in tighter, and the two of them were standing there with faces like they'd bitten into something rotten.
The referee blew the whistle. Pohang Buk High kicked off, and the match resumed.
Two goals in the second half alone had Baekhwa High's momentum surging, while Pohang Buk High looked visibly deflated. Even without pressure, their central midfielders botched a simple exchange of passes and handed us the ball.
"Jimin-hyung!"
I snagged it clean and threaded a through ball into the open space on the right, where Jeong Jimin was already making his run. Then I drifted into a position perfect for a cutback.
But Jimin lofted it instead.
Thud—.
A Pohang Buk High defender leaped high and headed it down. The sweeper immediately booted it long. Their midfielder stretched for the dropping ball, but his touch ran a fraction too far.
"Appreciate it."
Baekhwa High's defensive midfielder, Kang Junmin, pounced on the gap, intercepting cleanly before feeding it to me in the middle of the park.
"Ball! Pass it!"
Lee Gwanghyeon roared at me again. Once more, I had no intention of giving it up. One look told me he was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion — did he really have the legs left for a shot?
So I took it myself.
Thoom—!
It was a fair distance out, but the strike was pure — a mid-range rocket with real bite. The goalkeeper stretched for it. Pointless. The ball spun and buried itself in the top corner, kissing the post on its way in.
I raised my right hand, stuck my thumb in my mouth, and pointed to the sky with my left index finger. The celebration of Rome's prince — Francesco Totti.
"What the hell! Lampard this time?!"
"No way~ Mid-range screamer? That's pure Gerrard!"
A match that had been slipping away at 1–0 was now 3–1, and the team's energy was through the roof.
There was still time left, so I stuck one more past them. Pohang Buk High's defense, their mental game shredded, was no longer a fortress. A side that had finally reinforced properly after years of neglect crumbled like a sandcastle — all because of a single player.
…What the hell is with this kid.
Baekhwa High's number seven, left wing-forward Lee Gwanghyeon, watched the junior celebrating in a knot of seniors and thought to himself. A guy who'd always played half-asleep, phoned it in, and barely showed up to training had suddenly flipped one-eighty — of course questions would come up.
But what Gwanghyeon was actually thinking as he stared at Ian had nothing to do with that.
He has the nerve to ignore a senior asking for the ball?
Looks like this junior needed a proper education.