National High School Football Tournament: Semifinals (1)
A few things had changed for the semifinals compared to the quarterfinals.
First among them: the press, previously barred from entry, was now allowed into the stadium.
In earlier rounds, anyone not affiliated with youth-related media had been locked out. The official line was that it protected the players from pressure and anxiety — but the truth was simpler. So few outlets covered youth matches that the restriction was little more than a self-soothing formality dressed up as regulation.
The reason the ban lifted from the semifinals onward was just as straightforward. From this stage on, scouts — domestic and foreign — started showing up.
Most of them came from the K League, but that didn't mean overseas scouts stayed away. Among foreign leagues, the largest contingent always came from the country next door: Japan's J League. China's Super League and the Russian Premier League sent people as well, and though rarer, European scouts — especially from Germany's Bundesliga — made regular appearances.
The Bundesliga's always drawn a lot of our players anyway…
There was no shortage of Korean success stories in the German top flight. Son Heung-min, who had gone from Hamburg to Leverkusen and then on to Tottenham Hotspur. Cha Bum-kun, the legend of Eintracht Frankfurt and Leverkusen. Ji Dong-won, who had played for the Bee Army that once split the Bundesliga in two. Jung Woo-young, who had rewritten the record for the youngest Korean to appear in the Champions League.
Those names were exactly why Bundesliga scouts bothered to cross half the world to sit in these stands — hunting for the next Son Heung-min, the next Cha Bum-kun.
"Fighting!"
From the bench, our teammates shouted encouragement toward the players already out on the pitch.
This kind of pressure is probably a first for most of them.
Play well all tournament and still make one mistake today, and any dream of going straight pro or heading overseas could vanish. Flip it the other way — struggle through every previous match, then explode in this one — and a professional debut or a move abroad suddenly became real possibilities.
On top of that, a fair number of broadcast stations and football media had turned up. Roughly a dozen cameras by my count, which meant a little over twenty journalists in total.
I'd already lived through crowds of this size before the regression, so it barely registered. The others were a different story. The players on the field wore their nerves openly, and even the ones sitting on the bench had gone stiff.
Namseo High's players, by contrast, looked like they'd seen it all before. That made sense — they were a professional club's affiliate side. They would have dealt with media regularly, and as a perennial powerhouse in high school competition, situations like this were nothing new to them.
Then the referee's whistle cut through the air, and the first half was underway.
Baekhwa High kicked off. The ball moved quickly through our players' feet. Target man Seo Junhyeok laid it back to defensive midfielder Kang Junmin. Kang fed his partner Kim Minhwan, who in turn found attacking midfielder Yoo Gwanhee, and the ball kept circulating.
The reason for all that early possession work was simple: Namseo High had come out pressing hard from the opening whistle. The moment Minhwan took a touch, their striker closed him down. When Kang received it, a midfielder was already on him. Trying to play it forward was no better — our attackers were being marked tightly by their defenders. Dropping it back to the back line only invited their press higher up the pitch. Circulating the ball among ourselves was the only way to keep from losing it.
"Hey!"
Kim Minhwan collected the ball from Kang, and Jeong Inho was already surging up the flank on an overlapping run. Minhwan slipped the pass out to him.
Inho drove forward at full sprint — only to find a Namseo midfielder stepping into his path. He tried a simple feint to beat him, but the defender wasn't biting. The midfielder watched Inho's every move, patiently waiting for the right moment. The instant Inho tried to push the ball long and race onto it, the Namseo player lunged in and won the tackle clean.
Inho went down hard. He didn't even have time to swear before he was back on his feet, scooping up the ball and feeding it to Lee Daeun, the left winger who had dropped deep to offer an option — the player filling in for Lee Gwanghyeon.
Namseo's press came straight back at him. Inho was already charging forward again. Daeun sent a long ball into his path.
Inho took it down, advanced at a measured pace, and squared up against Namseo's right fullback.
Tak—!
He burst past him with another drive and looked into the box. There — target man Seo Junhyeok, forcing his way up between the towering center-backs. Inho whipped in a low cross, but Junhyeok was farther out than expected. The covering center-back cleared it easily beyond the touchline.
Inho retrieved the ball and jogged toward the left corner flag on Namseo's half. Bodies packed the area in front of the goal. Every Namseo player except their striker was set for an aerial duel; Baekhwa's players had pushed up, looking for a header of their own.
But why the hell isn't that guy getting into the box?
I was staring at Lee Daeun — the one who'd come in for Gwanghyeon. He wasn't entering the penalty area at all. He was hovering near the sideline, in a spot so awkward Inho couldn't even find him with a short pass. Inho waved him forward. Daeun just stood there, shook his head, and muttered something.
"No! Get up there!"
The coach wasn't saying anything, so I stepped forward and shouted it myself. Daeun glanced my way, then turned his head back toward the pitch.
Inho seemed to give up. He swung the corner in as it was.
Thud—.
The ball glanced off a Namseo center-back's forehead and dropped to the ground. Chaos erupted in front of the goal — Baekhwa scrambling for a shot, Namseo desperate to clear. We had possession, but the scramble offered no angle. The ball was worked back out.
And waiting just outside the box was Lee Daeun.
He took the ball with a cocky look on his face, nudged it diagonally to his right as if lining up a shot—
Tak—!
Namseo's attacking midfielder, Kim Dongyeop, exploded onto it. Ahead of him, their striker was already racing clear with a defender trailing.
Bang—!
Dongyeop launched a long ball. It floated gently onto the striker's foot. The forward chipped it cleanly over Baekhwa's goalkeeper, who had rushed out to narrow the angle, and the ball nestled into the net.
"Nice!!"
Cheers and applause erupted from the Namseo bench right beside us. Our own bench froze solid.
Lee Daeun, the one who'd gifted them the chance, scratched his head as he crossed the touchline.
"…Ian."
"Yes, sir."
"Get ready."
The coach said it without taking his eyes off the pitch, then turned and sat back down on the bench.
I stood up from the frozen bench and grinned.
They're finished…
"Five starts, one goal, four assists… not bad at all."
On the opposite side of the stands from the journalists, scouts from various leagues sat clustered together, flipping through files as they watched the match.
"Yes. That Kim Dongyeop — we need to bring him to Mönchengladbach."
Mönchengladbach. One of the Bundesliga's historic clubs — five league titles, two Europa League crowns.
The two white men in the stands spoke in German as they leafed through player profiles.
"Alright… I'll mention it to the sporting director."
Just then, the assistant referee raised the electronic board for a substitution.
"A sub already… Baekhwa must be panicking."
"Hah! One goal and they're already ripping up the starting eleven. That coach has no idea how to manage a match."
First Half — 7'
#14 Lee DaeunOUT
#10 Seong IanIN
Lee Daeun, the one who'd set up the concession, came off. Seong Ian, wearing the number ten, came on. The moment he stepped onto the pitch he was clapping his teammates on the back, trying to lift them.
"That kid… he doesn't look fully East Asian. Strong Caucasian features."
"Ah… looking at the file now — mixed heritage. Korean and Spanish."
"Is that so?"
Thomas, the Mönchengladbach scout, opened Baekhwa High's player profiles and found Seong Ian's page.
"Let's see… position: every second-line role. Tournament record so far… two substitute appearances, six goals, one assist?!"
"Don't talk nonsense. You must have misread six appearances as two."
"I'm not! That's exactly what it says!"
Thomas held the open profile out to the man beside him.
"Lothar… this is absurd. His total playing time hasn't even hit ninety minutes."
"I heard you. Just watch the match."
Where Thomas was stunned by the numbers, Lothar stayed calm. That kind of output wasn't unheard of among Europe's better-known prospects, and he knew full well that Baekhwa's opponents before the quarterfinals had all been mediocre. More importantly, Lothar was the type who made decisions based on what he saw with his own eyes.
He watched Seong Ian carefully. The longer he watched, the more his composure began to crack.
"…Thomas. How long has it been?"
"Sorry… how long has what been?"
"Since that kid — the number ten — came on."
"Thirteen minutes."
Thomas checked his watch and answered.
"Right… only thirteen minutes."
Out on the pitch, Seong Ian was celebrating in front of them.
Two goals. In thirteen minutes.
At the appearance of a monster who could score twice in that little time, every scout in the stands began drafting a report on him.