The Tool

Mali's national team, nicknamed the Eagles, had made a striking impression in the Under-17 World Cup during the mid-2010s.

From their runner-up finish in 2015 to reaching the semis in 2017, those glory days—arguably Mali's golden era in soccer—didn't last long.

After those two standout runs, Mali's youth teams managed nothing but early exits in qualifiers or the group stages. For the next two decades, that mediocrity defined them.

Nothing unusual about it.

That was Mali's typical story.

But now, twenty years after that golden generation, Mali was chasing their predecessors' footsteps a bit late to the party. This was only their third semifinal in history—and they were gunning for their second finals appearance.

That said, a second trip to the finals looked like a tall order.

As the first half stretched past its midpoint, the match unfolded under Korea's total dominance.

In the 10th minute, Baek Do-hyeong had nodded in a free kick won by Jo Se-jin for the opener. Nine minutes later, Jo Se-jin unleashed a screamer from distance for number two, tilting the game firmly Korea's way early on.

Overwhelming superiority. A lead locked in before halftime.

With the score so comfortably in hand, Jang Gi-tae sat on the bench, arms crossed, his mind wandering elsewhere. It was only natural—things were too easy.

Still, I gotta give the bench some grass time at least once...

His eyes tracked the pitch, but his thoughts fixated on the substitutes.

Jang Gi-tae glanced sideways. Kim Tae-jin sat silently, watching the game.

Kim Tae-jin.

Once his go-to guy. The first name penciled into every starting lineup.

Now, a painful benchwarmer who hadn't seen a single minute in the tournament.

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It wasn't a lack of talent.

Jo Se-jin's arrival had simply redefined "genius." But Kim Tae-jin had been hailed as one too. Even now, his skills ranked at the top of the squad—bar that freakish outlier, he was neck-and-neck with Baek Do-hyeong for best on the team. More honestly, he was the outright top dog.

The issue was the injury.

Ahead of the tournament, he'd landed on the injury list, teetering on the edge of exclusion. Jang Gi-tae, the head coach, had forced him onto the roster anyway.

Even if the injury sidelined him, this was a player they had to bring. He'd been dead certain.

He hadn't anticipated it dragging on like this.

Kim Tae-jin's recovery came later than hoped—right before the third group game.

They'd figured he'd be fit by the second group match, but that timeline slipped. Still, he'd rejoined training before the finale against Germany, opening the door for game time.

Sure, jumping straight into the Germany clash post-recovery was tough, but there'd been three more shots: the round of 16, quarters, and now semis.

Yet Jang Gi-tae hadn't given Kim Tae-jin a single minute.

More precisely, he couldn't.

"Whoa! Another goal!!"

"3-0!!"

The bench erupted in cheers. Jang Gi-tae's gaze snapped to the pitch. Sure enough, the ball nestled in the net again.

Jo Se-jin, as always, jumping into his signature Ronaldo celebration.

At this point, it barely registered as surprising. Jang Gi-tae clapped lazily from his seat.

Man, why's he always doing the Ronaldo thing? Doesn't he have anything else? And nitpicking, isn't it 'Siu'? Why's he yelling 'How! How!' every time?

The random gripe was just that—a gripe. With performance like this, what coach would mess with a winning formula?

When things suck, you crave change. When they're decent, you tweak a bit. But when they're this good? You don't touch it.

Theory and tactics be damned—sports came down to people.

Chemistry didn't slot into perfect puzzles on paper. Swapping one player could ripple unpredictably. Hard to pull the trigger, especially now, with Korea's U-17s shattering records left and right, captivating the whole nation.

And besides...

If I sub Tae-jin in and he looks rusty... with the spotlight already blazing thanks to Se-jin...

In a match under this national glare, a flop wouldn't just torch the coach—it'd bury the player too.

Sub out Jo Se-jin for him?

That had its own headaches. A coach didn't manage one star; he ran a team. He'd already given the displaced original ace some sub minutes. Uproot another position, and the forwards would gripe too.

Still, if chances never came, he'd have to force it somehow.

Tonight, pull Se-jin, slot in Tae-jin.

At the 10-minute mark of the second half, with the gap at four goals and victory all but sealed, Jang Gi-tae subbed out Jo Se-jin for Kim Tae-jin. He felt the sting of glares from the warming-up forwards heading back to the bench—but whatever. Dare to challenge the coach?

By the 20th minute of the second half, as he rotated out more starters one by one, disaster struck—a goal conceded.

"Eyes up! Not much time left—lock it down!"

But soon, Jang Gi-tae sensed trouble brewing.

Mali, deflated by the four-goal hole, exploded back to life off that strike. They swarmed ferociously.

The loosened vibe from a "done deal," mixed with the chaos of subs, let that perfectly timed goal flip the momentum.

Another concession.

"What the hell are you doing? Sung-ho, get back and plug that flank—it's leaking! Tae-jin, drop deeper and join the play!"

The team snapped to, shoring up defense. Thankfully, the game ended 4-2, a Korean win.

The real problem?

"Coach. Chang-hyun's hamstring..."

"What? Again?"

Woo Chang-hyun's injury.

Right in the central attacking midfield spot where Kim Tae-jin had just played.

Finishing his post-match chat with the coach, Rodrigo whipped around. One of the guys eyeing him jerked his head away.

Rodrigo's eyebrow twitched.

'Handle that creepy lurker for me?'

This wasn't new.

From day one joining the squad, he'd sensed those sneaky glances. At first, they were occasional peeks. But as time passed, the peeping ramped up.

He'd brushed it off initially.

Not now in this life, but back in his emperor days, it was routine. Fans and players alike idolized Rodrigo with awe and envy—he drew eyes everywhere.

One guy? No big deal.

Plus, the dude was injured. Hurt players get soft, and that amps up reverence for legends.

That had been Rodrigo's rationale.

But...

'A tool I can use at will, huh?'

With the coach's earnest plea on top, he couldn't ignore it.

Kim Tae-jin.

The guy slated to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠replace the injured Woo Chang-hyun in the final.

What was it the papers called him? Ex-crown prince. The deposed heir.

'In plain terms, the punk I stole the ace spot from.'

Nothing fresh there.

Rodrigo had claimed the top spot in every squad he'd joined.

He was a pro at this.

He rummaged through his memories of the guy.

Honestly? Barely any.

Before soccer, he hadn't cared about the game. Even now, he'd only just started. All he knew came from training glimpses, past matches, and today's Mali game.

Replaying those training sessions and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Mali sub appearance sparked an idea.

'Yeah, that'll work perfect.'

A smirk crossed Rodrigo's face as he strode over.

Turning heads as always, he planted himself in front of Kim Tae-jin amid the squad's stares.

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"Hey. Train with me."

Everyone froze in shock.

"You psycho— he's your senior!!!"

The belated arrival of Jang Gi-tae and the staff for finals prep training drew eyes straight to Rodrigo.

'Ah, with Tae-jin. Good.'

Nodding approval at Rodrigo sticking to his request, Jang Gi-tae paused.

Something... like getting a lesson? Wait, did he just get chewed out? Nah, hallucinating. Se-jin's cocky, but not that much to a senior.

The U-17 World Cup final against the Netherlands loomed just ahead.