The Emperor's Initiative
Once upon a time, Rodrigo had been utterly obsessed with soccer.
It wasn't for the money or the fame. He simply loved the game for its own sake, thrilled by the raw joy of crushing the competition.
Yet even that fire, which had seemed eternal, eventually flickered out.
His passion began to cool after his second Ballon d'Or, and it turned ice-cold the moment he clinched a third straight win.
That was why, on the day of his imperial coronation, the Emperor dreamed of abdication.
With no worthy rivals left, his drive had vanished.
Or so he thought.
'Eight Ballon d'Ors? Four in a row? Is... is this even possible?'
Staring at the smartphone screen Yu Seo-rin had handed him, Rodrigo gazed upon the man dubbed the "God of Soccer," and his heart began to pound fiercely once more.
He'd believed the embers long dead and cold, but a faint spark must have lingered after all.
"You really like Messi that much? You're staring like a zombie."
"...Lionel Messi."
"Well, Messi's incredible, sure. Honestly, GOAT material. But... ahem, personally, I think Ronaldo's just as good."
'This guy's the God of Soccer? Looks like a total nerd—no majesty at all. And what's this? An Argentine? Figures.'
The two lovebirds were committing blasphemy in tandem.
'Pro debut in 2003... My last Ballon d'Or before dying was '92, so that's an eleven-year gap. But why hasn't I shown up?'
Searching for Rodrigo yielded some random nobody. Probably a common Brazilian name. Even trying his full real name turned up nothing.
Out of curiosity, he typed "Football Emperor," and an even weirder guy popped up.
'Pelé? That's the one Yu Seo-rin mentioned. What? Born in 1940? Played in the '50s through '70s...?'
He'd know any legend from that era, especially a Brazilian one.
'Ah. I get it.'
Rodrigo chuckled.
'Right. I've been erased from history. Or maybe this is a parallel world.'
Absurd as it sounded, it made as much sense as his current predicament.
A Brazilian like him waking up thirty years later in some Asian kid's body he'd never even visited—what kind of nonsense was that?
Yet Rodrigo was thrilled.
The passion for soccer he'd thought reduced to ashes was stirring back to life.
"—so yeah, his image has taken a hit lately, but Ronaldo's all about relentless effort over raw talent—"
"Where do I go to play soccer?"
"—and his looks are... Huh? Sorry, what'd you say?"
Yu Seo-rin, who'd been chattering away while he scrolled, startled and asked him to repeat.
"Where do I go in this country to play soccer."
"Soccer? Out of nowhere? Uh, maybe check out a club or something?"
"Not that. Professionally... yeah, to go pro."
"Pro?"
Her eyes widened in surprise before she burst into giggles, punching his shoulder.
The smacks actually stung a bit.
"You have the weirdest concept. But that was kinda funny, so fine. Date accepted. You finally got my attention..."
"Where do I go to go pro."
"Okay, now it's not fun anymore. You're not seriously teasing me about being a Ho-dongsaeng, are you?"
"Hey. Just answer me."
Always so damn chatty.
Meeting Rodrigo's irritated glare, Yu Seo-rin flinched.
"W-why are you mad? You think going pro is easy?"
"Fair point."
She had a point, no doubt.
Pros were the elite few who rose from hordes of youth academy hopefuls through years of grueling training—the chosen realm. And this new body of his? It hadn't seen real training in its life; the stamina was abysmal, like he'd barely exercised at all.
No matter his past glory as the Football Emperor, could he really cut it as a pro like this?
His endurance was trash from the get-go.
Gazing down at his wobbly legs, still trembling from that short waddle, Rodrigo sighed.
Pathetic stamina.
"Can't be helped. I'll build this body up first and gauge the level. Hey, what's the soonest game?"
"Soccer club next week, and FC Incheon... tomorrow."
"FC Incheon? The local pro team?"
"Yeah. They're a solid K League 1 fixture. ...Hovering in the relegation zone every season, though."
K League 1.
That should be worth watching.
"Good. Take me tomorrow."
"Huh? What?"
"And support me while walking."
"O-okay, careful."
As the unsteady Rodrigo leaned into her, Yu Seo-rin instinctively propped him up—then jolted in realization.
"Wait. Why am I even holding you up? And 'take you'? You're a sly one, aren't you? This feels way too natural—"
Wonder how well the monkeys here kick a ball.
Ignoring her babbling from below, Rodrigo mulled his casually racist musing—then it hit him late.
'Wait, I'm a monkey too?'
A beat late, as expected from an ex-favela brat with zero manners.
The next day, after school, Rodrigo followed Yu Seo-rin to Munhak Stadium, home of FC Incheon's match.
'No matter how I think about it, all that comes up soccer-wise is that middle school memory of tripping over the ball during defense practice.'
This body really had zero interest in soccer.
Usually, focusing triggered the original owner's related memories, but nothing surfaced here. At best, vague flashes of Messi or that "Hooo" guy.
'Hooo? What kind of celebration is that? Hilarious dude.'
Lost in thought, shuffling along, Rodrigo barely noticed Yu Seo-rin waging her solo battle beside him.
'Why did I come all this way...? Ugh, but what's his deal with this concept? He won't even glance at me. Is he really not interested? ...No, it's all a ploy. Jo Se-jin, you cunning bastard. I thought you were just a bookworm, but you're a pro gamer. Think that'll make me fall? My first date should be with someone hot like Ronaldo who plays soccer too... Wait. Hold up. Is this a date? Am I on my first date right now...? No way! My first date can't be with this... this... tall, handsome guy...'
By the time they arrived, the stadium buzzed with fans queuing to enter.
"This way."
Yu Seo-rin tugged the awestruck Rodrigo—busy scanning the facilities—toward an entrance without a line.
"Huh...?"
"Two, please."
Brushing past the startled staff, they stepped inside.
Rodrigo was impressed.
'Facilities are better than I expected.'
Better than Brazilian stadiums, even most European ones—not in size, where plenty dwarfed this, but in cleanliness and smart space use.
'Korea, huh... Maybe a soccer powerhouse after all. Makes sense; it's been thirty years since my time. Japan was surging back then.'
Revising his view of Asian nations upward, heart racing, he peered down at the pitch. But minutes into kickoff, he blinked in disbelief.
"Hey. This a reserves game?"
"No, first team."
His shock at the dismal skill level faded quickly.
"Cup match, then. Heavy rotation?"
"What? This is a key league game. Almost all the starters are out there."
This was first-team level...?
Ah, got it. That explained everything. He saw through you all now.
Pro? Piece of cake.
Rodrigo was a man of action, always had been—past life or this one.
"What? Join the team?"
Kim Tae-hwan, captain of Sewang High School's soccer club, scowled. What nonsense was this?
Same class, sure, but they'd barely exchanged words. He was soccer club; the guy was a study nerd. Different worlds—not worlds apart, but no real overlap.
And now this out-of-nowhere request?
Ah, maybe...
"Wrong door, buddy. Our club's serious about going pro, not some hobby circle. Wanna kick around? Hit up the school rec club."
"Right place. Yeah, pro aspirations."
"Ha..."
Kim Tae-hwan's annoyance boiled over at the casual reply.
Come to think of it, the guy had beaten some punk bloody a few days back with no real punishment. Must think the school's his playground.
"Teachers kiss top-student ass, so school's a joke to you? Think soccer's child's play 'cause you're smart? Starting in second year of high school?"
"Yeah."
"Ha... Total psycho."
The guy's utterly nonchalant affirmation sparked fury, but he was the teachers' pet top scorer. Lay a hand on him, and it'd be trouble.
Kim Tae-hwan pondered, then grinned.
"Fine. Pass my test first."
"What is it."
"I'm our starting fullback. Break past me, and I'll vouch for you with coach."
"Sure."
'This prick really...'
Thinks soccer's a joke.
A pro hopeful going full throttle on a newbie looked bad, but not this time. Dead serious.
"...Huh?"
"Again? That's thirteen already. Time to quit, no?"
He'd been utterly demolished.