Everyone Has a Plan
Manchester City.
Founded all the way back in the 19th century, on April 16, 1894, this storied club had made waves across Europe in the mid-1960s under manager Joe Mercer, sweeping England's four domestic competitions and even claiming the UEFA European Cup.
With such a brief but brilliant golden era, Man City could have easily cemented itself as a true European powerhouse.
If only Manchester United and Liverpool hadn't existed.
Man City's meteoric rise was overshadowed by the overwhelming presence of Matt Busby's Manchester United—which had miraculously rebuilt after the Munich air disaster and gone on to conquer Europe—and its rival, Liverpool, led by one of Europe's elite managers at the time, Bill Shankly.
For a club that had even won the European Cup, it felt unjust, but there was nothing to be done about it.
It was like a force of nature.
The stories alone were absurd.
United, their local rivals, lost countless players and saw their manager teeter on the brink of death in the Munich crash—yet they rose like a phoenix the very next season, ultimately dominating Europe in what was nothing short of a human triumph, an epic saga.
And Liverpool, their rival, conquered Europe under the legendary Bill Shankly, a name still revered to this day. How could anyone compete with the insane aura those two clubs exuded?
To Rodrigo, whose memories were still fresh from that era, England meant United and Liverpool—Man City was just one of countless "ordinary" teams.
They'd won the European Cup?
Well, by that logic, so had Holland's Feyenoord, England's Nottingham Forest, and Aston Villa.
What, you've heard of those?
Then what about Steaua București or Red Star Belgrade? Hell, Steaua even beat Barcelona to claim the European Cup.
Prestige wasn't built on short-term glory alone.
Take the Milan clubs—AC Milan and Inter. Even now, with their middling form, they still carry that aura of "traditional giants."
Jo Se-jin, inheriting Rodrigo's sensibilities intact, felt much the same.
He knew, intellectually, which teams were dominating in this era. But it didn't feel real.
To Korean fans like him, we'd grown up watching European soccer from the '90s through the mid-2000s—teams like the Milan duo remained eternal powerhouses in the heart, no matter their current standings. For Jo Se-jin, the clubs that had burned brightest in his time were etched there like brands.
Until now.
"This is Manchester City?"
Ahead of the league's 10th round clash, as Chelsea's squad arrived for the away fixture, Jo Se-jin gaped at the Etihad Stadium.
Why's the gap so huge...?
Even Old Trafford had impressed him—"Not bad"—when he'd visited United. Sure, it didn't match Chelsea's newly renovated Stamford Bridge, but by Rodrigo's standards, United's facilities were top-notch.
Compared to Man City, though... the difference was stark.
Pitch condition, facility upkeep... Man City's supposed to be the Premier League's best right now.
The knowledge he'd held in his head suddenly hit home viscerally.
Man City wouldn't be an easy out.
The tension he'd loosened after beating United more handily than expected tightened anew. A grin spread across Jo Se-jin's face.
The top team in the league, huh? In that case... no point holding back...
He looked like a mischievous kid who'd just spotted a shiny new toy.
"Hey, everyone, huddle up. I just had a fun idea."
James Taylor, Manchester City's starting midfielder and undisputed linchpin, was renowned for his meticulous pre-match preparation.
Even amid the grueling schedule of a top team, he never skipped his personal breakdowns of the opponents he'd face.
But it wasn't because he brimmed with passion or loved soccer to the point of obsession.
Quite the opposite—he didn't particularly like the sport.
Though everyone around him seemed to assume otherwise.
"Jimmy? That guy's a true soccer lover. The passion he shows is astonishing. Really admirable."
"I'm not close with James, but I can tell how dedicated he is, how genuine about the game. You just have to watch him."
Every time he heard that, he itched to snap, Soccer's just a job, you idiots. I work hard because it's my job. But James Taylor always just murmured, "Mm."
No need to correct the compliments, sure—but the real reason was the vibe. His teammates all loved the game or at least enjoyed it.
Players good enough for one of Europe's elite clubs like Man City? Talent went without saying. They were at the pinnacle.
Excelling at something came naturally when you were the best—and sports were built on competition.
How could it not be fun?
Crushing peers effortlessly since childhood, constant praise, winning most matches—hating soccer would be the weird part.
Tell people like that it's "just work," and what reaction would you get?
Anyone with common sense wouldn't air an inconvenient truth. And James Taylor had plenty of sense.
So, even without enjoyment, he'd always given his all.
It was his job, after all.
He was a workaholic.
"Here again today. You're consistent, I'll give you that. Most players get lazy and skim the team reports after a while."
The team analyst's words drew a grave nod from James Taylor.
"Gotta give it your best when you're working."
"Heh, true enough. Need the breakdowns again? Here's the team analysis on Chelsea. And this one's their attack."
With his old-school bent, James preferred paper reports.
Though video was essential these days, so the tablet was a must.
"Hey, Jimmy."
"...?"
"You'll probably tangle with this guy a lot. Chelsea's new ace, the kid."
"I know. Already a top PFA candidate, they say."
"Yeah, him. You'll handle it fine, but... if I may offer some old-man advice..."
"Go ahead."
"Don't get dazzled by the hype."
Hype.
James Taylor replayed the analyst's words as he cued up Chelsea footage on loop.
Hype-wise, Chelsea's established forwards rank higher.
Juan Barco was injured, so Jefferson was the focus.
Nothing special.
Decent technique, decent threat.
Not bad.
A solid forward worthy of a big club like Chelsea. Finishing seemed oddly weak, though.
So he's the issue.
Chelsea's central attacking cog.
The driving force behind their success, despite a tactics that leaned heavily on their ace.
Jo Se-jin.
The dazzling exploits of the handsome East Asian player filled the screen.
A showcase, like watching his highlight reel.
James Taylor's eyes deepened as he took in the flashy dribbles and goal barrages that drew awed gasps.
Flashy. Great technique. How do I stack up?
As Man City's key midfielder in a system built around elite midfield prowess—ushered in by legendary manager Pep Guardiola, architect of their golden age—James's own skills were exceptional.
Opponents always targeted the buildup's heart: shutting down the midfield trio. Without press-resistant quality, you couldn't survive there.
But compared to this East Asian? Lacking.
By a wide margin.
Far superior to mine.
Treating soccer as mere work let James judge with cold objectivity.
And his composure is elite. Kid his age with that skill, yet he doesn't get tunnel-vision on dribbles.
Already hailed as the PL's top dribbler, Jo Se-jin surprisingly preferred threading passes to break games open.
And those passes weren't safe possession fodder—they were bold, aggressive risks.
Attack-minded style. Thrives on high-risk plays.
Pros always weighed errors in bold choices.
But this player seemed oblivious to failure, opting for the gamble with startling frequency.
And winning it more often than not.
Impressive.
James couldn't help but admire it.
No wonder fans raved over a league newbie, a young East Asian. The playmaking clicked into place.
Even James, with little love for the game, felt the pull of that magnetic style.
Such immense talent—he'd leave a massive mark on soccer.
But...
That'll do.
James trusted himself.
The kid was phenomenal now, and only getting better.
But not yet.
Not yet—he could still contain him.
Or so he thought.
He had to.
"...What?"
Less than a minute after kickoff, the ref's whistle barely faded.
James Taylor could only stare blankly at the ball rolling into his own net.