A 60s Kid Awakens to Modern Marvels
Recently, Jeong Tae-ho had been plunged into confusion.
What the hell is this kid's deal?
It was all because of the new recruit, Jo Se-jin.
Sure, the trend these days was for "veteran rookies," but a newbie with zero experience or specs wasn't even that—he was just an old rookie.
Jo Se-jin fit the bill perfectly.
A total greenhorn with no career to speak of, just a high school sophomore who happened to be on the older side. Laughable to call a second-year high schooler "old," but facts were facts.
Compared to pro hopefuls who started kicking a ball as toddlers, sixteen was way too late—embarrassingly late.
Of course, late bloomers who made it big weren't unheard of.
Korea had its own living legend: Kwak Tae-hwi. He'd picked up soccer in high school, suffered a blinding injury to one eye right as he was getting serious in his second year, and still rose to become national team captain. A true miracle man.
But legends were legends for a reason—they didn't come around often.
So Jeong Tae-ho had started with zero expectations. No, more than that—he'd been pissed.
Kwak Tae-hwi at least had the physical gifts; this kid was just tall and lanky, looking like he'd never touched a sport in his life. Comparing a straight-A nerd—the top of the whole school—to Kwak Tae-hwi? Absurd.
A guy who'd never properly learned soccer shows up for tryouts? The valedictorian thinks the game's a joke, huh? Jeong Tae-ho had planned to crush that notion with a brutal intra-squad scrimmage, teach him a real lesson.
But what happened? The soccer team was the one that got schooled.
That was when Jeong Tae-ho finally realized it.
Jo Se-jin was a genius.
He didn't even tense up in real play, had no formal training, yet put on that kind of show—a raw diamond just waiting to be polished.
Still, there was worry too.
From the way he mouths off, he won't blindly obey orders or training... Tsk, weird kid. Looks like a pushover from his face.
The issue was adaptation.
Not fitting in with the team, but submitting to the coach's authority.
The classic old-school coach, Jeong Tae-ho worshipped managerial authority and locker-room discipline like sacred tenets. He believed victory came from solid teamwork among average players, not relying on one hotshot genius.
Yet he'd bent his own principles to take on Jo Se-jin.
Why?
Confucius said at fifty, one knows heaven's will.
At fifty-five, Jeong Tae-ho naturally knew it too.
This is heaven's gift to me!!
Just like the immortal legend of Kwak Tae-hwi still echoing through Korean soccer, if Jo Se-jin panned out, he'd become another myth, talked about for generations.
And him?
Not the star, but the coach who first spotted the genius—immortalized in the tale!
Plus, that scrimmage display? Success seemed not just likely, but damn near guaranteed.
To Jeong Tae-ho, those clean, efficient plays looked like pure instinct from someone untrained. If he actually learned the game properly?
National team... no, even a big overseas league!
For a youth coach, producing one national teamer or big-leaguer was it—offers would come flooding in.
No more scraping by as manager of a third-rate high school squad; pro academy gigs would be within reach.
With that resolve, he'd stomach any locker-room drama from Jo Se-jin. Even the brutal stamina drills were designed assuming the kid would balk...
"Today too?"
"Ugh, don't even ask. That guy's a monster, a real beast."
"Hah... what a freak."
But Jo Se-jin followed along without a single gripe.
The schedule that had even the coach who wrote it and the stamina trainer sticking out their tongues in disbelief—insanely intense stuff!
The coaches watching were even more stunned.
He was keeping up with this?
"No risk of injury or anything?"
"Nah, we're not amateurs. Lactate levels are high, but he's fine. From a physio standpoint, his body's honestly more impressive than his soccer talent. Recovery bounce-back is on another level."
What the hell was he?
By fifty years of big data, it was a "docile face"—the type to follow orders doggedly, classic nerd vibe. Training-wise, it fit... Then upbeat music blasted into Jeong Tae-ho's ears. Bass thumping like a subwoofer, EDM rattling from the locker room straight to the office.
"Jo Se-jin again."
"Yes..."
"Thinks he's a Brazilian merc or something."
Soon as training ended, this crap.
This ain't a nightclub.
Made him no nerd... but he stuck to training like glue.
Hell, the tactics coach was gushing:
"I swear, no player's as fun to coach as Se-jin!!"
Not hard to get. Stamina work he powered through like a mule—already elite—but tactics sessions? Eyes sparkling with passion, plain as day.
Loves studying, huh.
Or mesmerized by my genius tactics? Smart kids have brains that turn fast.
Jeong Tae-ho grinned, penciling "Jo Se-jin" into tomorrow's lineup.
"What the fuck."
Hodrigu spat the curse as he took the lineup sheet.
Player registration done, prep for tomorrow's game—bench? Just the bench?
To Hodrigu, who'd always taken starting for granted, "prep" meant starting. Bench? Where you went to rest after running your ass off.
Sitting there sour-faced, but soon his expression shifted.
Hmm... Opponents in a 4-4-2 too. Interesting.
In his eyes, this team—no, the Korean high school league—was surprisingly advanced. Tactics especially.
4-4-2, huh. Seen four mids in the center plenty, but flat across like this? Rare. Pulling off Italy's cutting-edge tactics... Not bad for a youth coach.
Hodrigu had pro-level professionalism unusual for a Brazilian, but he wasn't meek.
He'd speak his mind even to the coach, yet this past month of grueling training? Zero complaints. He'd come to respect the staff.
They used machines in training!
"Scientific methods," they said.
Soccer fused with science! How advanced was that?!
The 60s-born Hodrigu was moved, seeing his boyhood dreams of tech-meets-football refined and real.
A mere youth team, from soccer-weak Asian monkeys... Wait, I'm Asian too.
Anyway, from a low-level Asian youth side, this "high-tech" training shot the staff's trust through the roof.
And tactics straight from trendy Italian Serie A!
Sure, he'd ended his career in declining English leagues, but he'd always watched Italy.
Where he'd shone brightest, the world's top league, tactical vanguard—Serie A.
Now a mere youth team wielding the 4-4-2 that Arrigo Sacchi had popularized and was spreading?
Soccer passion blazing, Hodrigu was happy just watching.
Basic touch errors there? Why's that free shot sailing into the sky?
Level dipped weirdly... Youth team stuff.
"Run! Run more!! Victory's won with your feet—how many times I gotta say it!!"
Seemed less tactics, more "just run your ass off," but that was total football, advanced as hell.
It worked.
23rd minute, first half.
First goal—conceded.
Not shocking.
A month since joining, no games yet due to registration, but he knew the record: three games, one draw, two losses.
Weak team more used to losing than winning—old news. No surprise, no disappointment. Hodrigu knew ace-of-the-underdogs.
So it didn't faze him...
Worked again? What was that miss?
Until it did...
No, a whiff there!? No, impressive.
Didn't...
Why charge in so recklessly? Keep spacing... No, total football. Some tactic I don't know yet.
"Damn it! Jo Se-jin! Warm up! You're in at halftime!!"
Watching the coach stomp in frustration, Hodrigu suddenly thought:
Is this team... trash?
The 2027 haze over old-man Hodrigu's eyes finally cleared a bit.