The End of the High School League
“Tch. Still no one here, huh.”
Jang Gi-tae, visiting the stadium after a long while, clicked his tongue at the empty stands.
Even though this was one of the most prestigious tournaments in Korean high school soccer—the so-called Champions League of high schools, deciding which teams advanced to the King's Cup—it was a stark reflection of the current state of Korean soccer that hardly any spectators showed up aside from the officials.
That’s why I hate coming to these games.
People had zero interest in the youth foundation of the sport but turned into rabid fans the moment a national team match rolled around, yapping endlessly about this and that. Look at this mess, he thought.
This was reality.
No one cared about the grassroots, only chasing the big, juicy fruits at the top.
Jang Gi-tae was utterly fed up with the state of Korean soccer.
The media and the association just blabber on however they please.
It wasn’t just because his current U-17 national team had been getting torn apart in the press lately.
Of course not. Jang Gi-tae had climbed the ranks steadily from lower age-group teams, so he wasn’t about to suddenly buckle under media pressure.
He’d always pondered these issues with Korean soccer deeply—even if he hadn’t cared much until a few weeks ago. But now that some time had passed, it was the same as always. Everything made his skin crawl.
Of course, knowing how to adapt to reality made one a proper adult and team player.
Hadn’t he jumped at the association’s oh-so-subtle “suggestion”—Why not show your face at a match, even if it’s just for show, with all the media fuss?—the moment it came?
Anyway, Jang Gi-tae wasn’t happy with the current situation.
The media gnawing at him despite it being an unavoidable setback for a coach; the association subtly pulling back at the first sign of poor results; and public opinion jumping on the bandwagon, pretending they’d always cared about age-group national teams.
Out of frustration, he habitually scrolled through the sports news section, and his eyes caught an article featuring his name.
It soured the mood of Jang Gi-tae, a man flexible enough to shift his convictions on a dime.
Q: With the tournament right around the corner, how are preparations going?
A: We're preparing with all we've got.
Just thinking about the tournament made his head throb.
As a coach, he couldn’t say “I’m not confident,” but he didn’t have confidence either—so all he could do was spout the standard line about giving it his best, like chum in the water.
Q: There are a lot of setbacks. Kim Tae-jin, the crown prince of Jang Gi-tae’s squad, is out with injury, and main striker Park Jun hasn’t played for his club in four months.
A: It’s certainly bad news, but we have plenty of good players. We’ll keep monitoring injuries and situations closely and find the best alternatives.
Situations like this often left him feeling powerless as a coach.
This was one of those times.
What could a national team coach do when players got injured or benched by their clubs?
Q: With so many first- and second-stringers at risk of dropping out, interest in replacement picks is high. Rumors point to Lee Hyun-jun from Daejong High, Kim Jung-oh from Pajik High, and Hong Je-sun from Cheong High.
A: They’re players we’re watching, but we’re keeping all possibilities open.
Q: There’s criticism that you’re stingy with ‘new faces.’
A: Not at all. We’re always scouting league matches for fresh talent, and we’re definitely considering new picks.
That was part of why he’d come to the stadium after so long.
To quash the complaints about always picking the same players for call-ups.
But honestly? He was skeptical about “scouting new faces,” just as he’d said in the interview.
The tournament was right on the doorstep. New faces? Now? Scouting rookies was for when you had time to spare.
Clubs could train together regularly, but national teams lacked that cohesion time—consistency was key, especially for building team organization.
That said, if a player truly had the talent to overcome these hurdles, he’d pick them in a heartbeat. But did such a player exist?
The Korean soccer scene was small and elite-driven.
Everyone knew everyone else a degree or two away; it was the same old stew. Talented players stood out from the seedling stage, rumors spreading fast.
Late bloomers who exploded out of nowhere? Sure, they existed. But not in this generation. And even if one did, it wasn’t now.
Jang Gi-tae had risen through the lower age groups before taking the U-17s—he’d scouted pretty much every promising kid in Korean soccer.
A gem that had slipped his eye?
Doubtful. But records were records.
Suddenly this player pops up with insane stats... Hard to believe, but the records aren’t fake.
It might not draw crowds, but it was an official league. This wasn’t Somalia; no way the stats were rigged.
What kind of player bursts in like this, racking up protagonist-level numbers like in a soccer game? How?
As Jang Gi-tae pondered, people started filing into the previously empty stands.
Huh? People all of a sudden...?
He reflexively scanned the stands.
Not a huge crowd, but decent for a high school match—enough for a King's Cup upper round. Good news in itself, but something felt off. The spectators were all young women.
Not family or acquaintances. Girlfriends of the players? Too many for that. What’s going on?
He tuned into the chatter from some office ladies nearby, and it clicked.
“Hurry up and sit. The game’s starting.”
“You better not be lying.”
“I’m serious. When he smiles, he’s got that total puppy vibe? But stone-faced... God, so damn sexy. What’s up with that face? Insane. I picked him as my fave just from the looks.”
“I took a personal day after my boss bitched about me watching soccer when I don’t even care. You better not be wrong. So, what’s his name?”
“Jeez, memorize it. Jo Se-jin. Jo Se-jin.”
Jo Se-jin? The name rang a bell—and it hit him, it was the very player he’d come to scout.
Guy must be pretty handsome. Jang Gi-tae mentally added a +1 to his evaluation. Looks mattered.
Commercial sports survived on fans, and appearance was a key hook. Skill? That was table stakes.
Just then, among the players entering the pitch, one stood out with a face that screamed three-dimensional charisma, like no one else.
Jang Gi-tae crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Let’s see how wild you get.
National team coaches occasionally visited matches to scout talent.
Mostly for PR. Sneaking in? It happened, but usually word got around. Avoided awkwardness that way—social wisdom, basically.
Of course, if the coach knew, the assistants knew, and if they knew, the players knew.
“Ha... Even so, they won’t pick new guys right before the tournament, right? Man, I wanna make the national team so bad.”
“You never know. We’ve been killing it lately. And the national lineup’s a mess right now. Play well, and we might get called up.”
Like now.
Rodrigo clicked his tongue at the excited, chattering players. Just the U-17 national team—what was the big deal? He’d been playing at that level at 14. Back in his past life as the soccer emperor, sure.
But he got it.
The national team was every player’s dream honor. Even Rodrigo still remembered the thrill of his first Seleção call-up.
National team, huh... Guess I won’t be wearing the Auriverde anymore.
Brazil’s flag of yellow and green, the Auriverde.
In this life, he wouldn’t run under it as a proud Seleção member. Fine by him. This country’s flag looked pretty sharp too, from what he’d seen.
Has this dump even qualified for a World Cup?
They had.
Twenty-five years ago, they’d even made the semis.
Of course, Rodrigo had no clue. He hadn’t even known this country existed, let alone its World Cup record.
Judging by the level, they’d have crashed out of groups at best—or if not, now’s the time to make legends.
Starting with the U-17s.
Get picked? Easy.
Three minutes into the first half, Rodrigo scored and glanced at the stands. Spotting the national coach was simple. Know the face? Hardly.
Just...
Empty crowds come in handy sometimes.
Out of maybe a hundred spectators, subtract the young women, and few were left.
Amid the squealing girls, one man shot up in startled surprise. Rodrigo’s instinct kicked in.
His days in this backwater league were numbered.