Sandbagging (1)
[Miguel at Odds with Club? Cryptic SNS Post Sparks Buzz...]
The enigmatic post from Gimpo Green UTD's star Brazilian forward Miguel Fernandes on his SNS story is spreading like wildfire among fans.
On the night of the 31st, Miguel shared an inspirational quote image reading "To Bigger Places" alongside a silhouette photo of soccer cleats walking away. Though quickly deleted, fans captured it, and it's now circulating through online communities.
(...abridged...)
In response, a Gimpo club official stated, "We've heard nothing about this post," adding, "There's absolutely no discord between Miguel and the club—he's participating normally in team training."
...
My face twists into a grimace as I read the article.
One word sums up this mess.
Fucked.
Just hold out one more season. At least until the summer transfer window.
Couldn't even do that—has to stir up drama right after the opener.
The article dropped around dawn, so the players probably haven't seen it yet.
SNS story at night too, huh? Sneaky bastard. The team group chat's still quiet for now.
Ha...
After playing the opener, it's clear: Miguel's a solid player. For second division, anyway.
Japan rumors? Dunno about that. Both Japan and Korea are easing foreign player quotas, sure.
But that's for signings—starting lineup spots for foreigners are still limited.
You gotta bring something special or dominate the league to earn a spot. Otherwise, you're shipped out after a couple seasons. That's the life of an import.
Can Miguel hack it? In J1, not even J2?
Looks like pure rumor to me.
I refresh absentmindedly, and bam—new article.
Ugh. What the hell?
Well, Miguel's not total trash... Figured he'd bounce eventually. Yeah, makes sense.
I rationalize it. But not like this dirty.
How do we handle the next match? I sigh, about to crash, when my phone buzzes.
Vrrr!
Spam? I check—and chills.
Speak of the devil.
"Miguel" blaring on the screen.
Answering this golden boy's call will give me a migraine. But ignoring? Bigger disaster incoming.
Headache. This what parenting experts deal with?
I hit accept.
"Olmunt!"
Miguel's chipper voice blasts through.
Honestly? Pissed. Players will catch on soon.
Club's in a bind too—probably scrambling right now.
If you're going, go quietly. Why fan the flames?
"What... 'To bigger places'?"
My tone's curt too. Pot calling kettle.
"Sorry about that. But I had no choice! I wanna go to Japan!"
He stammers excuses. Honey in Japan or what?
"But why post that? Just leave quietly?"
"Suit bastards said 200 million won's too low—won't let me go. I scored 24 goals last year, Olmunt. Golden boot. In this shitty team. I'm not cut out for this. Turns out I'm more J-League material than K-League. Clubs gotta respect talent like mine. So I had to force their hand. Agent helped big time."
Narcissist, confirmed. What the hell?
I steady myself amid the urge to hang up.
Biggest question:
"Sendai really want you? It's J1... Not doubting your level, just hard to believe."
"True. Sounds fake, right? Thought it was a scam at first. But they locked it in after my opener performance. Thanks to you, Olmunt. You really got me to Japan!"
Speechless. Shouldn't have passed.
Wait, didn't I shine more?
Sendai just promoted last year—maybe Miguel looked shiny.
Still, doesn't add up. Whatever, his problem.
Chat winds down. Told him to kill it if he goes—no more team damage.
Hang up—phone explodes.
Teammates finally saw.
Worry about us.
Something off, but ignore. Mood's tense AF.
How to play like this? Replying to all hurts my head.
Not just players—coaches, staff, front office blowing me up.
'Cause I'm the merc?
Vague replies, then crash. Sleep first, deal later.
Hm?
Miguel's in my house? Why?
"Whatcha doing?"
He turns—neck twisted freakishly, chowing sushi.
"Wha... what? Miguel?"
Call again, terrified. He nods, chopsticks out, charges.
I bolt full speed—useless. He's fast. Japan scout this?
Grabbed—Frankenstein'd.
"Aaaah!"
Eyes snap open.
Alarm blaring.
Beep-beep-beep-
Of course. I'm faster than Miguel.
Crazy shit around = crazy dreams.
Vrrr-vrrr-
Phone still buzzing. Quick replies to late birds, pack in frenzy.
Don't scary/ weird dreams wake you early?
Barely make training on time.
Can't be late in this mess.
Chaewoo hyung greets. Most welcome sight.
"Thought you were late—heart in my throat."
"Heart in throat... soup?"
"Playing foreigner now? I was worried. Only Donghan's chill right now?"
We glance at Donghan hyung—humming weird tune, changing.
Stare baffled—he grins, thumbs up.
"No normals here. None."
Chaewoo sighs, heads to train.
True. But I'm closest to normal?
Warming up—it's bad. Worse than thought.
"Expected tension, but this cold?"
Chaewoo whispers, sighing.
"'Heart in throat' you miss, but 'cold' you get?"
Whoops.
Dodge him, scan field.
Hyung's right—glaring daggers at Miguel.
Even angelic coaches murderous. Everyone else worse.
Dojin hyung murder-ready. Hope self-defense if he snaps.
Our golden boy? Ignores stares, passing with Eunsang.
Miguel pumped for Japan—Eunsang looks dead inside.
Coach Nam returns from bathroom, zipping up, scans.
Chats coaches, then:
"Alright, 30 minutes free training!"
Kim Coach yells—they huddle inside.
"Munt, save me... Why's this psycho on me?"
Eunsang finally breathes, complains to us. No tact, insane, etc.
Listening, realization: Early arrival? I'd be victim. Lucky. For real.
His rant ends—coaches back. Nam gathers all.
"You all know the vibe's off. And why."
Stares at Miguel. Interpreter whispers—he sobers up.
Finally got a clue? Awkward.
Shoulda sooner. Nam locks eyes bluntly.
"J-League? Sure, if you're that good—transcend leagues, deserve better. Transfer works. But don't screw the team. Especially performance-wise. No compromise."
Miguel shrinks.
"Promise: End of season, your value skyrockets. Our goal?"
"Promotion."
Few murmur.
"Louder!"
"Promotion!"
"Act like contenders. Why so down?"
One line flips it. Training resumes hot.
Leader for sure. Eased the chaos.
Just no performance dip. Especially golden boy.
"Olmunt, focus!"
"Sorry!"
Whoops—concentrate now, think later.
"Eunsang, deeper, deeper!"
"Chaewoo, nice!"
"Miguel! Focus!"
Training ends decent.
Not great, but better than icy start.
Miguel seems refocused. Play hard next game?
Please score. I'll strip and dance.
Eunsang sips ions, eyes me weird.
Thought bubble leak?
"Olmunt, don't wanna see you strip-dance."
Changed for sure. Cool denial:
"Just said it. Miguel seems better."
"Really? Ask Paulo—he knows best."
Eunsang smirks, urges call. Paulo unloads English torrent. Fluent now?
Pent-up grudges. "Grizzled vet"? Where'd he learn that? Why me?
We exchange baffled looks, probe more.
"That bad?"
No bet—hung up. Not scared, don't trust Miguel. Absolutely not chicken.
Still, pro player—maybe not that bad?
Ah, should've bet.
Definitely wise call—not chicken.
Baby Miguel's gonna crap the pitch til transfer wraps.
Damn.