Proof (1)
BAM!
With the cleanup done nice and neat, I kicked the door open hard.
The two staff members washing their hands at the sinks jumped in shock and whipped around.
When their eyes met mine, they looked like they'd spotted a monster that shouldn't exist—pure panic.
A suffocating silence stretched on for about five seconds. The older-looking one snapped out of it first.
Pretending to be calm, he started washing his hands. The younger one was still frozen solid.
Eventually, he came to and began washing his hands awkwardly—more like agonizing over how to play it cool. I stared at them stone-faced.
Catching a glimpse of their faces in the mirror, they were filled with utter bewilderment.
Well, can you blame them? The guy they'd been trash-talking bursts out of the stall with a bam, after all.
They probably knew I understood a bit of Korean, which made it even scarier.
The moment they finished washing and turned around, I shot my hand out fast.
"Eek!" "Sorry!"
They flinched back in terror, and I dropped one line.
"You... wash hands... all done?"
Then I calmly washed my hands, sandwiching the frozen junior between us.
They seemed pretty spooked. While I washed up, they clung to the wall, steadying themselves.
Good thing they knew they'd messed up—or maybe they were just intimidated by my size.
I finished washing, gave my hands a light shake, and turned to face them as they pulled themselves together.
"You club staff, right? Working hard these days. Keep it up. Fighting!"
I stared them down intently, alternating my gaze, putting some force into my eyes.
My awkward Korean probably sounded a bit funny to me, but to them, it was pure documentary material.
"Y-Yes?... Yes!"
They stammered, then nodded vigorously. That oughta get the point across. I chuckled, patted the older one's shoulder—getting it a bit wet—and headed out.
Oh, nice and dry hands. Dresses better than he looks.
On my way back to the training pitch, I ran into Coach.
But for some reason, he had this bitter look on his face.
"Heard some useless crap from the bathroom. You catch it?" "Didn't understand."
Coach smirked at that.
"You don't look it, but your instincts are sharper than a Korean's." "Huh?" "Think you can outdo Miguel?"
His eyes weren't bitter anymore when he asked.
"Of course." "That's the Viking spirit. Show it against Cheonan."
With that, he headed off somewhere. Training pitch is that way, though?
Anyway, the chat with Coach confirmed it. This club—the front office, specifically—still doesn't trust me.
That's why they're treating the Miguel-Coach feud like a temporary thing. Willfully blind. Pathetic.
Fine, then. Time to drop a performance against Cheonan that'll shock them senseless. Make even the smug front office see me as a sure thing.
Yeah. Let's do this. Crush Miguel's ego. Crush the front office's noses.
With that resolve, I returned to the training pitch—and the vibe was off. I grabbed passing Eun-sang.
"What's going on? Why the chaos?"
Eun-sang hesitated, then mumbled.
"How to explain... Olmunt, you know 'memorial service'?"
I nodded, and he continued cautiously.
"Next game's Cheonan, right? They're holding a memorial for Player Yoon Jongmun."
Oh, right—I was supposed to be dead. Heading to my own memorial. Kinda weird feeling.
I must've looked glum, because Eun-sang nodded understandingly.
"It's sad. I wasn't close, but I heard he was a good guy. You knew him?"
Innocent question, but tricky. Leo Olmunt and Yoon Jongmun had zero connection.
Unless you count that time Olmunt accidentally took me out...
"Didn't Munt-hyung trip you once? Could've gotten friendly then."
Minsu popped up out of nowhere. Hyung already? And Munt-hyung what?
"Yeah, Cheonan fans clutched their necks over that."
People started gathering. Isn't this training time? Why come here?
"Yoon Jongmun was a good player."
Thanks to Minsu, I dodged that and eased in.
"His skills were top-notch. Blew me away. Nickname was... some Messi thing." "Three-Second Messi—gets injured in three seconds after coming on. No injuries, he'd have gone huge."
Captain and seniors chimed in, cutting me off. Chae-wu I get, but Dojin too? Kinda hurts.
No malice, all true. But is it cool with the deceased right here?
"Yeah, went down easy in challenges."
Dong-han piled on. That was a lie—you tripped my leg on a dribble and stepped on it slyly.
"I don't go hard on injury-prone guys."
Everyone gave him looks, and he backpedaled fast. Looks scary, but he visited me in hospital back when I was Yoon Jongmun. Good dude.
But how does he treat tough guys? Ugh, don't wanna imagine. Lucky he's a teammate.
"What's this, whole team's here? Cool, one announcement."
As the crowd swelled, Chae-wu clapped loud to grab attention.
"As you know, memorial game. Club says mutual respect. Recent incidents ignoring basics, so they're extra cautious. Got it? Was gonna call a meeting, but you're all here."
I tuned out Chae-wu's advice, lost in thought.
Memorial... My own, seen live with my own eyes—not as a soul. Feels weird the more I think.
Yoon Jongmun had no close friends, never married. Pushed soccer against family wishes, basically cut ties.
Wonder if family's okay, but don't wanna see 'em. Too many scars.
But miss Cheonan teammates and coach. Only ones who valued me.
Hoping they're good.
"Olmunt okay? You look rough." "First memorial in Korea life? And he injured him once. Guilt, even if accidental." "Yeah... I visited Jongmun after hurting him too..."
Aish, seriously. Visits were appreciated. Dong-han's a good guy.
* * *
Right after Olmunt left the bathroom, Gimpo UTD's coach office.
Citizen club on a tight budget—modest, but has what it needs.
Room's small, not great for group meetings. But when emotions run high like today, it's fine.
"So, placate the merc begging to go to Japan and keep him one more season? That make sense? We got Olmunt, Paulo—why? Starting him nonstop? You sane?"
Voices leaked out, rising.
"Coach, hear us out. Miguel's proven. Olmunt's flashing now—could be fluke season." "Transfer window's short, hard to get new merc. No money."
The two staff from the bathroom tried soothing Coach.
Nam Suhyeon was already fuming at them.
"Told you from season start: Attack's solid. Reinforce midfield. No good U-22, grab one from college league."
"Right, we know. We're trying..."
BAM!
Nam Suhyeon slammed the desk, standing to berate them.
"Trying my ass. Anything come of it? No money? How expensive can a college kid be? If so, sell Miguel, reinforce with that. Don't want more. You saw opening game."
"Coach, just start Miguel. Japanese scout next game. Gotta show 'em. No alternatives? Japanese club won't match unless."
"Sell, placate, whatever—must start next game. Owner's orders too."
Their eyes shifted—bold only on budget talk. Annoying, Nam thought.
"Owner?" "Yeah, citizen club. Sell high if selling."
They begged for time, soothing him, then bolted.
Nam glared at the door, then slumped on the sofa.
"Ha... No ambition. Perfect promotion timing."
Gimpo UTD's low-budget even in second division. Sometimes squads punch above weight—now's that time, to Nam.
Miss it, team implodes.
Ops don't expect much, so he's safe. But opening game Olmunt haunts him.
"Not proven? Fine, I'll force it."
Muttering, he eyed the tactics board intently.
* * *
Nothing changed. First time back at Cheonan World Cup Stadium since reincarnating—my take.
One season, how much changes? Coach Lee Jeong-woo from before I died still here seals it.
This game's resolve is different.
Not deeper or whatever—literally different kind of resolve.
Past games: practice/opening for survival in new team, adapting body.
Cheonan Skies? Pure proof of my skill.
Ironic: game where I steel myself has my memorial. Weird.
Teammates/coach valued me, but club saw me as love-hate.
Still, some affection—hence the treatment?
Bus window: banner flapping for me.
'Cheonan's Messi, forever in our hearts.'
Heart twinges.
No one knows—not fans, club, players, coach—that I was Yoon Jongmun.
Still, wanna prove my new value. Etiquette to the club that bore Three-Second Messi?
Screech!
Brakes snapped me out; bus at stadium entrance.
Away locker room, not home... So awkward.
At my last-life club. Each awkward act as Olmunt ticks down time.
Time to prove to Cheonan folks and front office.
I'm not Yoon Jongmun anymore. But don't deny that era.
So wanna do better. Prove it. Not past Yoon. Not past Olmunt.
With iron resolve, I stepped onto the field. Proof time— for real.