Proof (3)
Wonder goal. That's the term in soccer for a flashy, spectacular score. Doesn't the one I just put away qualify? Scoring a wonder goal in this new body felt more accidental than I'd imagined. To be brutally honest, that goal was pure luck. I'm not yet adept at harnessing my physicality, but a stylish volley had flown off my foot anyway.
The moment it went in, Eunsang came charging over. I desperately wanted to tell him thanks for the cross, but please make it a reverse next time? I held my tongue. I had business to attend to.
I approached the Cheonan Skies fans, bowed my head quietly, formed the uniform number from my Yoon Jongmun days with my fingers, clapped, and started to leave. Or tried to.
Yoon Jongmun! Yoon Jongmun! Yoon Jongmun!
It felt surreal. For that instant, it was as if Yoon Jongmun himself had returned.
Cheonan Skies players, thinking I was taunting them, rushed over—only to see my ceremony and the fans' reaction, opting for handshakes and high-fives instead. Familiar faces, all of them.
As they awkwardly thanked me in English, I snapped back to being Leo Olmunt, leaving Yoon Jongmun behind.
The match ended 2-2 with no further goals. Gimpo Green UTD kept the pressure on relentlessly, riding their momentum, but Cheonan Skies dug in a desperate ten-back defense just to avoid defeat.
That was that. As we boarded the team bus after the final whistle, a wave of relief hit me belatedly.
The goal of showing up Miguel? Mission accomplished. But there was more growth than that—something beyond.
Rather than dwell on regrets from my past life, I wanted to pour everything into one more shot as Olmunt. I'd also rediscovered how much the Cheonan fans actually liked me.
Miguel's probably getting sold soon, right? He didn't even board the team bus—vanished somewhere.
Even if his transfer falls through, there's no spot for him anymore. Wonder who'll replace him. A promising U22 quota filler? A merc with a normal mentality who's devoted to the team? Whatever it is, hope they reinforce quick. Gotta claw back those points lost to the whiner and jump into the promotion race.
The next day, as I stepped out to grab water from the convenience store, something bewildering happened.
“You're Olmunt, right? Mind if I get a photo?”
“Whoa, I saw you on YouTube Shorts! Your Korean's insanely good too!”
“Could I get a photo with you, please?”
I'd never been a hugely popular player. More like a flash-in-the-pan who faded after injuries.
So this? A bit overwhelming. Sure, I've posed for fan pics as a pro—not a ton, though. But this has to be the most recognition I've ever gotten in my entire career.
The culprit? My clips going viral in this short-form video era.
Domestic soccer's official YouTube tends to blow up for skilled players. Broadcast sports channels are a bit different. The SBC clip actually dropped on YouTube first... but when the official K-League short took off, my opening-match pledge went viral too.
Screenshots hit Instagram, then spread across every community.
Guess that means I balled out against Cheonan? And as a foreigner. A 2nd-division one learning Korean. Tapped some national pride nerve.
Result? Fans mobbing me for signatures and pics on the street now. Overwhelming, but not a bad feeling.
Time to show off the fan service rep I'd quietly built since debut.
Of course, popularity has downsides.
Tons of envy and jealousy. Half seems like mockery. Texted Paulo back in English, but for the Gimpo guys... whatever, ignore.
Texting in awkward Korean's a pain. Especially messages.
Shouldn't they be praising me? Why the roasting?
And one more shocker: Gimpo offered re-contract. No idea where the cash came from.
By Olmunt's memories, I was with an agency—Swedish-based, probably. After Jeonnam Blue Dragons booted me, handled everything solo.
Impressive, but means I negotiate alone. Kinda tense.
Got goals in mind. Don't need an agent yet. Planning to stick through next season anyway.
Even with one, doubt it'd jack up pay dynamically. If my value rises more, agents'll swarm naturally, right?
Training while scheming, negotiation day snuck up.
Miguel sold? Where'd the money...? Happy thoughts, but sat at the table anyway.
Negotiations like sales, huh? The mild-mannered staffer sat across, all smiles.
Or maybe 'cause no cutthroat agent—it's Gimpo's hot topic, superstar Olmunt. Self-aggrandizing? When else to flex?
Anyway, staff slid a paper over.
“Salary... doubled?”
“Of course. We offered one-year deals. Now's the time to lock you in. Three years, plus conditional one.”
Generous. They got the cash? Already roasted as a tax-suck club, no budget?
Skeptical glare. Staffer flustered, then smooth:
“Oh, didn't mention. Miguel transferred to Sendai last night.”
Aha! That guy's exit was artistic. Finally dumped his shit on Sendai. Poop balloon much? Decent player, but not J1 caliber. Desperate, huh? Good mercs are rare, especially urgent strikers.
Ex-teammate thoughts aside, eyed my salary. Hmm... original was about 70 million won. Merc trash price. Kept Olmunt alive that way—low cost, mid efficiency.
Now nine figures. Doubled it... Promotion bonus up to 200 million.
Not money-obsessed, but felt good—club valuing me higher. Even slotted my pet clause perfectly.
And promotion clause means... incoming signings soon?
Heard soccer communities buzzing Miguel fetched 500 million. In dong? Hanoi FC maybe? Why all FA signings? Budget issues? Makes sense.
* * *
In Gimpo's coach's office, Nam Suhyeon ignored the messy desk, nursing a throbbing headache. Probably from that meeting with front office.
“We sold Miguel for a solid price. Why all free agents?”
“Free agency doesn't mean scrubs. Good players, Coach.”
Nam Suhyeon wanted to gorilla-pound his chest in frustration. Sadly human, he exhaled deeply, gritted teeth, and spat deliberately:
“Season started when? And these guys still teamless? Great, huh?”
“C'mon... Merc from Munich.”
“Munich youth? Benched in 3rd division last year, teamless half-season?”
“Passed medicals fine. In good shape.”
Nam Suhyeon nearly decked him. Asked anyway:
“That's all?”
“...”
Staffer went mute. Coach pounced:
“You ignored my picks. I was right. So listen on spending that cash? Always 'deficit excuses'—I fixed it, no? Olmunt's re-sign half Miguel's salary?”
“We want to. But deficit now. City council too...”
“So 80% of Miguel money to deficit?”
“Yes...”
“Fullback dreams dead. Tried?”
“Yeah. Shame.”
Recalling it, Nam's fists shook. Bam!
“Crazy bastards. Transfer fee over 500 mil, no signings?”
Muttering, he stood. Transfer window end hikes prices—fair. But he requested extra foreigner, midfielders, U22 fullback. Targeting FAs from jump? Infuriating.
'Promotion possible!' Wanted to yell at front office. Bit tongue.
Memories of coaches he'd cursed while watching flashed. They endured this crap.
At least they bought 'cookable' ingredients. Kvirin Moll solid—like Ki Youngseong in Seoul now. Passer extraordinaire.
Jeon Youngjin... serviceable. Better than turnover machine Kim Yejun.
Something. But club skips key ingredients. Chef makes do.
Nam sighed, facing the whiteboard. Promotion goal burns.
He's a capable chef. College league specialty: patching gaps into meals.
Now crafting promotion dish, racking brain.
“Ha... this damn left fullback problem.”