Summer Transfer Market (2)
Ugh. This damn ball just won't go in.
When the team's shaken like this, there's not much an individual can do. Just keep practicing? I'm not exactly the spiritual pillar of this team or anything.
So instead, I mulled over what I needed to focus on for the next match. What was the biggest issue with my play? I pondered it deeply.
Sure, my physical battling still felt a bit sloppy in spots. But that was improving bit by bit. The fear ingrained in my body from all those injuries didn't fade easily. Fine, set that aside for now. Lately, my real worry had been mid-range shots and long passes.
Truth be told, as a forward, I didn't get many chances to unleash long passes. But failing at mid-range shots? That stung. Game after game, I realized the opponents weren't even marking me there anymore. Twisting that famous basketball coach's quote a bit, it felt like they'd decided, "Just leave Olmunt open!"
But come on—even then, I'd come close a couple times per game, whiffing by just a cabbage leaf's width. What the hell was the problem?
Ting! See? That mid-range shot I just fired had sliced sharply into the top-left corner of the goalpost with a crystal-clear crack.
"Whoa, Olmunt—that was the sharpest out of the twenty or so mid-rangers you've hit in training today!"
Jeong Hyeongjin's innocent fact-bomb pierced me deep. Should've teased him more when he was hacking up a lung earlier.
"Can't let it go, huh? Kid who scores without mid-range—why obsess?"
Yoo Dojin, who'd been watching my pathetic show from the side, shook his head in disbelief.
"Opponents keep ignoring me back there, pisses me off. Even I'd..."
Now even Kim Heemun was chiming in. I wanted to flick his forehead, but he was still recovering from injury, so I let it slide. Lately, Heemun couldn't play matches yet, but he joined light sessions. Probably back in two weeks? Any longer, and Min-su would be the only one running himself ragged like a dog every game.
"Practice in moderation and stick to your role."
Even Coach Nam Suhyeon threw in his two cents. Guess that wrapped up mid-range practice for today.
One more... Ha... Why couldn't this body nail mid-range? Posture issue? Balance?
Back in my Yoon Jongmun days, I hadn't struggled like this until my body was completely wrecked. Made it all the more frustrating and bizarre. My ankles had plenty of power—if I could just plant one clean mid-ranger, it'd be a real threat. Especially against a team that's totally collapsed. With Lee Eunsang ditching us for the first division, wasn't this the wildcard we needed?
I couldn't disrupt everything alone. Soccer's an eleven-man game. And crucially... slamming one in during a match might shut up all the haters folding their arms at me.
"Ahh, wanna nail mid-range so bad~"
"Hachoo!"
Wham! Whoa? That's a weird trajectory.
Splat!
"What the?"
"Olmunt-hyung, what was that? Trajectory's insane!"
I dunno. Scary. Don't ask.
Kim Donghan's explosive sneeze startled me, messing up my stance—and somehow it flew like that.
"Hyung, try one more."
I was done, but Heemun plopped the ball in front of me. Glanced at Coach—looked expectant. Coaches clustered in groups, eyeing my free kick.
Fine, one more. What was different last time? More power? I smashed it full force.
Fweee! The little ball rocketed skyward... vanished from sight, then plummeted.
Thud!
"Whoa..."
Even the usual mockers let out genuine awe. Probably flew slower than Nuri-ho rocket. One thing clear: I'd crush free kicks with this power.
With strength like this, maybe I should've done other sports, I thought, still questioning my fate. Training ended; I texted Kang Dosik right away. His picky fairy ass had finally granted my wish.
With coaches' okay, I sent him my training footage.
The hell? No wonder he has no friends but me. Doesn't even chat with Heemun much.
Tsk-tsking, I showered and hit the bed. What was wrong? Felt like Yoon Jongmun days, but no dice. If I could just nail mid-range, opponents would freak.
Mulled it over till sleep hit.
Ding! Woke to the sound. Not my alarm app—KakaoTalk.
Ugh, essay incoming.
That existed? Dosik's clip showed a yellow-shirted beast thundering a mid-ranger home. Back then, pure fluke for Olmunt. But damn threatening.
Later clips: same beast sprinting, swinging for the fences like a homer.
Yeah, kinda got the vibe. But would that fix it?
Ugh, poking again. Fine, try it. Coaches said posture was fine. Cheonan genius assistant coach, alright.
At training:
"Olmunt, no mid-range today?"
Yoon Chaewoo asked, eyes full of hope.
"Hate the teasing."
I replied stiffly; he looked wronged, then dragged Kvirin Moll over.
"Mid-range woes, right? Brought a mentor. Bundesliga. Munich alum—different league, yeah?"
Kvirin blinked startled, then lit up at those words. I was thrown too, but yeah, helpful. If I could control his nonstop mouth.
"Self-training time, then."
Kvirin listened, thrilled, then yapped: "Back in Munich youth..." I bolted first.
Joined sessions hard, waiting for self-time. Dosik's "one beat late" echoed. Easier said. How? His advice always guided feel. He didn't know the practice grind to grasp it.
"Ugh, tough. Age? Olmunt, you good?"
"Vikings don't tire, hyung. Dude's Ironman material."
Donghan (30) and Chaewoo chatted post-session. Uncle talk drained me. Missed Eunsang, traitor.
Laughed off their banter, headed for mid-range. Called Junkyung too, post-slump beast-mode.
"What ya need?"
Lee Junkyung as assist man: pass, dribble, mid-range routine. Kvirin parked chattering behind.
Here goes.
Tok... tok tok. Wham! Hiss. Center-left liner again. Kvirin's engine revving—I begged three shots' silence.
One beat late... one beat...
Tok... tok.. tok. Wham!
Ugh, again. What even "one beat"?
Tok.. tok.. tok.. Wham! Rattled the safety net behind goal. Last one sailed over; sheepish glance at Kvirin—debate raging. Coaches joined, butchering English with wild gestures.
"Knees issue."
"Ankles!"
"Dreh die Hüfte ein bisschen mehr!"
Help me! Not debating yourselves. How they even argue? Kvirin speaks English fine.
Hyeongjin and Junkyung piled in—no end.
"Does he need mid-range this bad?"
"Think power + tech. Could rule Korean soccer."
Bathroom interpreter evolved stone-age gestures to proper talk.
"No mid-goal ever. That's the block. Pressure, Eunsang gone, vibe down—vicious cycle. Watch his ball work: slump."
Wham~
"Or defense. Always marked tight on fire-ups. Less space than others. Mid-pressure amps it."
Wham~
"Olmunt."
"Yeah?"
Startled. Kvirin stepped from debate.
"Lemme show—watch close."
Snatched ball, unleashed. Splat! Curved beautifully into corner. Bundesliga different.
"Kinda small-guy swing? Can't grow sudden."
Gut punch.
"Knee-focus it. Might work."
Knees... Delay knee move one beat? Merged Kvirin/Dosik: retry.
Wham! Agh... close.
"Olmunt! Soon I'll dive to block your mid-shots!"
Hyeongjin's praise-or-taunt trailed; few more.
Whoosh!
"Don't sweat. Even world stars whiff mids. Munich prospects too—even best Bundesliga team."
Whoosh!
"Don't push. Ex-Bundesliga me says: not quick fix. Unless genius unparalleled. Long battle."
Whoosh! Hit right. Touch. Sound. Arc. All different. Nailed it. Instinct screamed yes. Straight-line top-left.
Hyeongjin, posted at goal, dove first time. But Yoon Jongmun tech + Olmunt power...
Splat! Exaggerate? No Korean could stop.
"Wooooaaah!"
"Olmunt, you're nuts?!"
All wrecked. Beckham Olmunt incoming.