Summer Transfer Window (3)
“So, mid-range is his weakness?”
“Yes, sir.”
Park Jintaek, manager of Gyeongnam Twin Towers, stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Plastered across the conference room screen was none other than Olmunt.
“You’re saying we just need to stop that guy? Even if Gimpo’s hot streak has cooled off a bit, two games isn’t much.”
“Yes.”
The power analyst nodded confidently and pressed on with his reasoning.
“Gimpo is definitely one of the top contenders for the title this season. Last year, they were a dark horse, but not to this extent. At the center of their storm this season are Olmunt and Lee Eunsang.”
“Right. Olmunt draws in the defense, and then Eunsang just has to beat one or two for an easy chance.”
“But Eunsang’s gone now. Their threat’s cut in half. It’s a gamble worth taking.”
Park the bus with ten defenders, huh…
The opponent was Gimpo, a pro club for barely three years now, led by a rookie manager in his first season.
Against a fledgling team and green coach, parking the bus? It stung Park Jintaek’s pride, no doubt.
“Ahem… hmm…”
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, but deep down, he knew this tactic was the most effective.
“Do we have to go with ten at the back?”
The attacking coach, who’d been listening with a scowl, finally piped up.
“Without Eunsang, if we sit deep, Olmunt’s the only one who can create something. Yoon Chaewoo and Paulo excel at crosses and positioning, but they’re not the type to actively break a deep block.”
The analyst’s cool rebuttal left the coach speechless. Even Park Jintaek, who harbored quiet resentment toward the idea, had no comeback.
Fair enough. If Gyeongnam pushed up the line with their current squad, it’d be an goal-fest—with Olmunt as the star. Obvious as day.
Park the bus? Sure, they might still lose. But push up, and it’s a 100% defeat.
Worth a shot, then. They could handle one Olmunt.
Pride doesn’t pay the bills. Three points do.
“Alright, let’s try it. Time we stepped into the playoffs ourselves.”
With Incheon, Suwon, and Gimpo locked in a tight race, they needed at least one scalp to stay in the playoff hunt.
And so, Gyeongnam Twin Towers’ so-called “Viking Suppression Operation” was set in motion.
* * *
Thwack!
Splat!
The mid-range shot grazed Hyeongjin hyung’s fingertips and ripped into the net.
“Pl… please, enough already. This is elder abuse.”
Hyung didn’t even get up after his dive—he just flopped onto the grass and surrendered.
“But I need you, hyung.”
“Just use Jeongmin.”
“Yeah, but… Jeongmin can’t satisfy me. No one can satisfy me like you do, Hyeongjin hyung.”
“You maniac…”
He shook his head with a sigh and tossed me the ball, but his expression looked oddly proud.
Fair enough. Considering all the mid-range bombs I’d unleashed on him lately, I could see why he’d feel a swell of pride.
I kinda liked how he treated me like a cheeky kid. No one batted an eye when I poured hours into mid-range practice.
Even Dojin hyung and Coach Nam just watched with admiring eyes. Though Coach seemed to have his own expectations brewing.
Time flew by as I trained with focus, questions lingering in my mind.
I must’ve smashed a few hundred mid-rangers by now. Confidence was building.
And why not? Hyeongjin hyung was still a starter on a bottom-tier K League 1 side.
If I could beat him from distance, most domestic keepers should be in range.
I couldn’t wait for the Gyeongnam Twin Towers match.
“…you gotta do it.”
“Huh?”
I snapped out of it to find Dojin hyung talking to me from the bus seat next to mine.
“Forget everything else this game. Just score one from mid-range.”
Problem was, I’d just zoned out. I blinked at him like an idiot. Wait—hadn’t Donghan hyung been next to me when we left?
I glanced around; Donghan hyung was slumped in a corner seat, soul drained, all curled up.
What the hell happened while I was spacing?
Before I could puzzle it out, Dojin hyung grabbed my shoulder.
“You have to score from mid-range this game. Everyone’s backed you up for it. Show results.”
True…
Not just Hyeongjin hyung and Kvirin—most of the team had made space for my practice.
Especially since I’d nailed my finishing touch.
Yielding seats, sharing tips from experience.
I felt ashamed for getting carried away, blasting shots without a thought for them.
I thanked Dojin hyung for the wake-up call.
“If we don’t win—or no mid-range goal—you’re dead.”
His reply was chilling. He dozed off looking satisfied, my resolve hardening further.
I snuck a peek at Coach and the staff; they grinned like they’d hit auto-hunt jackpot, lips curled even from the back.
Seemed they saw my mid-range as a fresh wrinkle.
Coach had straight-up said in the pre-match briefing that Olmunt’s long shots would create threats.
Ugh, pressure. We piled out of the bus into the locker room, and Coach’s eyes sparkled like a crescendo.
“Alright, Eunsang’s gone, so they’ll double-team Olmunt. But they’re overlooking one thing: mid-range.”
Was it that obvious?
“A surprise shot from him—even if it doesn’t go in—will rattle them. Always prep for a deep block too.”
Of course, there were other instructions: links with Chaewoo hyung, my free role, etc.
But it all boiled down to mid-range.
Dojin hyung’s threat made sense now. What choice did I have? Score.
With survival on the line, I stepped onto the pitch. But this Gyeongnam Twin Towers game felt off from the jump. Their eyes burned fierce.
“Why are they marking you so tight?”
“Yeah, did you piss them off last time or something?”
Chaewoo hyung and a revived Donghan hyung asked, sensing the weird vibe.
I had no clue. They weren’t fouling outright—just the pre-kickoff scrutiny felt oppressive.
I ignored it, warming up with Paulo and Kvirin. My neck prickled the whole time.
Weird. Olmunt’s memories drew a blank.
He’d never even scored against Gyeongnam. So why?
Even during handshakes as kickoff loomed, the stares stung one side of my face.
Did I do something wrong?
Problem was, I needed a mid-range goal to survive too.
I didn’t know what ticked them off. But per that old Korean internet wisdom: if someone hates you for no reason, give them one.
Tweet!
Gyeongnam kicked off, as expected with a deep block.
Classic U-shaped buildup from deep, then one long ball—like those doomed national team games. Frustrating to watch, hell to break.
“Number 9! Watch 9!”
Donghan hyung snuffed a few long balls aimed at their front two.
But then? No space to advance.
Zonal at first glance, but ghosts swarmed whenever I moved.
“Olmunt!”
Even passes to infiltrating Paulo got crowded out in the box. For a Brazilian, Paulo’s dribbling was suspect—he couldn’t do much.
Kill passes blocked repeatedly, space finally opened in front of me.
As I wound up, the distant defenders threw me off—I hesitated.
Realization hit: this wasn’t just a deep block for me. It forced mid-range shots only.
1v1 marks on Chaewoo, Paulo, Lee Junkyung hyung. Two mids and a defender on me. Kvirin advancing? Double-team.
Dribble? Intercepted. Pass? Two buses parked in front.
Hmm…
A few more touches with Paulo might open it, but their direct counters on turnover scared me off.
No telling how long Donghan and Dojin hyung could hold.
And forcing me long-range? Infuriating. Time to cash in those grueling sessions.
“Olmunt!”
Kvirin pierced the press with a perfect through ball.
And yep—the two markers fixated on my dribble or pass. Keeper too, probably.
Always the same: thought and action must sync.
For skills or passes, if I can think it, so can they. Act before thinking.
Shots too.
Left foot trap, right-foot crack.
Thwack!
Aimed for the top left corner—our Hyeongjin hyung practice route.
My shot rocketed faster than ever, yet felt slow-motion to me. The arc burned into my eyes.
Keeper dove on the surprise blast, but I knew.
Even Hyeongjin hyung couldn’t stop this trajectory. Perfect strike. No way Gyeongnam’s keeper snagged it.
So…
Splat!
“Wooooaaahhhh!”
“Mid-range goal! It’s a mid-ranger!”
“Olmunt, I knew you’d deliver.”
It was in. No doubt.