Adaptation Period (2)
His eyes snapped open. Refreshingly so.
If he were still Yoon Jongmun, he wouldn't have been able to move a bone after that dawn training session yesterday.
But now, he was Olmunt. Even after insane training, he felt refreshed the next day.
Not the Yoon Jongmun who missed a month with a cold or two weeks after smacking his head on a desk. This was the invincible Olmunt who bounced back no matter how much he rolled, fell, or got hurt.
How had a body like this never made it to the big leagues?
As he gazed lovingly at his otherworldly physique, he felt a strange stare.
"Olmunt... are you a narcissist or something?"
Ignoring Miguel's weird look, he got ready. He wanted to fire back, but damn, the guy looked scary.
Better wait for them to get closer.
Heading to the bus, he took in his teammates. Nothing new, really. All familiar faces.
Some from the same team, others he'd clashed with in matches. Made sense—he'd spent years in the second division. Three as Olmunt, four as himself, totaling seven. Plenty of overlap.
Combining Olmunt's memories with his own, he knew most players inside out. It felt more familiar than novel.
The coach seemed decent enough. The squad felt right. All he had to do was perform.
Phew...
No reason to freak out. With that thought, he boarded the bus. His seat...
Ah, the guy had no friends, huh?
He plopped down by an empty window at the back. To ease the tension, he pulled out his phone.
Killing time on SNS, his old club popped into mind. Like a trance, he tapped into Cheonan Skies' official Instagram.
Scrolling down, a familiar face appeared.
His own.
Finding his face on there used to be rare. Injuries kept him out mostly. He'd show up briefly, then get hurt again. No way he'd trend.
Seeing what felt like a memorial page stirred odd emotions. Ties from his old life flashed by. But he wasn't Yoon Jongmun anymore—that was the problem.
"Can... can I sit?"
Suddenly, clumsy English and a tap on his shoulder.
Startled, he turned. A kind-faced man smiled and took the seat beside him.
It was their captain, Yoon Chaewoo, who manned the left wing.
One of Gimpo Green UTD's few stars. He'd been there from semi-pro days through pro founding—a rare constant.
Why next to me, though?
Olmunt usually sat alone. Miguel, his roommate, stuck with his countryman Paulo. This spot stayed empty.
Puzzled, he glanced at the captain's face.
"Ah... all you okay? Because... you bench?"
The captain mumbled mangled English. His brain froze for a second, then it clicked.
Coach's orders, probably. Right after signing, amid the team's chaos, he'd been benched. Now, post-camp, they were checking if he was pissed. No way the English-illiterate captain would approach otherwise.
Time to show positivity. A merc who spoke some Korean? Bonus points.
Even without the coach's nudge, impressing the captain mattered. But first—endure the broken English torture.
"I think you good!"
As he stayed silent, the captain restarted basic English. No sick pleasure in watching a good man's struggle—he spoke up.
"I've lived in Korea four years. I know some Korean."
The captain's face lit up at his basic Korean act. Ride the vibe.
"I know I'm benched. But I'll work for the club."
Before he finished, the captain's eyes widened in surprise.
"You can do it." "Huh?" "If you try hard, you definitely can."
"Th-thanks?"
The captain grabbed his shoulder, giving earnest advice. Better impression than expected.
After, he stared out the window with feigned resolve until they reached the stadium. The captain's gaze felt too intense.
Bus parked, Chaewoo excused himself and vanished.
Heading to the bench, he spotted the captain glancing his way while chatting with the coaches.
Coaches eyed him surprised too. He inwardly grinned at the scene, ignoring stares as he unpacked.
Tactics briefing followed. No Swedish interpreter—English it was.
He didn't care, kimchi-meatball brain and all. A Korean hearing K-League tactics from a foreigner's view? That was him. Felt familiar, not awkward. Like a round-robin story.
Chaewoo hadn't spilled his Korean skills? No need for translation.
Tilting his head, he focused on the coach.
"Guys... chances against first-division teams are rare. Outside FA Cup, we don't face them much. This'll be the highest caliber of our preseason opponents."
Jeju from the first division—full starters first half, probably. Clubs coordinated it.
"As you know, strong opponent means Plan B. Same 4-4-2 lineup, minor changes. Up top: Miguel and Olmunt."
What?
What the hell?
Coach ignored his shock, pressing on.
"Miguel, switch with wingers like in training. Difference: Olmunt holds up, creates space—exploit it. Second half, full subs..."
Am I dreaming?
Panicking, glancing around—only he seemed shocked. His half-assed target man rep?
Sudden, but everyone rolled with it. Except him. Still gawking post-brief, eyes met Chaewoo's.
Captain winked with his warm smile, heading out.
Was my acting that good?
He'd planned joker sub, dazzle in minutes. Preseason finale starter? Ten-minute highlight reel now five times longer.
Good, but issue: physicals still rusty. Collisions scared him.
No worry—dribble out. Hope coach likes it...
Warming with mercs, their reactions odd.
"Olmunt, on fire today." "Yeah, you never trapped like that."
"Huh? Basic trap."
Miguel's duo Paulo replied deadpan.
"You couldn't string ten. Thought you weren't a footballer at first."
Miguel eyed suspiciously—no question, just grudge from yesterday's nutmeg.
What kinda soccer did this beast play? Jealous now.
He'd drilled skills till death, retired injured. Absurd.
Warming more, power overwhelming. Passes too hard, like that Belgian mid.
That guy's strikers' fault; his muscles'. Duo saved it—especially Miguel's flair handling his misfires. One in four too strong, but Brazilian magic.
They fumbled awkwardly. His passes bombed before?
After fumbling, Miguel approached cautiously.
"Olmunt. No doping, ever. Explains beating me."
These idiots.
Staring blankly, Paulo panicked over.
"Hear us out. First ten-pass chain ever. Miguel's childish, but we're shocked. Sorry if pissed."
Miguel more childish than serious. But... whatever. Swallowed retort.
Olmunt's skills must've been tragic.
Nearly warmed, long passes with Chaewoo—decent, control improved.
"Man, peak condition?"
Chaewoo echoed the duo. How trash was old Olmunt?
Everyone's faces at his warm-up—maybe utility pole, not player.
Sighs at every move. Even shooting, his weak spot.
Past life, leg issues favored precision over power—no mid-range.
Short okay, distance tough. Tried hard—cleared net wide.
Goalkeeper Hyeongjin startled, yelled.
"Olmunt, good condition!"
Others waiting clapped, "Ooh"-ing.
Face burning, he glanced at coach.
Sunglasses hid thoughts.
Why start him? Forty-five minutes, season-check finale.
Whatever—play and see. Verify skills, stamp approval early. Win.
Phew... Half-line jump to loosen up. This body rocks.
Beep!
Whistle blew. Moment of truth—first match. Time to prove.