The Inevitable Purge
Korea Football Association President's Office, K League All-Stars vs. Celta Vigo Friendly.
The silent room was filled only with the creak of high-end leather sofas being crushed and the occasional scratch of a pen rolling across the desk.
The air in the president's office was as cold as thin ice.
Association President Kim Myeonggyu rested his chin on his hand, staring at Executive Director Lee Cheolwoo sitting across from him.
"So. What's the status on the mole investigation in the Election Management Committee?"
Lee Cheolwoo swallowed dryly.
They'd mobilized the internal security team for days, combing through everything like rats in a trap, but the results were dismal.
"Well..."
Lee couldn't bring himself to look up as he opened his mouth.
"I'm sorry. We couldn't identify anyone."
"Haa."
A long sigh leaked from Kim Myeonggyu's lips. He took off his glasses and tossed them onto the table with a clack.
"If the organization can't even get its shit together like this."
"I have no face to show."
As Lee bowed his head like a criminal, Kim Myeonggyu clicked his tongue and waved him off.
"Enough. Don't look so fucking defeated. It was expected, so straighten up."
"Pardon?"
"Think about it. We're not some investigative agency—gonna confiscate all the employees' phones and force a forensic sweep? The union would riot over 'human rights' and make even more noise."
Kim Myeonggyu gave a bitter smile.
Association internal meeting minutes turning into real-time news leaks, bandied about on YouTube channels.
There was definitely a spy inside.
And deep in the ranks.
But if standard audits couldn't root them out, there was only one option left.
"If you couldn't find it on your end, there's no answer. In the end... we'll have to drain the swamp."
"......"
"When you can't tell rotten water from clean, you gotta dump the whole fucking tub."
Uncharacteristically for Kim Myeonggyu, this foreshadowed a massive personnel overhaul. A bloodbath.
He furrowed his brow as if lost in thought, then changed the subject.
"Anyway. That Ryu Rion punk."
Lee Cheolwoo's shoulders twitched.
"Went right off in front of the press, saying there's a mole in the association."
Kim Myeonggyu stroked his chin, muttering.
"What the hell does that guy know to be yapping like that? Or did someone leak info to him?"
"......"
"What do you think, Director Lee?"
Lee hesitated a moment before shaking his head.
"I grilled a few internal staff who were involved in the investigation separately, but they all claimed innocence. No one had any connection to Player Ryu Rion either. Realistically, without cracking open phones... it's just suspicion, no leads."
With that, Lee subtly redirected the blame outward.
"Ryu Rion's comments actually poisoned things."
"Poisoned?"
"Yes. We were quietly tailing leads internally, but then he drops 'mole' in public like a declaration of war... scared the hidden rats deeper into their holes. They're on high alert now."
Indignation colored Lee Cheolwoo's voice.
The nuance was clear: We almost had them, but Ryu Rion fucked it up.
But Kim Myeonggyu just snorted in derision.
"Director Lee."
"Yes, President."
"That's your problem. You interpret everything to suit your comfort."
"......Pardon?"
Kim Myeonggyu shot him a glare.
"If Ryu Rion had kept his mouth shut, you think you'd have caught them?"
"That's..."
"No forensics, no forced investigations—those bastards stay quiet, what the hell could you do? Did you even have the chops?"
Lee was speechless at the piercing truth.
"Don't blame some innocent player for our incompetence. Makes you look like a coward."
"......I'm sorry."
Kim Myeonggyu leaned deep into the backrest, gazing at the ceiling.
Ryu Rion.
A fearless young beast rampaging through the massive cage of the association, with no tamer or hunter in sight.
Kim Myeonggyu's mind grew tangled.
Sangam World Cup Stadium, Away Team Locker Room.
The players from La Liga stalwarts Celta Vigo were stretching and chattering noisily.
"Man, Korean stadium facilities are killer? Grass looks better than at Balaidos."
"Hear that crowd? Friendly match heat like a Champions League final here."
His teammates looked around in wonder.
I casually packed my gear and wrapped my tape.
The locker room door opened cautiously, and a club staffer brought in a unfamiliar guy.
A man wearing a 'VENUS STAFF' lanyard around his neck.
Venus's manager from earlier.
Shrinking among the burly foreign players, he scanned around nervously, spotted me, and scurried over.
"Um... Player Ryu Rion."
"Yeah. What's up."
"Ah, well... if it's not too much trouble, could I get a jersey?"
The manager scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"One of our members really wants a Ryu Rion jersey... mind if I ask?"
He didn't name her, but obvious.
That cat-eyed Xiao who'd shot me provocative looks earlier.
"Jersey?"
At the word, Iago Aspas, who was tying his cleats next to me, shot up.
Celta Vigo's living legend and captain.
He cluelessly pulled out his own jersey, grinning brightly. This fucker...
Aspas has massive pride as a Spanish international.
Figured they'd want his, naturally.
I smirked and swatted Aspas's jersey away with my hand.
"Not yours, asshole."
"What? Why not? I'm Celta's legend!"
"They like young, hot guys like me. Aspas... you're too old."
"Fuck you, Lion."
Aspas muttered, embarrassed, and shoved his jersey back in his bag before sitting down.
Mingueza and the other teammates who'd been watching burst into laughter.
I pulled out a spare jersey and handed it to the manager.
"Here."
"Ah, thank you!"
He took it politely with both hands.
I teased mischievously.
"No need for a signature, right? Just need the shirt, yeah?" My gut says she wouldn't give a shit about my autograph. She'd probably just wear it, check the mirror, and think, Looks better on me.
The manager paused at my words, then answered awkwardly.
"Ah... no, a signature would be great."
"Really?" What?
Unexpected.
I took the marker and scrawled a big signature over the number on the back.
The manager bowed repeatedly and scurried out like he was fleeing.
I watched his retreating back, lost in thought for a moment.
Why ask for my jersey?
Usually, if interested, they'd slip a note with a number or have the manager hint at a meetup discreetly.
But no phone, just the jersey dangling.
Well.
She's a fourth-gen top idol with sky-high stock—ain't handing out numbers easy.
Prideful, tons of eyes on her.
This some trophy? Or I'm interested, so you figure it out message?
Cute little game.
I smacked my lips.
No rush. Few days left in Korea anyway.
Might as well meet up with Haeyeon while I'm here.
Another face flashed in my mind.
I pushed complicated thoughts aside and turned back to focus on the match.
Then Aspas tapped my shoulder.
"Ryan."
"What."
Aspas, still stinging from the embarrassment, asked gruffly but curiously.
"That green stuff at lunch earlier."
"Green? Salad?"
"No, no. The grass shit you wrap meat in. Healthy food?"
Ah, ssam veggies.
Hotel buffet had a Korean corner; he'd devoured it. Devoured—fucking maniac.
"Ah, ssam? Lettuce and perilla leaves?"
"Yeah, whatever. Tasted... healthy."
Aspas grimaced and stuck out his tongue. Classic foreigner reaction.
I laughed.
"You ate a ton more than you'd think."
"Gotta think health."
True... Aspas turning 37 this year? 38 next. Fuck, time flies. That Aspas at 37? Retire already, damn.
"Gonna eat it again later."
Muttering seriously, he looked ready to pile ssam like a mountain at dinner.
Then the coaching staff's claps echoed through the locker room.
The vibe turned serious in an instant.
I slipped on my jersey top and gripped the emblem tight.
Time to head out.