Final Candidate Interviews: Off to the EPL
2014 Incheon Airport Arrival Hall.
The day I returned home with the report card of failing to advance from the World Cup group stage, Yoon Seungwoo was showered with barley sugar candies.
'Eat shit!'
Chunks of barley sugar scattered across the floor. It didn't take long to plummet from national hero to traitor.
People hurled sharp criticisms at him, calling it loyalty soccer or cronyism soccer. The one-team philosophy he'd tried to build had ended up labeled as stubbornness and pigheadedness.
Yoon Seungwoo had failed to prove either the process or the result.
The expression on his face back then—eyes dry with a mix of contempt, betrayal, and deep resignation as he stared at the barley sugar.
That wound was still festering ten years later, unhealed and raw.
No reply to the final persuasive text. Lee Jinhak sighed and closed his eyes briefly. As the technical director of the football association, the weight of Korean soccer's fate—and the fury of the 50 Million Bandwagon Fans—sat like a massive boulder on his shoulders.
With Yoon Seungwoo's card hitting a wall of refusal, Lee Jinhak boarded a plane right away for face-to-face meetings with the remaining final candidates. In his bag were thick reports on two foreign coaches.
Hotel near Frankfurt Airport, Germany.
The first interviewee was Germany's David Wagner.
Known as Jürgen Klopp's best friend and a disciple of gegenpressing, he had his laptop and thick stack of documents already set up before the appointed time, waiting for Lee Jinhak.
"Nice to meet you, Director Lee. Let's get straight to it."
Wagner spread out his materials right after the greeting. They contained activity data on Korean national team players and precise analysis of their attack-defense transitions.
"Korea is dynamic. But you need a modern pressing system that pushes the line extremely high, even involving the goalkeeper in build-up during defense. My system is solid. If the players adapt to my philosophy, we can compete beyond Asia—against the world."
Wagner's explanation was meticulous, like a surgeon dissecting Korean soccer's issues with data. Tactical perfectionism.
One unease flashed through Lee Jinhak's mind: Could conservative Korean soccer circles and players handle this intricate, adventurous tactic in just a few days of camp? Could this coach withstand the backlash if it failed?
Madrid, Spain.
The second man Lee Jinhak met, Dash, was no pushover either.
Contrary to public reputation, Dash plopped down analysis reports as thick as Wagner's.
"Director, I've rewatched all six of Korea's last Asian Cup games over 20 times each. Why did this player make that move here? If it were me, I'd exploit the space like this."
Dash's eyes burned more aggressively than Wagner's. Beyond tactics, he pierced straight to players' psychology and Korea's unique pressures.
"Tactics are just tools. What's key is leadership that makes players believe in them. I've got experience in England and Spain. I'll be the shield protecting the players from media fire."
Lee Jinhak read the sincere time Dash had invested in Korean soccer from his report. If Wagner brought a system, Dash brought conquest.
Finishing his Europe trip, Lee Jinhak reviewed the interviews on the flight.
David Wagner: Cutting-edge modern system. Unknown if it could transplant onto Korean players' physiques and mentality.
Dash: Strong charisma and precise player analysis. Unknown if he'd grasp the gap between theory and reality.
Both excellent, but Lee Jinhak's chest still felt stuffy.
Because intricate German systems or hot-blooded Uruguayan leadership—none mattered if they couldn't blend into Korean soccer. Theory was one thing; reality another.
Gazing at the darkness outside the window, Lee Jinhak thought: Tactics good, passion good. But what we need now is someone who can take all this chaos head-on without flinching... The coach Korean soccer truly needs. Someone who knows Korean culture, understands hierarchy, and can rein in the faction bullshit in the current squad. A proven director.
His hand lingered on his phone screen again. Still no reply from that name. Yoon Seungwoo.
A quiet alley in Gangnam. Near Cheongdam-dong.
The high-end Japanese kaiseki restaurant, without even a proper sign, was eerily quiet. Without a private room like this, there'd be no place in Korea for these two hottest men to clink glasses comfortably.
"Thanks for making time despite your busy schedule, Coach."
The man across from me at my greeting—Baek Ho-dol—grinned and waved it off.
"Coach? Nah, not anymore. Call me casually."
"Haha. Alright, then Sunbae-nim it is. You like sashimi?"
"Love it. Almost as much as soccer."
In my previous life, after his firefighter coach stint, Baek Ho-dol basically vanished from soccer circles. No news at all. Just occasional whispers of him leisurely fishing and golfing post-retirement. He'd even gone viral once on a fishing YouTube channel, titled something like "Fishing Next to a Korean Soccer Legend?"—showing up in a cap, chuckling heartily while reeling in a big one from the rocks. That's why I'd picked Japanese for today.
"You into fishing by any chance?"
"Yeah. You fish too, kid? A young guy with a quiet hobby—nice."
I fiddled with my glass and replied offhand.
"Got interested lately. Thinking of giving it a try." Especially reeling in some people. Korea needs someone like you, Sunbae-nim.
At my words hiding the real intent, Baek Ho-dol Sunbae's eyes narrowed.
"Heh, more into fishing than soccer these days?"
"Nah, soccer's still number one. But a player's body can break anytime. Better find hobbies early, right?"
"Spot on. Can't just do soccer. Mix in other sports, fishing, golf—broaden your world, and paths you couldn't see start appearing."
I picked up the sake bottle beside us. The clear liquid inside sparkled iridescently under the light.
"Let me pour you one. Got something special since you were coming, Sunbae-nim."
Baek Ho-dol eyed the bottle.
"Dassai 23? The daiginjo where they mill the rice down to 23%, right?"
"Yep."
"Smooth as hell. You put thought into this. Should be good."
The sound of sake filling the glass broke the silence. Baek Ho-dol Sunbae savored the aroma, then poured for me too.
"Cheers."
The cool, fragrant sake slid down my throat. As the subtle fruit notes lingered, an elaborately plated sashimi assortment arrived. The fish looked pristine at a glance. Sunbae's eyes sparkled knowingly.
"That's madai, that's flounder aged a few days. That's autumn mackerel... Looks like a top-notch place."
He expertly picked up a piece and placed it on my plate.
"Try this. Anglers can tell how fresh it is just from the texture."
It hinted at how serious he was about fishing. So, in this life, could he make that choice not to coach anymore? Thinking back, his leisurely life started after 2024. So not this year? Nah, just a casual comment over sashimi—maybe I'm overreading it. This is the regression side effect I deal with. Thought it'd be all upside, but nah—too many memories make me overanalyze everything.
After a few rounds, the mood warmed. I got to the point.
"I'm transferring. Wanted to tell you first, Sunbae-nim—that's why I set this up."
Sunbae paused his chopsticks and stared at me.
"Why tell an old guy like me first?"
I pondered briefly. In this life, he'd been shredded by the bandwagon fans alongside me over the Mo Chanhee mess—cut into 50 million pieces. Yet he'd only ever eyed Korean soccer. My respect for that was instinctual, hard to articulate, so I answered honestly.
"Dunno... Just following my gut. Don't fully get myself either."
Baek Ho-dol Sunbae peered into my eyes for a long moment, then nodded.
"Team decided?"
I answered without hesitation.
"Manchester City."
"......!"