Guardiola's Defiant Jab and FEFA's Warning Shot

FEFA had delivered an official warning letter to Korea. "We are Manchester City. We're not a team that crumbles over one player." Pep Guardiola responded with overflowing confidence. A perfect shutdown to the question about whether he'd felt my absence.

"I've heard there's significant dissatisfaction from the club regarding Ryan missing the game to attend the Korean National Assembly. What's your ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠take, Coach?"

A strange twist formed at the corner of Pep's mouth.

"If it's important enough to summon him to the Korean National Assembly, then it must be important. But I hear it was about the process of appointing the coach... Does that country have their parliament appoint coaches?"

Laughter erupted from the press seats. Pep's words were blatant mockery. A direct jab at the barbaric practice of ignoring sports independence and using players as political kindling.

Truth be told, there was no real reason for Pep to come out this aggressively. Normally, he would've brushed it off as an internal club matter and kept quiet. Why was Pep doing this? Because he was faithfully keeping the promise we'd made in his Manchester office before I left for Korea.

One week earlier, Manchester City manager's office.

Pep's face was flushed red with anger. He slammed his palm on the desk and shouted.

"The season's just started, Ryan! Can't you see Arsenal and Liverpool are fully prepped? And they're dragging a player around for some bullshit like this? What the hell is the Korean National Assembly?"

Pep is a legendary manager. Two words sum it up: legendary manager. He's dead serious about soccer. And he proves it with results. From the perspective of a pro who's devoted decades to the game, summoning a Manchester City player—the defending champions at the pinnacle of world soccer, the Premier League—mid-season for some political circus like a national audit was utterly unacceptable. He had to analyze the next match, puzzle over lineups, and especially since I was an attacking midfielder, it hit harder. De Bruyne, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who'd covered that spot last season, was gone. Plus, with Rodri's injury risks and overuse concerns, I was a damn attractive card—Spanish soccer ingrained from my Vigo days. They'd fought off fierce transfer market competition to snag me. So yeah, it was natural for him to be pissed that some backwater like Korea was yanking his player around over nothing.

I smirked inwardly watching Pep rage. Time to deploy an expert's genuine soccer passion. As Pep sighed repeatedly and finally okayed my trip to Korea, I tossed out the bait I'd polished during build-up play.

"Coach, no need to get mad. There is a way. Use this chance to settle it for good, and you'll never have to deal with this shit again."

"There was a way to avoid going?"

"You still gotta go. But there won't be any more summons after. Korea's obsessed with public opinion. Right now, any whiff of scandal and they'll drag me in, but if you say a few words, it'll flip."

In reality, the Assembly wouldn't call me again—or even think to. I exaggerated Korea's mess on purpose. Politicians meddling in soccer at every turn; if I didn't make an example now, they'd haul me back three or four times mid-season. Pep shook his head in disbelief. "What kind of insane country is this?"

"No need for a long speech. Just one line. Something headline-grabbing. Give off the vibe that Korean politics is soccer's cancer. Your words will flood the sports pages via Korean reporters."

Legends dropping a few lines gets Korean media creaming their pants, plastering it everywhere. They repackage it into shorts and clips for views and cash. Issues spawning issues, milking them for profit—this bizarre Korean media culture I knew better than anyone. To bury it using Pep, I needed this. He'd heard of Korea but didn't know shit. I exploited that ignorance, turning him into my opinion nuke.

I told you. I'm gonna use those Korean bandwagon fans.

Public opinion was boiling with rage before Pep's interview.

Lying in bed, I scrolled through the comments one by one, letting out hollow laughs. An enraged mob just needs a sandbag to beat. Bandwagon fans were always like this. Just like the Korean pots I know. Boil harder. That way, when you cool off, you cool off for good.

Pep Guardiola's short interview remark hit like a massive wave, slamming Korea's networks.

"Does that country have their parliament appoint coaches?"

This short, lethal sneer got instantly translated and plastered across Korean portal main pages. Old fogeys obsessed with hierarchy and clueless about soccer dared to accuse a Premier League coach of insulting the symbol of Korean democracy, the national audit.

The outrage didn't last. Shame devoured it. When the world's top manager branded Korea a freak nation where politics rules soccer, eyes turned instantly to the politicians who'd whipped them up.

Every refresh in bed showed the top comments shifting tone. Hours ago cursing me as an FA stooge, now packaging me as an international embarrassment victim.

"Bandwagon fans never disappoint."

With the world's authority Pep Guardiola branding them barbaric, they turned on the politicians who'd incited them to dodge the label.

I didn't head back to England even after the audit. Palestine match meant I'd return soon anyway. Conditioning is life for a pro, so with the club's and coach's understanding, I took unintended rest. Then my phone rang. Yoon Seungwoo.

He was pushing through overseas player meetings despite the post-audit backlash.

Next day. In a shuttered cafe in central Seoul, I met Yoon Seungwoo. His face looked a decade older in days. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠He dismissed his staff for a one-on-one.

"Long time. Sorry... because of me..."

Yoon fiddled with his coffee cup, bitter expression. I sipped mine casually.

"Not your fault, Coach. Just a disaster from bandwagon culture. No resignation thoughts, right? We do our jobs."

"..."

"So, dismissing staff for this solo chat... why?"

"I want the team I lead to unite as one."

I got the gist. Fixing all the national team bullshit so far. Probing my thoughts. Same question for every overseas guy—Bong Hyeoksu, Mo Chanhee too. Whatever, do your thing. We chatted his ideas, I responded vaguely, meeting over. He insisted on solos probably to avoid leaks becoming scandals if staff heard.

Next dawn. Association building in full alert. One official letter from Zurich, Switzerland.

Short and lethal content.

The news exploded across Korea.