Champs vs. Europa
On the way to the locker room, Pep's interview was playing on the giant monitor.
Reporters' questions poured in, mostly focusing on how we'd struggled against PSV's intense pressing in the first half. Pep leaned into the mic with his signature sharp, confident expression.
"The first half wasn't easy. PSV were very organized, especially cutting off our paths through midfield. But football is a 90-minute game. We adjusted our rhythm at halftime and found the spaces."
Then one reporter tossed a snide question about my zero attacking points today. Pep shook his head with a mocking chuckle.
"Ryan's got a zero in the stats today? That's the kind of talk from people who don't understand football. Out of the four goals we scored, was there a single one that didn't touch Ryan's boot? He was the director in midfield today. He dropped deep below the halfway line, sacrificing himself to unbalance them and shake off that leech Tak Go-gang. Without Ryan, Haaland's brace and our comeback win wouldn't have happened. He's worth more than numbers."
Pep took a sip of water and added firmly,
"The moment Ryan dropped below the halfway line, PSV's midfield fell apart. If he hadn't dragged their midfield line out of position, Haaland wouldn't have had that space. It's the dominance that doesn't show in the stats—that's why I start Ryan every game. It's football intelligence that stats-obsessed smartasses can't comprehend."
Pep was more fired up than usual, lecturing the press like a teacher. A faint smile crept across my lips. The octopus coach really gets football. Unlike those Korean bandwagon fans who treat it like a spectacle, judging players by goals and assists—he sees the real game. It eased the frustration I'd been bottling up. Football speaks on the pitch. The weight of Manchester City, a starting spot at City, the manager's backing—it brings joy equal to any goal or assist.
Right after Pep's interview wrapped, a few reporters hit me up. "You won the match today—what's your take?"
"Away games are always tough. We fell behind early, but the team believed in each other. I found my rhythm in the end, and winning feels great."
"No goals today—any regrets?"
"Of course it'd be nice to score. But my role is to get the ball to our top finishers in the best positions. Marmoush and Haaland nailed it today, and I just did my job."
Straightforward, textbook answers. The reporters nodded, satisfied, and I gave a quick bow before heading off.
At the end of the mixed zone, familiar Korean voices rang out. The Korean press corps was waiting, eyes sparkling.
I met the Korean reporters who'd been hanging out in one corner of the stadium.
"The Korean derby with Tak Go-gang was intense today. What was it like facing him?"
I patted the PSV jersey slung over my shoulder—the one we'd swapped—and grinned. "It was brutal. In the first half, he was like a shadow, stuck to me. My calf's got cleat marks to prove it. Go-gang's got real grit, and he showed why he's a starter at a big club like PSV. Korean football's lucky to have a midfielder like him."
"October's almost here. The Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism's interim audit results for the football association drop on the 2nd. You've been called as a witness for the National Assembly audit—how do you see this announcement playing out?"
That question brought back the nausea. I stared straight into the camera lenses for a beat, then dropped a bombshell.
"Well, I don't think anything major will come out. There was never a problem to begin with."
The reporters' eyes widened. I didn't stop, laying out my thoughts.
"Sports should stay sports. The direction Korean football needs to go is listening to the voices from the pitch, not digging through paperwork for nitpicks. Politicians should stick to politics. Stop meddling in sports and wasting energy. Their job is to create an environment where players can focus solely on the grass and the ball—not stirring up drama to peddle their votes."
I lobbed another bomb. The scene went dead quiet, like ice water had been dumped on it, but I didn't care and kept going.
"I'm certain nothing will happen on October 2nd. And from now on, I'll focus on what I do best—proving it on the pitch. Let the politicians handle their own mess. I can't stand watching incompetents ruin sports too."
I strode off, leaving the stunned reporters behind. Whispers followed, but whatever. This is how I deal with the world—and how Ryu Rion of Manchester City protects Korean football.
As a Korean derby, interest in the Champions League among Koreans was sky-high.
The afterglow of the PSV away win hadn't even faded before I was back in Manchester's cold rain.
Eindhoven was history. Now staring me down was the Premier League's brutal schedule and the looming Newcastle clash.
I fired up my smartphone in bed. Korean portal sites were, predictably, on fire. But one name caught my eye more than mine.
I burst out laughing at the articles. Sure, I'd admit fighting reporters, bandwagon fans, and politicians had tanked my image back home. That backlash made these low-key diss wars inevitable. But now the press was blatantly propping up Europa like it was comparable. Mo Chanhee must've padded his stats in the Europa League. To those writers, though...
They were overlooking—or deliberately ignoring—one key fact.
UEFA's rule changes had flipped European competitions upside down. No more sliding from third in Champions League groups to play king in Europa. Straight-up banned. Drop below 25th in the league phase? Pack your bags and go home. No Europa safety net. The new rules made it impossible for big clubs like ours to even enter Europa. For me, my team, Real Madrid, or Barcelona to play Europa, we'd have to finish 5th in the league or win a domestic cup—and get bumped out of Champs. Strut around Europa all cocky? We'd have to tank the league title for 5th place. That's why the press's Europa hype is so goddamn laughable.