Family Ties and Futsal Mastery
Do you know her? Hong Yu-bin's mother, the one I've run into a few times. No matter how hard I try to see her in a good light, no warm feelings budge.
She only started tolerating me hanging around Yu-bin once she learned I was top of the school. It wasn't until we moved to this affluent neighborhood that she began treating me like any other ordinary kid. Sure, I've seen her on TV being fawned over as "madam, madam," but if there were such a thing as a real madam, I bet she'd look just like this. Every gesture drips with ingrained luxury—Yu-bin's mother through and through.
"Oh? Did Do-hyun walk you home?"
"Hello."
"What a sweetheart. We always appreciate it~"
"No big deal. Our house is right next door anyway."
With a quick smile, Yu-bin's mother told her daughter she was heading out and drove off. I nudged the lingering Yu-bin at our front gate.
"Time to head in."
"Yeah! See ya, Do-hyunie~"
She waved goodbye and slipped inside. I started walking home slow and steady, pulling out my smartphone to check stocks for August 17, 2002. In two years, the market's gonna crash hard. Better stock up on ammo now.
Strolling toward home, I naturally ended up in front of the tteokbokki stand handing out free skewers to lure churchgoers. It's like a sparrow passing a mill—impossible to ignore. Old habits die hard when it's free; my instincts still kick in.
"Got little siblings at home. Two, please."
"Look at that healthy appetite~ You should bring your siblings next time!"
"Sure thing."
Not two, but four skewers packed into a bag by the kind lady. Is this the real-life saintess? In webtoons, fantasy saintesses are either water carriers or widows. Here in reality, she's that warm, nurturing vibe somewhere between a friendly auntie and grandma.
Tteokbokki in hand, I headed to our new villa. Dad's playing in the K2 League now. We hit the soccer fields often to watch his games. I always thought he had a solid kick, but his skills were skyrocketing lately. Like he'd bottled up his love for the game all those years and was finally unleashing it on the pitch. Mom teared up watching him more than once. But Dad's all in on training for his goals—now boarding at the team dorms, coming home just twice a week.
Spotting his car in the lot, I rode the elevator up and stepped inside.
"I'm home."
"Son's back!?"
Dad's voice boomed from the back first. Our new place was about four times bigger than the old one we'd moved from right after regressing.
Min-ji peeked out from behind the wall, then spotted the bag in my hand and came barreling over, latching onto me. She hadn't been this open at first, but she'd brightened up a ton lately.
"Oppa~!"
"Ta-da~ Got tteokbokki."
"Wooow..."
Mom came out late, tried a piece, and figured it was too spicy for Min-ji. She wiped off some sauce with her fingers and handed it over.
"Min-ji's lucky to have such a cool big brother~"
"Yeah!"
Min-ji chomped away happily. Being so young, her wariness toward me had melted like cotton candy in water. All it took was this... and I'd failed to give it before.
I spent time with her folding paper crafts and drawing. Dad tried joining in, but those rough hands of his? No chance.
"Do-hyun, wanna go play soccer?"
Pre-regression, he'd coax me out for general exercise. Now it was straight-up soccer.
"I'm down, but just us two?"
"Saw a futsal court on the way."
Futsal. Truth be told, I'd played more futsal than full soccer in my past life. It was my home turf. No need to sprint these short legs around a full field—perfect for my build.
"Okay."
"Oppa..."
Min-ji whined as I stood, wanting more paper folding. I sat back down. Mom tried stepping in to play with her instead, but Min-ji kept glancing at me, unsure. Mom looked flustered. Even Dad seemed shocked, staring at me. Like it was a miracle Min-ji was hesitating between her and me.
Of course it was... I was stunned myself and plopped right back down.
"Dad, next time?"
"Y-yeah?"
I played with her another two hours. Only as the sun dipped low, painting the sky orange, did Dad and I head to the futsal court.
"Didn't know this was here."
"Right? Spotted it on the way—super well-kept too."
I bounced the ball casually as we walked. Dad eyed me suspiciously.
"You working out?"
"How'd you know?"
"You're eating more, and for a kid, those thighs are jacked."
Even pre-regression, I'd never slacked on bodyweight training. Half a year in a vegetative state? No way I'd skip exercise now. I kept it steady, nothing to strain this young body. Though its limits were still a mystery to me.
"Maybe from kicking the ball alone at school?"
"Alone? What about friends?"
"Gotta match my level first. Might as well practice on scarecrows."
"Fair. At your age, I would've..."
We hit the court—father and son duo. Flicked on the lights, then drilled dribbles and steals back and forth. When bored, we'd shoot into the empty net. Just as sweat started pouring, rowdy voices echoed from afar.
"Who's playing here?"
"Huh? On our gym's turf? No way..."
A pack of young guys swarmed in. Spotting us, they scratched their heads and approached. Dad spoke first.
"Is this... private property?"
"Yeah. Sign at the entrance says Hanlim Taekwondo."
"Ah... Missed that. Sorry."
"No prob—wait, are you... Kim Hyun-seok the player?"
Dad had only been with the Seoul team four months, and someone recognized him. Dad's eyes went wide.
"You know me?"
"Seoul EFC! Veteran rookie!!! How could I not? Huge fan! You see the articles? K1 League scouts were going nuts over you!"
The guy rattled off Dad's info like a true fanboy. Dad chuckled awkwardly.
"Haha, hahaha."
Praising Dad? Great. But "veteran rookie" at 27? Kinda harsh. Still, first I'd heard of K1 interest—Dad grinned sheepishly.
"Uh, mind if we join for futsal?"
"I'd love that. But... my son."
"Your kid? Hey! I'm Do Min-jun. Coach at Hanlim Gym down the hill."
"Kim Do-hyun."
"You seem kinda old-soul for a kid."
Who says that to someone's face? Usually it's "mature for your age," right? Or maybe he's got a similar backstory... Taekwondo folks all had solid builds—no students in sight, just pros. Do Min-jun glanced at Dad.
"But won't your son get hurt? We play rough."
"Nah, he's sharp. Holds his own even against me."
"Still worried..."
This guy's treating me like dog chow... Time to show even top hardware flops without a good CPU.
We split teams for a practice match to gauge levels. They put me and Dad together, though we'd aimed to split. Game on—Do Min-jun wasn't kidding about the physicality. Expected from athletes. But even these strikers couldn't jostle Dad properly. Their feet even tangled, and Dad's power edged out their taekwondo precision.
"Wh-what strength!!!"
Dad's cannon-shot rocketed in like a bullet. Straight into the net.
"......"
Late realization: Hanlim Taekwondo folks were all pro athletes. But sleek speedsters managing weight classes couldn't muscle past Dad's power-and-stamina build.
"How 'bout no more goals?"
"Th-that'd be great."
Dad's support game—back in his beggar days, he'd just pass in early-morning soccer. With his feeds, I danced with the ball.
"Insane..."
"Kid's a beast too? Unreal..."
"He's nine."
"Whoa~ Korea's soccer future's bright."
" semis, why not a championship?"
Our "teammates" chattered like soccer gods from another realm, not helping. Against their weaklings avoiding contact, opponents must've been fuming. Pinned in the corner, I pulled a Berbatov turn—spun, chipped the ball with my cleat's toe into space, vaulted the defender's legs.
"Whoa..."
Normally, you'd knee a hanging ball down. But short as I was, I headed it. Dribbled again—keeper charged like a tackler, narrowing the angle. Smart play... if I were shooting point-blank. Instead, heel-push into a backheel flick—clean lob over him. Perfect arc into the goal.
Thud...
Silence. Jaws on the floor all around. Summer flies could move in. Dad? Airballing my Berbatov turn mid-air.
"Whoa..."
"...My kid, but that dribbling'd fool pros. What kinda tricks..."
I'd messed around with pros back then. Turned military futsal into art. Naturally, I knew every verified skill from the future world.