Arsenal’s Steel Will Meets City’s Unbreakable Keeper

After the unsavory incident that had rocked the squad, the press predicted the team's atmosphere would crumble. Some even voiced concerns about the victim's mentality — he was, after all, an eighteen-year-old Asian prospect.

We put those worries to rest completely. Consecutive wins against Nottingham Forest in Round 2, Sheffield United in Round 3, and Fulham in Round 4 swept the doubts aside, and I shut out every opponent, showing I hadn't been shaken in the slightest by the affair with Ederson.

Still, a few voices argued that our opponents so far had mostly been lower-table sides, and that the Round 5 clash against powerhouse Arsenal would be our team's true test.

Arsenal, a powerhouse?

Arsenal had, of course, once achieved the legendary unbeaten title — the Invincibles — and they ranked among the most formidable sides in Premier League history. In the Wenger era they had been so dominant they were called an invincible armada. But the Arsenal of today was a far cry from that team. Their strength had faded considerably, and that was simply a fact.

On top of that, looking at the tactics Arsenal had been using lately, I couldn't feel confident no matter how I turned it over in my mind.

Confident of losing, that is.

Unlike us, who played intricate passing and possession-based Tiki-Taka, Arsenal primarily used what they called kick and rush — long balls from the defenders aimed at creating one-on-one chances between their striker and the opposing goalkeeper.

The tactic looked simple, but it could become a devastating weapon when the other side packed the midfield with bodies. As I'd just said, though, the whole point of it was manufacturing a one-on-one between the forward and the keeper...

And that's exactly the situation I'm most confident in. Honestly, I have no confidence I'll concede a goal in a one-on-one.

At first I'd wondered whether growing three centimeters would even help that much. Over the course of these matches, it had been an enormous advantage. Balls I thought I couldn't save even with my usual reactions would graze my fingertips and get stopped.

Anyway, the conclusion was simple. As long as I was at City, Arsenal was no longer a strong team.

Arsenal's manager, Michael Brown, was a man who loved so-called kick-and-rush football. Of course, everyone dismissed his tactics as "football without a system" or "a tactic only weak teams use." But he had his own philosophy, and his own pride.

"There's no need to attack for the full ninety minutes. We only need to score once — just once in ninety minutes. That's football."

And this season, his philosophy was working with surprising success.

A manager's true worth is ultimately proven by results. No matter how innovative or beautiful a tactic might be, without matching results it is nothing more than a fanciful theory. Conversely, no matter how outdated a tactic might seem, if the results are there, no one has the right to criticize it.

And the next opponent was Manchester City's Peter Guardian — a manager who, like Brown himself, had been leading his team since last season.

If I can beat this team, I can prove the value of my tactics.

Unlike Brown, Peter Guardian was a manager who received high tactical praise. Even with his own philosophy and conviction, wanting recognition was only human nature. In this match, he wanted to dominate Peter Guardian completely on the tactical board and show the world.

My tactics are by no means outdated. I simply have my own strategy — one that's different from everyone else's.

"Hah... To do that, I'll need to thoroughly understand City."

His gaze turned to the laptop on his desk. On the screen, footage of Manchester City's players was playing. The first subject of analysis was Guerrero, City's new signing this season.

"His movement is really good..."

Brown's eyes lit up. On screen, Guerrero moved freely among the defenders like a fish through water. The timing with which he slipped behind the defensive line to beat the offside trap was close to art.

"He's constantly checking the distance to the last defender... You can't train that. It's like instinct. And the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one threading passes perfectly timed to that movement..."

His gaze naturally shifted to Sanchez.

"He puts the exact right spin on the pass, matching the direction and speed of the striker's run. Plus the creativity to thread balls from unexpected angles... If there's a weakness, it'd be that he's a bit lacking physically."

Brown fell into thought for a moment. To exploit Sanchez's weakness, he'd need to assign a physically strong defender to him. But completely shutting down those creative passing lanes wouldn't be easy.

"Hah... Unbelievable. How did he even bring in all these kids?"

Tactically speaking, he didn't think the gap between himself and Peter Guardian was all that large. But there was one thing he had to concede. When it came to spotting young talent, Guardian was a step above.

The footage moved on, and this time City's defensive scenes began ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to play. Castillo's defending filled the screen.

"Hmm... This kid's tackles are precise and clean. That split-second decision-making is remarkable. And that physique and speed..."

Brown rewound several times to watch Castillo cut off an opposing attacker's dribble. At 188 cm with solid muscle, Castillo never lost a physical battle. Add in his pace, and he had the ideal defender's profile for modern football. The way he refused to buy the opponent's feints and intercepted the ball at the perfect moment was impressive.

"For a defender, his build-up play is excellent too..."

Finally, the footage moved on to City's new goalkeeper, Jung Tae-woo. The video kept playing, but unlike when he'd analyzed the other players, Brown said nothing — simply concentrating on the footage.

As the night wore on, the only light in the office was the pale blue flicker of the laptop screen.

He picked up the mouse and rewound the footage to the start. And then again. Even through a third viewing, not a single word left his lips. Only his gaze grew sharper and sharper, until finally, as the third replay ended, words spilled from his mouth for the first time.

That single phrase said everything he was feeling.

Guerrero, Sanchez, Castillo — everyone he'd watched so far were the top prospects of their age group, and all of them were showing the best play imaginable for their years. But this was different. Jung Tae-woo's play... was something that simply could not come from an eighteen-year-old goalkeeper.

"It's like a World Class player on the verge of retirement, given a young body and sent back onto the pitch."

What stunned him wasn't simply the reaction speed or the shot-stopping. The way he read the game, his build-up ability... even how he synced with the back line. Everything was perfect, as if he'd played hundreds of matches as a veteran.

This is going to be harder than I thought.

That night, the lights in Arsenal's manager's office — preparing for the match against Manchester City — stayed on far later than usual.

Before kickoff, as the players were warming up, a chant I'd never heard before began to ring out from the stands.

It was a chant for me — Jung Tae-woo.

They've already made a chant for me.

Chants were something fans created as a token of gratitude for a player who'd made a conspicuous impact on the team. The fact that one had been written after ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠only four rounds of the season was proof of just how much they were pinning their hopes on me.

"Angel face... I like that part the most."

Back in the Kim Chan-ki days, the chant had included the words "devil face."

Beside me, Guerrero, who had been stretching, started grumbling again.

"Hey, why don't I have one? City's hero, exploding with goals lately, and this is how they treat me?!"

As if they'd read Guerrero's mind, the fans launched into a chant with his name the moment mine finished.

"Why is my chant nothing but 'he's crazy'?"

"Well, that's because you actually are a lunatic."

Guerrero ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pouted, clearly unhappy with his chant. But there was nothing to be done about it. Whether you looked at him from far away or up close, he really was a lunatic.