Fan Service
The match ended just as it stood — 2–0, Manchester City.
After Nakamura went down, Brighton's attack went completely cold, and the minutes that remained slipped by in near silence.
After the whistle, we Manchester City players made a lap of Etihad Stadium, greeting the fans as we went.
No matter how brilliantly you played the game, without fans it was nothing more than kicking a ball around — and I knew that better than anyone.
That was when my eyes caught a little boy in the front row of the stands, wearing my kit, waving with everything he had. In his small hands he held a sign, the letters painted on in clumsy, earnest strokes.
TAEWOO IS MY HERO
My feet carried me that way before I had even decided to go.
"Hello there, little gentleman."
"Whoa! It's the real Jung Tae-woo!"
The way he bounced in place in front of me, voice bursting, unable to keep still — it was genuinely adorable.
"Heh. Yeah. The real Jung Tae-woo."
"I'm not a little kid — I'm Brian!"
"Brian? That's a cool name."
"Hehe. When I grow up, I'm gonna be an awesome goalkeeper just like you, hyung, and I'm gonna guard City's goal!"
Watching that pure, unguarded smile, I felt one spread across my own face before I could stop it. I had been that age once. I had looked up at someone too, and built a dream out of it.
"It's going to be really hard, you know. You'll have to train a lot. Work insanely hard. Think you can do it?"
"Of course! I'm the soccer king at my school too!"
"Yeah? Then this is a present for City's future goalkeeper."
I held out the gloves I had worn since the high school tournament — my most treasured pair — and offered them to Brian. His eyes went round as saucers. He took them as carefully as if he had just been handed the most precious treasure in the world.
"Whoa... are these really Tae-woo hyung's gloves?"
"Yeah. I've been wearing these since I was little. By the time they fit you, I hope I'll get to see you at City."
"Thank you!!"
Brian bowed his head in a proper little thank-you, and the spectators who had been watching from all around them rose to their feet as one and broke into applause.
"That's Tae-woo for you — he's nothing like those other young prospects!"
"How is he that handsome and that kind? Marry my daughter, Tae-woo!"
"Hey, your daughter's already in her forties. Snap out of it."
"...Love doesn't care about age."
The woman standing beside Brian — his mother, by the look of her — was watching me with shining eyes. Love for her son, and the raw emotion of the moment, sat plainly on her face.
"Thank you so much, Tae-woo. Brian watches your matches every day. He keeps saying he wants to be a goalkeeper."
"Not at all. I'm the one who should be thanking you. Having fans who cheer for me like this..."
And every bit of it was being captured, clear as day, on a certain broadcaster's camera.
"Ugh, I'm actually nervous..."
Sitting in a room drowning in Manchester City blue, it felt like I had walked straight into enemy territory. Me — a man who had spent his whole life supporting Manchester United — sitting in the Etihad Stadium interview room. If my past self could see this, he would probably call me a traitor and smack me upside the head.
But this... this was a truly special case. I had never dreamed, not even in my sleep, that the connection born from that one mistake would lead all the way here. It had started with a video of me tearing into Jung Tae-woo, then an apology, then a phone call... and now I was meeting him in person for an interview.
"Hah... my heart's pounding."
"I know, right? He looked handsome even from far away."
Today at the stadium, our entire film crew had witnessed something special. Tens of thousands of City fans roaring themselves hoarse for a young Korean player. Jung Tae-woo, humble even while all that love and noise poured over him, taking his time with the fans. And after the match especially — gifting his most precious gloves to a little boy, then going around and trading genuine high-fives, one person at a time — that had moved every last one of us.
Talking on the phone, I had thought we'd gotten somewhat close... but seeing that sincerity with my own eyes only made me more nervous.
Click.
The door opened, and today's star walked in. Like a shot from a film, the hallway lights spilled softly behind his silhouette and gathered into something like a halo.
"Whoa... insane."
"That's crazy..."
"Hss—"
Admiration spilled out of the crew before anyone could stop it. Everyone in the room nodded. Jung Tae-woo in Manchester City's sky-blue kit looked less like a person who existed in real life and more like a model who had been staged, down to the last detail, for a magazine cover or a commercial shoot.
"Hello. I'm Jung Tae-woo."
"Uh... yeah. Nice to meet you."
I could hear the shake in my own voice. The confident persona I wore on stream had vanished without a trace. I could see the producers trying not to laugh at me, but there was nothing I could do about it.
They say successful people have an aura about them...
His smile was warm, and at the same time there was something about him you couldn't quite reach. It made eighteen years of age feel almost irrelevant. The aura of a professional who had already claimed his place among the world's best players was coming off him in waves.
"Hmm..."
It was only a single, small sound of appreciation. And yet every gaze in the room locked onto him as if a spell had been cast — and so naturally, too. That was the kind of presence he had. Without doing a single special thing, every little movement of his pulled every eye in the room whether you liked it or not.
And the player carrying that overwhelming presence looked at me, smiled, and finally opened his mouth.
"Gamst-hyung, why are you so frozen up? You weren't like this on the phone."
He called me... hyung.
My mind went white. An eighteen-year-old genius goalkeeper in the Premier League. A World Class player adored by tens of thousands of fans — calling me hyung. None of it felt real.
Watching me frozen solid, Jung Tae-woo put on a mischievous little smile. Then he waved a hand back and forth in front of my face.
"Is St-hyung sick today? I was sure we'd gotten close, but you're way too frozen. Don't you think?"
The crew broke into small laughs. Only then did I manage an awkward smile of my own, and I felt the tension start to ease, bit by bit. The aura of a world-class player was still there — but inside it, I could see the playful boy as well.
"Hahaha... sorry. I'd only ever watched you on TV, and then I saw you actually play today and you were so good I just froze up without realizing."
"Haha. Then want to become a City fan?"
"That's a no."
I answered without a second of hesitation. Jung Tae-woo laughed, delighted.
"Oof. So firm, hyung."
Looking into his eyes, I could read exactly what he was doing. He had thrown the joke on purpose — to crack the awkward air and let my nerves out of their cage. Eighteen years old or not, he knew how to read a person and how to lead a room. Not just the face of a professional footballer, but this kind of careful consideration too. A player thriving in the world's best league, and the maturity of a grown human being to go with it. It was a striking combination. I was starting to understand, a little, how someone so young had become a core player at the finest club in Europe.
What an incredible kid...
The thought landed with a quiet kind of awe, and a smile formed on my face before I noticed it. Before I knew it, that first frozen tension had vanished without a trace.
Oof. Not even a little bit of give.
I had known it wouldn't work, but I had still wanted to try stuffing St-hyung into a City kit. That was looking truly impossible. Even with his nerves running wild, the way he had shut me down the instant I told him to become a City fan... he was a Manchester United supporter down to the marrow.
Still. Looks like the nerves have eased. Good.
We kept talking, and before I knew it the real interview filming had begun.
"Everyone — do you know where I am right now? My clothes are red, but everything around me is blue. Today, as a special treat, we're sitting down with South Korea's finest goalkeeper, the player currently writing a new chapter of history in the Premier League: Jung Tae-woo. Jung Tae-woo, great to have you!"
A greeting that was St-hyung through and through.
"Hello, everyone. I'm Jung Tae-woo. But St-hyung — why'd you suddenly go all formal on me again? Don't tell me..."
He squinted at the camera, playful as anything.
"You don't actually want to be friends?"
"Tae-woo, if you put on that face and act like that, hyung is actually going to get cancelled, you little—! Everyone, Tae-woo and I are like brothers. Do not get the wrong idea."
The interview rolled on from there. We picked out a European football legends Top 11, then a Korean legends eleven, and the time slipped by in easy, genuine fun. Then hyung's expression turned a shade more serious.
"Alright, Tae-woo. Next question's something I was personally curious about watching today's match... it might make you uncomfortable. Can I ask?"
"Go ahead."
"This time, after you saved Nakamura Kenji's shot, you dribbled it out yourself. Was there... a reason for that?"
He was worried, I could tell, that the whole thing would look like a provocation. And honestly, among Japanese fans, it was more than enough to start a fire. I had checked Nakamura's injury and immediately put the ball out so he could get treatment, and he had gotten hurt in the first place lunging into a reckless tackle on me — but none of that would matter to them. They would come for the person who had created the situation. And because I was Korean, they would come twice as hard. Hyung was already bracing for the abuse I might take.
That's St-hyung for you.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts, then answered evenly.
"Well... me dribbling it out could look like I was winding him up, I get that. But it was the manager's instruction. I just followed it. And Nakamura Kenji's injury — I really am sorry about that. I mean it."
Hyung nodded.
"It was a perfectly good counterattack, and you still kicked the ball straight out. I was genuinely impressed."
"For a footballer, injury is... a disaster. I figured getting him treated as fast as possible came first."
"Khh~ Our Tae-woo's not just good at football — he's the real deal as a person too. Alright, last question! Any words for the young prospects out there watching you and dreaming of becoming footballers?"
"Actually... there's a dream I haven't told anyone yet."
I looked straight into the camera and let the most serious voice I had carry the rest.
"Someone out there will say it's impossible. But I run toward that dream every single day. And so do you, don't you? Once you've decided on a dream — no matter what the people around you say — work at it until there's nothing left to regret."