Racial Bias (3)
The words echoed through the stadium like a slap across the face, and I simply smiled, unable to suppress the amusement flickering in my eyes.
"You know, among all the strikers I've seen, your shots have been the slowest. You might want to try putting in a bit more effort. In my eyes, you're playing at the League Two level."
Henriques spun around at my remark, but I just kept grinning.
[Stare at me all you want. What exactly do you think you can do?]
His glare sharpened, yet all he could manage was that same empty threat.
By the end of the first half, the match had unfolded exactly as I anticipated. I stopped one futile shot after another from the opponent, and our side held a commanding 1-0 lead as the whistle blew.
As I headed toward the dressing room, a sea of fury burned in his eyes.
"He shouldn't be acting like this already."
In the second half he would fully renounce his role as a striker. I would show him firsthand what true powerlessness looked like.
"Hey, Tae-woo. I played pretty well, right?"
Guerrero sauntered over, eyes sparkling like a kid waiting for praise from his parent.
[If I had a tail, it would be wagging like crazy right now.]
"What exactly did I do well?"
"I scored for the fans in the stands instead of you!"
Guerrero flashed a proud grin.
"Seriously, you took a yellow card. What's there to brag about?"
"No, Tae-woo, this isn't about the yellow card—this is about pride!"
Castillo, standing nearby, tugged Guerrero back.
"Guerrero, you can stop now. That expression you were making earlier... I saw it."
"W-w-w... don't tell me it's the demon...
Castillo simply nodded.
Guerrero, the moment he met my gaze, twisted his head away unnaturally.
"Hahaha... guess I'll head back to the locker room and watch."
"Come with us."
"Hiiik! I'm sorry! Don't hit me!"
"..."
Was I really doing anything? This hulking guy was acting like I was terrifying him.
"Hey, since when have I been called a demon? Have you ever met a handsome demon like me?"
Castillo and Guerrero exchanged glances, their faces drained of color, eyes wide with genuine fear.
By then Sanchez, who had been silent, spoke in a hushed, trembling voice.
"Tae-woo... sorry, but in every movie the demons are portrayed as incredibly handsome. That's even scarier."
"Damn it."
My irritation flared, and the hallway instantly froze.
The three of them grew pale, as if we'd stepped into the middle of a horror film.
"..."
With my words lost, the trio clutched each other and shook.
Guerrero trembled like a frightened puppy with his massive frame, while the others fared no better.
"Why are they acting like I've summoned a serial killer! I'm a law-abiding man, for crying out loud."
He was so unjustly upset.
* * *
Bang!
"I will never be satisfied with a single point. This match today... will be etched into history as a tragedy that everyone remembers, no matter how much time passes. The reason... you all already know."
Peter Guardian's sharp voice thundered through the locker room.
Every player's eyes locked onto me at once.
"Hah... it's a little heavy."
The way the squad was staring at me—like I was some wounded beast—felt almost overwhelming, but I kept quiet, knowing they meant well.
"Those guys crossed every line. In this world, our Tae-woo, who should be proud of his heritage, who should even be a fully grown adult, is still just a twenty-year-old kid... yet they dared to insult our youngest like that? This is... something that can never be forgiven."
"That's right!"
The players' thunderous reply rang out.
"How dare they... even in the first half they were on their knees before us."
Cold fury laced the coach's tone.
"I'll show you exactly how I'm going to make them kneel. And Tae-woo!"
Still lost in thought, I shot upright at his sudden call.
"Yes, sir!"
"Look! Kids, when has our Tae-woo ever leapt to attention like this? He may not have said it, but it's clear he's hurt."
"Huh? Just thinking about it...
"You brats, don't worry about Tae-woo. I'll create a situation today where he can truly run wild."
"Ah... yes."
I'd been about to ask something, but seeing the manager speak first, I could tell he was really angry.
"He must have been trying to cheer me up by being stronger, but he's actually furious."
Our coach had discovered me at the Olympics and brought me to Manchester City. He'd always believed my aggressive talent was too precious to waste.
So once everyone had mastered the current build-up tactic, we moved on to something else.
"We're going to dribble through the counter-attack."
This was the fusion of Cheon Mu-seok's ultra-attacking style—where the goalkeeper joins the forward line—and City’s philosophy.
Honestly...
Guardian didn't want me confined to the keeper role.
The words he'd spoken right after training on my first day still rang in my ears.
"Must you be a goalkeeper?"
Yet I refused the position change.
He'd been deeply disappointed.
Anyway, as the season progressed he stopped saying it.
Either way, this tactic was about aggressive play from the goalkeeper.
It wasn't like Cheon Mu-seok's, which relied on a sudden "one-touch" run when a counter opened up, with two defenders covering the back.
This was entirely different.
Defenders would protect their zones, passing the ball patiently in a classic build-up.
But the decisive difference was my role.
I was no longer just a keeper.
I functioned as the team's eleventh outfield player.
Like an attacking libero, I stepped beyond the keeper's box, becoming a passing option in the middle and occasionally carrying the ball myself.
While Cheon Mu-seok's tactic sought surprise "one-timers," this was continuous pressure and possession football.
At its core was ball control.
Fancy tricks were fine. Dribbling was fine. But we could never lose possession.
Because this wasn't a one-off chance—it was integration into the team's core system.
This was the sweeper-keeper concept taken to an even higher level.
Beyond simply distributing behind the defensive line like Neuer, it meant actively joining the build-up and sometimes rising into midfield for extra attacking options.
It was a high-difficulty tactic that allowed no errors, yet one that could completely overwhelm the opponent if executed perfectly.
Of course...
Having the goalkeeper's shots and dribbles exceed the strikers' while his passing vision surpassed the midfielders' was absurd.
But for me, it was possible.
The experience of standing at the peak as a striker combined with the sharpened reflexes forged through goalkeeper training.
Through countless repetitions, I had convinced myself: the Tae-woo of today had surpassed Kim Chan-ki.
Faster, more precise, more lethal. I had reached a height no striker had ever touched.
'Wonder how many goals I'll score.'
I was curious myself.
* * *
My blood was boiling.
Tae-woo...
That boy I cherished, being humiliated by such shallow fools.
Tae-woo, whose talent and pure passion shone, treated like this by someone who couldn't even reach his feet.
Unlike my daughter, I could give him everything—the team's future, every ounce of my football knowledge, even my heart.
But right now...
Those personal feelings didn't matter.
I couldn't stand by and watch these idiots insult not just my player, but football itself.
"On top of being a striker, you can't even attack like Tae-woo, and you still pull that racist crap?"
So I decided to show them.
The tactic we had prepared—the one that would transcend the keeper's limits, no, transcend football's limits.
Henriques,
watch closely how this Asian goalkeeper, whom you so despised, completely dismantles your defense.
And feel the frustration. Before the endless abyss of talent.
"It was a mistake on my part. I was reprimanded in the locker room."
Arsenal's Michael Brown, the manager...
He wasn't an ally or an enemy—just someone I had come to like.
Or rather, someone whose philosophy I secretly respected.
The "kick and rush" tactic he had championed, studied to the end, and defended with his own philosophy despite endless criticism.
But now he looked utterly pathetic to me.
An incompetent manager who couldn't even control his own players.
A hollow shell wearing the title.
Managerial duties included more than just tactics—player management was at least as important, perhaps more so.
He should have known that one player's rebellion could tarnish the team's dignity.
Brown, where did your stubborn philosophy go?
If he'd applied the same intensity to his players' character as he did to tactics, today's disgrace would never have happened.
That's why
I said nothing to him.
I simply stared at the pitch, hands in my pockets.
No words were needed.
Tae-woo would soon show me what true football, what a true professional was.
And it wouldn't take long for him to prove it.
"W-what...?"
The hollow voice from beside me.
It carried the despair of someone whose entire concept of football had shattered.
"Hmm... is Tae-woo's condition off today? His dribbling seems a bit slippery."
My remark drew a baffled stare from the Arsenal bench.
Confusion was written across their faces.
Evaluating a goalkeeper's dribbling? To them, this was an incomprehensible scene.
The crowd fell silent.
Players shook their heads, unable to tell if it was reality or a dream.
'Hah... yeah, that's football. That's what real football looks like.'