Greenhouse Flowers and Wildflowers

"Daeseong Elementary players, enter the field!"

"Haeseong Elementary players, enter the field!"

With the stadium announcer's call, the curtain rose on the semifinals of the city tournament.

The heat in the stands rivaled a final. Word had already spread far and wide. The monstrous newcomers from Haeseong Elementary—who had demolished the "slaughterhouse" of Buksan Elementary and punched straight through the "ten-back" wall of Cheongsol Elementary—were now facing the traditional powerhouse and top favorites of the entire competition: Daeseong Elementary.

This was the final in all but name.

In front of the Haeseong bench, Gang-cheol loosened up while carefully studying the Daeseong players across the pitch.

Even their sheen was different.

Unlike the Haeseong kids in scuffed, dust-caked boots, the Daeseong squad strutted out in gleaming latest-model Nike cleats, crisply tailored brand-name kits, and matching warm-up jackets.

"Whoa... look at those boots. Aren't those the newest Vipers? Those cost over two hundred thousand won."

"Check their calves. Their muscle tone is totally different from ours. Kids who went through the elite track really are on another level."

Park Min-su muttered in a deflated voice. It made sense—Daeseong was essentially a mercenary corps built around kids scouted from Seoul's famous youth clubs.

"Don't freeze up. Boots don't score goals."

Gang-cheol slapped Min-su hard on the back.

But even his own gaze locked onto one particular player.

Daeseong's number 10. The slender boy wearing the captain's armband. Seo Jun-ho.

Pale skin, refined features—yet the way his feet caressed the ball was astonishingly soft.

Seo Jun-ho... the ace of the youth national team in my previous life.

The memory surfaced. While Gang-cheol had been drowning in despair after his failed rehabilitation, television had been loudly proclaiming this genius midfielder "the future of Korean football."

Of course, he had vanished without a whisper once he hit the adult stage and ran into the wall of physical limits. But at the elementary-to-middle-school level, he had been nothing short of a god.

"Heh."

The corner of Gang-cheol's mouth curled upward.

This was no mass-produced opponent like Hwang Bo-seok of Buksan or the kids from Cheongsol. The real deal had finally shown up.

Peeeeep—!

The match kicked off.

Daeseong took the first touch, and the air itself felt different.

Every team they had faced so far either launched hopeful long balls or simply bulldozed forward. Daeseong passed. Fast. Precise.

Tak. Tak. Tak.

The ball glided across the grass as if on ice. Maintaining triangular shapes, they peeled away Haeseong's pressure with practiced ease.

A cheap imitation of tiki-taka—yet effective.

"Stop them! Stick tight!"

Min-su and Cheol-su sprinted themselves ragged, but the ball had already moved before their boots could arrive. The Haeseong kids looked like puppies chasing a laser pointer.

Their level is high.

Gang-cheol held his position in midfield, reading the flow. At the center of it all stood Seo Jun-ho.

Jun-ho barely ran. He simply occupied empty space, received the ball, turned lightly when a defender closed, and sprayed it into the next pocket of space.

"This is too easy."

Jun-ho brushed past Gang-cheol and muttered with a sneer.

"All that hype for nothing. Country soccer's all the same."

Gang-cheol's eyebrow twitched.

Tenth minute of the first half. The disaster they had feared arrived.

Jun-ho collected the ball in midfield. Two Haeseong midfielders lunged in.

Unfazed, he dragged the ball back with his sole and instantly threaded a through-ball.

"Huh...?"

Haeseong's back line froze. Perfect timing to beat the offside trap.

The Daeseong striker took it in stride and casually rolled it into the net.

Swish—!

0–1.

A goal so clean it left no room for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠complaint.

"Waaaaah!"

"That's Daeseong for you! Different class!"

The stands erupted. The Haeseong bench fell silent as if doused with ice water.

The swagger they had carried after crushing Buksan and Cheongsol was gone. Defeatism began to seep into the kids' faces—Maybe we really can't do this.

"Hey! Heads up!"

Gang-cheol's roar shook the pitch.

He scooped up the ball, set it on the center circle, and glared at his teammates.

"Don't look like you're dying just because we conceded one. They didn't outplay us—we got scared and gave them the gap."

"B-but Gang-cheol... we can't win the ball. They're too fast."

"Then don't win it."

"Huh?"

"Stop chasing. Just cut the lanes. Those guys are greenhouse flowers. They only learned how to kick pretty. They don't know how to fight in the mud."

Gang-cheol's eyes flashed toward Jun-ho.

"From now on, I erase that number 10. You mark everyone else."

Play resumed.

Jun-ho was still full of swagger. Lead secured, he planned to toy with them.

"Give me the ball. I'll handle it."

He dropped deep, hand raised. A Daeseong defender obliged with a pass.

That instant.

"Got you."

A chill brushed the back of Jun-ho's neck.

Gang-cheol.

The moment Jun-ho stretched for the ball, Gang-cheol exploded forward like a predator and drove his shoulder in.

"Ugh!"

Jun-ho staggered. No foul—perfectly legal shoulder challenge.

But to a boy raised solely on "elite education," this rough yet technical physicality was alien.

Gang-cheol snagged the ball in the opening.

"You—!"

Jun-ho scrambled after him, but Gang-cheol already had his back turned.

The finished form of the post play he had drilled into Min-su.

Thirty-five years of experience shielding the ball, collapsing an opponent's balance with pure body positioning. No matter how desperately Jun-ho stretched, the ball stayed just beyond his reach.

"You play pretty soccer, huh?"

Gang-cheol glanced back with a grin.

"But this isn't a manicured grass pitch. It's dirt. Pretty soccer doesn't work here."

He feinted a turn, baited Jun-ho into the wrong direction, then exploded the opposite way.

Midfield cracked open.

"Min-su! Take it!"

The pass found Min-su. Confidence flooding back, he immediately locked into a physical duel with a defender.

Jun-ho, furious, chased Gang-cheol.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

Gang-cheol never slowed. When Min-su laid the ball back, he first-timed it forward again.

Kim Cheol-su was already racing into the space.

"Cheol-su! Just run!"

Daeseong's defensive line sat high—vulnerable to balls over the top.

Cheol-su's pure speed lit up.

"Uwaaaaah!"

He tore free. Elite Daeseong defenders scrambled in panic, but Cheol-su already had full momentum.

One-on-one with the keeper.

This time, though, he never got the shot off. A defender yanked his jersey from behind.

Peeep—!

The referee's whistle. Just outside the box.

Free-kick chance.

"Aargh, so close! I could've scored!"

Cheol-su pounded the dirt in frustration.

"You did great. That's enough."

Gang-cheol pulled him to his feet.

Distance: twenty meters. Dead center.

For Gang-cheol, it might as well have been a penalty.

Jun-ho barked orders while setting the wall.

"Hey! This kid's got a killer kick! Jump! Jump no matter what!"

Five Daeseong players formed the wall. Tension thickened.

Gang-cheol placed the ball and stepped back.

Jump, you say? Thanks for the tip.

He charged. Jun-ho and the wall leaped as one.

But Gang-cheol never lofted the ball.

He struck it low with the inside of his foot.

Thud.

The ball rolled gently beneath the jumping defenders' feet.

The famous "under-the-wall free kick"—Ronaldinho's old favorite.

"Wha...? Underneath?"

Jun-ho's eyes went wide mid-air.

The ball slipped leisurely under the wall and nestled into the far corner before the screened goalkeeper could even react.

Thwack!

1–1. Equalizer.

"Waaaaah! Captain!"

"He's a genius! A real genius!"

The Haeseong bench exploded. Jun-ho landed and stared blankly at the net.

He had lost the battle of wits completely.

Instead of celebrating, Gang-cheol winked at him.

"A little cold outside the greenhouse, isn't it?"

Second half.

Pride wounded, Jun-ho burned with venom.

How dare some country bumpkin look down on me?

He abandoned team play entirely, forcing solo dribbles.

"Out of the way! I'll do it myself!"

He collected the ball and unleashed dazzling skill, beating two Haeseong defenders. The talent was undeniable.

But Gang-cheol had been waiting for exactly that moment.

When you try to do it alone, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your vision narrows.

Just as Jun-ho beat the last man and cocked his leg to shoot, Gang-cheol appeared from the blind spot and cleanly nicked the ball away.

"What?!"

"Soccer isn't a solo sport, kid."

Gang-cheol instantly launched the counter.

Daeseong's shape had collapsed the second Jun-ho lost possession.

"Min-su, hold it up!"

A long ball arced toward Park Min-su.

By now Min-su was a master of post play. The big Daeseong center-back shoved hard, but Min-su dropped his hips, stuck out his rear, and held firm.

"Nngh... I'm not moving!"

While he battled, Gang-cheol, Cheol-su, and Young-sik surged forward like a wave.

Min-su laid the ball back. Gang-cheol collected it.

Only one final defender stood between him and glory.

"Come on then!"

The defender crouched low.

Gang-cheol never slowed. He sold a fake to the left, then burst right.

The phantom dribble—La Croqueta.

Optimized for an eleven-year-old body: short, sharp, devastating.

The defender planted the wrong foot and tumbled.

Now one-on-one with the keeper.

But the angle was tight. The goalkeeper rushed out, shrinking the target.

A shot gets saved. In that case...

Gang-cheol's brain simulation (S+) found the optimal solution in 0.1 seconds.

Kim Cheol-su, sprinting his lungs out from the far side.

Gang-cheol shaped to shoot—then stopped the ball dead with his sole.

The keeper slid past into empty space.

Gang-cheol simply stepped aside from the motionless ball, offering it to the trailing Cheol-su like a gift.

"Cheol-su! Tap it in!"

"Thanks!!"

Cheol-su rolled it gently into the unguarded net.

2–1. Comeback complete.

"Uwaaaaah! We're in the final! The final!"

Cheol-su raced around like a madman. Gang-cheol wiped sweat from his brow with a satisfied smile.

A perfect team victory.

Daeseong, reliant on individual brilliance, simply could not match Haeseong—now a single organism under Gang-cheol's baton.

Five minutes remaining.

Daeseong crumbled. Jun-ho looked one breath away from tears.

Passes, dribbles, tactics—everything had been shut down. Standing before the massive wall named Gang-cheol, his own talent suddenly felt pitiful.

Peeeeeeep—!

Full-time whistle.

Haeseong Elementary's place in the final was sealed.

"We won! We actually beat Daeseong!"

The kids hugged and cried. Coach Kim Pan-seok dropped to his knees and wailed. A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠miracle for the eternal bottom-dwellers.

Gang-cheol walked over to Jun-ho, who sat crumpled and sobbing.

"Hey."

"...Get lost. Come to laugh?"

"No. You were good. Technically better than me."

Gang-cheol extended his hand.

"But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠soccer isn't played with just your feet. You play it with your head—and your heart. Next time we meet, come as more of a man. Then I'll go all out against you."

Jun-ho wiped his tears and took the hand. In that tight grip, frustration and respect mixed as one.

Then applause rose from the stands.

It was Hans Schmidt, the Dortmund scout. He was on his feet, clapping.

"Bravo! Fantastic!"

Schmidt gave a thumbs-up and mouthed the words.

See you in the Final.

Gang-cheol grinned and raised a fist in answer.

Only one match left.

The final gate to city supremacy—the city tournament final—awaited.

"Strong-Team Killer, huh... I like the sound of that."

Gang-cheol adjusted the sweat-soaked captain's armband on his arm.

The highest step of the podium at the civic stadium was waiting for him.

And beyond it, a far wider world was already beckoning.

"Let's go. Time to claim the trophy."