The Tyrant's Return and the Gates of Hell
Monday morning. Haeseong Elementary School athletic field.
The eyes of the students arriving for class went wide. Over the weekend the entire landscape of the school had been transformed.
The dusty sand lot that used to kick up clouds of dirt was gone without a trace. In its place stretched a gleaming new artificial-turf pitch, still beaded with morning dew and glowing a vivid green. The goal nets had been replaced with taut, brand-new ones, and along the sideline sat a professional-grade bench and water station that looked like they belonged to a pro club.
"Yo, is this for real?"
"This is our school field? I heard LK Group did it."
"That Ma Gang-cheol kid hit some kind of jackpot this time..."
Through the murmuring crowd, the Haeseong Elementary soccer team swaggered onto the pitch in their uniforms, shoulders squared with pride. And why not? They were the city-tournament champions—chosen kids bankrolled by a major corporation.
"Man, look how soft this grass is. Sliding tackles won't even scrape anymore."
Striker Lee Dong-hyeok rolled around on the turf, cackling.
"When we hit the nationals, everyone else is dead. Facilities like this? Only idiots wouldn't win."
"But where's Gang-cheol? Skipping again today?"
Park Min-su glanced around. Ever since the city tournament, Gang-cheol had been absent from training for "personal reasons" (in truth, secret sessions with Choi Hyeon-seok). To the other kids he was no longer just a teammate—he had become something untouchable, almost divine.
"He'll show. But even without him we're pretty damn good, right? You saw me score two in last week's scrimmage?"
Lee Dong-hyeok trapped a ball with arrogant flair. The sweet fruit of the city title had planted both the medicine of confidence and the poison of complacency in the boys' hearts.
Then it came.
Thud. Thud.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the entrance to the field. These weren't ordinary steps. They carried the weight of someone crushing the turf underfoot with every stride.
Every gaze snapped toward the sound.
Ma Gang-cheol walked in wearing a black tracksuit, tightening the laces of his worn-out cleats as he came. His expression was the same indifferent mask as always, yet the air around him felt as cold as a Siberian plain.
"Oh! It's Gang-cheol!"
Lee Dong-hyeok waved cheerfully and sprinted over.
"Hey! Ma Gang-cheol! Why so late? You see the new turf? It's insane—"
"Move."
"Huh?"
Gang-cheol treated him like empty air and strode straight past. While a stunned Dong-hyeok stood frozen, Gang-cheol walked to the center of the pitch and bowed his head toward Coach Park Tae-su.
"Sorry I'm late, Coach. Needed a bit of personal maintenance."
"Uh... y-yeah. Gang-cheol. Body feeling okay?"
Coach Park Tae-su was oddly intimidated by the boy. Hardly surprising—he knew this eleven-year-old disciple was the reason the entire field had been ripped up and re-equipped. When the LK Group people had come and stressed "creating the proper training environment for Player Ma Gang-cheol," he had broken out in a cold sweat.
"Yes. Excellent. Almost too excellent..."
Gang-cheol slowly turned his head and swept his gaze over the teammates still sprawled on the grass.
Combat Power Analysis
Target: Haeseong Elementary Soccer Team (1st Squad)
Average Stats: F- (Critical)
Mental State: [Arrogance], [Laziness], [Complacency]
Notes: Severe lack of basic fitness. Tactical understanding rock-bottom.
Evaluation: "High probability of elimination in Hwarangdae Cup preliminaries."
A garbage dump.
Gang-cheol's eyes sharpened.
City champions? Pure luck. And the result of him running himself ragged to hard-carry the entire team.
But the national tournament—and beyond that, the LK Cup where the world's monsters gathered—would not be so forgiving. He couldn't face eleven opponents alone.
At minimum they needed the speed to receive his passes and the physique to hold the space he opened.
"Coach."
Gang-cheol's voice was low.
"Y-yeah. Go ahead."
"Our goal for nationals is the title, correct?"
"W-well, yeah. We got the sponsorship, so..."
"Then we change the training methods."
Without waiting for a reply, Gang-cheol turned and barked at the team.
"Everyone assemble. Ten seconds. Move."
"What? Hey, Ma Gang-cheol! Who the hell are you to order—"
"Nine. Eight. Seven..."
His voice carried the crushing weight of an irresistible Charisma stat. The dazed boys felt primal fear and scrambled into a ragged line. Even Park Min-su shuffled into place, stealing nervous glances at Gang-cheol.
"Lee Dong-hyeok. What did you just say?"
Gang-cheol stepped up to the boy at the front.
"Huh? Uh... just that the grass is nice..."
"That everyone dies when we hit nationals? That we're going to win?"
"W-well yeah! We crushed the city tournament—"
Gang-cheol let out a short, cold snort.
"Don't delude yourselves. I spoon-fed you that city title. It wasn't your skill."
"W-what?"
Dong-hyeok's face flushed crimson. His pride had been stabbed.
"Hey! You finished talking? Sure, you scored a ton, but we worked our asses off too! We defended, we passed!"
"That so? Then prove it."
Gang-cheol flicked the ball at his feet up into his hands.
"One versus ten. Starting now. Steal the ball from me even once in ten minutes and I'll admit it. But..."
His eyes flashed.
"If you can't, we train my way from today. No complaints."
"Ha! One versus ten? You insane? Even you can't pull that off!"
The boys murmured in disbelief. Eleven-year-old pride was on the line; ten kids failing to stop one was unthinkable. Coach Park Tae-su started to intervene, but Gang-cheol shot him a look that said Just watch.
"Begin."
The instant the ball touched the ground, Lee Dong-hyeok and two defenders charged.
"Get him! Surround him!"
In that same breath—
Whoosh—!
Gang-cheol vanished from their sight.
No—he hadn't vanished.
Explosive acceleration. With the limiter off, his muscles unleashed monstrous torque and blasted him across the turf.
"Wha...?"
While Dong-hyeok stumbled over empty air, Gang-cheol was already gliding between the two defenders with a silky Phantom Dribble.
"Stop him! Behind you!"
Park Min-su shouted, but it was too late.
Gang-cheol treated the ball as if it were glued to his foot, weaving freely through all ten boys. It was the overwhelming gap between an adult toying with kindergarteners.
Too slow.
In Gang-cheol's eyes their movements crawled in slow motion. Weight distribution a mess, eyes locked only on the ball. No need to even predict.
Tap.
A casual nudge sent the ball nutmegging a defender clean through the legs.
"Argh!"
The boy sat down hard on his backside in shock.
"One minute gone. Haven't even gotten close to the ball."
The taunt lit a fire under them. They lunged, grabbing jerseys, launching desperate tackles. Gang-cheol simply bounced them off with pure physique or slipped past with fluid turns.
This doesn't even qualify as rehab training.
He was disappointed. Teammates of this level would struggle to clear even the LK Cup preliminaries.
"Enough."
Exactly ten minutes later.
Only ragged breathing filled the field.
Ten boys lay sprawled on their backs staring at the sky. Gang-cheol stood over the ball without a single drop of sweat.
"Haa... haa... Impossible..."
Lee Dong-hyeok stared up at him in despair. A wall. An unclimbable, towering wall.
"Admit it. How pathetic you really are."
No one could argue with the cold verdict. Helplessness outweighed anger.
"City champions? That was a feast for frogs in a well. At nationals there are monsters as fast as me—no, faster and stronger—everywhere."
A lie, of course. At elementary level no one alive was stronger than Gang-cheol. But shock therapy required a little exaggeration.
"Go like this and we crash out in the prelims. LK Group sponsorship? One bad result and it's gone. Want to roll around in the dirt again?"
"......"
The boys' eyes wavered. Soft artificial turf, new kits, tasty snacks—they didn't want to lose any of it. And more than anything, they hated looking like fools.
"Then... what do we do?"
Park Min-su asked carefully.
The corner of Gang-cheol's mouth curled upward. The bait had been taken.
"Simple. Do exactly what I say. I'll tear your bodies down and rebuild them from scratch."
He pulled a thick stack of A4 papers from his pocket and handed them to Coach Park Tae-su.
"Coach. From today, this is the training schedule."
The coach took the documents and scanned them. His eyes filled with pure horror.
1. Ball-less Training (90%): No ball contact. Pure physical conditioning only.
2. Shuttle Runs: Reach absolute limit, then add 5 extra sets.
3. Core Reinforcement: Planks and burpees on infinite repeat.
4. Tactics: "When you get the ball, give it to Gang-cheol and run." (Systematization of the so-called "Give It to Gang-cheol" tactic.)
"Th-this... elementary kids can't handle this volume. This is special-forces training!"
The coach's hands trembled. Gang-cheol remained iron.
"One month until the Hwarangdae Cup. Too late to teach technique. If we lack skill, we crush them with stamina. Just make them able to run like dogs for ninety minutes straight. I'll handle the rest."
He turned and beamed at his terrified teammates. The smile looked exactly like a demon's.
"All right, everyone up. We start with warm-up."
"W-what's the warm-up?"
Lee Dong-hyeok asked in a frightened voice.
"Fifty laps of the field. First five get water."
"What? Fifty? The field got bigger, you psycho—!"
"Go."
Tweet—!
The blast of Gang-cheol's whistle opened the gates of hell.
"Not running? Last place stays for five hundred squats."
"Aaaaargh! Run!"
The boys screamed and took off. In that instant the peaceful Haeseong Elementary soccer team transformed into a Spartan training camp.
Gang-cheol folded his arms, watched them, and summoned the system window.
⊳ Objective: Raise team average stats to D-rank
⊳ Current Status: Training in progress (Progress 0.1%)
⊳ Effect: Party Leader's Charisma stat boosts training efficiency by 20%
Human resistance bands, basically.
Gang-cheol clicked his tongue.
Until those weak little legs turned into solid steel.
He intended to stretch his teammates—no, his human resistance bands—to the absolute limit.
To face the monsters of the LK Cup, even his own side needed to become at least something like zombies.
"Faster! Your legs can snap and you still won't die! I'll take responsibility!"
Gang-cheol's roar thundered across the field.
The golden age of Haeseong Elementary's tyrant, Ma Gang-cheol, had begun.