The Red Card Crisis
Weekend. The Ajax Youth Cup semi-final.
De Toekomst main stadium.
The stands were packed wall to wall. The crowd was more than three times the usual turnout for a youth match. The reason was simple.
Their opponents were that FC Barcelona.
"Whoa... it's really Barça."
In the locker room, Tomas swallowed hard as he peered out the window while warming up.
Far across the pitch, on the away bench, boys in the iconic Blaugrana—blue-and-red striped—jerseys of Barcelona were loosening up. They looked relaxed. No, they looked almost arrogantly calm. Pride in belonging to the world's greatest youth system, La Masia, radiated from every movement.
"Don't freeze up. The jersey doesn't play the game."
Gang-cheol spoke evenly as he tied his bootlaces. Even so, his own mind was not entirely at ease.
Barcelona youth from 2009...
Digging through his past-life memories, he knew there was a high chance that among those players were future monsters who would one day break into the first team—heirs of the golden generation that would define the peak of tiki-taka.
"You all know today's tactics, right?"
Coach Frank de Boer rapped the chalkboard.
"They're possession demons. Chase the ball and you'll only burn stamina. We sit deep and wait for one clean shot. And at the center of that..."
The coach's gaze locked onto Gang-cheol.
"Ma Gang-cheol. That's you."
"Leave it to me."
Gang-cheol nodded.
False 9.
Today was the day he would smash La Masia's philosophy right in front of their eyes.
"Peeeeep—!"
Kickoff.
Exactly as expected. Barcelona owned the ball.
Tap, tap, thump.
The ball clung to their feet as if glued there. Short pass, movement, pass again. Whenever Ajax players rushed to press, they slipped free with a single touch.
"Damn... they're really good."
From the bench, Ho-seok hyung clicked his tongue. Possession 7–3. Ajax was being forced into a half-court game.
Fifteenth minute of the first half.
Barcelona scored first.
A killer through-ball from a midfielder slicing into the center, finished cleanly by the winger. The Ajax defense had chased the ball until it collapsed.
0–1.
The stands murmured. Of course—Barcelona was still Barcelona.
Ajax shoulders sagged.
But Gang-cheol clapped and roared.
"Heads up! We expected this! They score one, we score two!"
He walked to the center circle and opened the system.
💡 Tactical Code Activated: 'False 9'
- Analyzing gaps in the opponent's defensive line.
- Weakness detected: Opposing center-backs are pushing the line too high.
Arrogant.
The Barcelona center-backs had stepped almost to the halfway line—clear proof they were underestimating Ajax's attackers.
Gang-cheol's lips curled.
That arrogance is going to cost you.
Play resumed.
Gang-cheol did not stay high. He dropped all the way back into a defensive midfielder's position.
"What? He's dropping again?"
Barcelona's defenders muttered among themselves, assuming the striker had come back to defend. They relaxed and pushed the line even higher.
It was a trap.
"Now!"
Deep in his own half, Gang-cheol intercepted the ball. Without turning, he twisted his body and whipped a diagonal long pass.
BOOM—!
The ball dropped into the vast empty space behind Barcelona's high line. Ryan was already sprinting like a madman, fully aware of the prearranged play.
"Huh?!"
The Barcelona defenders spun too late.
One-on-one with the keeper.
Ryan finished calmly into the far corner.
Ripple!
1–1. Level.
"Waaaaaah!!"
The Ajax home fans erupted. One single pass had neutralized tiki-taka. Gang-cheol's false movement had created the space, then linked it with a lethal ball.
From there the match turned into a slugfest.
Thirtieth minute of the second half.
Gang-cheol worked magic again.
At the top of the penalty arc, three defenders swarmed him. He feinted a shot, then dragged the ball back with the sole of his boot.
No-look pass.
Tomas, surging from behind, hammered a rocket of a long-range shot into the net.
2–1. Lead.
"Insane! Ma Gang-cheol!"
Ajax had flipped the script like a miracle. Fifteen minutes left. Hold on and they would land the big fish.
But the gods never grant victory so easily.
Forty-fourth minute of the second half. (89th minute.)
One minute remaining in regulation.
Barcelona threw everything forward—all-out attack. Near the halfway line, an Ajax defender made a fatal pass error. Barcelona's ace, number 10, pounced on it.
"Counter! Stop him!"
Ajax's back line was already high. The space behind them was wide open. Number 10 drove forward like a gale. Ajax keeper Van der Sar rushed out to narrow the angle.
The problem was the location.
Outside the penalty box.
The Barcelona attacker poked the ball past the keeper. Van der Sar launched himself on pure instinct.
And then...
Thud.
The ball struck the keeper's hand.
Outside the box.
"Peeeeeeep—!!!!"
The referee's whistle cut the air like a blade. The stadium fell silent as if doused in ice water. The referee sprinted toward the keeper and reached into his back pocket.
SENDING OFF
Denial of an obvious goal-scoring opportunity. Direct red. No argument.
"Ah..."
The keeper clutched his head and sank to the turf. But the real disaster was still coming.
"Coach! The substitution cards!"
Jansen sprinted toward the bench. Van Basten's face had gone the color of ash.
"None left."
"What?"
"All three subs... already used."
Despair.
They had burned every substitution card in the middle of the second half for stamina management. The keeper was sent off. No backup keeper could enter. And Barcelona now had a free-kick chance right outside the box.
Score 2–1. Four minutes of stoppage time. The goal stood empty.
"What do we do? Someone has to put on the gloves!"
The referee pressed them. One outfield player had to wear the keeper's jersey. The players only glanced at one another. No one stepped forward.
Of course not. The opponent was Barcelona. No one felt confident stopping the free kick—and if it went in, if the match went to penalties, who among these teenage boys wanted to be the scapegoat for defeat?
"I'll do it."
"No, I..."
While the defenders hemmed and hawed, the atmosphere hit rock bottom.
Then—
"Move."
A firm voice. Every head turned.
Ma Gang-cheol.
He strode over, picked up the gloves and jersey the dismissed keeper had left behind.
"Ma... Ma Gang-cheol? You?"
Tomas asked, stunned.
Gang-cheol answered by peeling off his own sweat-soaked jersey and pulling on the loose goalkeeper top. The yellow keeper jersey settled over his frame.
"A midfielder can't play keeper! No!"
From the bench Frank de Boer shouted. Parking the team's ace in goal was tactical suicide.
But Gang-cheol flashed a thumbs-up and a wink toward the bench.
Don't worry. This is my specialty.
He walked to the goal line. Standing on it, the goal looked as wide as the Pacific. Yet he felt no fear. His heart only burned hotter.
⚠️ Position Change Detected: GK
💡 Hidden Trait Activated: 'Guardian's Instinct'
- Reflexes +30%
- Dynamic vision maximized
- Reading the opposing kicker's mental state
A few days earlier, the fifty-euro bet with Tomas. That was when he had realized something.
His eyes might be better suited to stopping the ball than striking it.
"Ready, Ajax?"
The Barcelona kicker set the ball down. Free-kick spot: twenty meters dead center. Clear the wall and it was a goal.
Ajax players built the wall with faces full of dread.
"No gaps! Stick tight! Tighter!"
Gang-cheol bellowed from the goal line, adjusting the wall. No hesitation in his voice—pure charisma, as if he had been a ten-year veteran keeper.
Far left corner. Or a chip over the wall.
Gang-cheol's eyes narrowed. The kicker's ankle angle, the length of the run-up, the faint flicker of his gaze—every scrap of data flooded into his brain and was processed.
Calculating trajectory...
Here it comes.
The referee's whistle blew. The Barcelona kicker charged.
BOOM!
A clean strike off the instep. The ball clipped the wall and deflected.
Worst-case scenario. Wrong-footed.
"Ah...!"
Screams erupted from the stands. The ball was curling not toward the left corner Gang-cheol had predicted, but into the right.
A deflected ball is a keeper's nightmare.
But—
Flash—!
Gang-cheol's body was already airborne. Wrong-footed? Irrelevant. Animal reflexes twisted his muscles and forced him into the dive.
A heavy impact slammed into his palm.
THWACK!
His hand punched the ball away. It cannoned off the post and bounced free.
Not over yet. A Barcelona attacker charged for the second ball.
"No!!"
Tomas screamed. But the instant Gang-cheol hit the ground he sprang up like a coil and drove his head under the onrushing attacker's feet.
No fear. Only the pure will to stop the ball.
Clutch.
Gang-cheol wrapped the ball to his chest and curled around it. The attacker's boot stopped inches from his skull.
"......"
Silence.
The referee blew the whistle.
"Full time! Match over!!"
Waaaaaaaaah!!!!
The stadium exploded with a roar that threatened to tear the roof off. Ajax players piled onto Gang-cheol in a single wave.
"He saved it! Ma Gang-cheol saved it!!"
"Crazy bastard! Absolute madman!"
Buried under the heap, Gang-cheol grinned through a face full of dirt. His heart hammered—a different, electric thrill from scoring a goal.
So this is why people play keeper.
Fans in the stands rose for a standing ovation, chanting his name. A thirteen-year-old hero in goalkeeper gloves. The moment a red-card crisis had been forged into golden victory.
But Gang-cheol had no idea.
That this "goalkeeper debut" would one day earn him a reputation as bizarre—and as troublesome—as any he would ever know.