The League Destroyer
Time flew like an arrow—no, like one of Gang-cheol’s thunderous long-range strikes.
The winter transfer window had slammed shut, and European football was hurtling toward the climax of the season.
The Dutch Eredivisie.
Right now, it was screening one massive disaster movie.
The name of that disaster: Ma Gang-cheol, age fourteen.
Matchday 20 vs Heracles
— 10th minute of the second half: shrugged off two defenders and finished.
— “Is this football or rugby?” (opposing manager’s interview)
— Result: 1 goal, 1 assist.
Matchday 21 vs Roda JC
— Corner-kick header. Jump height recorded at 80 cm. (Ronaldo-level hang time)
— “I thought a boulder was falling out of the sky.” (opposing goalkeeper)
— Result: 1 goal.
Matchdays 22, 23, 24…
He never stopped.
Gang-cheol banked an attacking contribution every single match. His playing style had fully crystallized: genius technique layered atop overwhelming physique.
When a defender closed him down hard, he bounced them off with Human Tank. When they backed off in fear, he shredded them with dribbling and long-range rockets.
It was like playing rock-paper-scissors where Gang-cheol threw rock—and simply tore the opponent’s paper to shreds.
Ajax first-team locker room
“Hey, monster.”
Captain Klaassen called out while changing into his training kit.
“What’s up, hyung?”
“Be honest. You’ve got a battery on your back, right? You charge it while you sleep?”
Klaassen reached as if to check Gang-cheol’s back. The teammates snickered. It sounded like a joke, but half of them meant it.
Eight straight matches with an attacking contribution. A fourteen-year-old boy was massacring the adult stage—Europe’s top flight, no less.
Gang-cheol took a bite of an apple and shrugged.
“Come on, hyung. The opposition’s just a bit weak.”
“Weak? Didn’t you see the Twente defender get stretchered off last week? You shoulder-checked him and cracked his collarbone.”
“Exactly. He should’ve drunk more milk.”
Klaassen shook his head at the sheer shamelessness. Still, the team atmosphere was sky-high. Eight consecutive league wins since Gang-cheol’s arrival. The gap to second-place PSV Eindhoven had stretched to five points.
Only one match remained. This weekend’s showdown against PSV. Win that, and the league title was as good as sealed.
[Quest in Progress]: Stampede
[Objective]: 10 consecutive matches with an attacking contribution (Current: 8 achieved).
[Next Opponent]: PSV Eindhoven (2nd in the league).
[Special Note]: The opponent is preparing unsportsmanlike tactics specifically to shut down Ma Gang-cheol.
Unsportsmanlike tactics, huh…
Gang-cheol smirked at the system message. Obvious. They were going to play thug football. The last thrashing of the weak.
Cute.
Match day. Philips Stadion.
PSV’s home ground. A murderous atmosphere hung over the place even before kickoff. PSV fans pelted the Ajax team bus with eggs, and the home stands unfurled banners reading things like “Kill the Boy.”
In the PSV locker room, manager Cocu rallied his players with a grim face.
“If we lose today, the title is gone. Do whatever it takes.”
His gaze locked onto the team’s toughest fighter and center-back, Héctor Moreno—the Mexican hard man infamous as the “ankle crusher.”
“Moreno. Make sure that kid doesn’t walk out of here.”
“Don’t worry, coach. Tell them to keep the ambulance on standby.”
Moreno swapped in his sharpest metal studs and smiled coldly.
Kickoff.
Exactly as expected. PSV hadn’t come to play football; they’d come for a street fight. Tackles targeted bodies, not the ball.
Tenth minute of the first half.
The moment Gang-cheol collected the ball at the halfway line, Moreno charged like a rabid dog.
“Die!”
Without slowing, Moreno launched a sliding tackle straight at Gang-cheol’s ankle. A blatant career-ending challenge. The crowd screamed.
But Gang-cheol saw everything.
Crisis Detection (S) flashed a crimson warning.
Knew you’d try this.
He nudged the ball aside—and didn’t jump. Instead, timing the tackle perfectly, he lifted his right foot and stepped clean over Moreno’s thigh, as if climbing a staircase.
Thud!
“Aaaargh!”
The scream tore from Moreno’s throat. Gang-cheol’s studs had driven hard into the defender’s thigh muscle as he passed. No intent (as far as the referee could see). He’d simply been avoiding the tackle and landed where the other man’s leg happened to be.
Gang-cheol left the crumpled Moreno behind and strolled forward. The referee played advantage.
“What? Moreno’s down?”
“Is that kid made of iron?”
PSV players reeled. They’d gone in for the kill and gotten killed instead.
Gang-cheol dribbled on, thinking, Ugh, thinking’s such a pain.
In the past he would have dodged with every feint in the book, shifted his center of gravity, calculated the landing and the roll—brain frying under the load. Now?
Just step on him and go.
He accelerated. PSV midfielder Guardado tried a shoulder challenge. Gang-cheol didn’t even glance at him.
“Move. I’m busy.”
Boom!
A casual shoulder. Guardado spun like a top and hit the turf. One-on-one physical battles were no longer fights for Gang-cheol—they were traffic control.
Thirtieth minute of the first half. The 0-0 deadlock shattered.
Gang-cheol received the ball at the right edge of the penalty box. Two defenders blocked his path.
Passing lane? None.
Shooting angle? None.
Any normal player would have recycled possession. Gang-cheol grinned.
If there isn’t one, I’ll make one.
He poked the ball right—into the narrow gap between the two defenders. Too tight for a body to pass, yet he drove his head through first.
“You’re not getting through!”
They sandwich-marked him from both sides. His body was trapped. And yet—
Crrrack!
He never stopped. Trait: Human Tank + Core Strength S. Like Moses parting the sea, he simply shoved the defenders aside with raw power. His jersey stretched to the tearing point. Both men bounced off. Gang-cheol staggered for show, then reclaimed his balance.
“Insane…”
Goalkeeper Zoet’s jaw dropped. He’d just carried two defenders into the box and broken free. Was that a human or a bear?
Gang-cheol unleashed a lightning strike—a laser into the near-post top corner.
BOOM!
Ajax 1 – 0 PSV
Scorer: Ma Gang-cheol (30' first half)
“Wooooooaaaaah!!!!”
The traveling Ajax fans erupted. Gang-cheol coolly ripped off his torn sleeve and roared. Cameras zoomed in on the raw, primal image.
9 consecutive matches with an attacking contribution achieved
Second half. PSV self-destructed. Moreno was substituted with injury; the rest of the squad had been terrified by Gang-cheol’s physique. Collision equaled pain. Instinctive fear chained their feet.
Fortieth minute of the second half. The dagger.
No—this time it was an assist.
Gang-cheol tore forward from halfway. PSV defender Bruma desperately yanked his jersey from behind, a last-ditch refusal to let go. Normally that would have drawn a foul and a fall. Gang-cheol didn’t fall. He simply kept running another ten meters with Bruma hanging off his back.
“What the hell! Let go! Let go of me!”
Bruma was the one screaming as he was dragged along, clinging for dear life so he wouldn’t face-plant.
As if the weight on his back meant nothing, Gang-cheol entered the box and slipped a pass to the far-side Klaassen.
“Hyung! Finish it!”
Klaassen rolled it into the empty net.
Ajax 2 – 0 PSV
Assist: Ma Gang-cheol
Stampede
📍 Condition Met: 10 consecutive matches with an attacking contribution (Success)
The final whistle blew. 2-0. Complete victory for Ajax. And, for all practical purposes, the league title sealed.
Gang-cheol offered a hand to Bruma, still sitting on the turf.
“Good game. Next time you might want to hang something heavier on me, though.”
“……Monster bastard.”
Bruma shook his head and stood without taking the hand.
Mixed zone
Once again, Gang-cheol was the star. Reporters were running out of questions; every match was simply too one-sided.
“Ma Gang-cheol, that scene where you sprinted with a defender hanging off you… is that even possible?”
“Well, the guy was pretty light.”
His trademark interview line: The opposition was just weak.
“The title is virtually locked. You’re only fourteen—don’t you feel the Dutch league is too small for you?”
A sharp question. Gang-cheol took the mic.
“Yeah, it’s a bit tight.”
Honest answer. The press corps murmured.
“So I’m heading somewhere bigger.”
“Bigger—meaning a transfer to a big league?”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“The Champions League. Next week, the round of sixteen against Man City. I’ll prove it there.”
Manchester City. Kings of the Premier League. Pep Guardiola’s tactical masterclass. A declaration of war against them.
A few days later, Ajax training ground
No time to savor the league triumph. The Champions League round of sixteen loomed immediately. Opponent: Man City. On paper, Ajax were massive underdogs.
Manager de Boer clutched his head.
“How do we break Man City’s possession game… Our defense can’t handle Agüero and De Bruyne.”
Tactical meeting room. Gang-cheol raised his hand.
“Boss.”
“Yeah, Gang-cheol? Got a good idea?”
“Pep’s a perfectionist, right?”
“That’s true.”
“Perfect tactics collapse the moment one variable appears.”
He walked to the whiteboard and marked a thick dot right in the center of Man City’s back four.
“I’ll be that variable. Their defenders? Physically weaker than people think. Except Otamendi, they’re all technical types.”
His eyes gleamed.
“I’ll cause chaos in the middle. Drag them into a mud fight, and those refined Man City princes will panic.”
The so-called “Mad Dog Tactic.” No need for intricate movement. Just smash everything in the center.
De Boer’s eyes widened. Crude, yes—but the surest way to deploy the only world-class weapon Ajax currently possessed.
“All right. Let’s do it. You go explode Man City’s heart.”
That night, Gang-cheol watched TV at home. Sports news featured Pep Guardiola’s interview.
Reporter: What do you make of Ajax’s fourteen-year-old prodigy, Ma Gang-cheol?
Pep: (laughs) A very interesting talent. I watched the clips—he looks like a tank. But…
Pep scratched his head, relaxed.
Pep: The Champions League isn’t won on physique alone. Tactical understanding is required. He’s still young. Our defenders will teach him that football is played with the head.
Gang-cheol cracked open a cola can—not a beer—and smirked. Football is played with the head?
“Boss, you know something?”
He raised the can in a toast to the Pep on screen.
“When the body is good enough, the head can rest.”
Your intricate, perfect tactics? I’ll tear them all apart with pure physical dominance.
[Hidden Quest]: Tactical Destroyer
[Objective]: Collapse Pep Guardiola’s tactics through sheer Force.
[Reward]: Pep Guardiola’s courtship, and unlock of the “Tactical Understanding” stat.
War preparations were complete.
Time to go smash the masters of England—Manchester City.