Hyung, I'm Really Leaving Now (Farewell and a New Beginning)
The night sky over Sangam World Cup Stadium was torn apart by the roar of fireworks.
Beneath a canopy of brilliant multicolored sparks, the majestic strains of the Victory Anthem mingled with the thunderous chorus of sixty thousand spectators, wrapping the stadium in a single, surging wave of sound.
On the podium erected at the center of the pitch, the players of the Korea Republic U-20 national team clung to one another’s shoulders and leapt like madmen. Some wept. Some screamed. Some rolled across the grass with the Taegeukgi wrapped around their bodies.
Only one man stood still amid the frenzy.
Ma Gang-cheol lifted the gold medal hanging from his neck and stared at it in silence.
Heavy.
It was not the weight of the metal. It was the weight of history—thirty-five years of a life lived in reverse—compressed into a single disc of gold.
The Ma Gang-cheol before the regression. The nameless journeyman who had bounced between third- and fourth-division clubs, who had never so much as glimpsed a K-League trophy, let alone a World Cup. The pathetic memory of a drunkard watching national-team matches on television and muttering, “I used to be…”
That memory shattered into glittering dust before the gold medal and scattered into the night.
“And now, at last—the moment has arrived! The greatest scene in the history of Korean football is about to unfold!”
The stadium announcer’s voice trembled. FIFF President Infantino approached, cradling the gleaming championship trophy. By protocol it should have gone to captain Park Jin-ho. Instead Jin-ho stepped back and shoved Gang-cheol forward by the shoulders.
“You lift it.”
“You’re the captain, hyung.”
“No. For this tournament, the real captain was you. You have to lift it.”
Every teammate nodded. Gang-cheol gave a short laugh and pulled Jin-ho’s arm toward the trophy.
“Then we lift it together.”
The two of them gripped the handles. The rest of the squad formed a semicircle behind them. The crowd began the countdown.
Three… two… one!
“Waaaaaaaaaah!!!!”
The trophy soared into the night sky. Golden confetti cascaded down like a waterfall. Teammates dumped water over Gang-cheol’s head, sprayed champagne, and howled with joy. He squeezed his eyes shut. Cold water and scorching cheers. The sensation of being alive ignited every cell in his body.
This was the air at the summit.
Then came the individual awards. The host’s voice once again shook the entire Sangam basin.
“Golden Boot (Top Scorer)… 12 Goals, MA GANG-CHEOL!”
“Golden Ball (Best Player)… MA GANG-CHEOL!”
Top scorer and MVP in the same tournament. Twelve goals in a single competition—an overwhelming new record that obliterated Adiyiah’s eight in 2009 and Messi’s six in 2005. When Gang-cheol raised a trophy in each hand and waved them, sixty thousand feet stamped the stands and sixty thousand voices roared his name.
“Ma Gang-cheol! Ma Gang-cheol! Ma Gang-cheol!”
“Light Gang-cheol! God Gang-cheol!”
It was not mere cheering. It was the grand coronation of a new emperor of football.
[Main Quest Complete] : Stand at the Center of the World
[Achievements Unlocked] :
1. FIFF U-20 World Cup Champions (First in Korean history)
2. Undefeated Champions (7 wins in 7 matches)
3. Youngest MVP & Top Scorer of All Time (Age 15)
[Rewards] :
1. Trait acquired — [Winner Mentality (Winner’s DNA) — S]
- All stats rise 15% in major matches (finals, rivalry games).
- Generates a ‘Victory Aura’ that elevates teammates’ morale.
- Fear of defeat is permanently deleted.
2. All stats +2.
3. Title acquired: ‘National Hero’.
Winner Mentality…
Gang-cheol clenched his fist. The DNA that had once been accustomed to defeat was gone forever.
I am a winner. And I will keep winning.
[ Three days later, Grand Ballroom, L Hotel, Sogong-dong, Seoul ]
The official victory banquet hosted by the Korea Football Association. A glittering gathering of political, financial, and sporting heavyweights. Gang-cheol sat at a corner table in an uncomfortable tuxedo.
“Ma Gang-cheol! Look this way!”
“Just one finger-heart!”
Hundreds of camera shutters chased only him. Even a sip of water set off a storm of flashes.
Gang-cheol Syndrome.
The entire nation was sick with Ma Gang-cheol fever. News, variety shows, newspapers, the internet—everywhere was his story.
This is harder than the pitch.
He sighed and half-heartedly sliced at his steak. Then Coach Shim Yong-tae approached with a wine glass, his face flushed and far more relaxed than usual.
“Gang-cheol.”
“Ah, Coach.”
“Thank you. Because of you, I fulfilled a lifelong wish.”
Coach Shin bowed with genuine sincerity. Gang-cheol hurriedly stood and clinked glasses.
“What are you talking about? It was only possible because you trusted me with full authority. You had a rough time handling those old-fart hyungs.”
“Ha-ha, you little punk. You were the biggest old fart of them all.”
The coaching staff around them burst out laughing. The banquet grew livelier, yet Gang-cheol’s mind remained cool and still. He checked his watch. It was time for the real work.
He quietly signaled his teammates. One by one they slipped away and gathered in his hotel room.
[ Room 2305, L Hotel ]
Captain Park Jin-ho, defensive cornerstone Kwon Jae-min (Kim Min-jae), attacking partner Im Woo-seung (Lee Seung-woo), and goalkeeper Shin Geun-beom (Song Bum-keun). The pillars of the championship stood before him. They no longer saw a fifteen-year-old youngest brother; they saw the leader who had carried them.
“Everyone here?”
Gang-cheol sat on the edge of the bed. The atmosphere was suddenly solemn.
“I fly out tomorrow. Pre-season with Man City.”
“Already? We haven’t even had a proper victory party…”
“Hyung. Winning this doesn’t mean it’s over. Our football lives are just beginning.”
He pulled a thick stack of documents from his bag—guidelines for the future he had written over sleepless nights, fusing thirty-five years of future knowledge with the strengths and weaknesses he had analyzed during the tournament. A consulting package that existed nowhere else on earth.
He called Park Jin-ho first.
“Jin-ho hyung.”
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got an offer from that corporate K-League club, J Team, right? Big money.”
“How do you even know that…?”
“Don’t go.”
The voice was absolute. Jin-ho blinked in confusion.
“Why? The terms are good…”
“Their coach is a long-ball merchant. Your footwork is excellent, but if you go there you’ll spend every day chasing aerials and wreck your knees. I know your cartilage isn’t great.”
Jin-ho’s mouth fell open. The knee pain was a secret he had told no one.
“Look at the Japanese J-League or the German second division. Your style thrives in technical football. Two years there and you’ll be in the senior national team. I’ve already sent your clips to an agent in Germany. Expect a call.”
Jin-ho accepted the papers in a daze. This was not casual advice. It was a concrete roadmap that could rewrite a man’s entire career.
(Before the regression, Park Jin-ho had gone to J Team and retired two years later from injury. Gang-cheol had just twisted that future into pieces.)
Next he turned to Kwon Jae-min—the 190-centimeter giant who had earned the nickname “Monster Defender” in this tournament, the iron pillar of the future.
“Jae-min hyung.”
“Yeah, Gang-cheol.”
“Beijing will throw a mountain of cash at you. Tens of billions of won.”
“……!”
“Money’s nice. But you can’t go.”
Gang-cheol’s eyes flashed.
“You’re not ‘Asian level.’ You saw it this tournament—French and Italian strikers were helpless against you. Don’t sell that talent for short-term cash.”
“Then where?”
“Italy or England. Even a mid-to-lower table side like Watford or Udinese—just get to Europe. With your physique and football IQ you’ll be at a big club within a year. I guarantee it.”
Jae-min’s heart hammered. World-class. That was how Gang-cheol rated him. He bit his lip and nodded.
“All right. I’ll trust you and turn China down. Europe it is.”
Finally Gang-cheol clapped Im Woo-seung on the shoulder—the flashy dribbler and showman already dubbed the “Korean Messi.”
“Woo-seung hyung, eat more.”
“Ah, shit, not this again.”
“Your technique is fine, but adult defenders aren’t U-20 kids. Grow your ass and thighs or you won’t survive. Follow the weight routine I wrote down—every single day. Miss it and you’ll be forgotten in two years.”
Woo-seung grumbled, yet carefully folded the paper into his pocket. He knew better than anyone that Gang-cheol’s words were pure fact.
The private lessons were finished. The players clutched the documents like treasure. It was a strange night: a fifteen-year-old boy opening the road ahead for his seniors as if he were a retiring legend.
“Thanks, Gang-cheol.”
“I’ll never forget this… for the rest of my life.”
Gang-cheol grinned.
“If you’re grateful, meet me in the Champions League someday. We’ll be enemies then, so no mercy.”
“Deal! See you there!”
“Go chew them all up!”
In their eyes he saw certainty. He had not merely rewritten past defeats. He was rewriting their futures—and the future of Korean football itself.
[ The next day, Incheon International Airport ]
The departure hall was a battlefield. Thousands of fans screamed “Ma Gang-cheol!” while riot police erected barricades. Sunglasses on, suitcase in one hand, Gang-cheol carved a path through the throng.
“Ma Gang-cheol! Thoughts on returning to Man City?”
“Have you spoken with Pep?”
“A word for the nation, please!”
Questions poured in. He stopped in front of the microphones and slid the sunglasses down just enough.
“People of Korea, thank you for your support. Because of you, I was happy.”
A polite bow. Then the corner of his mouth twisted into pure arrogance.
“But this is only the beginning. Think of the World Cup title as a trailer. The main feature…”
He stared straight into the camera lenses.
“I’ll show you in England. Feel free to look forward to it.”
A short, blazing declaration of war. Without a backward glance he walked through the departure gate. A storm of camera flashes exploded behind him, escorting the hero’s silhouette into the distance.
[ First Class cabin ]
The plane lifted off. Seoul’s nightscape receded beyond the window; the lights of the Han River glittered like stars. Gang-cheol accepted a glass of champagne and drank.
Huuu…
Tension drained away, replaced by a pleasant drowsiness. He had run at a breathless pace—Ajax youth trial, first-team debut, transfer to Manchester City, U-20 World Cup glory. Miracles compressed into half a year.
Yet he knew the truth.
Until now it had been Easy Mode.
Youth-level tournaments. Competition against unpolished gems. From this moment everything changed.
Hell Mode was opening.
The Premier League. The Colosseum where the world’s football geniuses and monsters tore one another apart every week. Manchester City—ruled by the perfectionist Pep Guardiola, a place that forgave not a single mistake.
He switched on the seat-back screen. Last season’s Manchester City highlights rolled: Gabriel Jesus’s runs, Raheem Sterling’s dribbles, Leroy Sané’s pace, Sergio Agüero’s finishing.
I have to force my way into those gaps.
There was no place for him in the first-team squad. He would have to take it. Push Agüero aside. Send Jesus to the bench. That was the professional world.
Ding.
[PART 2. The Tiger of Asia — COMPLETE]
Evaluation: Perfect. You have shattered the Asian ceiling.
[PART 3. Return of the King (EPL Conquest Arc) — BEGIN]
🎯 Objective: 2017-18 Premier League debut and secure a starting place.
⚔ Primary Rivals: Gabriel Jesus, Sergio Agüero.
Jesus… Agüero…
Names that made the heart swell just to hear them. An ordinary fifteen-year-old would have withered; Gang-cheol only smiled. The legends he had admired for thirty-five years now stood within reach—no, he would climb over them.
This is going to be fun.
His hand moved of its own accord toward the champagne flute. The grip felt chillingly familiar. One centimeter from his lips—
“…You crazy bastard.”
He snorted and set the glass down hard. Habits were terrifying. Even if the soul inside was a rotten thirty-five-year-old, the body was still underage.
“Alcohol? Go drink more milk, you idiot.”
He scolded himself and picked up the sparkling water instead. Fizz— gulp, gulp. The carbonation scraped his throat on the way down. Not alcohol, but enough.
Yeah. Leave every scrap of Korean glory right here.
Starting tomorrow he was no longer World Cup MVP Ma Gang-cheol. He was just a fifteen-year-old trainee at Manchester City who would have to roll in rain-soaked mud.
He closed his eyes. The plane punched through the clouds and climbed higher still.
The legend had only just finished its prologue.