Tutoring

"Aaaargh! Team Leader! Is this seriously something an eleven-year-old is supposed to be doing?!"

In the weight zone on the second basement floor of the LK Sports Science Center, Ma Gang-cheol's scream tore through the soundproof walls. He was balanced on one foot atop a half-sphere stability ball, grinding out squats. His leg muscles quivered nonstop as he fought to keep his center of gravity on the rocking surface.

"Quit whining. I'm waking up the proprioceptive sense in your ankle ligaments."

Choi Hyeon-seok stood with his arms folded, staring mercilessly at the stopwatch.

"Guys like you—brains faster than their bodies—always blow out their ankles first. The second your foot hits the ground, your brain's already prepping the next move, but your ankle's still planted. To survive that tenth-of-a-second lag, the tiny muscles around the joint have to be steel-hard."

"I get the theory, but—ugh!"

Gang-cheol wobbled. Choi Hyeon-seok pounced without mercy.

"Core's gone soft. Tighten your abs! If you're going to Real Madrid and want to survive collisions with those massive Black guys, the deep stabilizers matter more than the showy big muscles."

Gang-cheol clenched his teeth and locked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his posture. Every word Choi Hyeon-seok said was dead-on. In his previous life he had only bulked the visible quads and ignored balance work like this. The result had been chronic ankle instability.

Right. This is insurance. Solid insurance that will protect my second soccer life.

After an hour of hellish core training, Gang-cheol sprawled flat on the floor like a starfish. Sweat poured off him like rain, yet he could feel the axis of his body locking solid.

"Good work. Drink this."

Choi Hyeon-seok handed him a tasteless electrolyte drink. Gang-cheol guzzled it like life-giving water.

"Team Leader, you know I've got school practice this afternoon, right?"

"I know. That's why I didn't put you through muscle-destroying weights. Just nervous-system stimulation. Your body should actually feel lighter this afternoon."

Choi Hyeon-seok was right. In the car after his shower, heading to school, Gang-cheol felt his legs as light as feathers.

Money and science really are the best...

Lunchtime. Haeseong Elementary School cafeteria.

While the kids noisily chattered over sausages and stir-fried fish cakes, a grim strategy meeting was underway at a corner table in Class 5-3.

"Alright, look carefully. This is you guys."

Gang-cheol lined up braised quail eggs and cubed radish kimchi across his tray.

"This quail egg is you, Park Min-su."

"What? Why am I a quail egg? Can't I at least be a bigger sausage?"

Min-su grumbled with a dissatisfied face, but Gang-cheol ignored him lightly.

"Shut it and listen. Min-su, you've got great physique. At elementary level you're a tank. But you've got a fatal flaw."

"Wh-what is it?"

"You can't hold with your back."

Gang-cheol stabbed the quail egg with his chopsticks.

"The second you get the ball you always try to turn and face the goal. That's why defenders read you and jump. The moment you spin, they strip it."

"Th-then what am I supposed to do?! A striker has to look at the goal!"

"No. You have to shove the defender off with your hips and hold. That's called post play."

Gang-cheol slid the cubed radish (Kim Cheol-su) next to the quail egg (Park Min-su).

"While you pin the defender with your backside and protect the ball, this radish cube Cheol-su sprints into the open space. Don't get greedy—just lay it off to him with a soft touch. That's a 'return pass' or 'link-up play'."

Cheol-su's eyes sparkled as he asked,

"So since I'm the radish cube I just run?"

"Yeah. Don't think. The second Min-su holds with his back, you brush past his side and explode forward. The ball will already be at your feet."

Gang-cheol's explanation was pitched at an eleven-year-old level, yet the content was pure pro tactics—target-man utilization and line-breaking.

"Hey, Ma Gang-cheol, who the hell are you to order me around? I've got three years of soccer-club seniority!"

Min-su still clung to his pride. But his eyes were glued to the quail egg's movements on the tray. After yesterday's practice match where Gang-cheol had thoroughly schooled him, the kid instinctively knew the words weren't wrong.

"Min-su."

Gang-cheol set down his chopsticks and locked eyes with him. For an instant the deep gaze of a thirty-five-year-old crushed the eleven-year-old boy.

"You want to go to the national tournament and win the top scorer award?"

"O-of course!"

"Then listen to me. Solo dribbling and scoring only works in neighborhood kickabouts. The real good ones use their teammates. I'll turn you into Haeseong Elementary's Rooney."

At the name "Rooney," Min-su's eyes went wide. The hero of the 2002 World Cup.

"F-for real? You'll make me Rooney?"

"Yeah. In exchange, no more attitude during training."

Gang-cheol grinned and popped the remaining quail egg into his mouth. The taming was complete.

After-school soccer club training.

Coach Kim Pan-seok stood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with arms crossed, watching the field. Today's atmosphere was different. Normally the kids just swarmed whatever ball was thrown at them; today there was structure. And at the center of it was Ma Gang-cheol.

"Hey! Park Min-su! I told you not to turn!"

Gang-cheol's roar cracked across the pitch.

"Hold with your back! Arms out! Feel the defender's chest with your back or hips!"

Min-su grunted between two defenders, fighting to shield the ball. Normally he would have muscled through and broken free, but now he was practicing holding with his back exactly as ordered.

"Aargh, this is so frustrating! Can't I just shoot?"

"No! Hold! One more second!"

Min-su made a pained face and shoved his hips back. The moment the defender braced against the pressure, Min-su's body found its balance.

Now.

Gang-cheol did not miss the timing.

"Cheol-su! Make the run!"

At the shout, Kim Cheol-su—waiting on the touchline—exploded forward like a spring.

"Min-su, lay it off!"

Min-su didn't trap the ball; he simply returned it lightly to the onrushing Gang-cheol. Gang-cheol took it first-time (non-stop) and threaded a killer pass into the open space ahead.

While every defender's eyes were locked on Min-su and Gang-cheol, the ball slipped serenely behind the defensive line. And already sprinting at top speed into that space was the "radish cube," Kim Cheol-su.

"Got it!"

Cheol-su found himself one-on-one with the keeper, completely free, and calmly (actually eyes shut, blasting it) finished.

Swish—

The net bulged. Perfect three-man combination play. Not the kind of sequence you expected from elementary school kids.

"Woooah! Insane! It actually went in!"

Cheol-su bounced around in pure joy. But the one more stunned was Park Min-su.

"Huh...? I didn't even shoot and the ball went in?"

Min-su stared down at his own feet in a daze. When he used to trap and dribble while wrestling, three defenders would swarm him until he couldn't breathe. Yet just by holding with his back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and laying it off the way Gang-cheol said, the entire defensive line had collapsed like scarecrows.

"See that?"

Gang-cheol walked over and slapped Min-su hard on the back.

"That's soccer. You drew the aggro so Cheol-su got free. That's basically your assist."

"Oh... ohhh...!"

Ecstasy bloomed across Min-su's face. It was a different thrill from scoring as the star—feeling himself become the central axis that controlled the game for the team.

Coach Kim Pan-seok sat on the bench with his mouth hanging open.

That kid... he's the real deal. He's running tactical drills with the boys. Looks like I won't have anything left to do.

The coach felt both proud and a little bitter. His eleven-year-old player was more of a coach than the actual coach.

After training, at the water fountain.

The kids cooled off under the outdoor showers. Gang-cheol sat in a corner massaging his own ankles, reviewing the taping techniques he had learned at the LK Center.

"Gang-cheol."

Min-su approached awkwardly. In his hand was a banana milk. When a prideful kid offered a bribe, it meant total surrender.

"Here, drink this. That pass earlier... was sick."

"Oh? A gift from the Class 4 captain?"

"Shut up. Hey, you know we've got a practice match against Shinseong Elementary next week, right?"

Shinseong Elementary.

The rival school from the next neighborhood. They had a bitter history with Haeseong, but for the past few years Haeseong had been on a losing streak. Shinseong had quite a few elite-club players.

"Ah, Shinseong? Are they any good?"

"Good doesn't cover it. They made the city tournament semis last year. We got wrecked 5–0 last month. They didn't even want to schedule us again, but Coach begged until they finally agreed."

Min-su's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠expression darkened.

"Honestly... I don't know if we can win this time either. Their captain's a total asshole, but the guy's actually really good."

Gang-cheol stabbed the straw into the banana milk and took a long pull. The sweet liquid slid down his throat.

"5–0, huh... yeah, that's embarrassing."

He stood up from the bench, shook water from his wet hair, and looked at Min-su. There was zero fear of defeat in those eyes—only the pure joy of a predator that had just spotted prey.

"Perfect. Playing weaklings doesn't raise your stats... I mean, your skill."

"What?"

"Min-su. You remember what you learned today? Holding with your back."

"Y-yeah."

"Just do that. I'll flip the 5–0 into a 0–5 for you."

At Gang-cheol's bold declaration Min-su's mouth fell open. It sounded like empty bravado, yet somehow when this kid said it, you believed it would actually happen.

"And tell the others. Starting tomorrow we have tactical meetings at lunch. Eat fast and gather up."

"Dude, lunch is free time..."

"If you don't want to win, go play."

"A-alright! We'll gather, okay?!"

Min-su sprinted off, yelling to the other kids.

"Hey! Lunchtime assembly tomorrow! Gang-cheol's drawing up plays!"

Watching Min-su's retreating back, Gang-cheol checked his status window.

"Kick skill unlock, huh... now that I want."

Right now Gang-cheol's kicking power was F-rank. In his head he could picture perfect banana-shot trajectories, but when he actually struck the ball it either came out as a soft girl's shot or sailed into the wrong zip code. If the quest reward unlocked the skill, the system's correction would skyrocket his accuracy overnight.

This match isn't just a practice game. It's a chance to equip one more weapon.

Three days later, LK Sports Science Center analysis room.

Gang-cheol sat with Team Leader Choi Hyeon-seok, eyes fixed on the monitor. Footage of Shinseong Elementary's previous tournament matches played on the screen.

"See him? That number 7. Shinseong's ace, Choi Do-jin."

Choi Hyeon-seok paused the video and explained.

"Fast, good individual skill. For an elementary kid he's a pretty complete technician. Your defenders are going to get shredded like autumn leaves."

"Hmm... yeah, his dribbling rhythm is solid. Uses upper-body feints well too."

Gang-cheol folded his arms and nodded. Eleven-year-old body, but the eyes were already in full analyst mode.

"But Team Leader, that kid has a habit."

"Habit?"

"Yeah. When he dribbles he always takes two touches with the outside of his left foot before he cuts. And his eyes are glued to the ground the whole time. Means he can't see his surroundings."

Choi Hyeon-seok flinched. He himself had needed three rewatches to catch that detail; Gang-cheol had spotted it on a single viewing.

"Huh... you got a microscope for eyes or what?"

"That's basic. Narrow-vision dribblers are easy to handle. Once you know the pressure timing, they self-destruct."

Gang-cheol scribbled something in his notebook.

"I'll give Min-su and Cheol-su custom homework. Time to teach them 'trap defense'."

"Trap defense? You think elementary kids can understand zone defending?"

"If they don't understand it, we'll beat it into their bodies. I'll be the remote control."

Gang-cheol grinned.

In his mind the complete scenario for the "public education" that would unfold this weekend on Shinseong Elementary's field was already drawn in perfect detail.

"Alright, tactics are done. Time to keep refining the hardware. Leg press?"

"Yeah. We're adding five kilos today. Brace yourself."

Gang-cheol headed for the training room without a second of hesitation.

Fear? Nerves?

None of that existed.

For someone who was prepared, the real match was nothing more than a stage for proof.