Goodbye Rooney, Hello Gang-cheol (vs Everton)
2017-18 Premier League Matchday 2
Manchester, England — Etihad Stadium
21 August 2017, 8:00 PM
Manchester City’s home opener.
Long before kickoff, a strange tension hung over Etihad Stadium. It wasn’t only because the visitors were Everton. It was because of the man who had returned wearing their blue.
Wayne Rooney.
Manchester United’s all-time leading scorer. The living emblem of English football. To City fans he had always been a nightmare—and now that nightmare was back on Manchester soil, this time in an Everton shirt.
The big screen lit up with the starting elevens.
FW: Calvert-Lewin, Rooney, Sandro
MF: Schneiderlin, Gueye, Davies
DF: Baines, Jagielka, Keane, Holgate
GK: Pickford
And opposite them, on Manchester City’s right wing, a new name was carved in lights.
FW: MA (No.77)
In the tunnel the two squads waited to walk out. Ma Gang-cheol fixed his gaze on Wayne Rooney standing at the front of the Everton line.
Thinning hair. Rough-hewn face. A slight paunch. The explosive pace of his prime was gone, yet the aura rolling off him was undimmed.
That’s what years of war look like.
Respect stirred in Gang-cheol’s chest. At the same time his instincts whispered:
Time for you to rest.
Rooney felt the stare, turned, and met Gang-cheol’s eyes. He looked the kid up and down, expressionless, then gave a short snort of a laugh and looked away.
Little punk’s got no fear.
The whistle screamed.
The opening exchanges went nothing like the script. Ronald Koeman had parked the bus—five at the back, midfielders crammed into the box like sardines.
“No space!” David Silva snapped, frustration sharp in his voice.
Gang-cheol felt it too. Everton’s Michael Keane and Leighton Baines double-teamed him every time he touched the ball, launching simultaneous tackles the moment it arrived at his feet.
Thirty-fifth minute. Disaster.
Leroy Sané was stripped. Everton counter. Young Dominic Calvert-Lewin tore down the flank and cut the ball back. Waiting in the middle was Rooney.
He didn’t sprint. He simply strolled into the vacant pocket. The timing was perfect. While every City defender watched the ball, Rooney appeared like a ghost.
Left-foot first-time finish. The ball rolled between Ederson’s legs and into the net—crude, precise, dripping with veteran craft.
Man City 0 – 1 Everton
Scorer: Wayne Rooney (35')
“Rooney! Returns to Manchester!”
The Everton end erupted. Rooney cupped both hands to his ears in his trademark celebration and silenced the Etihad.
No matter how good you think you are, Manchester still belongs to me.
Gang-cheol stood on the halfway line and watched. Anger never came—only admiration.
He scores without even running. He just knows the lanes.
Admiration ended there. Gang-cheol retied his laces.
Hyung, this is my turf now.
Forty-fourth minute. Injury time approaching. While his teammates still reeled from Rooney’s goal, Gang-cheol raised a hand.
“Here! Long!”
Fernandinho spotted him and launched the ball. Leighton Baines leapt to claim the aerial duel. Gang-cheol never left the ground. He read the drop, waited for Baines to leave his feet, then nudged him with a hip.
“Ugh!”
Baines lost balance mid-air and crumpled. The ball settled on Gang-cheol’s chest.
First Touch A
“Stop him! Keane! Jagielka!”
The Everton centre-backs charged. The instant the ball hit the turf Gang-cheol exploded—zero-to-full in three seconds. Michael Keane drove a shoulder into him; Gang-cheol didn’t bounce. He used the contact as a springboard and accelerated harder.
“Crazy bastard…!”
Keane’s curse faded behind him. One-on-one with Pickford. The keeper rushed out, narrowing the angle. Gang-cheol shaped to shoot, then snapped his ankle.
Now.
The moment Pickford flinched, Gang-cheol whipped an inside-of-the-foot rocket through the near post—the exact same corridor Rooney had used, only three times faster.
Boom!
Man City 1 – 1 Everton
Scorer: Ma Gang-cheol (44')
“Wooooow!!”
The Etihad detonated. Gang-cheol didn’t celebrate. He scooped the ball up, sprinted back to the centre circle, and locked eyes with Rooney.
Check.
Rooney’s expression shifted. That burst—those driving strides—felt exactly like the fearless, bull-headed runs he himself had made a decade earlier in his prime.
Second half. The game turned ugly.
Ten minutes in, the twist arrived. Kyle Walker shoved an opponent in a fifty-fifty and saw red.
“No… damn it!” Pep Guardiola hurled a water bottle.
Ten against eleven. Home opener. Worst-case scenario. Everton poured numbers forward. City legs grew heavy. Gang-cheol tracked back like a madman, covering every blade of grass.
Thirty-fifth minute of the second half. Stamina was gone. A system warning flared.
Stamina: 15%. Trait Steel Lungs is active.
Then Rooney received the substitution board. The crowd rose—applause and boos tangled together. As he walked off he passed close enough to murmur one line.
“Hey, boy.”
“?”
“Don’t give up. Not in this city.”
Strange encouragement—maybe the words of a Manchester elder. Gang-cheol grinned.
“I never give up.”
Rooney left; Sigurdsson came on. Gang-cheol’s eyes sharpened.
We are not drawing this.
Fortieth minute. Down to ten men, City still pushed the line high—Pep’s gamble. Sergio Agüero dragged defenders with him. The ball spilled backward. Gang-cheol stood at the top of the arc.
“Shoot!”
“Hit it!”
The crowd roared. Four Everton bodies formed a wall. No angle.
Instant calculation.
Shot gets blocked. So…
He shaped to strike, then simply stabbed the ball over the wall—a chip pass, not a chip shot.
“What the—?!”
The wall became useless. The ball floated over their heads and dropped perfectly onto the boot of Raheem Sterling, who had ghosted into the six-yard box. All Sterling had to do was meet it.
Tap.
Man City 2 – 1 Everton
Scorer: Raheem Sterling / Assist: Ma Gang-cheol
“Comeback! It’s a comeback!”
“Ten men overturn eleven! Ma Gang-cheol’s genius assist!”
Sterling sprinted over and threw his arms around him.
“Gang! You’re a freakin’ genius! How did you even see me?”
“Figured you’d be there, hyung. Smelled it somehow.”
Gang-cheol laughed between gasps. Thirty-five years of experience didn’t just read defenders’ eyes—it read teammates’ runs.
Full time. 2–1. Manchester City’s dramatic reverse. A win forged from numerical inferiority turned the Etihad into a carnival. Players piled on one another in celebration. Gang-cheol sat on the turf, chest heaving, when a shadow fell across him.
Wayne Rooney, still in his bench coat, looked down. Gang-cheol started to rise; Rooney offered a hand.
“Good game.”
“Thanks.”
Gang-cheol took it and stood. Rooney pointed at his shirt.
“Change?”
“Sure.”
They swapped jerseys. Rooney draped the City shirt over his shoulder and gave a wry smile.
“Never thought I’d score and still lose. That last pass of yours… pure Giggs.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is one, kid.”
Rooney ruffled the back of Gang-cheol’s head.
“Manchester used to be red… but with a bastard like you around, it’s starting to look blue.”
“This is only the beginning. I’ll paint the whole place blue.”
Rooney laughed, turned, and walked away. His back looked smaller than it once had—yet still immense.
One era was setting. Another was rising.
One goal, one assist. Man of the Match two games running.
Reporters swarmed him. Gang-cheol clutched Rooney’s jersey while he answered.
“Ma Gang-cheol! Thoughts on facing Rooney?”
“Playing with ten men—how tough was it?”
“Rooney’s a legend. Today he showed exactly why—with that goal. Honour to share the pitch with him.”
Humble. Then the next question changed his eyes.
“Next up is Bournemouth. Going for three straight goals?”
“Consecutive goals are nice, but I’m painting a bigger picture.”
“Bigger picture?”
Gang-cheol looked straight into the cameras and raised one finger.
“Premier League Player of the Month. First Asian ever to win it. August is going to be my month.”
A declaration of war. Keyboards clattered like machine guns.
A system window bloomed.
Positioning, huh…
Gang-cheol clenched a fist. Raw power plus veteran craft. He was becoming a true monster.
On the walk back to the dressing room Pep Guardiola was waiting. The manager said nothing—just raised a single thumb.
That was enough.
All right. Time to devour August.