The Textbook of Rebuilding
Yu-gyeong, whom I had lent to Feltner, was back. Something about her face, though, was strange.
Not in a bad way—it was the face of someone who had just witnessed something extraordinarily entertaining. You know that look of a person barely holding back laughter? Exactly that.
“Yu-gyeong, you’re back?”
“Yes, Chairman… ahem…”
Laughter kept trying to slip free.
And Yu-gyeong kept fighting it down.
This was rare. What on earth could have happened to make the Ice Princess struggle so desperately not to laugh?
“Yu-gyeong, did something happen?”
“Please hear the details from Coach Feltner, who will be coming in shortly.”
“So you got to see something fun all by yourself.”
“It’s a secret.”
Wasn’t that a little much? I was still the chairman, after all.
Whether I liked it or not, Yu-gyeong sealed her lips, clearly determined to keep the amusement to herself, and simply smiled.
I found her so irritating I was about to stand and pinch her cheek—but at that exact moment, a knock sounded at the door of the club owner’s office.
—Knock. Knock. Knock.
Far more restrained and serene than any ordinary knock. The owner of that sound could only be one man.
“(Come in.)”
I spoke in German. The door opened, and the man outside—Marco Feltner—stepped in, two sheets of paper in one hand.
“Good work, Feltner.”
“Not at all, Chefin. First, the release list. Would you take a look?”
The list he presented as the release roster contained a full nine names out of the twenty-three first-team members. Six of them were starters.
“Six of the eleven starters. Nine of the entire twenty-three-man squad. That’s quite a number, isn’t it?”
“They are the cancer of this team. They needed to be cut immediately.”
“Is there a reason for that judgment?”
To my question, Feltner answered without the slightest emotional fluctuation, in a voice that made it sound like he was merely stating the obvious.
“As written in the player evaluations you prepared, Chefin, those nine—including ‘Hwang’—formed their own faction and conducted themselves with no sense of responsibility as professionals. Moreover, their ability is not even good. Lower-table second-division level, or below it.”
Extremely accurate. In a world where you still have to debate cutting a player even when the atmosphere needs him if his skill falls short, these men damaged the atmosphere and lacked the skill.
On top of that they had built a clique among themselves and used the vice-captain’s authority to keep poisoning the team’s mood. Keeping them any longer was untenable.
“For achieving the mission you set, Chefin, their presence is unnecessary. Closer to a detriment, frankly. Like a cancer, they will make even the diligent players suffer.”
“And with that much greed he even asked for the captain’s armband himself—if that isn’t a comedy, what is? He’d be better off as a comedian or an influencer.”
A scathing yet highly entertaining assessment. I could finally see why our Yu-gyeong had been laughing.
“All right. We’ll release them from the team, and I’ll personally cover every penalty fee owed to them.”
“Thank you, Chefin.”
Marco Feltner gave a slight bow of his head and moved on to the next topic with complete calm.
“Now for the next matter, Chefin. It is currently the summer transfer window, correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
It was the third week of July. The club takeover had burned through the very opening of this summer window, but fortunately the window itself remained open until mid-August. Roughly a month still belonged to us.
“Could I leave the recruitment and negotiations for the eight vacant spots entirely to you?”
So he had cut this many men trusting in exactly that. Well, I had told him to do it, so he must have swung the axe without the slightest burden.
“Yes. Don’t give funding a moment’s thought. Just consider yourself backed by one of the most formidable funding sources in Korea.”
“Thank you, Chefin. Then would you look at this document?”
Feltner held the papers out to me. I took them and began reading slowly.
What lay on the sheets he handed over was, of course, a list of players. It looked like a roster of names he wanted me to bring in…
This time I was genuinely surprised. How many people could look at this document and not be?
“I’ve reorganized the prospects from the college-league analysis I showed you earlier, along with the undervalued players.”
The match-analysis materials and prospect reports he had shown me before, now with additional content layered on top. When had he prepared all of this?
“As I requested in the car, please recruit every prospect on this list.”
“Yes. Good.”
With that I began flipping through the pages, and just to be sure I put a question to Feltner.
“But aside from two names, it’s almost all prospects. Will it be all right not to bring in any proven players beyond these?”
Proven players—ready-made, immediate-impact players—were essential. Prospects meant young players with limitless growth potential. In other words, they were still a little short of being usable as instant strength.
If you had released this many men, you needed additional recruitment of immediate-impact players. That was the point I wanted to raise.
But Feltner gave an answer that exceeded my expectations.
“Chefin, what I need from you is to bring in prospects to whom I can entrust this team’s future—and my own. The immediate-impact players, I will recruit myself.”
Feltner would recruit them personally. Which meant…
“It sounds like you’re saying you’ll raise the level of this team’s players even further.”
It meant he would elevate the skill of these ruined Seongjin Hanul FC players one more tier. Yes—it meant taking a side that was grinding its teeth just to stay in the mid-to-upper half of K League 2 and lifting it to K League 1 standards.
“Is that possible?”
“Yes. Because I’ve only kept the players who can do it. And make Min the vice-captain.”
Min meant Min Jun-seok. A solid choice. He was currently the team’s starting goalkeeper and also the oldest man in the squad. One small problem remained…
“Is Min Jun-seok a decent player?”
Whether Min Jun-seok was actually decent.
The goalkeeper is the most important position on a soccer team. The only position allowed to use hands inside the danger area, the team’s last line of defense, the role that carries the weight of preventing defeat.
That is the goalkeeper.
But Min Jun-seok—at least from my limited insight—was lacking. And it seemed Feltner did not differ much in that assessment.
“…To be honest, he is an unqualified player. He does not possess the ability to survive if we go up to K League 1.”
Yes. That was the problem. Min Jun-seok simply did not have outstanding ability. Average physical tools for a goalkeeper, reaction speed that had slowed with age, and ambiguous decision-making.
Even so, he was the most experienced and currently the best goalkeeper on this team, and—along with Nam Gi-cheol—the most sincere in his approach to matches, which was why he held the starting spot.
Sure enough, Feltner began explaining in detail the reasons for appointing Min Jun-seok vice-captain and continuing to use him.
“But his presence and the mental strength he has shown so far are definitely needed by this team. Moreover, even if we bring in prospects, we cannot field them immediately. The goalkeeper is that important a position.”
“I agree. The goalkeeper is a position you should never change abruptly. Besides, Min Jun-seok isn’t performing that poorly by second-division standards.”
Objectively, Min Jun-seok’s talent and ability sat at a level that could hold on in K League 2. Even if he somehow papered over the shortfall with mental strength and fighting spirit, whether he could survive after promotion to K League 1 remained an open question.
“Around the second half of the season, once the standings are somewhat fixed, we can send him out for experience if needed.”
I nodded at Feltner’s words and checked the recruitment list once more.
Among the names I was to bring in sat several that were already familiar.
Baek Hyeon, Kang Si-woo, No Geon-woo. These three would one day be called up to the South Korean national team—players with bright futures—and of course it was Feltner who had spotted them at once.
They shared another trait as well. Until their college years none of them had been particularly outstanding. That made the discovery all the more satisfying. It meant Feltner had found them through his own eye.
Suddenly I found myself looking forward to it.
Talents that had grown to national-team level—and further, to the level of mid-to-upper European players—despite Korea’s limited developmental environment, now receiving the nurturing of a future master coach.
How much further would they grow? Wasn’t that something to look forward to?
“Then I’ll head to the training ground, Chefin.”
“Yes, Feltner. What’s next on the schedule, if I may ask?”
“The next schedule is…”
Feltner turned his departing steps back toward me and gave the answer I had been waiting for.
“I’m going to go raise this team’s talents.”
The hidden talents of this team, the incomplete talents of this team—he would raise them.
Those were the words I had been waiting for more than anything.
“Good, Feltner. I’ll somehow bring in every prospect you named.”
“I’m counting on you, Chefin.”
With that, Feltner left. Now it was my turn to recruit the players he had requested—starting with the three future national-team players and the handful of immediate-impact names he had asked for.
Bring them all. Every last one.
I refused to entertain any future in which I failed to land them.
Hanul’s reputation and money, and the weight the word “professional” carried.
No college prospect would refuse that.
Those two ready-made players were a little more uncertain, but we would succeed for the most part. One thing I had learned while living in the Hanul family: if money can’t solve something, more money usually can.