Don't Be Satisfied
Full time on the first half, and the score stood at two–nil.
It was exactly the match I had expected.
Chungnam City FC ran a 4-4-2 built around relentless pressing—the purest form of pragmatic football. Their real strength lay on the flanks, the very side our new signing, Ha Seung-pyo, had once owned. Ha’s defending, the breakaway cross that followed, the header at the far post—that was the whole of Chungnam City’s playbook.
And it was painfully one-note. Call it classic if you wanted to be kind; call it antique if you preferred the truth. That was the ceiling of their system.
The 4-4-2 had faded from modern football for one simple reason: it lost the midfield battle. Unless you reshaped mid-match, two central players would always be outnumbered by a 4-3-3’s three—or four, once the attackers and inverted fullbacks flooded in. Unable to win that numbers game, the 4-4-2 had gone extinct until coaches learned to revive it with fluid shape changes. And Chungnam City?
They were locked into a rigid 4-4-2 with no variation at all. The only reason it had held together was Ha Seung-pyo burning through his own stamina to keep the game under control from the wing.
If I had been their manager, I would have stamped NFS—Not For Sale—across his name and told any buyer to put six hundred thousand euros on the table first. For a fullback in a second-tier league on the fringe of world football, that price tag was just a polite way of saying he wasn’t leaving.
But Ha Seung-pyo was genuinely worth that much. The only shame was that Chungnam City’s manager had been too thick to see it.
What truly soured me, though, was something else entirely.
My players were smiling. Smiling—content with a two–nil lead at the half.
Why the hell were they satisfied? Only two goals?
The moment I stepped into the locker room I walked straight to the center of the floor and roared.
“Why are you smiling?”
Even in German, the chatter and laughter died. By the time the interpreter finished translating, the whole giddy atmosphere had collapsed.
“You’re this thrilled over two first-half goals against a side like that? Two goals against that lot and you’re already satisfied?”
“You don’t belong stuck in a place like this. They do.”
“They call themselves a pressing team, yet they never once pressed us properly in midfield. They couldn’t even set a proper two-bank defense—they just stood there like scarecrows with vacant looks on their faces! And against opponents like that, you only managed two goals! And that makes you laugh?!”
With every shout the color drained from their faces, and the complacency flaked off their expressions one layer at a time.
Still, I couldn’t let their confidence go with it, so I fed them the carrot as well.
“Yes—this was a mid-table K League 2 side. Some of you were still playing amateur or college ball not long ago. Scoring twice in the first half of your first match after a full rebuild? Fine. That was good. You earned the praise.”
“But remember this! You are not the kind of players who can be content with that much against a side like theirs! Fight harder! Hunt goals more viciously! Prove the value that Schepin and I saw in you! You can do it—because I chose you. Schepin chose you!”
The confidence I had sanded away surged back into their eyes. Passion and fighting spirit flared with it. They had finally grasped what I actually meant.
“They’re terrified of us! They’re curled up like rabbits waiting to be hunted! So what do we do? We hunt! This is no longer an ordinary match—this is our goal-hunting hour!”
“Pick more fights in midfield! If you’ve got the nerve, dribble with real arrogance! But keep thinking about the link-up play! Find the empty spaces and run into them, and when a space opens, someone fill it!”
“See a gap—play the ball through it and burst forward! They can’t stop you anymore!”
“Today is our day! This is the showcase that tells the whole country who Seongjin Hanul FC is!”
“Don’t settle—be more savage! More ruthless! Hunt goals! Hunt the win! All right—let’s go!!”
Whether they somehow understood the last line or simply caught the fire in it, the players rose from their seats as if possessed.
Captain Nam started clapping and shouting something of his own, and the whole squad roared back in answer.
I didn’t understand a word of Korean, but the fighting spirit and raw passion rolling off them were unmistakable—and deeply satisfying. The hunger I wanted was still burning in their chests. The craving for victory was still there.
Today’s match, second division or not, was going to draw real attention.
Because the kind of scoreline you usually only saw in Europe when the gulf in class was absolute was about to appear right here.
The first half had already been thoroughly satisfying.
It had been a half-court game in all but name, and our new signing Kang Si-woo had already put away two goals. How could I not be pleased?
And yet…
And yet, was I really looking at reality right now?
“Oppa, can you pinch my cheek for a second?”
“Why, you don’t believe it?”
“Nope.”
“All right, cheek out.”
“Ah—actually don’t.”
I dodged my brother’s reaching hand and stared up at the scoreboard.
The numbers glowing there read 7–0.
Yes. Seven–nil. A full seven-goal gap.
After announcing a thrashing with two goals before the break, my team had slammed home five more in the second half alone.
At the heart of it all, of course, was Kang Si-woo—two goals already in the first half, then two more after the restart for an over-hat-trick. Four goals on his professional debut. We had genuinely picked up a treasure.
And the other three?
Cha Jeong-woo, our wingback who until recently had been the team’s ace, took one. Ha Seung-pyo, fresh from Chungnam City, took another. And Captain Nam Gi-cheol—normally more concerned with defending and holding the line than scoring—quietly claimed the third.
Three men, one goal each. Perfectly fair.
“Heh-heh… hee-hee-hee-hee…”
“Uh, Yu-gyeong? Did she eat something weird?”
“Looks like she overdosed on goals.”
“Isn’t that a little harsh? You’re allowed to enjoy a day like this.”
I grumbled under my breath and checked the clock. The board showed five minutes of stoppage time, and Seongjin Hanul FC were still hunting for one more as if their lives depended on it.
Already 7–0 and still trying to bury them—what on earth had Feltner said at half-time? I would have to casually ask the interpreter later.
Then, just as stoppage time was running out, a corner.
Ha Seung-pyo lofted a high ball toward the towering center-back Baek Hyeon, who rose to meet it with perfect timing.
Thwack! Splash!
The ball whipped cleanly sideways, ripped the net once more, and the scoreboard flipped to 8–0.
“NICE!!! That’s my boys!!! Kyaaaaaaah!!!”
“Little sister, some dignity, please~”
“She’s right, Do-a. Calm down.”
“No—Yu-gyeong unnie, Do-yun oppa—how am I supposed to calm down right now?! I can’t! Tonight I’m maxing the corporate card! Yu-gyeong unnie! Find me the best beef place around here! Somewhere that stays open as late as possible!”
“Yes, yes~ Right away~”
Yu-gyeong unnie immediately started hunting for a steakhouse, and I headed for the locker room the moment I heard the final whistle. I had to go down there and praise these kids into the ground.
The first thing I heard as I approached the locker room was music.
Insanely upbeat music. They were probably dancing in there.
Was it even okay to walk in? Just in case, I fired off a quick message to Feltner—who was supposedly inside—but he didn’t even open it.
I eased the door open a crack and peeked. Sure enough, the players were celebrating with zero restraint. And right in the middle of it all was Feltner himself.
Was this really his usual image? No—I had him pegged as the cold, calculating type. So he knew how to cut loose when the moment called for it?
…If I walked in now, I’d be the awkward one, wouldn’t I? Yeah.
But I still wanted to feed these adorable players some good beef.
What to do, uuugh…
Ah, forget it. Skip the post-match speech entirely—just yell “I’m buying!” and leave. Yes. Perfect plan.
Creeeak.
The second I opened the door and stepped inside, the entire festival froze solid. A few of the players who had stripped off their tops scrambled to pull them back on.
Baek Hyeon, the one who had been running the music, killed the speakers on the spot—face gone completely stiff.
I looked from player to coaching staff. Same expression on every face: embarrassment, awkwardness, pure panic. And right there among them stood our genius German tactician, Mr. Feltner.
No, Feltner—why are you panicking?
Fine. Just say this and get out.
“Sorry for killing the vibe. I had an absolute blast watching today’s match, and I’m even more excited for what’s next. Speaking as a fan.”
“So consider this a small gift. I had my secretary find a beef place nearby—plenty of seats left, so I went ahead and booked it.”
Even after that, the players remained frozen. Lesson learned: from now on, stay the hell out of the locker room unless absolutely necessary. I filed that away and simply shouted at the top of my lungs.
“Today the owner is buying! Swipe the corporate card! Order every cut of beef you want!!!”
““Woooooooooooo!!!””
Look at these little lambs only reacting once I yelled. Innocent if you wanted to call them innocent, adorable if you wanted to call them adorable. Right?
Even Feltner, who didn’t speak Korean and was still catching up, started roaring the moment the interpreter got the message across. So you were the type to get swept up in a mood after all.
Either way, seeing those happy faces made me happy too.
I had planned to hand over the card and slip out cleanly, but then—
“Owner! You have to eat with us, Owner!”
“Yeah! Come eat with us!”
Suddenly the players were saying the strangest things.
Hey, you guys eat among yourselves. Why are you trying to include me? You don’t have to. Is it even appropriate for the club owner to get this chummy and go out for dinner with the players? More importantly—isn’t that awkward?
If my own boss—the actual owner of the company—invited me to a victory dinner, I would choke on the food.
While I stood there blinking in confusion, Feltner stepped up beside me and murmured,
“(The players are very fond of you, Owner. They trust you a great deal. Why not share a meal with them?)”
…Should I? Was that really all right?
I glanced back at Yu-gyeong unnie and Do-yun oppa, who had quietly followed me down. Yu-gyeong unnie sighed but nodded. Fair enough—I had nothing on the schedule tomorrow.
Do-yun oppa beckoned me over with a little wave.
I leaned in, and he whispered,
“I’ll review the investment positively, Chairwoman Han Do-a of Hanul Invest.”
As if that had been the entire point, he beamed and asked,
“Do-a, can I come too?”
There was only one possible answer to that.
“Are you coming as Han Do-yun, or as the chairman of Hanul Global?”
“Obviously as the chairman of Hanul Global.”
You slippery snake. So you wanted in as a club sponsor, did you? Fine—I’d allow it.
“All right. But you’re stuck to my side the whole time. Don’t go making the players uncomfortable.”
“Okay~ Thanks~”
And that was how Seongjin Hanul FC’s first victory dinner somehow came together.
At ten o’clock at night—ridiculously late—no less.