Clothes That Fit Me
Jo Tae-ung.
The main striker of Seongjin Maseong FC. The goalscorer the club took pride in. A one-club man who had essentially poured his entire professional life into Seongjin Maseong FC.
Seongjin Maseong FC never had as many fans as the bigger clubs, but the ones they did have almost all loved Jo Tae-ung.
And Jo Tae-ung loved the fans right back.
Maybe it was that same loyalty that made him get along so easily with nearly every teammate. Along the way, though, he ended up hanging around players he really should have kept at arm’s length.
“Hey, let’s go grab some fried chicken. Enough of this irritating training.”
“…I’m good. Gonna keep practicing.”
“Ugh, what a nerd.”
He never crossed the line into things a footballer truly shouldn’t do, but it was still true that he stayed friendly with people of dubious quality.
“There’s a party tomorrow night after the match. You’re coming, right?”
“…I’m not going. You guys have fun.”
“It’s not all bad stuff. We even got beef steak ready. Special tenderloin just for you.”
“……If it’s that, then fine. But I’m not touching anything unhealthy.”
“Of course not~.”
As time went on he naturally started spending more and more time with that bad crowd—until, in a single stroke, his football life collapsed.
“Hello, everyone of Seongjin Hanul FC. As of yesterday I am the new owner of Seongjin Hanul FC. My name is Han Do-a.”
“This is Marco Feltner, a coach who worked in the 2. Bundesliga. He is the new head coach of Seongjin Hanul FC.”
A sudden change of ownership, and the new coach the owner brought with her.
“(From this moment, every player I call out has his contract terminated. I hope you all enjoy better careers at your next clubs.)”
And then the massive rebuilding that coach carried out.
In the middle of a rebuild that looked like something that only happened during the K League winter transfer window, the players who remained were completely new blood.
Young blood and young talent who would lead the team forward.
Of course Jo Tae-ung had confidence in himself.
He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either. He had started his professional life at Seongjin Maseong FC relatively early, and inside the second division his scoring record stood out.
He had even started worrying about how he would get along with all that new blood…
—Thwack!
“Nice…! Ah…”
It was different.
Completely different.
In a practice match a twenty-year-old named Kang Si-woo faced him and displayed perfect finishing. Before long the starting center-forward spot had been taken away by Kang Si-woo.
The appearance of a player far younger, far better, and far more talented than a man who had spent his entire life as a pure striker was nothing short of a catastrophe for Jo Tae-ung.
Perhaps that was why a man who, despite his somewhat blunt nature, had always managed to get along reasonably well with his teammates suddenly became a complete outsider within the squad.
His blunt personality may have acted as a wall between him and the promising young players who now made up the new Seongjin Hanul FC, but in the end Jo Tae-ung was the one who had built that wall himself.
Inside that wall, rotting away, Jo Tae-ung was summoned by Marco Feltner in early August.
Six in the morning—an absurdly sleepy hour. The moment I arrived at the training ground the coach cheerfully rattled something off at me.
I feel terrible saying this, but I had no idea what the coach was talking about.
When I made a face that clearly said I didn’t understand a word, the coach glanced at the woman standing beside him.
Han Do-a.
A woman more beautiful than any I had ever seen.
Shorter than the average woman, yet blessed with an incredible figure, a voice that was both clear and as smooth as rolling pearls, and a smiling gaze that made any man’s heart race.
And on top of all that, a fortune and an aura that simply overwhelmed everything else.
The more information I dug up about her, the more unreal she seemed.
…At the same time, she was also the woman who had contributed more than a little to putting me in this situation.
Of course it wasn’t the owner’s fault. It really wasn’t. So I held no pointless hostility toward her.
Even so, a somewhat curt tone slipped out before I could stop it.
“…What brings the owner out here so early in the morning?”
“I know, right… Why am I even here at this hour… Haaawn…”
Even while she yawned lazily, that same clear voice still rang distinctly in my ears.
I knew she had only just entered her mid-twenties this year, and in many ways she was an admirable person. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much effort it took to keep that precise diction even when she was this sleepy.
“You’re not even smiling…. That was a joke. I was called out as the interpreter today. What kind of coach uses the club owner as his interpreter? I really picked the wrong coach.”
With that she said something to the coach, who made an apologetic gesture yet never lost his smile. Maybe he had cracked a joke.
Idle curiosity got the better of me and I decided to ask.
“What did you say to him?”
“Hm? Aah~ Nothing much~ I just told him I’d dock his salary by my hourly rate for every minute he uses me.”
From what I had looked up, Han Do-a had taken over an investment company called Hanul Invest at twenty and turned it into one of the most notable investment firms in Korea.
Every place she invested in hit the jackpot, so the hourly rate of a chairman of a company like that… No wonder the coach made that face and those gestures.
“Anyway, right now I’m just the interpreter for our oh-so-great coach~ Go ahead and talk with him~”
“Ah… Yes.”
To be honest I had half expected him to drag me to the training ground at six in the morning just to deliver a contract termination—some twisted hobby—but that wasn’t it.
So I began conversing with the coach through the owner.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I slept deeply. I always try to be in bed by eleven at the latest. Yesterday I was asleep by nine.”
“Excellent. Sleep is the source of energy. Your self-management is rock-solid.”
After clapping, the coach threw a question that scraped right against my pride.
“Do you know why I don’t use you, Jo?”
“…Because Kang Si-woo is a better striker than I am.”
“You’re surprisingly quick to accept it. Yes, that’s right. Kang is better than you. Scoring ability, of course, and positioning as well. As a pure finisher Kang is one step above you; in pure talent he’s three steps above.”
The owner translating for him was glancing at my expression—that was how thoroughly he was tearing me down.
Are all Germans this blunt?
“But there are also things Jo does better than Kang.”
“What do I do better? My finishing is worse, my positioning is worse—what am I even good at?”
“Why nothing? There is plenty! Link-up play, work rate, explosive acceleration for driving runs! Those are things Kang simply cannot do. His dribbling is better than yours, but he isn’t a strong penetrator! That’s why I have a proposal for you.”
A proposal.
It was…
“Jo, have you ever thought about becoming a winger?”
A conversion to winger.
“Your pace, your excellent link-up ability, and all the years you spent as a pure center-forward. If you become a winger—I can state this with certainty—you will become one of the best wingers in the K League.”
A winger.
A switch to the wing.
Words I had never expected.
I had started football as a striker and lived my entire life as one.
“I’ve spent my whole life as a striker. Even when I played other positions it was still center-forward…!”
“Think rationally, Jo. Your talent and your abilities belong on the wing. Everything—from the way you train, to what you showed in the mini-games, to the old match footage, even the way you stay behind alone to work on yourself—I have watched all of it before making this proposal. You have the qualities of a winger. Not a striker—a winger.”
Not a striker. A winger.
“Jo, I apologize for bringing this up so late. A change of position is a serious matter, and it can feel like a denial of your entire football life. Even so, I am certain of this: the striker’s shirt is not the one that fits you. You are a winger, Jo. I intend to use your talent inside a system that actually suits you.”
My talent. Inside a system that suits me.
“……Then why did you call me to the training ground today?”
“What else? To introduce you to someone new.”
Now that he mentioned it, it wasn’t only the coach, the owner, and me standing there.
Farther away, a portly Westerner sat on the training-ground bench.
Looking as though he had finally decided the conversation was over, the man walked toward us.
“Let me introduce him. This is the specialized attacking coach I brought from Spain so that Jo can shine as a winger. Jorge.”
“Jorge Beltran. Looking forward to working with you.”
I was briefly amazed that the owner could interpret Spanish as well, but that wasn’t the important part.
The next words out of the owner’s mouth moved my heart.
“He was extremely difficult to bring over. His fee is quite expensive. And though that blunt man will never say it out loud, Coach Jorge was brought here solely for one person—Player Jo Tae-ung.”
Brought over with great effort, expensive fee—those things mattered, of course, but the most important thing was this:
A coach brought here for me alone.
That single sentence swept away my hesitation.
“I’ll do it.”
At my words the owner smiled softly and relayed them to the coach. The coach answered with absolute confidence.
“You’d better prepare yourself, Jo. It’s going to be hard.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted, Coach.”
……As a side note, I really should have prepared myself.
I ran all day long. All day.