Reincarnation
A K League 2 match. Seoul versus Busan.
During a K League 2 match, a player went down.
Cardiac arrest.
They did everything they could as fast as they could, but the next day he was gone.
Just like that, a star vanished from the world.
"Haaah—!"
A boy jerked upright in bed.
"That dream again."
The boy was Lee Junho, freshly turned thirteen. Not an ordinary thirteen-year-old — a reincarnator who had died of cardiac arrest while playing in K League 2.
And the odd part was this: he had been born in Spain.
In his previous life he had been an orphan, pure Korean through and through. Why he had woken up in Spain was a mystery he still couldn't solve.
"Seriously, why Spain?"
It was a question he had carried for thirteen years since the reincarnation, but with no one to answer it, he had more or less given up.
"Breakfast, Junho!"
At the call he left his room and went downstairs. At the table sat Ju Seohyun — his mother in this life.
"Doenjang-jjigae for breakfast today!" she said with a bright smile, announcing the menu.
"Looks delicious."
I took in the neatly arranged stew and side dishes.
Gonna be good again today.
While I was still looking at the table, my little sister Lee Eunha came out of her room.
"Oh. Hey."
"Hey."
We traded greetings, sat down, and started eating. Watching her children dig in, Mom smiled. Just seeing the two of us eat was probably enough to make her happy. That was the kind of gentle person she was.
"Eat plenty — there's more."
The only problem was that she loved us so much she always cooked far too much. Not that I was complaining. I was firmly on the side of "more is better."
"Uh… it's morning. I can't eat that much," Eunha said, reading the room.
"Really? Then just finish this."
Ju Seohyun scooped more rice from the cooker and piled it into Eunha's bowl.
"Ah…"
Eunha slumped, but Mom paid it no mind and added another helping for her son as well.
"Eat up, son."
"Yes, Mom."
I already knew resistance was futile, so I took the extra rice without a word. My stomach was almost full already — but still. Moments like this made me feel truly seen, truly cared for. In my past life I had been an orphan; no one had ever shown me kindness like this. I knew exactly how precious it was.
"Don't get too nervous today, son. Just go do well on the test."
I looked up from my rice.
"Yes… don't worry. Whose son do you think I am?"
"That's right! Whose son, indeed."
Today was the entrance tryout for Barcelona's youth team.
Dying while playing soccer in my previous life had not killed my love for the game. If anything, I wanted it more than ever. I wanted to play in the top flight.
Last time, no matter how hard I worked, the wall of talent had stopped me. Second division was as far as I ever got. I had thrown everything at that wall and still never made it to the first division before my heart gave out.
So this life, I was going to live for soccer again.
I was still chewing over the future when Eunha spoke up.
"Do well."
A simple bit of encouragement. We got along fine — better than fine, really — but I hadn't expected her to say something like that. While I was still surprised, I noticed her face had gone red. Tomato-red. I almost laughed, but I held it in. When your little sister works up the nerve to say something that embarrassing, laughing is a little mean, isn't it?
"Yeah."
Just that one short word. It must have been enough, because Eunha smiled.
That's right. Smile more, little sister.
After reincarnating, I had wondered about it more than once — by what principle I had come back at all. Eventually I realized there was no way to know and stopped dwelling on it. Still, the thought drifted back from time to time. Not that the conclusion ever changed.
Walking down the street, I heard music thick with old-time feeling. Couldn't be helped. I had died in 2024; this was the year 2000. The gap was something you just had to live with.
On the bright side, the advantages were huge. Being dropped into the past meant I could use future knowledge to make a fortune. Pull even a hundred billion or so out of Bitcoin, and after I retired from soccer I could live the dream — a rich freeloader with nothing but time.
Not that my plan to become a soccer player had changed in the slightest.
"You're here for the tryout?"
"Yes."
"Hmm. All right, go on in."
Before I knew it I had arrived at Barcelona's home ground. I told the man at the gate I was there for today's entrance test and got through without trouble. Once inside, the stadium stretched out vast around me — and of course it did. This was Camp Nou, home of one of the greatest clubs in the world. Of course it was enormous.
"Whoa…"
I was still looking around in awe when I spotted someone up ahead with a ridiculous build, walking in a soccer kit. A Barcelona player, probably. Except I had never seen anyone like him at Barcelona. Then again, that made sense. This wasn't just any club — it was Barcelona. Physique alone would never get you a place here. In my past life he had probably ended up somewhere else.
I was still turning it over when the big guy disappeared into the distance. Well, if he was with Barcelona, I'd probably see him again if I stuck around.
…Okay, that was weird. Why was he here?
When I reached the tryout area, the same massive kid from earlier was standing right there.
"How old are you?" I asked, curiosity winning out.
"Thirteen."
"Not twenty-three?"
"Thirteen."
I was stunned. That frame — and he was the same age as me?
"What's your name?" he asked while I was still reeling.
"Lee Junho. You?"
"Jorge."
"You here for the tryout too?"
"Yeah."
A little conversation later, I had the basics on Jorge. His role model was Maradona, but his position was center-back. He was already a hundred and eighty-four centimeters tall. Useful facts, all of them.
"All right, everyone, gather up over here!"
While we were still getting to know each other, a man who looked like he was running today's test walked in.
"Looks like everyone's here. Let's get started."
The tests covered a lot — dribbling, top speed, jump height, the works. Somewhere in the middle of it I realized Jorge was fast. With a body that size I had expected him to be clumsy, but the speed was real. Hard to believe, honestly.
"Nice!"
I wasn't the only one who noticed. The man running the session kept saying it over and over.
After the individual drills, they split us into teams for a simple mini-game, matching sides by the talent they had already seen.
"You go over there. You, over here."
Once the teams were set, the match kicked off.
"Tweet—!"
It was only a mini-game, but you still need a referee, so the man in charge took the whistle himself.
As a striker, I waited up front for the ball. It never came. The play kept circulating in the back, never advancing. Eventually I dropped deep to get on the ball myself. I received it, started to turn — and a massive impact slammed through my body.
Jorge had hit me.
It felt like walking into a natural disaster. I went down. The whistle blew; foul.
"You okay?"
That gentle face and soft voice did not match a physique that could only be described as demonic. Still, there was no malice in it, so I wasn't angry.
"Yeah."
After surviving one natural disaster, the rest of the match was mine.
I dropped deep, took the ball, and made fools of the kids charging in from behind one by one. I beat seven of them, rounded the keeper, and rolled it into the empty net for the first goal.
When I turned around, both teams were standing there with their mouths open. I almost laughed.
Hmm. What now? We're just getting started.
After the opener, no one could stop me.
"Mark him already!"
"You mark him, then!"
By the fifth goal, two of their defenders were arguing with each other.
"Junho, you're incredible at soccer!"
Jorge, for his part, didn't show a shred of jealousy — only pure admiration.
"Yeah…"
Honestly, it was only natural. Even if it had been the second division, I had played professionally for more than a decade. After reincarnating, I had kept growing on the foundation of that experience. And this body — unlike the last one — was overflowing with talent. Every technique soaked in like water into a sponge.
By the time I finished farming the opposition, the final score was 6–0. Even that only stayed that low because Jorge managed to stop me a few times.
With the mini-game over, the tests were done. The coach in charge told us we could head home.
"That's everything. You can go. We'll mail the results to your houses, so make sure you check."
With that he left, and the other kids drifted off one by one.
"Jorge, your defending was solid."
"Nowhere near as good as you."
Once everyone else was gone, just the two of us stayed behind talking about the mini-game. It was fun.
My first friend after reincarnation.
A slightly oversized one.