Hope's Torment
After the match between South Korea and Iran ended, talk of my return to the national team started bubbling up quietly in Korea.
Honestly, I had no real lingering attachment to the national team.
It would ding my career a bit, but bluntly speaking, winning the World Cup with South Korea was impossible anyway.
And feeling pride in being part of the national team? After the chaotic mess from my previous life, that was a stretch.
Declaring a special pardon for match-fixing criminals as a "commemoration" for reaching the round of 16. Blaming poor Asian Cup results on players who argued the day before the game, then abandoning player protection entirely.
Each one alone would shatter the soccer association's reputation, but the Korea Football Association pulled off both in under a year.
The typical petty mindset of corrupt officials—taking credit themselves and shoving blame onto subordinates. And the association president, who appointed the coach unilaterally and refused responsibility to the end, trying for a fourth term. It made you question why anyone bothered striving for the national team.
Well. Positively speaking, it helped that when they tried to scapegoat me in this life, I wasn't shocked or betrayed. I expected it—they're just like that.
That was also why, despite Mino Raiola's persuasion to reconsider, I firmly decided to retire from the national team. The association wouldn't change.
Back then, association president Jeong Do-jun—unlike his tenacious survival in the original history—stepped down due to a snowball effect, sparking faint hopes.
I shook my head at the sight of key executives like Geum Bu-gwan—called the association's cancer cells—still clinging to their seats.
...Immortals? Or real cancer cells metastasizing to survive?
No wonder netizens called for dismemberment to prevent resurrection.
Anyway, with transfer rumors and national team return talk heating up, I did an interview with German media.
As the international break ended and Dortmund players trickled back to the club one by one.
Around the time they prepared for the Revierderby against Schalke at home, Signal Iduna Park.
"Son Jinho, sorry we have to do thanks over the phone. Appreciate the help—let me sort the internals thanks to you. How about meeting sometime to talk Korea soccer's future?"
I received thanks from Jeong Do-cheol, the soccer association president.
Not public yet, but he'd cleaned out most of the reform opponents.
"Um... any timeline on national team return?"
What can I say. His unusually cautious tone felt genuine, like a true soccer fan, not for political points. Still, no plans to return right away.
Long flights would harm my still-growing body.
And above all.
Even if problematic figures were excised, I couldn't fully trust the association yet.
"Ahem. If not too much trouble, could I get an autograph? Anyway, the current president seems decent. Felt his love for soccer on the call."
"Please keep what I'm about to say confidential—it's transfer-related, so sensitive..."
After thinking it over, I declared I'd join the national team after keeping my promise with Gyeowol.
"Ah! Really? See you soon in Paju then. Autograph too..."
Unable to witness the dark evolution of Manchester United, the president said cheerfully we'd meet at the national team soon.
His bright voice oddly pricked my conscience.
Well. I'd do my best to prevent Ferguson's retirement, so United might not go dark.
But if Ferguson retires and the Manchester United degeneration proceeds...
Hm.
All I felt was a twinge of guilt for the hope's torment.