First Broadcast?
'Hmm... Have they given up on even a draw?'
Gwanghwa High didn't abandon their ten-back defense even after conceding to my fantastic mid-range shot.
After immovable second-place Hojin High collapsed spectacularly due to their coach's assault scandal, the battle for third place—and a spot in the King of Kings tournament—had gotten fierce. They were probably playing it safe, minimizing goals against in case goal difference decided the rankings.
Whatever. That was Gwanghwa High's problem.
"Boo—! You're losing and still playing anti-football? What are the kids supposed to learn from this? You bastard coach!"
Naturally, boos erupted from the stands—small at first, but enough. Everyone had expected the game to open up once they shed their turtle shell. But if the team that conceded kept turtling, who wouldn't get pissed?
"Hey! Cut the booing! It could backfire on our oppa!"
Still, the crowd quieted down soon enough. With underage players still on the pitch, no one wanted to spark a controversy, so other fans reined it in.
'Man, he really isn't coming out.'
I smiled at the voices from the stands and glanced toward Gwanghwa High's half.
Their players just stood there blankly, watching us pass the ball around.
I could keep circling the ball at the back and cruise to victory. But the rebel in me whispered to slam a bullet of justice into that goal they were guarding so preciously.
'Who am I?'
The legend who'd played fifteen years in the K-League, defying fans screaming for me to get out and go overseas.
Even the fans and brass of my club, Seoul, had begged me to join any Leverkusen side that offered and represent Korea—and Seoul—with pride.
I had talent like no other. That's why Leverkusen kept chasing me season after season, even having their coach (president) call personally to persuade me.
In Coach Choi Gi-hyeon's style: "The player Real Madrid obsessed over, FC Barcelona name-dropped their DNA for, and Munich begged on their knees? It's me!"
But I never left Korea, no matter what the fans said. Not like I stayed out of spite to their "get out" chants—that'd be insane. Who skips Leverkusen to spite fans?
No, it was leaving Gyeowol alone in the columbarium that I couldn't stomach.
Sure, Leverkusen's offers tempted me. But I turned them all down.
Somehow, going abroad without her felt like time would erode her memory.
So I rejected the offers, and disappointed soccer fans showed up at games to hurl abuse.
I'm not saying it didn't hurt—they were fans, after all. But I got by thanks to teammates and supporters who respected my choice, plus my father-in-law and mother-in-law.
Eventually, disappointment turned to curiosity. Why wouldn't Son Jinho go overseas?
Made sense. If it was about money, I'd have played in China or the Middle East, not Korea.
Maybe that's why public curiosity peaked. One day, the TV show I Want to Know That aired a segment: "Why Doesn't Son Jinho Go Overseas?" featuring my story.
Exposing the K-Car sudden acceleration crash that took Gyeowol flipped public opinion overnight.
After that broadcast, I got dubbed the "Romantic of the Era." (Before? "Non-Flying Kimchi Man," mocking me for supposedly fearing flights.)
Countless female celebs named me their ideal type. But I hated the new nickname. Felt like profiting off Gyeowol's death. Non-Flying Kimchi Man was better.
'Whew...'
I shook my head, shaking off the memories. Focus on the game now. That's the past. Gyeowol was right here beside me.
Some memories from our last life were gone, but we still shared plenty. And we'd make way more new ones.
While I zoned out, I could see the players' focus slipping. No attacks from us, no pressure from them—game stalled.
"Pass it here!"
I raised my hand to center-back Kim Jae-hyeon, who was passing it around at the back, and received it.
Normally, I'd tuck the ball under my foot to protect it. But for a dribble breakthrough, I positioned it on the outside of my right boot.
A bit awkward since it wasn't my usual style. But breaching high schoolers? No problem.
Starting with a nutmeg on the tense Gwanghwa midfielder rushing to block my mid-range shot, I nutmegged and slipped past them one by one.
"Hoo-ooo-ooo-ooo!"
The cheers from the stands swelled with each one.
"My boyfriend Son Jinho, you're so cool!!"
And—maybe my imagination?—Gyeowol's voice rang clearest in my ears, a smile tugging at my lips.
I snapped to: I'd entered the penalty box. True to "the last pass is a shot," I struck low and inside with my instep, like passing to a teammate.
The ball swerved into the corner, untouched by the keeper, shaking the net.
"Gyeowol!"
As the net rippled, I bolted to where she sat, crossing my ring fingers.
"Hoo... Huh?"
Fans prepping their Hoo celebration sounded baffled.
Sorry to disappoint, but I wanted to show her this celebration right now. Old memories had me feeling sentimental.
"Aigoo! Our girl's so lucky? Can't expect romance like that from our house punk."
"Ahem. It's embarrassing."
Gyeowol ducked her head shyly at her mom and dad's words. I smiled.
"Boo—! What kind of romance from a student?!"
Playful boos rang from the stands at our lovey-dovey moment.
Some seemed half-serious and pissed. But most spectators grinned.
The moment Son Jinho's shot rattled Gwanghwa High's net.
"You fucking... "
The Gwanghwa coach nearly spat double curses at the players who'd lost focus and caused the goal—but glanced at the stands and swallowed his rage.
'...That moron Hojin High coach bastard.'
After the recent Hojin High coach scandal, coaches' reputations were in the gutter.
He knew cursing out players now would make him the next Hojin coach.
As the coach stewed, halftime ended.
"...Good work, everyone. Let's hold on for another 40 minutes in the second half."
He'd planned to chew them out, but visions of the guillotine made him plaster on an awkward smile and pat their backs instead.
'What's with him?'
'No idea.'
'Mommy, I'm scared.'
Gwanghwa players, heads bowed expecting a tirade, gawked at the uncharacteristic kindness.
And scenes like this were unfolding nationwide.
Kang Chan subbed in right at the start of the second half. He wasn't a starter striker, but he came off the bench often and had a killer nose for goal.
'Wonder what he'd be like if he'd stuck as a forward from kid days without switching positions.'
Anyway, the flow didn't change post-sub. We kept knocking; they kept turtling.
Most future opponents would turtle like Gwanghwa.
"Push the line up! Press hard!"
I ordered the team to advance the line and press their huddled defense fiercely. Gwanghwa cleared desperately.
One mishit went to our center-back. After endless pounding, Gwanghwa erred at the 30-minute mark. Their midfielder sidestepped pressure for a lateral pass.
I intercepted, locked eyes with Kang Chan, and slotted a through ball.
His first touch was clunky, but he controlled it. At the doorstep, he glanced at the keeper, turned calmly, and rifled opposite way.
The keeper froze, no reaction. Damn, polish that a bit and he's U-19 material. Their only issue? Strikers' finishing.
'Hell, even Han Gwang-jong wanted to play me—a top battler midfielder—as striker.'
The more I thought, the sadder it got—Kang Chan switching positions young due to poverty.
After the Gwanghwa match ended, Coach Choi Gi-hyeon addressed the exhausted players.
"Kids, great job today. Thanks for running your hearts out."
He'd ditched his authoritarian side fast after the Hojin scandal, beaming with unmatched warmth. Players (except me) looked touched.
'The true moral guide leading young players right in this era, Korea's finest virtuous coach? It's me.'
For some reason, I could see right through Coach Choi Gi-hyeon.
As he called each by name, soothing them...
"Um..."
A man approached. Coach stepped forward protectively. I eyed him like, Didn't know he had this side.
"Who are you? If you're a scout, come to the school later..."
"No, not a scout. I'm an SBK PD!"
The man waved off the coach's words, pulled a business card from his wallet, and handed it over.
"Aigoo! I'm Geum-sun High's coach, Korea's greatest virtuous leader—Choi Gi-hyeon!"
I couldn't hide my grin at "TV PD," watching the coach's ear-to-ear beam with cold eyes—then burst out laughing.