Conditions of a Striker (Part 2)

The moment my shot hit the back of the net, it wasn't just me—every single one of us turned on our heels and sprinted back into our own half, eagerly waiting for Bolton to kick off.

When the match restarted with that blistering tempo, the flustered Bolton players were visibly thrown off their rhythm, scrambling even more erratically than before. Adlan, who possessed an uncanny instinct for shutting down passing lanes, wasted no time. Reading their panic in an instant, he stepped right into the trajectory of a pass that was half a beat late, cleanly snatching possession.

He looked ready to feed the ball straight to me, but noticing how Bolton's backline had pulled tight in heightened vigilance, he opted to recycle it backward to Alto instead. With Bolton lacking any presence out wide to press, they had no answer even as we patiently swung the ball from the center out to the flank.

Just as Jozef had done earlier, Alto began advancing steadily along the touchline. The only difference this time was that Bolton's fullback and midfielder shifted aggressively toward the wing to plug the gap, clearly determined not to get caught twice in the same manner. Seeing their shift, Alto held his ground. He didn't push forward any further, but neither did he retreat.

Without hesitation, Alto whipped an early cross toward me. Having practiced delivery after delivery almost daily throughout the winter break, his cross curled cleanly into the heart of the penalty box.

Now it was my turn.

Tracking the trajectory, I adjusted my footing slightly to the side. Then, surging aggressively between the two center-backs, I drove all my power through my thighs and launched myself into the air. Both defenders leaped alongside me, but despite their similar height, their hurried positioning betrayed them. They could only gaze upward in despair as I met Alto's early cross cleanly with my forehead.

The goalkeeper dived frantically toward the corner of the frame, but I had anticipated his reach. Snapping my neck downward, I drove the header into the turf; the ball skipped viciously off the grass right before the goal line, whistling just past the keeper's outstretched fingertips and into the back of the net.

My second goal of the match.

"Now that's football!"

"Lee Han! Lee Han! Lee Han!"

"Up the Town!"

The thunderous cheers of the supporters washed over me, but there was no time to soak it in. We needed more goals. Landing on the pitch, I darted straight into the net just as I had before, scooped up the ball, and bolted back toward the center circle.

The ninetieth minute of the second half.

The scoreboard glared: 4–4.

I had completed my hat-trick, but Bolton were not rolling over. Their manager was no pushover. Even after conceding in rapid succession, he had adjusted his tactics and made timely substitutions against our hyper-aggressive setup, clawing back a goal and showing fierce determination to find a winner on the counter.

Meanwhile, Emir, who had been subbed on around the seventieth minute, lashed at the ball under heavy pressure from Bolton's onrushing defense. Had his touch been intercepted, it would have invited a lethal counterattack, and the supporters collective breath caught in their throats.

Amid the roar of encouragement from the stands, Teddy wiped the ball dry against his sweat-drenched shirt and set it carefully onto the corner arc. Raising both hands high, he signaled the set-piece routine.

Kayden and I saw his signal, locking eyes even as Bolton's markers practically wrestled us in the box.

Tweet!

The instant the referee blew his whistle, Teddy tapped the ball short to Luke, who had stationed himself along the touchline. Luke skipped past the charging fullback with an effortless Marseille turn before curling a teasing cross into the box with immense whip.

"Mark him!"

Someone screamed, but their desperate plea went unanswered.

From the moment Teddy first touched the ball, Kayden had drifted toward the edge of the penalty box. Meeting the curled delivery head-on, he redirected it back across the face of goal toward the opposite post. Caught between two rapid directional changes in mere seconds, the defenders were frozen in chaos. But I moved without a shred of hesitation.

The ball was screaming toward me, traveling on a direct, piercing line rather than a gentle arc. As always, I surrendered completely to instinct and threw my entire body forward.

Crack!

The impact left my skull ringing. Meeting a ball struck with that kind of velocity made a jarring collision inevitable. My head spun for a split second, but the payoff was worth every ounce of pain.

Before I could even think about celebrating, I was buried beneath a mountain of teammates. By the time I finally clawed my way out, the referee was already waving me back, sternly warning me not to waste time. Reluctantly, I shelved the celebration for another day.

With less than a minute remaining on the clock, I dropped deep into our half to help defend, and Bolton burned through the rest of stoppage time without creating a single chance.

Tweet. Tweet. Tweeeet!

The stadium remained locked in a frenzy of jubilant roar for a very long time.

It had been a nerve-racking match with its share of defensive frailties, but regardless, we had survived in the FA Cup.

Having come this far, I genuinely wanted to go all the way and lift the trophy. Winning silverware was always exhilarating, and claiming the FA Cup carried the enormous prize of qualification for the UEFA Europa League—an incomparable windfall for a club pushing for promotion.

Wait... when did I even make an account on this forum?

Why am I logged in right now?

Although the winter transfer window spanned the entire month of January, for Luton Town, business was effectively concluded.

Ordinarily, bringing in even a single player involved endless haggling over resources—which usually boiled down to money—consuming an excruciating amount of time. But the newly injected capital had rendered all those past struggles obsolete. Not that the past few weeks had been easy, of course. Manager Gordon had insisted on wrapping up signings swiftly, pointing out that the league schedule would resume before the window officially closed. As a result, the recruitment staff had worked through countless sleepless nights, practically surviving on coffee.

Adelia was immensely relieved that she hadn't ended up walking on eggshells around Manager Gordon or missing matches because negotiations were dragging on.

"Hayley. Is that supporter all right?"

Right after Lee Han's stoppage-time winner, Adelia had completely lost her composure, jumping up and down in the VIP lounge like a child. In her wild excitement, the plastic cup had slipped from her hand, sending a splash of beer raining down onto a supporter seated below. Naturally, the entire spectacle had been caught on broadcast cameras.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

As the club's de facto owner, being seen as passionate was hardly a bad look. Still, that made proper compensation for the fan all the more necessary. Looking after loyal supporters who bled for the club was non-negotiable.

"They weren't injured, were they?"

"It was only a plastic cup, so there was no physical harm done. Aside from their clothes getting soaked, they're completely fine," Hayley replied.

"Did we give them a season ticket?"

"They're already a season ticket holder, so we presented them with an official match ball and jerseys signed by the squad. They specifically asked for Teddy's and Lee Han's autographs."

Adelia breathed a sigh of satisfaction at her secretary's report. Perhaps it was a biased perspective born of her own passion as a Luton Town supporter, but she felt any true fan would gladly get rained on by beer from the heavens multiple times over if it meant walking away with those collectibles. And since the drenched spectator was a die-hard Hatter, she figured their sentiment couldn't be all that different from hers.

Maybe I should set up a regular event for every home match?

Not by showering them in beer, obviously, but expanding the modest, occasional seat-raffle giveaways into something grander and permanent didn't seem like a bad idea at all.

For now, however, far more pressing matters demanded her attention.

"How is the stadium expansion progressing?"

"We're making preparations to ensure everything is completed by summer at all costs."

"That's a relief. Even so, please look into whether we can ground-share another stadium just in case."

"Understood."

The stadium capacities and safety regulations between the Championship and the Premier League were vastly different. While they shared some common ground, expanding Kenilworth Road and reinforcing its safety infrastructure were unavoidable imperatives—especially now, with European continental competition becoming a genuine possibility. Although modern construction technology allowed such expansions to move faster than in the past, breaking ground the moment the season ended would still leave the timeline razor-thin.

If the work dragged on, the players might be stripped of their home-pitch advantage for the opening stretch of the campaign. It was a situation that required meticulous oversight. After all, next season would be Luton Town's historic first chapter in the Premier League.

"Is there anything else on the agenda?"

"The South Korea national football team has reached out to inquire about Lee Han's availability for the Brisbane Olympics."

"The Olympics..."

As Adelia recalled, he was younger than her. Aside from the three permitted wildcards, the Olympic football tournament was strictly an Under-23 competition, meaning Lee Han comfortably met the age criteria. In fact, he was still young enough to contend for individual accolades like the Golden Boy or the Trophée Kopa.

"When does the tournament take place?"

"From the end of this season right up until the start of the next. Football runs all the way through to the final day of the Olympics, so if he participates, Lee Han will almost certainly be unavailable for our Premier League opening fixture."

"...... Hmm."

She knew Lee Han well. Back when he had first received a senior national team call-up, a man who was normally so reserved had subtly made sure every single person in the squad knew about it. There was no need to even ask whether he wanted to go to the Olympics. He would accept in a heartbeat.

From the club's standpoint, it wasn't entirely bad news either. The mandatory military service requirement hanging over Korean players was widely known in the footballing world; if he secured an Olympic medal, Luton Town could permanently neutralize a major career risk factor. The real concern was whether Lee Han could adapt to a higher, far more demanding league after being run into the ground throughout the summer without a proper preseason.

"... To win even a bronze medal, they'd have to reach the third-place playoff, which guarantees he'd be staying in Brisbane until the very last ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠day."

"Precisely. How should we proceed?"

"Since it falls under mandatory release regulations, we'll inform him and let him make the decision himself. While refusing the call-up outright isn't an option, if he doesn't wish to go, we can always issue a medical certificate stating he's unfit to participate."

Although the Olympics were not an official senior FIFA international window, the governing body's Olympic release mandates left clubs with little authority to block a player. When it came to Olympic participation, the club's desires carried minimal weight compared to the player's own will. Of course, the club could quietly urge him to sit it out. At the end of the day, professional footballers played the overwhelming majority of their matches for their clubs, not their countries, and there were plenty of ways to sway an athlete's mind.

Yet Adelia had zero intention of pressuring Lee Han to skip the Olympic Games just to prepare for the Premier League. In truth, considering his indispensable status within the squad, trying to coerce him was out of the question anyway. She chose to respect his ambition.

If his absence meant Luton Town ended up dropping their historic Premier League opener, that was a bridge they would cross when they came to it.

"Is that all we have for today?"

"Unfortunately, no, ma'am."

"...... Ugh."

Promotion was a dream come true as a supporter, but as an interim owner, it was an endless marathon of paperwork. Once again, caffeine remained her closest companion.