Toward the Brisbane Olympics
Luton Town’s season had drawn to a close, but I still had matches left to play.
The Olympic Games in Brisbane, Australia.
For the sake of my future, bringing home a medal was paramount. In the grand arc of my life, few tournaments carried such immense weight.
There was always the 2034 Asian Games down the road, but given how unpredictable life could be, I wanted to seize the opportunity right before me.
That wasn't to say I had spent the post-season running myself into the ground, obsessively training without a second of rest. Playing all the way through to the FA Cup final had dragged our club schedule out a bit, meaning our break was far from generous to begin with. Even so, after the open-top bus parade wrapped up, I managed to carve out about a week of genuine downtime.
Granted, I had to split that week fifty-fifty with Lee Han, but we still got plenty of proper rest.
Flying back to Korea had been ruled out immediately due to the sheer travel distance. Spending an entire day cramped in an airplane seat was the last thing I wanted, and with practically no real pre-season ahead of this packed year, repeatedly hopping across continents would have completely ruined my body.
“So, what did you even do all week?”
Since a modest town like Luton didn't have an international airport, Wooseung and I were cruising down the M1 motorway toward London Heathrow.
“What else? Slept.”
“Nothing else at all?”
“It’s not like Luton has anywhere exciting to go besides the shopping mall,” I replied. “And if I set foot in a local club, they'd probably cut the music and turn it into an autograph session. Where would I go? What would I even do?”
I wasn't exaggerating in the slightest. According to Dominic, who was wild enough to actually try, the moment he attempted to enter a club in downtown Luton, the entire queue outside instantly morphed into a line waiting for his signature. That was just how much winning silverware and earning promotion to the Premier League meant to this little town.
“Fair point. But you could’ve popped down to London if you really wanted to get out.”
“It was partly because of the hassle, but also…”
Outside of match days, the two of us had grown accustomed to alternating control of our body every twenty-four hours. If I went down to London and partied into the dead of night, Han would have thrown a massive fit. Lately, that guy had basically become a permanent resident of Luton.
“Sounds like you weren't completely idle after all,” Wooseung said, glancing sideways from the steering wheel with a mischievous grin.
“Wait, damn it. You already know, don't you?”
This is exactly why I told him to watch his step. That careless idiot Han.
“Hey, I’m not about to micromanage the private life of a young man in his prime,” Wooseung chuckled. “Still, as you know, it’s a pretty delicate situation.”
“Look, hyung, I swear it wasn't me!”
“Relax, I get it. That’s why I took care of the press beforehand. Luckily, Luton is relatively quiet without many reporters buzzing around, and the editor-in-chief of the paper that managed to snap a picture happened to be a die-hard Luton Town supporter. The perks of a local rag, I suppose.”
“……”
I gave up. While it was true that I had nudged Han along in the first place, dealing with the fallout was a different kind of misery altogether. Why was it always my job to do the explaining?
Closing my eyes, I simply prayed for us to reach Heathrow as quickly as possible.
“…Ugh, my body is completely wrecked.”
With no direct flights from London Heathrow to Brisbane, Australia, I had to lay over in Qatar. The entire ordeal dragged on for well over twenty-one hours. Even setting aside the time spent walking between gates during transit, I had essentially surrendered an entire day of my life to an airplane cabin.
Skipping Korea was definitely the right call.
No matter which route I took through Seoul, I couldn't picture any scenario where my physical condition didn't get utterly destroyed. Long-haul flights truly were pure misery.
Wooseung had accompanied me as far as Qatar before departing to attend to other players under his agency, leaving me to step through the arrivals gate alone like an ordinary traveler, wheeling a single suitcase behind me. The Korean Olympic squad had arrived in Brisbane a full day earlier, and Wooseung had intentionally kept my flight itinerary under wraps. As a result, the only person waiting for me on the other side was a Korean resident living in Australia who had volunteered through the Football Association.
“Well, look at you! You’re so much taller and sharper in person! Spotting you was an absolute breeze!”
Holding a massive welcome sign right outside the gate, a broad-shouldered, hearty-looking gentleman greeted me warmly. We exchanged pleasantries as we walked together toward his vehicle.
“The journey must have been exhausting. You did great hanging in there,” he said. “When I flew all the way to Wembley to catch the FA Cup final, it took well over twenty hours too. That kind of travel takes years off your life.”
“You actually came to watch my final in person?”
“I’m a bit of a football fanatic, you see… When I heard the Olympic team was heading down under, I signed up to volunteer right away. And boy, did I hit the jackpot! To think I'd get to meet Lee Han face-to-face on this side of the world, when I couldn't even manage it in England!”
Every time I heard things like this, the reality sank in that I had genuinely become a celebrated footballer—not just some trending name on an internet forum, but a presence that reached people. Knowing that Koreans living on the exact opposite side of the globe knew my name never failed to move me.
Compared to when I first joined Luton Town—when my signing was relegated to a tiny blurb on community message boards about some nameless Korean moving to the third division, without even a photo attached—it was a staggering leap forward.
As my thoughts drifted, we arrived beside a large van. With a broad smile, the gentleman popped the boot open and hoisted my luggage inside before I could even offer a hand. Once the bags were secure, we climbed inside.
“The back seat has plenty of room,” he said kindly. “Why don’t you lie down and get some sleep?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m okay sitting up.”
Tired as I was, I wasn't about to abandon basic manners.
“It takes about forty minutes to reach the team hotel, so try to rest up. The jet lag must be brutal.”
“Thank you so much.”
As an avid supporter, he surely had dozens of questions he wanted to ask, yet out of pure consideration for my state, he kept the cabin completely quiet from the moment he turned the ignition. Thinking to myself that I should sign one of the many spare shirts Wooseung had packed in my bag for fan service and give it to him as a token of gratitude, I drifted off into a light slumber.
Night had already fallen by the time we reached the team hotel.
After thanking the volunteer, I posed for a photo with him and gifted him signed national team and Luton Town shirts as a gesture of appreciation. He was visibly touched and politely insisted it was too much, but I even draped a Luton Town scarf around his shoulders before parting ways.
With our brief impromptu fan meeting concluded, I wheeled my suitcase into the hotel lobby.
“Oh, look who finally showed up!”
Having evidently finished their evening training, several players were gathered in the lounge: a familiar face in Tae-ha, veteran national team goalkeeper Kim Won-woo, and a few others around my age who had made the Olympic roster.
“What are you all doing down here?”
“Just hanging around chatting after practice,” Tae-ha replied. “Good timing, though. Come over and take a seat.”
Carrying the effortless authority of someone who wore the captain's armband for the senior team, Tae-ha naturally steered me forward to introduce me to the group.
“You all know him, right? The most famous man of the season, Lee Han.”
“Whoa.”
“You won the league and the FA Cup, didn’t you? Congratulations, man.”
Their greetings were warm and enthusiastic. While the entire squad wasn't present, a substantial crowd had gathered, and every single one of them seemed intimately familiar with my recent exploits.
“What’s with the face? Were you worried?” Tae-ha asked.
“A little, honestly.”
By all standard logic, everyone else had assembled in Korea, posed for team photos, and traveled together to Australia. I wouldn't have blamed them if someone looked sideways at a twenty-year-old kid who flew in separately from England.
“Haha! What era do you think we’re living in?” Tae-ha laughed heartily. “I do the exact same thing whenever senior international breaks roll around. If people threw fits over stuff like that, our locker rooms would’ve burned down ages ago.” He paused, shaking his head. “Besides, you’re our starting striker and the focal point of our attack. Who on earth would complain?”
“What about Hyunbum over there?” I asked, glancing across the table.
Sitting opposite me was twenty-three-year-old Won Hyunbum, the reigning K-League top scorer who was currently fielding quiet interest from overseas clubs. Hearing my question, he let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh.
“Hey, I have a conscience, you know,” Hyunbum said. “Top scorer in the K-League or not, objectively speaking, our league isn't on par with the Championship. And considering the number of matches played, you still scored more than double what I did.”
“Why are you ignoring his assists?” Tae-ha chimed in. “In total goal contributions, he basically tripled you.”
“Come on, Tae-ha! Leave a guy a shred of pride!”
“You should consider it an honor just being mentioned in the same sentence as an attacker who scored over sixty goals in a single season.”
“……Oh, whatever.”
Grumbling under his breath, Hyunbum tipped back a glass of water from the table. Despite the teasing, the atmosphere was relaxed and lighthearted, entirely free from the awkward friction that often arose when an outside star displaced an established starter. It was a massive relief.
“And let’s be real,” Hyunbum added, his tone turning noticeably serious. “If we blow this, we’re all shipping off to the military.”
A quiet hush washed over the table. Even I wasn't exempt from the gravity of that statement.
“Truth be told, I don't give a damn if I don't score a single goal,” Hyunbum muttered, his eyes burning with determination. “As long as I can do whatever it takes to help the team win… as long as we bag that medal… just give me that medal…!”
While enlisting in Sangmu was technically an option for him, a European transfer was already half-secured for a player of his caliber. His desperation to make this Olympic run count was entirely understandable.
“So please… I'm begging you, score a ton of goals out there.”
“You don't need to worry about that,” I replied.
I was just as hungry for that medal.
Fortunately, our group draw wasn't overwhelmingly treacherous: Argentina, Gabon, Egypt, and South Korea.
While Argentina stood out as the undisputed heavyweight of the group, the remaining two sides were objectively a step below Korea on paper. Furthermore, formidable powerhouses like Brazil, who possessed an absurdly stacked squad, were placed on opposite sides of the bracket, meaning we wouldn't cross paths with them until much later.
Provided our team functioned properly, securing an Olympic medal was far from an impossible dream.
“With a path laid out like this, we have to make it count,” someone said.
“Though I heard there’s a high chance we’ll meet Japan in the quarterfinals.”
“If that happens, the moment we lose, it’s game over. In more ways than one.”
“……”
United by a singular, shared ambition, we locked in.
Time slipped away with startling speed.
Acclimating to the local climate and fine-tuning tactical chemistry with my teammates required considerable effort, and three weeks vanished in the blink of an eye. Given my unique profile—where my effectiveness shifted drastically between my feet and my head depending on the moment—it naturally took time for both the coaching staff and the squad to adjust to my tendencies.
Fortunately, Head Coach Kim Shin-tae was renowned for his fluid, modern tactical systems rather than old-fashioned brute-force management. Having developed a reputation for unlocking his players' individual strengths, he already possessed a deep understanding of my situation, allowing our adaptation period to proceed much quicker than expected.
Of course, an unexpected source of assistance had helped pave the way.
“Gordon Morton was remarkably accommodating,” Coach Kim had told me during our early sessions.
“Pardon?”
“I mean he explained exactly how to get the best out of you. He broke it down in such incredible detail that I learned a great deal. If you ever get the chance back in England, tell him I owe him a meal.”
Being completely fluent in English, Coach Kim had somehow established direct contact with Gordon Morton, gaining an exhaustive understanding of my tactical nuances. Recognizing how crucial this tournament was for my career, Gordon had evidently answered every single inquiry with meticulous care.
Whatever the reason, it was a massive win for us. Thanks to that dialogue, the squad and I integrated smoothly into the tactical blueprint.
With the opening ceremony behind us, we finally arrived at the stadium hosting Korea’s opening fixture. Perhaps because we were in the Southern Hemisphere, the winter air felt crisp and cool, reminiscent of a pleasant autumn afternoon—ideal conditions for a match.
“Alright, boys. It’s our first match. Nobody’s nervous, right?”
At the manager’s question, quiet smiles broke out across the dressing room.
Our opening group-stage opponent was Egypt. They weren't a side blessed with exceptional structural balance, nor did they boast world-class individual stars. Unlike typical West African sides that leaned heavily on overwhelming raw physical dominance, Egypt favored a more measured approach. Securing all three points here was mandatory if we wanted a smooth passage into the knockout rounds.
“Stick to what we practiced,” Coach Kim said, clapping his hands together. “Go out there and show them everything we prepared.”
“Yes, sir!”
Glancing around at the players clad not in the familiar crest of Luton Town, but in the vibrant red shirts bearing the emblem of the Korean tiger, I pushed myself up from the bench, ready to step onto the pitch.
Our Olympic campaign had officially begun.