Olympic Group Stage (2)
Lee Han coasted to an effortless victory against Egypt.
He bagged a four-trick, and the team came away with a clean sheet, wrapping up a flawless Olympic opener. Naturally, the physical toll of that first match weighed heavily on everyone; the bus ride back to the hotel was dead silent, save for a scattered murmur among a few players.
In the quiet of the bus, I sat by myself, watching the match highlights captured by the national team analysts on my phone. Since Han couldn't exactly leave me a written play-by-play of every touch, watching the video was the most intuitive way to see how things had unfolded on the pitch.
"Aren't you exhausted? You covered an unbelievable amount of ground today."
The question came from Jung-wook hyung, who was sitting right next to me after having come on as a substitute during second-half stoppage time.
"I'm built pretty sturdy, hyung."
"Seriously, your engine is monstrous. Just watching you run from the bench was making me sick to my stomach. You didn't push yourself too hard, did you? We still have a ton of matches left."
If there was one defining trait of the Olympic football tournament, it was the sheer brutality of the schedule. Teams were allotted barely ten days to slog through three group-stage fixtures. To make matters worse, the expansion of the tournament format at the previous Olympics meant the knockout rounds now began with the Round of 16. Whichever color medal you were gunning for, you had to fight through four consecutive knockout clashes to claim it.
Because the knockout tournament had to conclude before the Olympic closing ceremony, the tempo was relentless—if anything, an even more draining ordeal than the group stage.
"You don't need to worry about my stamina, hyung."
"Must be nice being young. These days, my legs ache just from jogging."
Coming from an active starting defensive midfielder who had held down a spot in the German Bundesliga for over five years, it was hard to take the complaint seriously. Still, I let the self-deprecating joke slide and stated what couldn't be emphasized enough.
"Besides, worst comes to worst, even if the legs give out, you run on sheer grit. It's the Olympics. You took this wildcard spot because it's your absolute last chance, didn't you, hyung?"
"...Can't argue with that."
While Tae-ha hyung had already earned his military exemption courtesy of an Asian Games gold medal, the man sitting beside me had been denied his chance back then when his club refused to release him for the tournament. Without a podium finish here, he faced immediate mandatory enlistment with zero room for further deferrals. In that respect, he was more desperate for a medal than anyone else on this roster.
My answer seemed to sit well with him. He gave my shoulder an affectionate, approving pat.
"You know our next match is Argentina, right?"
"Of course. We have to win it, but..."
"It's gonna be a bloodbath."
The single biggest tactical shift since the Olympics adopted a sixteen-team knockout bracket was that every squad—the heavyweights in particular—threw their full strength into the first two group matches to lock down two straight wins. Unless circumstances turned desperate, they almost universally rotated their starting elevens for the third match. If a team couldn't afford to rest their key players in the finale, the physical burnout of such a congested calendar practically guaranteed an early exit in the knockouts.
Squad rotation to conserve energy was hardly a novel concept in the World Cup or European Championship. But this extreme, universal gamble—where virtually every contending nation staked everything on the first two fixtures just to buy a breather in the third—was a peculiar irony unique to the Olympic grind. In fact, during the previous Olympics when the sixteen-team bracket was first introduced, Germany had been held to a draw in their second group match, forced to field their first-choice lineup in the third, and subsequently packed their bags far earlier than expected in the quarterfinals.
Yet tactical headaches aside, the revamped format had caused public hype and media attention to skyrocket. The sheer volume of matches stoked the atmosphere, while the steady trend of lower professional debut ages over the past few decades meant that a constellation of precocious world-class talents graced the tournament. Brazil had brought Real Madrid's Nauzinho, while Argentina boasted Manchester City's Adrian. It was hardly an exaggeration to call this revamped Olympic tournament a miniature World Cup.
"Their attacking talent is on a completely different level, though," Jung-wook muttered.
"Objectively speaking, yeah. We're outmatched on paper."
Argentina's attacking firepower was undeniably terrifying. Adrian was a monster in his own right, but the rest of their forwards were regular starters in Europe's top four leagues, too. Given their youth, it was only a matter of time before several more made big-money moves to elite clubs.
"I'm counting on you to lock them down, hyung."
"Listen to you talk like it's somebody else's problem."
"Come on, you're our holding mid! What's there to worry about?"
"If I had the chops to shut those kids down, I'd be playing for Man City right now..." He exhaled a weary sigh and dragged a hand across his face.
In truth, his anxiety had less to do with his own ability and everything to do with the backline behind him. Unlike the rock-solid, experienced defense of the senior national team, the centre-backs on this Olympic roster were still young and green. Looked at through that lens, Korea's chances appeared practically nonexistent.
Yet it wasn't an entirely hopeless prospect.
Unlike attacking play, defending fundamentally demanded experience. That applied not just to our backline, but to Argentina's as well. The starting centre-backs for Argentina's senior squad were all well over twenty-four, meaning they couldn't field their nation's premier defensive talent at the Olympics either. They had used one wildcard slot on a veteran centre-back, but Argentina deployed a traditional back four. Compared to their senior international setup, their Olympic defense was bound to have exploitable cracks.
"Don't stress over it too much, hyung. If they score on us, I'll just score one more than them."
"I'd call that reckless arrogance if I wasn't terrified you'd actually pull it off after what you did today."
"Want to make a bet on it, like Tae-ha hyung did?"
"Hell no! I'm not getting fleeced of my hard-earned cash like that lunatic."
Having watched my form up close for weeks and having his ankles broken in training day after day, Jung-wook hyung chuckled wryly and shook his head. Apparently, the other players had already gossiped about the bet with Tae-ha. They tended to look at me like I was a bit unhinged, but it wasn't the first time I'd gotten that look; I was long used to it.
"Well, I'll run myself ragged trying to keep them quiet, so just make sure you put the ball in the net like you did today."
"Got it. Leave it to me."
Our conversation trailed off as the bright lights of the hotel came into view through the bus windows.
Inside the national team's lodging, in the private conference room reserved for the coaching staff, a large holographic display projected the figure of Gordon Morton.
"You want me to deploy a 4-2-3-1? Against Argentina?"
Kim Shin-tae, head coach of the South Korean Olympic squad, was genuinely indebted to Gordon for the comprehensive tactical support he had provided on Han's behalf. But this was a tactical suggestion he couldn't simply accept without question.
"I am well aware that Argentina's backline is their relatively weaker link. But that is relative to top European standards. For our squad, their attack is more than enough to overwhelm us."
"With Han on the pitch, you can pull it off," Gordon replied nonchalantly, brushing aside the Korean manager's reservations. "Besides, if I am not mistaken, you transplanted your entire back four directly from a single club side."
"That is true, but..."
Kim Shin-tae had brought the entire back four over from Ulsan, the K-League powerhouse he had previously managed. Naturally, pulling four starters in the middle of their domestic season had met fierce resistance from the club. But with foreign transfers looming for several of those players, and the club eager to secure military exemptions to preserve squad stability, Ulsan had ultimately compromised. Thanks to that existing chemistry, their defensive cohesion was exceptional, regardless of their raw individual ceilings.
"Construct your defensive framework around a disciplined offside trap," Gordon instructed. "It is not as though you haven't drilled it. And even if they manage to breach it a few times and find the net, this tactical structure will generate more than enough goals to overhaul the deficit."
"Theoretically, yes... I understand that it is technically possible on paper, but..."
"You only need to place your faith in Han. At the Olympic level, he is a player who warrants that magnitude of trust."
Kim Shin-tae stared at the display, bewildered by the sheer, unshakeable conviction in the Scotsman's voice. He was well aware that his three weeks of coaching Han barely scratched the surface of what the boy could do, yet he wondered if he could ever muster that blind certainty even after this tournament concluded.
Then again, looking at his goal tally, it's not entirely unhinged.
Over sixty goals in a single professional campaign. Even if it was in the Championship, that kind of return shattered any classification as a mere prospect, both domestically and on the global stage. What was more, the boy had repeatedly dismantled Premier League opposition in cup competitions, proving his output was no fluke.
...Right. I have to trust him. What other choice do I have?
If he wanted to take anything from the Argentina fixture, he had to take Gordon's counsel to heart.
Over the preceding three weeks, once the wildcard selections and Han had assembled the Olympic team into a complete unit, their paramount objective had been grafting Luton Town's tactical blueprints onto the national side. By stroke of good fortune, the squad possessed players well-suited to the system's physical demands, and with Gordon Morton himself walking Kim Shin-tae through every minute nuance, the Olympic team's tactical comprehension rivaled any side in the competition.
Above all, Kim Shin-tae was realistic about his own standing.
He was hailed in Korea as a progressive manager who had studied abroad and served as a coach in Germany and England, but his tactical pedigree paled in comparison to Gordon Morton's masterclass. Accepting what might have otherwise looked like managerial overreach had always been driven by Kim's own desire to learn. If he could steal a glimpse into the tactical horizon of an elite manager, it was an invaluable bargain.
"I understand your point, Gordon."
"I appreciate your open mind. I will send over the supplementary data required for your intensive drills over the next three days."
Gordon made a brief gesture toward his console, immediately transmitting the tactical dossier to Kim Shin-tae's email.
"...If you don't mind me asking, why are you going to such lengths for us?"
For Kim Shin-tae, learning from a manager who had spearheaded Luton Town's miraculous ascent to the Premier League was a godsend, and it benefited his players immensely. But for Gordon himself, there seemed little incentive to go this far. Ensuring Han earned military exemption was undeniably advantageous, but rumors circulated that Han's current contract with Luton would expire before he reached his prime. If Han secured an Olympic medal and eventually walked away on a free transfer, it would be a bitter pill for the English club to swallow.
Even without looking that far ahead, Gordon had a grueling preseason campaign to prepare for. Kim simply couldn't fathom why the man was pouring such hospitality and effort into another nation's Olympic team.
"Are you aware that I was once a striker myself?" Gordon asked calmly.
"Of course. I was actually in the stands at the Allianz Arena when you came on in the second half of the Champions League final to score the clincher."
During his coaching stint in Germany, Kim had the fortune of watching that European final live. The deafening roar of the packed arena, the sea of passion in the stands, and the sublime tactical execution on the pitch had ignited his ambition to pursue a career in management. It was an unforgettable night. Above all, the image of a younger Gordon Morton sealing the trophy with a thunderous stoppage-time header remained burned into his memory.
"That header was magnificent, Gordon."
"...You saw that? How embarrassing," Gordon murmured with a wry, self-effacing smile before continuing. "Han possesses a caliber of talent that makes my younger self look utterly ordinary. At his current stage, he is already far superior to the player I ever was. As the manager who handed him his professional debut, is it truly so strange that I want to see how far he can ascend?"
Gordon Morton was notoriously modest, but he had been far from an ordinary striker. He had plied his trade at Real Madrid and posted an exceptional career goal tally. Finishing his playing days among the elite of the world was proof enough of his pedigree. And yet, that very man was heaping praise on Lee Han with boundless, unrestrained admiration.
Listening to him, Kim Shin-tae couldn't help but wonder if Korea was truly on the verge of producing a generational, world-class striker. A profound wave of respect welled up within him for the legendary manager who had unwittingly charted his own career path. What other manager would invest this much dedication solely for the growth of an individual player?
"To tell you the truth, I am rather hoping this gesture might soften him up for a lengthy contract extension. Haha! Keep it away from the press, of course, but do make sure you remind that Han boy that I'm pulling strings for him behind the scenes."
"......I will make sure to emphasize it at every single training session."
"Splendid. That sounds marvelous."
Seeing that genial, paternal grin take on a distinctly shrewd edge, Kim Shin-tae couldn't help feeling that his sudden burst of reverent awe had chipped away just a fraction.
As these past three weeks had repeatedly demonstrated, nostalgic memories were truly best kept in the past.
Regardless, the lights inside the tactical meeting room remained burning well into the dead of night.