Quarterfinals: Korea vs. Japan (Part 3)

It was a living nightmare.

The Japanese players were convinced they had not yet awakened from a bad dream. Or rather, that was what they desperately wanted to believe.

Trailing by a preposterous 3–0 scoreline at halftime was already humiliating enough. But watching Lee Han seal his hat-trick barely twenty minutes into the second half was sheer, unadulterated terror.

Objectively speaking, the gap in raw quality between the two nations was never supposed to be this vast. While Japan might not have possessed anyone of Lee Taeha's caliber, they still boasted an imposing core of midfielders who operated at an elite level for the Olympic stage, alongside a respectable attacking unit. The catastrophe had stemmed entirely from a single individual: Lee Han, who, despite having bagged three goals and two assists, remained insatiably hungry, practically snatching the ball out of the Japanese net to sprint it back to the center circle himself.

"...It's hopeless," Hashira, the Japanese manager, muttered with a heavy sigh.

The fluid, synchronized movements he had meticulously drilled into his squad were nowhere to be found on the pitch. His master plan had been straightforward: flood the central third with technically sound midfielders to seize numerical supremacy, then aggressively swarm anyone attempting to transition through the center to recover possession. That tactical framework was supposed to dictate the tempo and control the match.

Today, it had collapsed into absolute shambles.

What on earth am I even supposed to do in a situation like this?

Lee Han, that singular monster, had personally dismantled the very prerequisite of Japan's strategy: control of the midfield. Watching him single-handedly perform the work of three men made Hashira question the fundamental purpose of a manager.

Back in the first half, when Japan trailed by merely a single goal, Lee Han had already begun laying the groundwork. Utilizing crisp triangular passing combinations, he drew out Japan's staggered midfield block, which had initially been positioned to choke off space. Hashira had not been blind to the danger. In fact, he had taken the drastic measure of making early substitutions before halftime, demanding that his players refocus on their tactical assignments.

Yet immediately after those adjustments, a pinpoint cross from Lee Han ripped everything apart. Jung Jin-woo, Korea's left winger who had been lurking unnoticed on the periphery, struck an unexpected goal. Before Japan could even regroup from the blow, an exquisitely timed through ball beat their offside trap, gifting another goal to defensive midfielder Choi Seokhyeon as he surged into the box.

Swallowed whole by Lee Han's relentless tempo and dragged along at his whim, Japan's once-cohesive defensive lines began to unravel piece by piece. No matter how influential their overage wildcard selections were, they were still only three men out of eleven. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠To make matters worse, one of those veterans carried lingering psychological scars from being thoroughly dismantled by Lee Han in a senior international friendly. The creeping terror spread through the Japanese squad like wildfire.

A brief fifteen-minute ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠halftime interval was nowhere near enough to patch over such a glaring chasm in individual class. Shaken and disheartened, the Japanese side emerged for the second half already beaten in spirit. Naturally, there was no stopping him now. Japan's once-compact lines vanished into thin air, carved open repeatedly by a flurry of Lee Han's dribbles and incisive passes. The defenders looked as though they were wading through deep water, slow and flailing, while the goalkeeper stood virtually as an ornament.

How is any tactical system supposed to stop that?

It was a thought no manager should ever permit himself to entertain. Yet deep down, Hashira knew the truth: within his tactical repertoire, there was simply no answer for this rampaging, towering striker. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠All he could do was stand on the touchline and helplessly watch Lee Han stroll across the pitch with the ball at his feet.

From the technical area, Coach Kim Shin-tae signaled that substitutions were being prepared. This impending attack would likely be my last involvement of the match. With such a commanding cushion in the second half, resting key starters was standard procedure, so the decision came as no surprise. Even so, I was still one goal short of the tally I had set my sights on.

I glanced over at the Japanese players, who looked thoroughly hollowed out after enduring the onslaught across both halves. It was rare to witness a trailing side take a kickoff only to cycle the ball backward without showing any desire to advance. Their backline dropped so deep it felt like an unspoken plea, as if begging us not to put another goal past them.

Naturally, we had no intention of granting them mercy.

Even if we conceded a goal or two, the result was already beyond doubt. With nothing to lose, we intentionally applied suffocating pressure high up the pitch, entirely unbothered by leaving space behind our backline. Japan scrambled desperately to withstand our press and managed to retain possession, but the frantic clearance only resulted in an inconsequential free kick deep inside their own territory.

Because the ball had sailed quite some distance out of bounds, there was a brief pause before play could resume. I used the lull to trot over to Seokhyeon hyung as he organized our defensive shape.

"Seokhyeon hyung."

"What?"

"Go on over and win that ball back for me."

"...What do I look like to you, a golden retriever fetching a stick? If it were that easy, I would've done it already." He gave me an utterly dumbfounded look.

"I'll make it easy for you. Just move exactly where I tell you to."

Deconstructing an opponent's system, feeding every player's movements into a mental simulation, and predicting what would unfold seconds before it happened—that was the hallmark Gordon Morton occasionally displayed during league fixtures, a manager who was currently watching this spectacle unfold from high up in the stands. Naturally, I had not yet attained Gordon's transcendent mastery. Tracking every player's motion in real time while battling inside the white lines was borderline impossible.

However, when the opposition was static and their impending tactical movement was blindingly obvious, imitating a fraction of that foresight was well within my reach. Furthermore, unlike Gordon standing on the sideline, I could actively coordinate and steer my teammates' positioning on the pitch before the free kick was even taken, making the execution considerably simpler.

"Both of you, freeze right where you are," I directed.

"Just stand here?"

"Yeah. Just occupy that pocket of space."

Using right winger Ahn Jaehyun and Kim Jeong-uk, one of our double pivot holding midfielders, I choked off the passing lanes into our half.

"Jinho!"

"Yeah?!"

"Shift inward toward me!"

I dragged our left winger, Jung Jin-ho, into a near-central position. Occupying that specific pocket alone would lighten Taeha hyung's workload. As for Taeha hyung, I did not bother giving him instructions. World-class veterans like him made the best decisions when left to their own instincts; confining him to a rigid spot would only hinder him.

"And Tae-wook hyung, the moment he kicks the ball, sprint straight toward the Japanese goal with everything you've got. Just like that run you made when you scored in the first half."

"Where should I start my run from?"

"Right where you're standing now."

With Tae-wook hyung's lane locked in, the only missing piece was me. I settled into position just behind the designated kicker's blind spot. The trap was set.

Fweeeet!

The referee's whistle echoed, restarting play. Japan was hardly going to loft a direct long ball ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠out from their own defensive flank. Stationed out near the right touchline, the Japanese midfielder Yamane looked to knock a low diagonal pass backward into his own half. But Jin-ho was already cutting off the primary angle, and the moment other Japanese players attempted to shift into support, Taeha hyung mirrored their movements, constricting the passing options even further.

The safe backward outlet was gone.

The instant Yamane redirected his vision toward the center, I lunged from his blind spot to slam the central corridor shut. Rattled by my sudden emergence, he panicked and prepared to boot the ball downfield, but Jaehyun and Jeong-uk were already choking the direct channel toward our half.

Under ordinary circumstances, a player would take a breath, survey the pitch, and instruct teammates to cycle into open space. But the sheer anxiety dripping from Yamane's posture made it clear he lacked the composure for that. The mounting desperation to reduce the deficit, compounded by the precious seconds lost chasing the ball, meant he could not afford to take a single wasted touch.

In the end, he was left with only one viable avenue: a risky, threaded ball into the feet of their central attacking midfielder, the only teammate with any realistic hope of receiving it.

It was struck with pace along the turf, but traveling across the heavy grass of the center circle bled off its velocity. Normally, that slight drop in speed wouldn't have been catastrophic. But today, a predator was lying in wait.

The ball rolled smoothly into Seokhyeon hyung's stride, and without breaking momentum, he scooped it up with the tip of his boot.

"Take it!" he barked.

Naturally, the delivery was aimed squarely at me. Harnessing the ball's rolling momentum, he clipped a delightfully spun pass that floated into the open channel. Several Japanese defenders shouted in panic as they scrambled to bring me down, but I had already hit full stride the very moment the free kick was struck.

Once my massive frame picked up momentum, no Japanese defender on the pitch had the physical power to derail me. A Japanese center-back desperately tugged at my shirt, only to be cast aside like a rag doll. Ahead of me, the path was completely clear—not a single defender remained between me and the net. Only the goalkeeper crouched low, inching forward off his line to narrow the angle.

Thump.

Right as the keeper planted his feet in hesitation, I mirrored Seokhyeon hyung, chipping the ball softly off the tip of my boot. There was no need to unleash raw power. We still had two matches left in this tournament.

The ball traced an exquisite, looping arc through the summer air before nestling gently into the back of the net.

Holding up four fingers with a broad grin, I began my triumphant stroll around the pitch.

The instant I uploaded the photo snapped inside the locker room, the internet practically erupted. Watching the comments refresh at a blinding, chaotic pace was quite a sight to behold.