The Premier League (2)
Kenilworth Road, the historic home of Luton Town FC.
In my memory, this stadium had always been modest compared to the great arenas of the sport, packed cheek-by-jowl against the surrounding terraced houses—the very definition of a quaint, hyper-local ground. Now, however, it looked entirely unrecognizable compared to how it had stood before pre-season.
All four sides of the pitch were now walled in by towering grandstands instead of just three. God only knew how they had pulled off the construction in such a short window, but the place felt at least two or three times larger than before. Walking out from the tunnel almost tricked me into thinking I had boarded a bus and arrived at an away fixture.
As we stepped onto the pitch early to warm up, the roar of the supporters crashed against my eardrums with several times its usual force.
“What’s with the dazed look on your face?”
“The stadium’s just changed so much.”
To say they had overhauled everything except the pitch dimensions and the feel of the turf would hardly be an exaggeration. It was a completely revamped arena, proudly announcing what a ground built to Premier League standards was truly meant to look like.
“First time seeing our new home?”
“Yeah. I’ve spent the whole week shuffling between the training ground, the medical room, and my house.”
With the season still in its infancy, the fixture schedule wasn't brutally congested yet, but it wasn't generous enough to afford any real leisure, either. Because Lee Yeon and I utilized slightly different muscle groups, we had thoroughly overworked every corner of this body during the Olympic tournament. No matter how freakishly fast our recovery rate was, rest had been non-negotiable.
Well, I feel completely fine now, so it should be alright.
My body moved exactly as I willed it, and above all, the crushing fatigue from the Olympics had vanished without a trace. Dr. Anderson had given his medical clearance, so there were no remaining concerns. Besides, today was our very first Premier League match at home, as well as my Premier League debut. Having already missed the opening fixture because of international duty, delaying it any further was out of the question—my blood was practically boiling with anticipation.
—Thwack!
I met the floated ball with my forehead, cushioning it neatly back to Allen—now sporting the official coaching staff tracksuit as Luton Town's newly minted first-team coach—and glanced up toward the sky. For once, the London weather was brilliant. The sunlight was bright enough to dazzle just looking up.
There were no unpredictable weather variables to worry about, and just as the gaffer had promised, groundskeeper Bob had left the grass cut slightly long, visibly deadening the speed of low ground passes during our warm-up drills. The stage had been tailor-made for me to do what I did best in my debut. Backed by the thunderous roar of our home supporters on top of that, losing was simply not an option.
“Welcome to Kenilworth Road, home of Luton Town, for Round 2 of the Premier League between Luton Town and Everton!”
“For those who followed Luton Town in the Championship last season, the extensive stadium expansion is truly a stunning sight, almost unrecognizable!”
“Indeed. Matchday capacity alone has nearly tripled.”
“Which must be why the roar of the Hatters faithful sounds so much more deafening today!”
Though the away end had its fair share of Everton supporters clad in royal blue, the momentum of the Luton faithful was utterly overwhelming.
Before the modern era, Luton Town was a club that had languished through decades in the third, fourth, and even fifth tiers. Its history was rich, yet that deep history carried more than its share of heartbreak for the supporters. There had been bankruptcies, administration, and even a desperate period surviving as a fan-owned community club. Yet in under five years, putting all that sorrow firmly behind them, Luton Town had undergone a breathtaking transformation.
They had forged a new legacy—lifting trophies—and now stood poised for their first Premier League home fixture. Plenty of traveling supporters had made the trip to West Ham for Round 1, of course, but a home fixture held sacred significance for the fans. Especially so when that ground was a newly expanded arena heralding the dawn of the club's golden age.
“Not nervous, are you?”
“This feels just right. So, how many goals should I bag today?”
“Listen to you, ‘how many goals’! Just make sure you get on the end of every cross I put in and bury it.” Captain Teddy Bennetts let out a hearty chuckle and patted my shoulder. “Glad to see the Premier League hasn’t changed you one bit. Just play today like you did last season.”
“I plan on playing even better.”
“Right, right.”
With that, he ambled toward the bottom of the center circle to receive Dominic's kickoff. Soon, the restless buzz around the pitch settled, and an uncanny quiet fell over Kenilworth Road.
—Fwweeeeeeeet!
“The 2032–2033 Premier League, Round 2! Luton Town versus Everton kicks off with Dominic Moss getting the ball rolling!”
Standing side by side with Dominic at the center spot, I surged forward without hesitation the instant he rolled the ball back to Captain Teddy.
“There was speculation that Lee Han might be rested after coming off the Olympics so recently, but here he is, right in the starting eleven!”
“He's played practically every match he was eligible for from last season through the Olympic tournament, yet his ironclad stamina has kept him free of even minor knocks. A truly gifted natural athlete!”
Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw that Everton's front line had no intention of aggressively closing down Captain Teddy, who was lingering slightly deep in midfield. True to our pre-match tactical analysis, Everton were operating a mid-block, triggering their press only once the ball crossed a designated line.
Had Seokhyun hyung—the linchpin of Everton's defense and buildup coordination—been out there, they might have mounted a more proactive press. But no longer at a youthful, tireless age, he had been left out of the matchday squad altogether to manage his minutes. From Everton's perspective, this was the safest, most conventional strategy an away side could employ.
However, when you combined Captain Teddy's passing range with my aerial ability, that conservative defensive block was nothing more than a feast served on a silver platter.
“Teddy Bennett sprays it wide to Hughes on the left. Hughes looks to take on his man!”
“Everton pressing hard—the ball cycles back to Bennett, and now inside to Dominic!”
Flaunting his technical wizardry, Dominic not only shielded possession within Everton's suffocating pocket of pressure, but slipped the ball through with the sole of his boot, feeding Captain Teddy as he penetrated into the vacated space.
“Everton's pressing structure fractures in an instant! The midfield is completely hollowed out!”
“Choi Seokhyun's absence is acutely felt today. The broadcast camera captures Everton's manager, Brannen, visibly vexed—the defensive frailties from their opening match clearly haven't been resolved.”
As Captain Teddy advanced, both Manager Gordon Morton and the Everton manager stepped to the edges of their technical areas, gesticulating wildly to shout instructions.
“Han!”
At Captain Teddy's shout, I glanced behind me, registered the ball's trajectory, and cut diagonally across the pitch.
Entering the final third, the defensive pressure clamped down hard. Everton center-back Jack Powell rushed in frantically to contest the delivery, leaping into the air alongside me. Yet he couldn't disturb me in the slightest.
—Thud!
Rising a full head higher than Powell, I comfortably met the cross with my forehead. Everton's goalkeeper, who had edged off his line to smother any follow-up strike from Luton's runners, wheeled around with pure panic painted across his face. It was already too late.
“How long have we waited for this moment?! Lee Han! He registers his first Premier League goal just three minutes into his debut!”
“A sublime delivery from Teddy Bennett, followed by a clever header from Lee Han! The goalkeeper collapses to the turf, watching helplessly as the ball sails beyond his reach!”
“Was the vaunted Premier League wall not even a fence to this man?! Look at the nonchalance on his face as he trots toward the stands!”
“Oh, and Lee Han kisses the Luton Town crest on his chest!”
“Silencing transfer rumors in an instant and igniting the crowd! With Lee Han's first league goal, Luton Town take an early 1–0 lead!”
Footballers thrive on the passion and attention of the crowd. Arriving in the Premier League, I felt that truth tingling through every pore of my skin.
The ecstatic cheers, the delirious joy, the sea of orange shirts and supporters donning ribboned straw hats. In stark contrast, the frustrated boos cascading from the away end decked in royal blue. My teammates swarming toward me, while older blokes in the front row looked ready to toss aside their pints, leap the hoardings, and ruffle my hair. And above all else, a colossal tidal wave of support unlike anything I had ever experienced in our home matches before.
I was here. In the Premier League.
“Next time, make sure you score off my cross!”
“Depends on your attitude.”
“Listen to this striker flapping his gums! When I put a cross in, your only job is to put it in the back of the net!”
“……”
Having made his point, Dominic pushed up on his tiptoes and delivered a resounding slap to my back. In no time, the rest of the Luton players joined in with similar enthusiasm, leaving me nowhere to run.
I never should have introduced them to the Korean birthday punches tradition.
Taking a few playful whacks on your birthday was one thing, but they had twisted the ritual to their liking, turning every single "first" into an excuse to batter my back until it stung red.
“How many hits was that?”
“Didn't we all get one each?”
“…Wait, weren't we supposed to hit him once for every year of his age?”
“……”
No wonder the barrage hadn't stopped. A few pale-faced culprits seemed to have dished out over a dozen blows each on their own.
Forget your assists. You're never getting one from me.
Though, of course, if they served the ball right on my forehead, I might reconsider. A striker's got to score to survive, after all.
“Everton are being utterly overwhelmed here!”
“That is the ferocity of the Premier League, where a promoted side can topple anyone on any given day. Upset after upset right from the start of the campaign!”
“The finishing Luton Town sorely lacked in their opening fixture has been completely remedied by Lee Han. Their attack is looking sharper than ever!”
Perhaps Manager Gordon was still fuming over the newspaper editorials from earlier in the week, because when the score reached 2–0 in the second half—both scored by me, for the record—instead of locking down the defense by withdrawing Adlan, who had run himself ragged as our box-to-box midfielder, he brought on my backup striker, Kayden Obreim.
“What did the gaffer say?”
“Said you're coming off as soon as you finish your hat-trick, so I should get on the pitch early.”
“……”
It was a quiet ultimatum: Finish your hat-trick and get off the pitch to rest.
Whether I liked it or not, I'd probably be subbed off within ten minutes anyway. Manager Gordon was obsessive when it came to squad rotation and player management. Even if my medical tests had come back flawless, I knew a manager couldn't help but worry. Had he told me outright, I might have felt a touch disgruntled, but phrasing it so tactfully left me with no room to argue.
“…So you're playing attacking mid until I come off?”
“Spot on.”
“Then drop deep right now, link up with Dominic, and get a cross into the box. Doesn't have to be pinpoint—just get it into the mixer somehow.”
Grasping my intent, Kayden quietly trotted toward Dominic.
The match resumed after the substitution stoppage.
Everton held possession from a throw-in, but Hughes tracking back into defense followed by aggressive frontline pressing forced an errant deflection. Mathias, our goalkeeper, collected the bobbling ball from afar and immediately rolled it forward.
Center-back Andre surged forward without a second thought. The moment he breached Everton's pressing line, before their midfielders could close in, he slipped the ball through to Kayden. Despite his reputation for preferring the poacher role, Kayden carved through the middle with smooth, graceful footwork before threading a through ball to Dominic, who was already bursting into space off the ball.
Preoccupied with marking me, Everton's center-backs had drifted toward the center of the pitch, while their wingbacks hadn't had time to recover after losing possession from the throw-in. Dominic gleefully tore down the left flank. Hugging the byline all the way from the corner flag, he drove directly into the penalty box.
“Stop the dribble!”
“Don't foul him!”
Everton's defenders bellowed, making themselves as big as possible to halt his advance, but Dominic's wits were faster. With a deft flick, he floated the ball skyward—an arc that seemed almost cruel in its teasing loft.
I met the ball flush with my forehead, snapping my neck down into the header. The ball traced a clean trajectory straight downward, bouncing violently off the turf. Mocking the goalkeeper's desperate dive, grazing agonizingly just beyond his outstretched fingertips, the ball rippled the back of the net.
“HAT-TRICK! A hat-trick on his Premier League debut!”
“Lee Han! In the 73rd minute! He writes a brand-new chapter in Luton Town's history! The man to claim Luton Town FC's very first Premier League hat-trick is none other than Lee Han!”
This was football.