Premier League (Part 3)

I woke up feeling remarkably refreshed.

Did he rotate out early?

Glancing at the bedside clock, I saw it was still quite early. After rolling around in bed for a bit, I dragged myself upright and gave my stiff muscles a thorough stretch.

Where's my phone...?

I spotted it resting on the table—the personal phone Wooseung hyung had set up for me during the pre-season. Even if Lee Han and I shared the same physical body, we didn't live identical daily lives. So I had asked Wooseung hyung, who oversaw nearly every aspect of our personal affairs, to get another line opened. Officially, it was registered as Lee Han's secondary private phone, but for all practical purposes, it was exclusively mine.

Naturally, I had already passed the new number along to those who needed it—our Luton Town teammates and close acquaintances—so staying in touch was seamless. If anything, it made me wonder why we hadn't split our phones sooner.

So, how did things go yesterday?

Heading into the kitchen, I grabbed a pouch of apple juice from the fridge, popped it open, and began browsing the online reactions to Lee Han's Premier League debut.

Judging by the reactions, the fanbase was expanding at a steady clip. Threads concerning Lee Han boasted an overwhelmingly higher comment count compared to posts about other Korean players overseas. When it came to stirring up attention, nothing commanded the spotlight quite like a striker scoring goals.

Which meant that when my own debut rolled around, I wanted to put plenty in the back of the net as well.

Looking for a bit of extra motivation, I logged into my account and drafted a post.

For the record, the account was still under Lee Han's name. I couldn't register one under my own identity even if I wanted to, and since Han only ever scrolled through posts without writing anything, I saw no reason to discard the community standing I had built up over time.

Now that's what I call fan engagement.

I downed the rest of the apple juice in one gulp and tossed the empty pouch in a clean arc straight into the trash bin.

Typically, a player adapted to new tactics during pre-season before stepping onto the pitch for competitive fixtures. But for Han and me, that hadn't been an option. The Olympics had consumed our pre-season almost entirely.

Of course, both Han and I possessed tactical comprehension well above average, which was why no glaring issues had cropped up during the match against Everton. Still, with time to spare before our next fixture, there was every reason to study our system further.

It looks like the tactics have shifted slightly, too.

Even just watching the match footage, I could see adjustments in the subtle movements of several players. It wasn't particularly surprising; now that Luton Town had entered the Premier League, running the exact same setup from the Championship was out of the question.

"Boss."

"Ah, you're here."

The tactical analysis room inside the training complex—once home to little more than a humble projector, a desk, and a few chairs—had undergone a high-tech overhaul. The walls were lined with Luton Town's storied history; on one side sat a high-end projector, on another was an expansive rendering of Luton's newly renovated stadium, and along the remaining wall stood a massive tactical board that made the old chalkboard look quaint. It felt like the kind of room where tactical concepts would sink in effortlessly.

"Now that you're here, let's get straight to business."

Manager Gordon, a man to whom everyone deferred whenever football was on the table, wasted no time diving into tactics the moment I pulled up a chair.

"First, this is from yesterday's match."

As the match footage played from the projector, the magnetic pieces representing the players moved across the tactical board in real time.

"That's... right before Han—I mean, right before I scored."

"Correct. Looking at it from this angle, what comes to mind?"

"To begin with, Mathias shifted his buildup position slightly to the right, which allowed the right fullback to push forward."

An Everton midfielder had stepped up to exploit the vacated space behind that advancing fullback, inadvertently hollowing out Everton's central midfield. We capitalized on that opening to deliver the goal. In short, that was the sequence.

I walked the manager through the buildup and the goal against Everton phase by phase, and he nodded in clear approval of my tactical grasp.

"Very objective. Surprisingly few players can remain objective when reviewing matches they played in. Whether it's a lack of tactical awareness or simply refusing to admit their own shortcomings. But you are always remarkably objective."

The manager pushed a cup of tea toward me across the table as he spoke.

"At times, your assessments are even more brutal than mine. It makes my job easy."

"Thank you, Boss."

"If someone didn't know better, they'd think another person was doing the evaluating for you."

"Cough!"

I nearly spewed my tea across the table.

"Well, at any rate, you'll naturally settle into the Everton setup over the course of the season as we train. For now, we need to prepare for the next fixture."

"...Right. Yes, sir."

Our next opponent was Crystal Palace. A solid mid-table side that had held its ground in the Premier League for the past three seasons—a familiar name to anyone following English football.

"We'll be setting up in a 4-3-3 against Palace."

The manager arranged the pieces on the board into formation. On paper, it was designated as a 4-3-3, but in practice, the defensive midfielder dropped deep to form a back three, while the wingers and fullbacks pushed aggressively high, creating an attacking rectangle that occupied the entire opposing half. And dead in the center of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that rectangle stood the striker—me.

"Palace isn't a side that looks to dominate through relentless pressure."

"I've heard their backline is quite stubborn."

"Which is precisely why I believe you'll have an easier time breaking them down. Their defensive unit is exceptionally disciplined, but when a system is that rigid, it often becomes vulnerable the moment it encounters a true crack."

"Is that why you've arranged so much attacking support around me...?"

"Precisely. Go out there next match and tear through them however you see fit."

Arrows projected from the pieces representing Luton's fullbacks and wingers, converging squarely on the central striker. With this level of attacking commitment combined with dynamic off-the-ball runs, tearing their shape apart and carving out goals was well within reach. I had only watched a few minutes of Crystal Palace's defensive line movements on the projector, but conviction settled in quickly.

This will work.

As long as I played my part, this setup had all the makings of a blowout victory.

"We'll spend the next few days drilling the movements, but I have full faith you'll produce the same standard in the Premier League that you showed in the Championship."

"Aren't you piling on a bit too much pressure, Boss?"

"I place my trust in you precisely because I know you're the type to thrive under that pressure."

The manager let out a dry chuckle and patted my shoulder encouragingly.

"During drills, focus primarily on coordinating with Emir and Hughes. The fullbacks will rotate through a couple of variations, so experiment with link-up play and fine-tune your runs as you go."

Manager Gordon had always granted his forwards substantial freedom. He was the sort of tactician who consistently emphasized that guiding the ball into the final third was the manager's duty, but putting it into the back of the net came down to the player's instinct.

Perhaps because of that philosophy, while our fullbacks and wingers operated within structured movement patterns, players like Dominic, Kayden, and I were granted immense creative latitude. That unpredictability was likely a major reason opposing sides found us so difficult to prepare for.

"That covers the core instructions. Any questions or points you didn't understand?"

"None at all, Boss."

Creative freedom was meant to complement the tactical framework, not reinvent it from scratch, and I had fully absorbed the details laid out on the screen. There wouldn't be any sloppy misplaced passes in our very first Premier League training session.

"Good. Head down to the pitch first. I'll join you shortly."

The rest of the squad was already out on the grass, putting in work ahead of the Crystal Palace clash. Now that my tactical briefing was complete, it was my turn to hit the turf and break a sweat.