Premier League (4)
Selhurst Park, the home ground of Crystal Palace, was teeming with supporters.
Although Luton Town was situated just outside Greater London, driving into the city to reach Selhurst Park took only about two hours. It was a longer trek than the opening round away at West Ham, of course; traveling from Luton to Selhurst Park took nearly twice as long. But with the match falling on a weekend and the team riding the momentum of two solid performances, the distance hardly seemed to deter the traveling fans.
They're still riding high on the promotion buzz.
It was the exact same feeling as when they had earned promotion from EFL League One—the third tier—to the EFL Championship, the second. The fans were bursting with joy, wrapped in an atmosphere that made it feel as though they would back the squad through thick and thin, no matter the circumstances.
Yet that vibrant energy inevitably tended to fizzle out whenever a team hit a slump. That had happened two seasons ago, when Luton finished ninth in the Championship. Granted, because it was their first season after promotion, the supporters had shown more than enough grace and understanding, but he couldn't bring himself to be satisfied with that. Experiencing that kind of bitter letdown once was more than enough. Now that they had climbed all the way to the Premier League, he refused to inflict that disappointment on them ever again.
Of course, he knew full well that the Premier League was far less forgiving than any competition they had faced before. Winning the title in your debut season after promotion was an impossibility; that wasn't something mere effort alone could accomplish. So rather than chasing lofty talk of European qualification or league positions, the only thing the players could do right now was run themselves into the ground to keep the fans' burning passion alive.
“Lee Han! Please, an autograph!”
Stepping off the team bus, he slid off his headphones and began signing tirelessly for the supporters who had been waiting for his arrival, taking quick photos along the way. Just as it had been in the Championship, the closer they traveled toward central London, the more Korean words he heard drifting through the air. Hearing not just Korean fans, but thoroughly British men and young boys stammering out a few halting words in Korean to ask for his signature gave him an immense boost of energy.
Naturally, being an away fixture, it was a mere drop in the ocean compared to what echoed around Kenilworth Road. Even so, seeing the crowd grow with each passing week drove home just how dramatically his popularity had surged.
“Han, we need to head inside soon,” a staff member whispered into his ear.
Had the time slipped by already? The club had departed early in anticipation of London traffic, leaving them with plenty of spare time, which was why he had started this impromptu signing session in the first place. Yet before he knew it, the clock had caught up to them.
“...Oh.”
Having caught the staff member's words despite the surrounding din, a young boy holding out a jersey looked visibly crestfallen. He hadn't simply been scribbling his name, after all; he had been signing, shaking hands, posing for pictures, and greeting everyone, which had eaten up far more time than usual.
“Tell you what,” he said as warmly as he could. “I'll just sign it for now. Can you wait for me after the match is over?”
“Yes! Absolutely! I can wait as long as it takes!”
Assuming the player would just brush past and walk inside, the boy's face instantly brightened, and he thrust two shirts forward.
“One's mine, and please write my older sister's name on the other one!”
“What are your names?”
“Joel Evans, and Sienna Evans!”
Without hesitation, he signed both kits and neatly inscribed their names.
“Come back after the match,” he added with a wink, “and I'll let you take a photo holding the hat-trick match ball.”
“Really? You're going to score a hat-trick today?”
“Of course I have to, if we want to make sure we don't lose.”
It was about today's fixture, certainly, but there was an ulterior motive behind his promise. Lee Han had bagged three goals at home. If I netted a hat-trick away from home today, I would claim the victory in our debut duel by decision.
“I'll definitely be waiting!”
The boy—no, Joel—flashed a radiant smile before turning and disappearing toward the turnstiles.
“All right, everyone in the back, just pass your shirts forward! I'll get them signed first, and no matter how long it takes after the final whistle, I'll take pictures with every single one of you, so come back then!”
Wrapping up the autographs at rapid speed, he followed the staff's guidance down the tunnel toward Selhurst Park's away dressing room.
It had been a long time since he had felt so free from stadium envy.
“In the past, a ground this size would've completely stunned us.”
“Now it just feels like whatever.”
“Right?”
Having walked through the newly expanded Kenilworth Road several times after training, Selhurst Park—expanded over a decade ago—looked remarkably ordinary. That didn't mean it was small or lacking as a football venue, of course. It was merely a matter of perspective; a stadium packed to the brim with over thirty thousand roaring spectators was more than enough to make any player's pulse race.
Stepping onto the pitch and feeling the turf beneath his boots while soaking in the cheers and jeers always carried a special weight. Aside from the single section occupied by Luton's traveling supporters, a punishing barrage of hostility assailed their eardrums from every other direction.
The Crystal Palace fans near the Luton bench were especially fierce. The match hadn't even kicked off—the coin toss hadn't even taken place yet—but their taunts and gestures were downright venomous. Their vocal fury was intense enough that one wouldn't be surprised if their voices altered the spin of the coin midair. Eager to crush the spirit of a newly promoted underdog, their full-throated boos rang loud and clear across the grass.
Not that it rattled him in the slightest.
Well, negative attention is still attention.
Feeding on the hostility, he flashed a bright, cheerful grin and gave the Palace supporters a friendly wave.
“Who on earth are you waving to? Our fans are all the way over there.”
“They say haters are just fans in denial. Besides, if you don't listen too closely, it sounds just like cheering anyway.”
“...There's really no stopping you, is there?”
Hearing that come from Dominic of all people was rich.
While he continued waving enthusiastically, the coin toss came to an end. Captain Teddy, blessed with exceptional fortune in such matters, secured possession without fail. The first-half kickoff belonged to Luton.
“Hey, Dominic.”
“What?”
“I made a promise to a fan today. So make sure your passes are pinpoint so I can grab my hat-trick.”
“......”
Both Dominic, standing beside the center circle, and the Crystal Palace winger coiled to press stared at him with identical expressions of sheer disbelief. Regardless of their reaction, the match clock was already ticking down toward zero.
Once every player had assumed their position across the pitch, the referee's whistle pierced the air to signal the start of the contest.
“—And the match is underway! Luton Town attacking from left to right, Crystal Palace from right to left!”
“The moment Lee Han takes the kickoff, Luton pushes right forward! Luton Town looks completely unfazed by the pressure of playing away from home!”
Fundamentally, Crystal Palace's defensive setup shifted depending on the vertical alignment of their two central defenders. With the match in its opening minutes, neither center-back pushed up aggressively to anticipate passing lanes; instead, they held their line, maintaining a disciplined and compact defensive block.
“Luton Town's central midfielder Teddy Bennett drops deep between the center-backs to form a back three!”
“Both fullbacks are pushing higher up the pitch than the midfielders! Luton Town has come out with an exceptionally aggressive posture right from the opening whistle to crack open Crystal Palace's shield!”
“There was plenty of talk before kickoff when winger Emir was named at fullback with Dominic ahead of him out wide, but it seems Luton came with every intention of playing all-out attack!”
“A bold decision. We'll have to watch closely to see how this tactical gamble is judged over ninety minutes!”
Substantial space had opened up in Luton's own defensive third. It was the unavoidable trade-off of such an attack-minded tactic, an issue that arose when the center-backs had to step up to cover the midfield. However, against Crystal Palace's fullbacks, who were heavily specialized in defense to preserve defensive stability, Luton's wide midfielders—Adlan and Giovanni—were more than capable of handling the threat.
The rest of the squad simply needed to trust them and advance.
Of course, placing trust in your teammates and conceding goals were two slightly different matters. While attack was hailed as the best form of defense, the reality was that an aggressive setup almost inevitably led to conceding more goals. Defenders, above all, despised letting goals in. Yet Luton's backline was carrying out this ultra-offensive strategy without a single word of complaint. Because of that dedication, even if they shipped a goal, they had to secure the victory no matter what.
That's the only way the gaffer will let us use this system again.
He was quite fond of this offensive tactical framework. Securing a positive result would guarantee far more scoring opportunities for himself down the road, which meant he had to grit his teeth and run like mad.
Before the players had even settled into their positions or the chaotic opening atmosphere could clear—
“Emir!”
Though nominally listed as a fullback, Emir was roaming the right flank exactly as he always did, bringing down Captain Teddy's booming pass in one fluid motion. The diamond formation centered around Lee Yeon was officially in motion.
“Dominic! Pull them forward!”
Barking instructions to Dominic, who was constantly making runs ahead of him, Emir drove the ball up the flank. Palace's wide midfielder had no choice but to track Emir's run to close him down. Seizing that moment, Dominic—who had been riding the shoulder of the defensive line—faced back toward Luton's half and made a sharp diagonal sprint from the touchline, immediately claiming the pocket of space vacated by the opposing midfielder.
Naturally, Palace hadn't earned their reputation for defensive solidity for nothing; their markers swarmed Dominic in an instant. But Luton had already anticipated that response. That was precisely why he was stationed in the congested center of the pitch.
“Dominic! A quick glance toward Lee Han and he flicks it behind with his heel!”
“Lee Han! Skimming the turf, he lifts the incoming ball off the tip of his boot to beat the defender, getting his shoulder in front!”
“Just before the ball hits the ground, he plays it with the outside of his boot! Look at that curl!”
With the defense collapsing toward the middle, acres of space opened up out wide. Exactly as rehearsed in training, Emir timed his run to perfection, breaking the offside trap at the critical instant to sprint into the vacant flank and take control of the ball.
“Emir! Bursting half a step quicker, driving all the way down to the byline!”
“Palace fullback Staton scrambles back desperately to close him down, but there is far too much ground for one man to cover!”
No matter how furiously a lone fullback tried to shut down the angle, passing avenues were wide open. Without hesitation, Emir fired a cutback toward Dominic, who had drifted free of the pressure once the ball left his feet.
In that fleeting second, there was only one thing left for him to do.
“A cutback to Dominic! Perfect weight on the delivery!”
“Dominic receives the ball—he needs to make a quick decision... Ah! No hesitation whatsoever!”
Dominic scooped the ball cleanly off the grass with the tip of his boot on the first touch. It was a delicate chip into the corridor between the goalkeeper and the defensive line, clearing the center-backs' heads by inches without carrying far enough for the keeper to claim it—a pass whose trajectory was the absolute essence of the move.
A delivery that only he had anticipated. The center-backs scrambled to turn, but they were already far too late.
Cushioning the ball off his shoulder as it dropped from behind, he killed the spin instantly with his thigh. As the ball settled, he pulled his thigh back, dropping it smoothly onto his instep while tracking the charging goalkeeper with his eyes.
Left.
The moment the goalkeeper's body began to shift, the equation became simple. Adjusting his stride, he popped the ball slightly into the air off his instep and unleashed a strike directed straight toward the opposite side of the keeper's dive.
—Crack!
With a resounding impact, the knuckleball arrowed toward the far right corner without a hint of rotation, ripping into the back of the net.
The snap of the bulging net.
The thud of the ball tumbling to the grass.
The roar of the traveling Luton Town supporters.
And, providing the ultimate backdrop to it all, the stunned, suffocating silence of the home crowd.
Now this is football.
I am in the Premier League.