Ha'way the Lads!!!
Emily was deeply worried about Shin, who had so casually accepted an absurd challenge.
"Boss, aren't you underestimating Head Coach Maxwell a little too much? He may not look like much, but he's a seasoned veteran in this industry. Are you really okay taking the reserves?"
"I'm fine~ In fact, I'm so looking forward to it I can hardly wait to sleep and wake up. And what's with 'may not look like much'? It's 'may not look like much.' This is a man who loves our club enough to stay."
"That guy, you know~ There's something sneaky about him, don't you think? He seems to be ignoring me—subtly, or rather, outright."
"Really? I didn't notice~"
Honestly, I put in that request because his face looked like a slippery weasel's, but let's not gossip about a man behind his back. I'll keep it to myself.
Still, something had struck Shin as odd.
The grass and dirt on the desk—that meant someone had put their shoes up on it.
The flustered voice and the darting pupils.
Even the laptop that had been slammed shut in a panic, as if a mother had just caught her son watching porn.
This Maxwell fellow was definitely up to something else.
"If you get thoroughly thrashed by Maxwell tomorrow, not only will your pride take a hit, the players will be disappointed too. What are you going to do then?"
"Why, Emily? Do you think I'm going to lose?"
"It's not that... but there's always an 'if.' Losing would be embarrassing."
"That won't happen, but let's say for the sake of argument that I do lose. Why would that be embarrassing?"
"What do you mean? Of course it would be embarrassing."
"So I'm asking why it would be embarrassing."
"Because it would expose that your ability is lacking?"
"Emily, ability is something you need on the real stage."
"What do you mean?"
"In training, it doesn't matter if you lose a hundred times or a thousand times. Losing simply means there's still room for the team to grow."
"If you lose a hundred times the players will request transfers first. Phew~ You one-track-minded fool of a manager!"
"It's just a figure of speech. Besides, if Maxwell happens to beat me, that would actually be something the club should welcome."
"And why is that?"
Emily started to fold her arms; Shin gently pushed them down.
"It would mean I have something to learn from him. We take that as a stepping stone and move forward."
"Where does that way of thinking come from, Boss?"
"A Chinese philosopher named Confucius once said: When three people walk together, there is always my teacher among them. Learn from their strengths, and take warning from their weaknesses."
"That's a pretty unusual philosophy. Why would you take someone inferior to you as a teacher? And wouldn't it be better if there were no one better than you?"
Back in Korea, people would have called such talk dull and textbook-boring. Here, it was received as something refreshingly new.
That's how different Western and Asian philosophy can be. Over here, the riper the rice, the higher it holds its head.
"Anyway, the most important thing is not to lose in matches where points are on the line."
"Ah~ So you're laying the groundwork that it's only a practice match, so losing is fine!"
"That's not it! I am absolutely not losing tomorrow."
"How can you be so sure~? Want to make a bet with me?"
"All right, let's bet."
"If you lose, you take me out to a nice restaurant for dinner."
"We could do that today, though?"
"Really? Then cancel! Cancel! I'll think of something else."
"And if I win, what will you do for me, Emily?"
"Hmm~ A cozy dinner together?"
"What? That's the same whether I win or lose."
"But with a sweet des-sert on top~"
"Yes~ Understood. Let's just pretend our little bet never happened."
"It's a joke~ A joke! Geez, can't even take a joke! Honestly."
Shin headed for the dining hall.
"Hello, I'm Han, the newly appointed manager."
The head chef, the nutritionist, and the staff stood in a line and greeted him warmly.
"Ah, Manager! Welcome. Your outfit is incredibly flashy."
"Yes, getting attention and compliments wherever I go feels pretty good. Should I wear this every day? Hahaha!"
"It's only natural you draw eyes on your first day as first-team manager. Heh heh heh!"
The two men shook hands.
"How do you do! I'm Head Chef Jamie Oliver."
"Same name as that celebrity chef?"
"Yes. We're just namesakes. Not even related."
"Pleasure to meet you, Jamie. I share a name with a Chinese general myself. Back in Korea I used to introduce myself that way."
"I see. Must get tiring, with all the comparisons."
"Well, at least people remember the name easily."
"That's true—hard to forget. Hahaha!"
A woman in glasses and a white lab coat that looked straight out of a research facility offered a polite greeting.
"I'm the nutritionist, Dr. Fiona Holbrook."
"A doctor, I see. Dr. Fiona, your specialty is nutrition, correct?"
"More precisely, a doctorate in sports nutrition. I strive to provide customized meal plans tailored to each player's position and constitution."
Her stiff, cool tone gave a thoroughly professional impression.
"Yes, you're the expert on nutrition, so I'll be counting on you."
"Likewise."
"There's a Korean expression—'rice power.' Looking at all of you, I already feel full. I'm looking forward to seeing what comes out for lunch."
"Durum-wheat pasta and salad, and... a buffet so the players can take as much as they want..."
The chef explained with obvious pride while Han Shin nodded repeatedly, surveying every corner of the kitchen.
The kitchen's spotless too.
"Everything looks excellent. Looking forward to working with you."
"Shall we prepare a special meal for you, Manager? Kimchi, perhaps?"
"No, that's fine. I'll eat the same food as the players."
Emily kept checking her watch.
"I have many more people to meet, so I'll take my leave."
"See you at lunch, Manager!"
They went down the stairs. On either side of the entrance leading to the pitch were the dressing rooms—away team on the left, home team on the right.
"Shall we visit the home dressing room now?"
"Sounds good. Let's move quickly."
The entrance to the home dressing room lay behind the physio room.
The away dressing room is downright miserable.
Shin inspected the locker rooms and felt disappointed.
By long tradition, the away dressing room was deliberately cramped and shabby, meant to sap the visitors' spirit. Painted in a disorienting white and deep blue, it looked more like a psychiatric ward.
The director explained that every club, within the rules, made the away facilities as grim as possible to lower the visitors' chances of winning.
Unlike the barren away room, the home side had a physio room right at the entrance. Inside stood several treatment tables.
"Physiotherapist Matthew Pierce. You're Manager Han, correct?"
"That's right. Han Shin. Can I get physio treatment too?"
"Of course, Manager. Pfft—you're funny. If anything hurts, drop by anytime."
"My ankle's not great."
"Want me to look at it now? Lie down here."
He patted the table.
"No, no—unfortunately my schedule's packed. Next time, please. Have a good day!"
"Yes! You too, Manager."
The home dressing room, painted in warm wood-brown and the team's signature red, radiated passion. Kirill spread his arms proudly.
"This is the dressing room our team is proud of. What do you think, Manager?"
So this is our locker room. Completely different world.
Players' numbered kits and photographs hung on the walls.
"Much better decorated—puts my mind at ease. I was disappointed after seeing the away room."
"What do we care about the away team?"
"Hahaha! True. This place... it makes your heart race."
Among the seats where the players sat, Han Shin settled into the one marked with the number 10 he had once worn and let the moment wash over him.
"You can feel the years of everyone who's passed through here. It's like I've just become a pro player all over again."
If I'd had a professional career, could I have played in a place like this?
Kirill corrected him gently.
"You weren't a pro player, but you are a pro manager now."
"You're right. It's finally sinking in that I'm the manager of Sunderland."
"Already? The real thing is when the room is packed with players before a match, every pair of eyes locked on your mouth, and you feel that pressure on your skin."
"Well, I'll experience that in due time. What's further inside?"
Emily opened the doors one by one.
"Showers in there, and over that way is the cryotherapy machine that drops below minus 100 degrees."
"The one that eases muscle soreness?"
"That's right. Want to try minus 150 later, Manager?"
"Sure. It's not like I'll die."
Physio Matthew raised his voice so Shin would hear.
"Manager, you must never go in alone~ Always with a specialist!"
"Yes! Got it, Matthew~ Shall we head out to the pitch now?"
"Let's."
Shin walked through the long red tunnel and stepped into the open air of the stadium.
Seats painted red and white stretched out like a sea. The green pitch was immaculately kept.
Above the north stand behind the goal stood three giant screens, and the seats themselves were painted white with the words Ha'way the lads.
'Lads' is the slang I keep hearing in England for young men, guys, or 'lads.' But what does Ha'way mean?
"It's written at the entrance and on the stands—what does Ha'way the lads mean?"
Emily answered.
"Ah~ Ha'way is Sunderland dialect for 'Let's go' or 'Come on!' It's what the fans chant. From now on you'll hear the Ha'way chant every day."
Kirill imitated the fans.
"Haaaaaaaaaaaway the Lads!!! Like that."
"So it's like 'Goooooo, lads!' I see."
"And because the 'a' gets drawn out, they shorten it with an apostrophe."
"Learned something new. Thanks."
After finishing the photos with the scarf, Shin finally set foot properly on the pitch.
"The grass is so soft it feels like a mattress."
Worlds apart from Korean pitches. No divots, so slick you could slip and fall.
Shin stood still on the turf and drew a deep breath.
"It's a bit warm—are you all right?"
"Compared to a Korean summer this isn't hot at all."
"It's July—is Korea already that hot?"
"Hot? If I tried to get through a schedule dressed like this I'd collapse from heat exhaustion in thirty minutes."
"Come on, you're joking. That hot?"
"You'll feel it on your skin when we go on tour. The sun burns your skin and the humidity turns the whole place into a sauna."
The weather had been the biggest shock since Shin arrived in England.
In Korea, the first of July already meant high summer—sweltering heat that casually topped thirty degrees, plus sticky humidity that made it hell.
That North Pacific high-pressure system we learned about in high school, or whatever it was.
Winter brought murderous cold that froze your fingertips; summer left you dripping in a single T-shirt. Even a long padded coat couldn't keep out winter's icy fangs.
It felt less like four seasons and more like summer followed immediately by winter.
England, by contrast, was blissfully comfortable. Even in July the temperature rarely climbed past twenty-five.
Shin opened the weather app.
Monthly average temperatures: (London 23°C / 15°C) (Korea 29°C / 21°C)
"It's twenty-two degrees Celsius right now. Korea's already over thirty."
"Wow..."
"Want something even more amazing? It's monsoon season there, so it rains all day."
Monthly average rainfall: (UK 48 mm) (Korea 400 mm)
"Ten times the rainfall??? Does Korea have tropical rainforests?"
"Not yet, but it might soon. There's an island called Jeju that's already basically tropical climate. Palm trees grow there."
"Really?"
If Shin had been in Korea, even a hemp or ramie hanbok would have been soaked through from the armpits down.
"If summer's that hot, what about winter? Is winter mild?"
"Winter? Snow piles up to your knees, and the temperature hits around minus twenty."
Siberian high pressure on the news every day... truly extreme weather.
"No way, you're lying. What kind of country is that?"
"That's Korea. Summer is a hellish sauna even in a T-shirt and shorts. Winter, everyone wears long padded coats—and still can't escape the cold."
A groundsman who had been mowing the grass cut in.
"Listen here~ Grass dies if the sun's too hot—burns right up. Minus twenty freezes it solid. Monsoon? Pouring rain drowns it. If Korea's that cold and hot, how on earth do they keep the grass, and how do they even play football? It's enough to drive a man mad."
"That's why the pitches are a mess. If Korea had grass like this I'd have nothing left to wish for. You've done an incredible job keeping it this way. I'm Han, the new manager who took over at Sunderland today."
"Groundsman Tom Wilkinson. I've been looking after grass for thirty years."
Emily gestured.
"Tom won Championship Groundsman of the Year. He's the real deal."
"Even a veteran like me would run for the hills if someone asked me to manage grass in Korea—no matter how many millions they offered. Heh heh heh."
"You should run. They hold concerts on the pitch, and even during the season the grass is so patchy it's basically dirt."
"A professional football club? Those wretched people~"
"Anyway, I've never seen grass this silky. The players must love kicking a ball on it."
"That's the one thing I've spent my whole life cultivating grass for. Manager! Please get us promoted this year. Ah—am I putting too much pressure on an old man?"
"Not at all. I'll do everything in my power to get us promoted."
Emily asked,
"By the way, Manager, how many keepy-ups can you do?"
"On this surface? I could go all day."
Keepy-ups and the grass don't really have anything to do with each other... but that's how I feel.
"Come on~"
"Shall I show you? Someone give me a ball!"
He untied the headband of his gat, handed it to Emily, and hitched up his trousers.
"Hold this for a second."
"Here!"
Shin took the rolling ball and began juggling it left foot, right foot, over and over.
"You're really good even in those bulky clothes and without football boots."
"What do you take me for! This is basic. How about this?"
He flicked the ball high with a back-heel, then ducked his head and let it land on his back.
"Whoa~~"
Clap clap clap clap.
Kirill, Speakman, and Tom all looked genuinely stunned.
We thought he was just a pure gaming nerd who only knew the game—he can actually handle a football? their eyes said.
"It's nothing... Why are you all staring like that? I used to be a footballer too. Amateur, but still!"
"Oh... I see."
"Manager, you could register as a player-coach if things get desperate."
"Me! With this ankle! I can't run for long!"
Shin answered while bouncing the ball a few times off his forehead like a seal.
"You mentioned the ankle in the physio room too—what's wrong with it?"
"I had an accident, got injured, and had surgery~~~!"
He volleyed the dropping ball with his right foot; it smacked the crossbar.
"Did you aim for the bar on purpose?"
"Of course not. Pure coincidence."
Camera director Peter raised a megaphone and joked,
"Aaaah~! Aaaah~! Mr. Han~ Where have you been hiding that football skill? This is a full-scale national fraud! I've got every second on camera. Get ready to be sued by me! I'm going to expose Manager Han's true identity!"
"Please, anything but a lawsuit! Stop it, Peter~"
"Heh heh heh, got some great footage thanks to you~"
A club official approached carrying a kit with Han Shin's name on it.
"Manager, time for the kit photos."
"Yes~ Coming~! Ha'way the lads~!"
Kirill exchanged a look with Speakman.
"Well, Director? You were against it, but looks like we made the right appointment, doesn't it?"
"His personality's open and cheerful, so that's promising... but we'll have to wait and see."