Team Han Shin vs Team Maxwell: First-Team vs Second-Team Evaluation Match (1)

Ordinarily, evaluation matches like this were held with a light heart on the academy's grass pitches.

But at Han Shin's suggestion that they treat even practice like the real thing, everyone had been summoned to the stadium instead.

In the waiting room where the players had gathered, some ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quietly scrolled through news about Han Shin while others killed time with gacha phone games.

"Nice!"

And of course there was the obligatory nonsense chatter unique to guys in their early twenties.

"Hey! You clueless bastard, Itachi's way stronger~ One Susanoo and Jiraiya's a one-hit kill."

"You don't know Jiraiya's one of the Legendary Sannin? Why you dissing the sage arts?"

"Ah~ I finished Jujutsu Kaisen all the way to the end."

"That any good? I watched Demon Slayer."

Meanwhile, bored out of his mind, Abdullah jabbed a finger into the side of Bellingham, who sat with his arms crossed and a face like he'd been chewing on something foul.

"Ow, what the hell!"

"Hey Jobe! Why you so touchy these days? Something wrong?"

"It's nothing. What do you want?"

"How d'you think today's evaluation's gonna go?"

"Is that all? The assistant and the gaffer'll handle it fine."

Clarke, sitting in the row behind them, cut in.

"But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Manager Han, right? Doesn't he just bark orders like it's a game?"

"What're you on about, Jack?"

"Abdullah, you play World Football Manager too. Like that game."

"Yeah I do. But I still don't get what you're saying."

"Like this, for example. Ahem."

Clarke launched into a dead-on impression of Han Shin.

"Jack! You'll be playing as an inside forward. Mr. Jobe is a box-to-box midfielder! And Nazari is a complete forward. Everyone clear? Like that—how's that?"

"Whaaaat?! Jack, you lost it? Complete. What???!! Hahahaha—oh shit my stomach hurts!"

Abdullah rolled on the floor clutching his gut.

Even Bellingham couldn't hold back a snort of laughter.

"Box-to-box? Complete forward? If that's a joke it's fucking real—hahahaha—I'm quitting the club effective today."

"Hahahahaha—ah fuck, my cheeks hurt from smiling too hard!"

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

They hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but Clarke's pitch-perfect impression, plus the mental image of a game-addicted manager actually talking like that, had every single player howling with laughter.

Even the ever-stoic captain Ballard, who had worn a blank face the whole time, cracked.

"Pfft."

"But what if he really does?"

"What d'you mean—come on, no way he'd actually—"

If he really does... we're fucked.

Clarke vented something else.

"Whew... anyway, the gaffer talks so formal and gentlemanly, doesn't he? He could just chill with us."

Roberts chimed in.

"Plus he uses this weirdly posh accent. Pronounces his T's so perfectly he'd probably say 'give me a water' like 'gib-me a ow-ter'."

"Hahaha!"

Ballard offered a word.

"Once the gaffer gets comfortable enough with us, he'll drop the formal speech. He still needs to settle in. Don't you lot remember how awkward you all were at first?"

The youngest, Chris, chattered brightly.

"But hyung! Isn't it kinda nice? I feel properly respected."

"Hey, how about we make the gaffer drop that gentlemanly mask of his today?"

The mischievous Clarke proposed.

"How we gonna do that?"

"For times like this, it's a hidden-camera initiation, baby~~~"

"Initiation? You got a decent idea or what?"

"Just trust this Abdullah—everybody gather 'round!"

Whisper whisper.

"Eh, that's mid."

Abdullah scratched his head vigorously.

"Yeah? That bad?"

Freshly twenty-year-old Jobe Bellingham joined the huddle with a reluctant look.

"Ugh, you lot. I've got a killer idea. You all gonna play along?"

"Of course, Jobe."

And so they hatched their little conspiracy among themselves.

They were professional footballers pulling in hundreds of thousands a year, yet most of them were still only university age by Korean reckoning.

Peak age for messing about.

No—men were animals who played pranks until the day they died, weren't they?

Han Shin walked in carrying his laptop and tablet. He exchanged brief greetings with the coaches standing against the wall and strode forward.

"Good morning, everyone!"

"......"

Did they not hear me?

"Ahem—good morning, all!"

"....."

Han Shin set his things on the table prepared on the raised platform and yanked the window blinds open with a rattle.

"In Korea, teachers say at times like this, 'Are you children of the darkness?' Do they not have that in England?"

No reaction to the joke.

"Why has everyone gone mute? It's been ages since it hasn't rained, and the weather's perfect for an evaluation match."

He shot Maxwell a look that said What's going on?, but the man only shook his head.

In the long silence that followed, Bellingham finally spoke.

"Gaffer, I have something to say."

"What is it?"

"I want a transfer."

What the hell is this first thing in the morning?

For a moment Han Shin's vision went pure white.

It felt as if someone had whispered right into his ear, Life is real, you bastard.

"Why? Is it because of yesterday's press conference? That was all fabricated and—"

"It's not that. I want to follow my brother to La Liga or the EPL."

Do people usually request transfers in an open room like this?

He scanned the faces around him; every pair of eyes said they already knew.

"Then how about this. If we fail to get promoted this year, I'll send you without fail."

"Every single year is precious to me. I'd like to leave in this transfer window."

Fuck... if this were a game I'd dump him in the reserves and make him practice overhead kicks all season.

But Jobe was the highest earner in the squad.

He simply couldn't do that.

"I'll discuss it with the director. We'll talk details later, Mr. Jobe."

"No, gaffer. My mind is made up. I feel like my growth has stalled at this club. More than anything, I want to play in the Champions League."

"If that's truly how you feel... haah..."

Han Shin let out a long sigh.

If that's the player's will, then let him go. No point wrecking the team atmosphere over it, and I can't force someone who doesn't want to stay. Okay.

He pulled out his phone, ready to text Kyril and Speakman.

Jobe will fetch a high price, so I'll use that money to find new players. Dig through the honey pot and someone'll turn up. Looks like an all-nighter starting tonight.

Now!

From coaches to players, eyes met in silent signal, and then they roared as one.

"Surpriiiise~~~~! It was a hidden camera! Congratulations on your official appointment as manager, gaffer!!!"

Pop pop pop—!

They burst out firing party poppers like it was a birthday bash.

"Waaaaaaaaaa~~~~~~!"

They circled Han Shin, dancing in celebration of the successful prank.

"Bloody hell~ What the actual—I nearly had a heart attack. Damn it."

"Gaffer! And from now on, could you please just talk casually with us?!"

"Hah, is that what you all want?"

"Yes! It is!"

"Alright, fine!"

Meanwhile, Bellingham of course remained seated.

After all, he had used the hidden-camera setup to reveal one hundred percent genuine feelings.

And there was one other.

None other than captain Daniel Ballard.

He too simply watched in silence.

"Before we get properly started, first announcement: the dates for the Korea tour have been set."

He brought up a PowerPoint slide showing the skyline of Seoul.

"The schedule runs from 20 July to 27 July. We'll play friendlies against teams from Seoul and Busan."

"Yes, understood."

"Before that, on the 7th we host a friendly against FC Zenit Saint Petersburg at home, and on the 13th we've decided to travel to Liverpool."

"Sorry, gaffer? Where?"

"Saint Petersburg and Liverpool."

"Not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Liverpool—the one before that. Where is that?"

"Russia's second city, don't you know? Where Arshavin and Hulk used to play. Old Leningrad, ring a bell?"

"Ah~ Saint Petersburg?"

"Is that what they call it in England?"

"No, Coach. That's the official name."

"In Russian pronunciation I'm right. Want to hear?"

"Oh... so it is. Didn't know that."

Abdullah asked a question.

"Gaffer, if I may be so bold—are your ancestors Russian?"

"No, my ancestors have been Korean for generations."

"Hahaha!"

"And as you've all been informed, the league kick-off has been announced for Friday, 7 August 2026. Until then, let's all prepare to the absolute best of our ability. Clear?"

"Yes, Coach!"

After the successful hidden-camera prank, the players' camaraderie and high spirits soared.

If only this atmosphere could last...

Sunderland would face Stoke City FC at 8 p.m. on the 7th.

General Charlie Adam. I miss you. Hope you're well?

"Right, now I'll call the names for the evaluation match. Anyone whose name is called, stand up immediately and go with Assistant Coach Maxwell to the next room. See you on the grass later."

"Yes!"

"Alright—Bellingham!"

"Yep yep~"

"Ballard!"

"Yes."

"Dan!"

"Let's gooo!~"

Creak, thud thud.

Players filed out one by one.

"...and Anthony Patterson. That's eleven."

"See you later!"

The first-team squad Maxwell had sorted looked like this.

He's making it crystal clear he wants a 4-2-3-1.

Maxwell had taken three of the four forwards.

I thought he'd grab all four attackers and go 4-4-2 or 4-2-4. Our squad is paper-thin.

Was the one remaining striker just a freebie?

Aside from the Portuguese Semedo, Team Maxwell was seven Englishmen, two Northern Irish, and one Welsh—practically a Commonwealth All-Star side.

By contrast, the players left for Han Shin, aside from striker Nazari Rushin, had so much positional overlap that no clear formation even suggested itself.

Well, they are the substitutes.

Chris, Adil, Pierre and Abdullah were all central midfielders.

Nektarios, Jenson and Jacob were pure centre-backs.

Only the French black player with the afro, Timothy, was the team's sole full-back.

Whether it was Maxwell's malice or just a "go suffer a bit" gesture, he had taken every single full-back.

I've already put in the request to Kyril for full-backs and forwards, so we'll see... Honestly I feel bad for the two strikers, but their quality isn't Championship level yet.

Team Han Shin's makeup was four Frenchmen, one each from Ukraine, the Netherlands and Australia, and only two Brits.

"Looking at the split, it's basically Commonwealth versus the rest of the world, isn't it? Including the manager."

"Now that you mention it, yeah."

"Hang on, one two three..."

Abdullah counted heads on his fingers and suddenly froze.

"Gaffer!!!! We've got a massive problem!"

"What problem?"

"We've only got ten men???"

Football is a sport where each side fields eleven players.

Team Han Shin had only ten outfield players.

That was because second-choice goalkeeper Nathan and third-choice Liam had been included.

But even a tactical genius couldn't play a match with ten men and one missing.

Worse, there were no substitutes either, so the disadvantage was obvious.

Abdullah teased third-choice keeper Liam Bell.

"Liam! Looks like today's the day you take the gloves off and play outfield, yeah? You're tall—why not be a target-man striker? Hahahaha!"

Twenty-one-year-old Liam couldn't hide his fluster.

"Gaffer, what should I do? Want me to try centre-back?"

Brown laughed.

"Oi Bell! Centre-back a joke to you? Think it's easy? Hahahaha"

"Whatever, you're a revolving door anyway. Without Patterson we'd have been relegated, you know that?"

"What the fuck did you just say?!"

Han Shin stepped in.

"Sorry Liam, but today you'll have to be the referee."

"Huuuh... understood."

"So what do we do then? Don't tell me the gaffer's going to play himself?"

"Me? If I played I'd just dribble past the lot of you and score—it'd be boring."

"Nah~ Gaffer, you couldn't keep up with my pace."

"I'm joking. Just like you lot pulled a hidden camera, I've got a surprise introduction of my own."

"Don't tell me we've already got a new signing?"

"No, not that."

"Then... who?"

Han Shin called out.

"Alright! Come on in! Everyone give him a big welcome!"

Thump thump.

The remaining Team Han Shin players all turned around.

It almost felt like the theme music from that old TV show TV Carrying Love was playing.

"Everyone been well? Aagh!"

Håkon Hildegaard strode in looking cool, wiping his nose—only to crack his head on the top of the doorway.

"Håkon!!!!"

The players rushed out in delight.

"Håkon! Still walking into door frames, you idiot? Hahaha"

"Leave him, Akon's always been careless—same when he sprays passes forward."

"Hilde! You bastard! When'd you get back from Rotherham!"

Abdullah bounced up and down trying to sling an arm over his shoulder, but the height difference made it impossible.

"Yeah! Yelde! You come back and don't even call this hyung—what's that about!"

They butcher his name just as freely as they do Saint Petersburg.

It was the dazzling return of the handsome Norwegian striker.

Han Shin called one more name.

"Romain, stop dawdling and get in here! What are you doing?"

"I was trying to make a cooler entrance than Håkon, gaffer!"

A black player with dreadlocks bounced in with a springy jump.

He threw both arms wide.

"Everyone open your eyes wide and see who has arrived! This body has returned from Lyon!"

An untimely self-praise ambush.

"Romain!!!"

"Mings! You too? Congrats on the call-up!"

"Waaaaaa~! Hilde and Romain—great to see you!"

Han Shin had also called up Romain Mings from the U-23s, who had spent last season on loan at Ligue 1 bottom side AS Saint-Étienne.

He was a multi-position utility man who could cover both full-back spots and the wing.

Chris sidled up next to Han Shin and asked quietly.

"Did you call those two up in advance because you already knew it'd turn out like this?"

"Yeah. I figured two keepers would be left over. And more than anything, both of them are our players."

"What about me? Am I part of your plan, gaffer?"

The nineteen-year-old boy tested the waters.

"Of course you are."

"Really? For real?"

Han Shin ruffled his hair.

"Yeah, so go congratulate your teammates."

"Honestly I've never played with those hyungs, so we don't really know each other."

"All the more reason to get closer—go on!"

"Yes!"

Chris dashed off to join the group.

With so many black players, they were already dancing and singing with that distinctive vibe.

"Hilde and Romain are our team~~! Hilde and Romain are our team, they are~~!"

Seeing them hug and celebrate like that makes my chest ache. The sooner I release them the better for the players themselves—I need to harden my heart.

Where there are arrivals, there are also departures.

The players who would not be joining the Korea tour were laughing, still ignorant of their own fate.

What do I do... how do I tell them without hurting them?

They were young, but they were still professionals.

Right—professionals deserved to be told cleanly and professionally, didn't they?

In World Football Manager, any "useless coach" or "low-ability player" would have been sacked on day one the moment the save started.

Anything that wasn't five-star or SSS-rank got the axe.

But this was not a game.

Abdullah had a large family he had to feed.

Nazari had a wife and rabbit-like children who had followed him from Ukraine.

Jacob and Nathan had families too.

Every player had his own circumstances.

Cutting ten or twenty men and overhauling the squad on day one was something he simply couldn't bring himself to do lightly.

Still, as Chris said, the kindest thing is to send the ones not in the plan on their way as soon as possible.

"Gaffer? Manager Han?!"

Lost in deep thought, Han Shin didn't hear the call.

Romain and Abdullah were stuck together like sticky rice cakes—clearly best mates.

"What are you fretting over so hard?"

"It's nothing."

"Anyway, what's our formation today?"

"Ah, formation? We're going..."

"We're going?"

"Zero top."

"What???!?!"

The players couldn't hide their shock.

Among them, the tall attacking midfielder Håkon's jaw dropped the widest.

"Zero top? Are you serious?"

"Why so surprised? Here—everyone take a look at this!"