ARK Project Activation. Versus Liverpool (0)

Two days before the away match against Liverpool, a southeast wind swept through Sunderland.

Denied access, The Sun poured out its venom.

The departure news hit the wires hard.

News of arrivals at Sunderland had not burned this hot in the last decade.

Two trucks rolled up to the clubhouse first thing in the morning.

Delivery drivers hustled, loading boxes onto carts and hauling them inside.

At the front entrance, Emily asked Han Shin,

"Is all of this the equipment?"

"That's right. The VR gear was sponsored by Nebula. The rest of the computers and kit—let's just call it money. Investment."

Chief scout Isaac, grinning as he helped shift the gear, came jogging into the lobby with Coach Dr. Liam Hodges.

"All present and accounted for."

Video analysis room.

The players sat in cinema-style seats, tearing open the packaging on the VR devices they had just been issued.

Ultra-high-resolution miniature LED displays supporting 144 Hz, plus a forward-facing ultra-high-performance camera that enabled AR functions—the absolute latest 2026 model.

A device marketed under the banner One Giant Leap Toward the Virtual Reality Games You Read About in Web Novels had finally landed in England.

Han Shin lifted one of the brand-new units—each worth ten million won. Fifty of them. Total cost: five hundred million.

"Anyone know what this is?"

"Boss, don't look down on us just because we only play football. That's the new VR glass, right? Hahaha."

Youngest player Chris, shoved forward by the older lads, asked the penalty question.

"Boss… can we use these for gaming?"

"Chris, on your weekly wages you could buy two of these a week. No need to stop you."

"But you can't even buy these with money right now, can you?"

The product had sold out the moment it launched; orders were backlogged. On top of that, GPU shortages meant that even if you ordered today you might wait six months. A genuine hit item.

"Oh, and since Nebula Nexus sponsored them, everyone post a verification shot on socials and make sure you use the hashtag."

"Yes, Boss!"

"Anyway. During free time it's free, so gaming's fine, but…"

"Waaaaah~~ Yesss!"

The players erupted before he even finished the sentence.

"But what I'm about to show you today is going to be more fun than most games."

Yeah, right.

It was obviously going to be football-related.

These half-convinced MZ kids would rather just play FPS on the things.

"What's with the faces? All right, everyone put them on."

Including the coaches, more than thirty men slipped on the glasses. They looked like a pack of aliens straight out of a UFO.

Abdullah flailed his arms at empty air, still figuring out the controls.

"Heh-heh, this is fun. Insanely sharp."

"I'm sending you some data right now. Let's read it together."

Screens lit up in perfect sync.

"This is…?"

Beside each player's portrait floated a full suite of records and ability values calculated from hard data.

"These are the individual ability ratings we've assessed for every one of you."

"These?"

"Ethan Park, take over the explanation for me."

"Yes, Boss."

Ethan Park, glasses on, swept his hand through the air and locked every gaze onto the same shared screen.

Unless you slacked off or closed your eyes, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the identical information was forced into view.

Exactly what Han Shin had wanted.

Ethan Park began.

"On Manager Han Shin's orders, our data team collaborated with the Nebula Nexus team to produce these ability ratings for all of you."

Bellingham carefully checked his own numbers.

Still three higher than the rating I got in that advertised game. Let's see…

Ethan Park walked them through how every single score had been calculated.

"Pace is based on data from your training sessions, cross-referenced against GPS speeds recorded by outfield players across every major league worldwide, then scaled from 0 to 100."

"Stamina I can roughly guess, but Recovery Ability is new. How do you measure that?"

Bellingham's question brought Dr. Hodges in to explain.

"We measure the time it takes for maximum oxygen uptake—recorded after intense training or matches—to return to pre-session levels. That interval is re-scaled into a percentage score. For the mathematical side, Mr. Park and I can go into detail later…"

Perhaps it was the authority of a doctorate from Britain's—no, the world's—finest sports university.

"Shooting isn't simply 'how many goals in how many games this season.' Probability and likelihood follow a Poisson distribution, which we then map onto a Gaussian normal…"

Or perhaps it was the impenetrable maths and science jargon pouring from Google alumnus Ethan Park. Either way, the players had no choice but to accept it.

The highest-paid group of math-haters on the planet might just be professional athletes. Yawns launched themselves automatically.

Yet the longer they listened, the clearer it became that these numbers were not some slapdash gut-feel ratings. Real blood and sweat had gone into them. On that point, at least, everyone agreed.

Above all, no one disputed that this was the most objective method on earth for evaluating their own physical abilities.

A short while later—brief for some, an eternity for others—the lecture ended.

Dr. Hodges smiled at Han Shin, who was scribbling furiously on his pad.

"Funny how the one listening hardest is the manager who already heard the explanation once. Haha."

If the man weren't the manager, Hodges would have kidnapped him as a graduate student on the spot.

"Ah~ I need to write a thesis for the licence."

Exactly.

The final requirement of the coaching licence course—mandatory for anyone wanting to manage in Europe—was a thesis.

Han Shin wanted to produce a masterpiece if he was going to do it at all.

But outstanding theory alone does not make a great manager.

The most famous thesis of the last decade was Andrea Pirlo's Il Calcio Che Vorrei—"The Football I Want to Play."

His managerial career had somehow headed in the exact opposite direction, proving that brilliance on paper is not the decisive factor.

Still, every great manager possesses a philosophy of his own.

Han Shin intended to leave the world the crystallized form of his tactics—the K-Hannibal System—in this once-in-a-lifetime chance.

Håkon, who had been reading his ratings with meticulous care, shot to his feet a beat later than everyone else.

"Woooow~~~! Overall 73! A full seven points up! Boss, this is ridiculously accurate!"

"Pwahahaha!"

Abdullah, who had grown close to him while filming content, lifted his glasses just enough to slap Håkon on the back.

"Khahaha, congrats! Soldier 66, that happy about it?"

"Abdullah, from now on call me Soldier 73."

"Whoa, climbed seven whole steps. Heh-heh! Don't we owe him a prize or something?"

Han Shin rose from his seat.

"That's exactly it, Abdullah!"

"Huh?"

"I've got news that'll make all of you cheer."

Still wearing the VR glasses, Han Shin flicked his fingers and sent something flying through the air.

"What I just sent is the performance-bonus structure tied to ability growth. I've organised it, so read carefully while you listen."

Incentives.

The universal fuel for motivation.

"Goal and assist bonuses barely ever reach defenders across a whole season, and clean-sheet bonuses are stacked against attackers, right?"

Han Shin needled the unfairness of the old bonus structure.

"Our club is adding this on top of existing contracts. Every week and every month-end we run completely fair evaluations and individual reviews. My opinion doesn't enter into it. Coaches' opinions don't either. We measure exactly what you put in."

Only then did Chief Scout Isaac realise ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one of the reasons Han Shin had been hounding him and Nebula so relentlessly for ability data.

"Anyone who posts meaningful stat growth will receive a proper reward. Goalkeepers, defenders, midfielders, attackers—each position has its own improvable attributes."

"Oh…"

The players checked the figures and immediately felt the itch to hit the training ground.

On top of that, this was a gift that celebrated pure personal growth—no politics, no interference from any human.

Training was something they did every day, like breathing. Now it came with legitimate incentives?

Impossible to resist.

"I'm the kind of man who will lie when necessary, but a computer never lies."

Han Shin opened the upper cardboard box of the two that had been delivered.

Inside: the latest graphics cards and server-grade CPUs.

"So you can check anytime, anywhere, right up until you fall asleep, we're expanding the server room. Outside of sleep and training hours it will be open 24/7."

Daily—or even hourly—growth visible with their own eyes.

Players would inevitably gather in groups to debate the numbers. Han Shin was deliberately stoking natural competition among them.

Of course, when it was time to work, focus could not be split, so the system would lock them out by force.

Håkon clenched his fist.

"Hell yes! Soldier 73 here! I'm running this all the way to 80!"

Clear goals. A game-like system.

Like Håkon, every chest in the room burned hot.

"I benchmarked it on EA FC. Once you break 75 your name glows gold. Promote from Silver to Gold and there's a solid prize waiting."

Bellingham, already sporting a golden name, asked,

"I'm already Gold. Is there anything above that?"

"Of course. Break 85 and you're Platinum."

"Platinum? This is a full-on game now."

Han Shin had even imported the rank ladder of a certain AOS title—Gold to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Platinum to Diamond.

"And Ethan Park? Sorry if I'm pushing too hard, but how far along is the app?"

Ethan Park shared the development progress on-screen.

"Not at all, Boss. We'll be providing a dedicated app in beta as well."

A Google veteran, Android development was child's play for Ethan.

"Only problem is… it's Android. Other platforms won't work."

"Which is why I prepared one more gift."

There's more?

Han Shin set down the CPU box, pulled out the red carton underneath, and opened it.

"The telecom company I'm modelling for just sent phone sponsorships! I'll hand them out one by one. Pass them back."

"Waaaaah! Insane!"

"Phones plus VR gear—what kind of welfare is this?"

Modern equipment and systems clicking smoothly into place—Han Shin's Sunderland 2.0 reform was rolling forward without a hitch.

Still not fully settled into the atmosphere, new signing Mahroudi asked carefully,

"But… what's the real purpose of these VR devices?"

"Nice question, Mahroudi. This is for what we call Augmented Reality Kickoff—ARK Project for short."

"ARK Project?"

"Better to see it than hear about it, right?"

A hundred words are not worth one look.

"Everyone switch to VR mode."

An intro sequence fired up at once.

Bam-ba-ba-bam~

Narration rolled while text rose like movie credits.

"He called him God! God!"

The players fought to keep straight faces.

The menu was still beta-simple.

"Hit the Tactical Board button."

A click in empty air. The first thing that greeted them was a majestic swell of sound.

You will never walk alone~~~

"That song… Liverpool's anthem."

Red dots began filling the white void. Players rose from their seats, heads whipping left and right as they stared at the sky.

"Whoa… this is insane."

Then the familiar place finished assembling and a murmur ran through the room.

"This is…?"

"Exactly the same as seeing it in person…"

"Legend. Absolute legend!"

The sense of presence was terrifyingly real.

And though it was virtual, their anthem was identical.

Built on the Unreal Engine 5 game engine, the recreation was virtually indistinguishable from reality.

"That's right! The place we're standing right now is Liverpool's home ground—Anfield!"

Han Shin's roar blasted through the speakers.

Timid Mahroudi tensed, breath tightening, throat already bone-dry as he swallowed hard.

Gulp…