Now to Korea. Liverpool (End)
The fiftieth minute of the second half.
The moment Liverpool brought on something close to a full-strength side, chaos erupted.
Núñez met Arnold’s trademark cross with a snap shot that cannoned off the post and spun clear. Against the battle-hardened thirty-one-year-old O’Nien, Ederce pounced, stripped the ball, and slotted it into the far corner. One-all. Back to square one.
Riding the wave, Liverpool shoved their defensive line all the way to the halfway mark and launched a full-court press. Gegenpressing sealed Sunderland inside their own half so tightly that the visitors could barely take a touch.
Commentator Lee Jun-hee broke it down.
“This is exactly why Arne Slot is Klopp’s successor. Rapid turnovers through gegenpressing, then a direct attack.”
“I see.”
“And he mixes in half of Guardiola’s positional play on top of it.”
Once Liverpool’s first-teamers stepped on, the away side were reduced to hoofing the ball clear whenever it came near them. Nazari was smothered by the defensive midfield. Liverpool built from the back in a 3-2 shape, isolating Weiper and parking Arnold in midfield to open passing lanes.
“Han Shin, was the Zenit match just a fluke? They’re offering no resistance.”
“That’s how strong Liverpool are—especially at Anfield. Everyone freezes.”
In the sixtieth minute Han Shin replaced the tireless overlapping Romaine Mings with Timothy and swapped centre-back Jacob for full-back Hume. He raised a clenched fist high into the air.
A thirty-year Liverpool fan sitting behind him sneered.
“Stop posing, you clown!”
But the air itself had changed. The crouching Sunderland side saw Han Shin’s signal and snapped into shape.
“Now!”
The captain’s roar launched the attack. Liverpool, drained by their own high-intensity pressing, began to wilt.
“The World Cup players still aren’t at full fitness~”
“Whereas the visitors look fresh as daisies.”
“No offence, but none of them went to the World Cup.”
Han Shin’s meticulousness was almost frightening. Using training data he reverse-engineered oxygen uptake to pinpoint peak condition, then calculated exactly when to conserve energy and when the physical gap with the opponent would be widest. Timothy now sprinted as if rocket boosters were strapped to his boots. No need to sell a dummy; he simply took a long touch and tore all the way to the byline—the same corridor that had already produced a goal. Tsimikas, still paying for losing Romaine earlier, lunged into a desperate sliding tackle.
Peep!!
The referee’s yellow card flashed instantly, followed by a free-kick in a dangerous position.
Dan Neil stepped up as taker, replaying Klaus Becker’s set-piece plan in his head.
—They’ll put two men on Weiper.
—The short Nazari will be relatively free.
—Aim for him as he curls from the centre toward the far post.
Sunderland packed the penalty box without subtlety. The whistle blew. Dan Neil took a short hop; at the same instant Nazari’s arcing run left Arnold stranded.
Goal.
Nazari’s first headed goal in thirteen matches. Set-piece specialist Becker leapt from his seat with a roar of pure joy and shared the moment with Han Shin.
“Wow!!! Yes! Yes!”
Two headed goals from the visitors.
“The substitutions have hit the mark perfectly!”
“Han Shin’s man-management and those razor-sharp set pieces are standing out.”
“Arne Slot is closing the barn door after the horse has bolted.”
“Kubo, who did nothing, comes off for Luis Díaz.”
“Japan’s current best player is becoming more and more of a white elephant at Liverpool.”
“Zero presence today, right?”
“He was air. Pure air.”
“The leaky Tsimikas exits; Robertson and the young Brazilian keeper come on.”
“Han Shin, will he lie down again?”
Contrary to the caster’s prediction, red and white waves traded lightning counters.
Sixty-fifth minute.
“Ah—Núñez misses!”
Seventieth.
“Nazari shoots again! This time with his foot—oh, but offside.”
Seventy-fourth.
“Núñez!!! Ahhh—another miss! That was such a clear chance.”
Eightieth minute.
“Weiper comes off for Håkon.”
“That’s the second goalkeeper change. Han Shin. Youth keeper Liam Bell takes over between the sticks.”
“The number-one reason Liverpool couldn’t move today—Mahrdi is coming off.”
As Mahrdi trudged off, sweat pouring, Han Shin asked casually,
“So, still shaking today?”
“No, sir. Not even a little. Felt like I could actually do it. The effect is insane.”
“I told you not to worry. Well done.”
Han Shin clapped the now-beaming Mahrdi on the back. Jenson Silte stepped into centre-back.
“The captain’s coming off too. Iron-wall newcomer Archie Brown gets a brief debut.”
Jobe Bellingham handed the armband to Luke and dropped onto the bench.
“Ha… no attacking contribution today.”
Abdullah, already resting, passed him a bottle of water and encouraged him.
“Some days are like that. Still, we could play freely because of you.”
In the fierce midfield battle, Bellingham’s selfless work as the team’s lubricant had let Sunderland breathe. Han Shin gave him a thumbs-up of quiet praise, then clapped his hands and barked the order.
“Horangi!”
Full time.
Sunderland 2 – 2 Liverpool.
An equaliser in the eighty-sixth minute sealed the draw. The hero was Trent Alexander-Arnold’s exquisite long-range strike.
Even after the whistle the stands refused to empty. “You’ll Never Walk Alone” filled every corner of the stadium, moving the visiting side as much as the home fans. It was the kind of atmosphere that made you want to return to Anfield again and again. Players from both teams answered with applause; a few swapped shirts. A roller-coaster of a contest.
Before the heat of battle had fully cooled, Slot sought Han Shin out first and offered his hand.
“It’s a great game! Outstanding tactics.”
“Anfield’s Liverpool are every bit as good as advertised. Thanks to you we had a proper match.”
With his warm face and easy smile, Arne Slot had already become one of the Premier League’s most likeable characters—known to Korean fans as “Fu Bao.” He offered a friendly parting shot.
“Heh-heh, with this level of performance we’ll be seeing you in the Premier League next year.”
“That’s the hope. And next time it won’t end in a draw.”
“Hahaha, Manager Han Shin.”
“Yes?”
“Come now… a draw? You were going easy on us, weren’t you?”
“Not at all. Against Liverpool?”
Leaving Slot’s cryptic words behind, Han Shin stepped into the post-match interview booth.
“Are you satisfied with the draw?”
“It was a meaningful match that let us measure where we stand in England.”
“You scored twice from very few shots. Some say you’re playing pragmatic football based on stingy defending. Your thoughts?”
“I’d invite them to watch the Zenit match first.”
“You rotated every available goalkeeper. Why?”
“I wanted every single player—no one left out—to feel Anfield’s heat. To plant the hunger for the Premier League. I hope this experience becomes the fuel that burns through the season.”
“Nelson Weiper’s debut goal was impressive. Any secret to how quickly he adapted?”
“Not a secret—just praise for Weiper. I believed in his potential and he proved it the moment he arrived. I trust him completely. So do his teammates.”
“Mahrdi and Archie Brown also made their debuts. Mahrdi looked shaky at Nantes, yet today he was transformed. Is that your coaching?”
“I believe every player has a league that suits him. My job is only to show the path. The credit belongs entirely to Mahrdi.”
“I heard the Archie Brown signing was difficult. How did you persuade him? And what’s the starting plan?”
“All credit to the sporting director. Working with a fantastic director is a miracle. As for the starting eleven—nothing is fixed in advance. With Surkin, Romaine, Huggins and Archie we have excellent options. They’ll have to win their places.”
“Thank you for the interview!”
Han Shin slipped in an earpiece and faced the monitor. He was now linked to Korean caster Bae Seung-jae and commentator Lee Jun-hee.
“Manager Han Shin, great to see you! Any words for the fans supporting you from Korea?”
“Hello, everyone watching. This is Sunderland manager Han Shin.”
“First of all, congratulations on the draw against Liverpool!”
“A draw doesn’t feel like something to celebrate.”
“Ah—well, our commentator Lee Jun-hee predicted a 3-2 defeat, you see.”
“A defeat?”
Han Shin’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t misunderstand! It was just a joke. A joke!”
“Hahaha. To be mentioned by a commentator I’ve only ever watched on television—I’m honoured.”
“Oh, and humble too. Handsome, witty—if you take everything, isn’t that unfair?”
“What about me, Manager?”
“The undisputed best announcer and caster, of course.”
The interview warmed up. Finally the topic turned to the Korea tour.
“You’re heading to Korea next, aren’t you?”
“That’s right, Caster. We fly on the nineteenth. The players are already excited to meet the Korean fans.”
“There’s a full-blown Han Shin syndrome sweeping the country. Can you feel it over in England?”
“Han Shin syndrome? First I’ve heard of it.”
“First time? But you opened social media accounts, didn’t you?”
“Ah, I barely have time to look. I do feel the heat from the Korean fans who visit the training ground, though.”
Time was almost up. The caster delivered the closing line while looking straight at the viewers.
“For those curious about Han Shin syndrome, you can follow the entire 2026 Championship season right here on Coupang Play!”
Han Shin delivered his only scripted line and made a finger-heart.
“See you all in Seoul—and on Coupang!”
20 July, Incheon International Airport.
Kirill removed his sunglasses and greeted the crowd.
“I am… an idiot.”
“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah—!!”
The airport erupted. Emboldened, Kirill fired off the next line.
“I love you, Entertainment Weekly.”
“Kyaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
Han Shin leaned in and whispered,
“How’s that, Chairman? Guaranteed performance, right?”
“Yes… this is something else. Absolutely guaranteed.”
Then Han Shin’s eyes found them—his family and friends waiting with a sign that read Pride of the Han Family, We Love You, Our Son!
“Mum! Dad! And Byul!”