#28 B Team is the Future! (1)
In just one day, I got a ton of messages. Not just from friends, but from soccer clubmates and seniors/juniors at Gimpo United, coaching staff who'd guided me, and even acquaintances I hadn't talked to in ages.
At first, I was puzzled. Sure, word could spread through the grapevine and reach people, but the calls were coming in way too fast—even from folks who had zero connection to soccer. Yeah, signing a pro contract in Spain was a big deal, but this was La Liga 2, not the top flight. I couldn't wrap my head around why it was blowing up like this.
And get this—reporters were calling me internationally, somehow digging up my number. I quickly figured out why the attention had skyrocketed.
I scrolled through the community comments and cracked a wry smile. Unfortunately, the explosion of interest in me wasn't really about my pro contract with AD Alcorcon—it was my looks. My photo from the soccer forums had gone viral across other sites overnight, skyrocketing my fame.
This wasn't entirely new. Back in college soccer, I'd made waves as the cover model for the campus magazine. And when I joined Gimpo United, my face got me some buzz too. But nothing like this scale. Plus, the spotlight from Gimpo faded fast once I started getting benched and barely touching the pitch.
This time felt different, though. Back then, it was all about my face. Now, plenty of fans were into my actual soccer skills.
Not everyone was cheering, though.
...These fucking assholes. Can't you just cheer for once? Gotta tear everyone down to feel good? Life that hard?
Even the looks compliments felt dirtier than the soccer hate. Screw this—I need some healing.
A faint smile spread across my lips. For over an hour, I soothed the fresh wounds from the hate by reading these supportive comments one by one.
Bzzz! Right on cue, my phone buzzed wildly with an incoming call. I hit voice talk, saw the name, and grinned wide.
“Hyung!”
— “Hey, Cha Tae-oh! You good? Nah, you're killing it, right?”
“I've been waiting for you to hit me up.”
— “That so? Haha! I've been at the hospital— just heard the news. Congrats, man.”
“Thanks, hyung. But hospital? Why?”
— “Fuck, twisted my ankle. New season's about to start—total bullshit.”
His name: Ki-seong. We'd been tight since college soccer, ran together at Gimpo United, and he'd always had my back when shit hit the fan.
— “Can't even lock down starting spot here, wandering lost—fucking sucks.”
“Aigoo. Hang in there, hyung. You'll bounce back quick.”
— “Honestly, even if I recover, not sure anymore. Coach ignores me even if I bust my ass. Fuck.”
“New coach, right?”
— “Yeah. Stubborn prick. Barely rotates squad. Doesn't like you? You're out—straight out.”
Seemed like he was really struggling; his mouth was way filthier than I remembered, even in just the short time apart. He wasn't the type to trash the coach privately...
New guy's that bad, huh.
— “Spain treating you okay?”
“Yeah, pretty good. Food suits me fine.”
— “Nice. We got similar tastes.”
“You'd never stress over food here, hyung.”
— “I'm a mutt—eat anything. Issue's the smell, the body odor. Westerners reek.”
“I'm good with it.”
— “Our new merc stinks like hell. Spray some deodorant or something, what a nuisance.”
“...?”
I tilted my head. Was this really the Ki-seong I knew?
— “But yeah, humans adapt—gets better after a while.”
“Glad to hear it.”
— “Right? Oh, speaking of... thinking of coming to Spain myself.”
“Spain?”
Ki-seong could probably play 3rd or 4th tier, but pro contract? He still needed work.
— “You'll help me out, right?”
“C'mon... you're joking, hyung?”
— “Joke? Got nothing else going. Not gonna sit around bullshitting with you.”
“Wait, you're seriously coming?”
— “Why? You hate it? Kinda hurt, man. I bought you soju, beer, meals when you were down. Don't forget favors, asshole.”
“Not hating it. If you come, I'll help of course. But for real?”
— “Yeah. Gonna give it a shot. Seeing you gave me courage.”
I spoke with a hint of worry. “Think it over carefully, hyung. Gotta speak solid Spanish here—you suck at it.”
— “Language? Who cares? You don't speak it and still signed pro. Soccer matters. It's the world language.”
Not wrong. Language barriers be damned—if you ball, teammates welcome you. Skill trumps all in pro world.
— “Hey, how'd you even think of Spain?”
“Was eyeing Europe soccer study abroad—turns out my aunt lives here. So Spain it was. I speak decent Spanish now, hyung.”
— “You? Bullshit.”
A scoff leaked through the speaker. Sounded like mockery to me. Mood soured.
— “Told you before—we got the style that eats in Europe.”
Did he? Memory fuzzy, so I just listened.
— “So I'll snag a pro deal quick too. Right? You did it in two months—mine'll be cake. Two weeks tops?”
I blinked blankly. ...Was he serious?
— “Just share the path you paved. Hired an agent?”
“...No.”
— “Did it solo? Or bang some chick for a hookup?”
“...”
Head spinning. Was this the Ki-seong I knew?
— “Anyway, hook me up too. I'll back you if you flop. Seeing you succeed convinced me—I'm Spain material. Shoulda gone sooner.”
Then it hit me. The real meaning behind his "courage."
“Hyung, you mean that seriously?”
— “What? Back you? Duh. You hooked me up—hyung's gotta return it. If I hit top flight, I'll hire you as manager. 1.5 mil salary cool? Haha!”
My smile vanished. Rage boiled—not just at him, but at myself for thinking trash like him was a good guy. At the idiot me grinning over forum likes without knowing my place.
“Haha... hahaha... ahahaha... hahahaha!”
I burst out laughing, half-mad, for a good while.
— “Why the fuck you laughing like a psycho...”
Click! Hung up. Blocked his number and Kakao, then deleted my account entirely.
“Hahaha... ha... ha...”
I'd forgotten. Or maybe wanted to. Just three months ago, I was a hopeless reject booted from K League 2's bottom team without respect.
A guy like that signing pro mid-table La Liga 2? Hilarious to them. Sure, some wouldn't think that—maybe most—but I didn't care to sort 'em.
“Where'd those vows go...”
No distractions like popularity—pure soccer focus. I'd chanted it, yet one whiff of fame flipped me. Pathetic.
“Whew.”
Deep breath cleared my head, etching a clear goal: Shatter the "hopeless flop released after one season from K League 2 basement" image burned in minds.
Until then...
“This is the real start. Get your shit together—straighten up.”
No complacency. Ever.
◆ AD Alcorcon B was in the thick of it against CD Badajoz, 12th in their group. Today, left winger Miguel Amaro couldn't shake a weird vibe all game.
What's up?
Since training days ago, Cha Tae-oh's aura was off. Nothing major different, but his eyes changed on the ball—play too. More aggressive, passionate. Like he wanted to slice opponents in half, killing intent in every move.
Wham!Thud! It paid off in goals.
Beep-beep-beeeep!
Final score: 8-2. Tae-oh bagged 6 alone, leading a fourth straight blowout win.
“Theo. Gotta ask something.”
“Yeah? Shoot.”
“Something happen?”
“Happen? Why outta nowhere?”
“Your face... looks like you're out to kill someone. Not imagining it.”
Cha Tae-oh chuckled softly.
“Gotta crave it more now. Next season, A-team starting striker's mine. Pitch is war—you don't kill, you die. Gotta play to kill.”
Miguel Amaro felt a fresh shock. Not just celebrating pro deal—paddling toward farther horizons.
...Was I like that?
Answer came quick.
“Theo.”
“Yeah?”
“Playing with you's huge luck for me.”
“Sudden much?”
“Dead serious. And I'll join you.”
“For what?”
“Rip every opponent we face to shreds.”
Killing intent flickered in Miguel Amaro's eyes.