Ahead of Round 9 — Part 2

Park Jin-sung met with Manager Wagner and asked about Park Je-woo.

Wagner, for his part, was unstinting in his praise of Je-woo’s ability.

“Match footage alone doesn’t fully capture how incredible Je-woo is. You have to go to the stadium, watch him live, and talk to him before you really understand.”

“He’s that good?”

Wagner spoke of Je-woo’s expansive vision and his passing, then added one more thing.

“You managed to shut down Pirlo back in the day—but if you ever faced Park Je-woo as an opponent, you might not be able to stop him.”

It was a claim Park Jin-sung found hard to believe.

“Je-woo is at that level? He’s only sixteen. Isn’t that evaluation a little excessive?”

“You went up against Silva in your prime, didn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Could you shut Silva down for a full ninety minutes?”

Difficult. Stamina aside, the physical gap had been far too large. And while Pirlo had been weak in the tackle, physical battles were the very thing Silva did best.

“It would be impossible.”

“Exactly. And Park Je-woo is that Silva’s disciple. Right now, if the two of them went one-on-one, it would be fifty-fifty. You could put it down to Silva getting old—but Je-woo is still young, too. Even so, are you confident you could mark him the way you marked Pirlo?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Wagner glanced around and pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shh. Keep your voice down.”

“Ah—sorry.”

“Not many people know.”

“Ah. Right.”

Park Jin-sung dropped his voice to a whisper.

“Well, I can’t tell you much myself. Anyway, the one who taught Park Je-woo how to fight for the ball was Gilberto Silva, and he picked up all sorts of things from other coaches as well. Interesting, isn’t it? That a Korean kid with this much talent was quietly growing up in England?”

“Can’t you give me more detail?”

“Go ask the association president about that. Hear it from him yourself.”

“The president? Why do I have to hear it from the association president?”

“There’s a reason. I’ve said all I can.”

At Wagner’s clear dismissal, Park Jin-sung left the manager’s office.

He went looking for Silva first, but that proved a waste of time. Silva told him the same thing—go ask the association president—so Park Jin-sung eventually made his way to the president’s office.

“Hmm. Chairman Park. Not many people know. Fewer than ten, in fact. It’s not something that truly needs to be kept this secret, but there’s no advantage to the rumors spreading just yet.”

“When you put it that way, I’m even more curious.”

“Very well. As chairman of the power reinforcement committee, you ought to know.”

Seo Jae-won paused a beat, then spoke.

“My wife’s nephews all share the generational character ‘Je’ in their names. Park Je-hyeon, Park Je-min, Park Je-rin….”

Even phrased that obliquely, Park Jin-sung understood at once. Lately—especially since becoming involved with Seo Jae-won—he had been surprised more often than he liked. This hit him as hard as the news of Wagner’s appointment had.

“What? So that means… is what I’m thinking correct?”

“Yes. He’s my wife’s nephew. I’m Je-woo’s uncle by marriage. Now you understand why there’s nothing to gain from this becoming known just yet?”

“Then Je-woo is a grandson of the DH Group.”

“Correct. He’s the youngest son of my brother-in-law Park Young-cheol of DH Construction. We’ve been working rather hard to keep the truth from reporters and anyone connected to the game.”

Park Je-woo’s ability was beyond question. To Korean fans, though, the name was still thoroughly unfamiliar. If his family connections became public before he turned professional—or before he had a chance to prove something with the youth national team—people would inevitably claim he had been selected through blood ties. He was a young player; every little thing like that would affect his performance on the pitch.

“I understand Chairman Park has a number of close acquaintances among journalists.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll treat this as something I never heard.”

“Good. Oh—and I actually had something I wanted to ask you about. I’m thinking of trying this person as a U-12 coach. What do you think?”

Seo Jae-won handed a file across to Park Jin-sung. It was a document bearing a name all too familiar to him—and a photograph that was completely unfamiliar.

Three years younger than himself. Born in 1984. He had started football late, after entering middle school, then gone to Brazil for two years of football study after finishing his third year. Those two years of schooling in Brazil were not recognized, leaving him held back two years; he had no choice but to continue his studies in Italy, where he signed a contract with a third-division club. But Italy in 2002 had hated Korea with a passion. His contract was terminated.

Misfortune kept finding him after that. A contract collapsed at the last minute because of a mix-up with someone of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠same name. He quit the game, then returned to the domestic third division out of lingering regret. Opportunities slipped through his fingers; he even played in Argentina’s fourth division. After that came manual labor and a coaching job at a football academy, along with every kind of bad luck—including unpaid wages. At present he was managing Bukchon Middle School.

“What do you think? With a résumé like that, wouldn’t he be fine as a U-12 coach?”

“W-would this person even take the job?”

“I looked into it. His contract with Bukchon Middle School runs through this year. So I’m thinking of making him an offer.”

“He’s a very unusual case—someone who’s experienced both South American and European football firsthand. I don’t know what his actual personality is like, but given how many failures he’s been through, I imagine he could give the kids some real advice.”

“Even after all of that, they say his temperament is easygoing. Not an oppressive style of coach either. Apparently he teaches the kids to enjoy their football. That’s probably why he’s been coaching and managing at Bukchon Middle School for four years already.”

“Then there’s nothing better.”

“As technical chairman—does he pass?”

“Yes. If there’s no particular issue in the interview, I’ll accept Coach Park Jin-sung as the U-12 coach.”

Tottenham was not the only side on high alert. Arsenal U-18 found the Tottenham fixture equally burdensome—and they absolutely had to win it.

Arsenal U-18 manager Kane Gillard kept the meeting with his coaching staff going.

“The balance on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that team is far too good. I’m envious.”

“There’s a bit of a gap between the starters and the bench, but the squad depth is still considerable. Comparable to Chelsea.”

“Everything else aside, try and pry one or two defenders away from other clubs. Our side is desperately short of defenders even at U-15 level.”

“As it happens, the scouts are already in contact with QPR, Leicester, and others. Next year should look a little better.”

“Good. I’ll look forward to better news. Right—against Tottenham, we have to stop those four first, don’t we?”

Four faces appeared on the large television: Bennett, Madueke, Oliver, and Park Je-woo.

“Actually, there’s only one. Stop Park Je-woo and you’re done.”

“I agree with Hermit. Without Park, Oliver and Bowden can still spray passes around—but it stays within ordinary parameters.”

— Snap. —

Gillard flicked his fingers.

“Isn’t it almost simple? One player you have to stop, one player you have to get past—and they happen to be the same person.”

“That’s true enough. The problem is that it’s hard.”

“Boss, a few teams have tried man-marking him. They all failed.”

“Pull up Park’s data for now.”

“You’re telling me we never even tested a kid like this?”

“Yes. At the time we already had Jadon Zelarayan, so…”

Even though Wagner had stepped down as manager months earlier, once he learned of the fact he had gone and turned the Arsenal director’s office ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠upside down. Failing to select a player after a trial was one thing—but never even offering a trial had been the real problem. The scout responsible at the time was tracked down years later and dismissed over it.

“He’s grown past the listed height. Just looking at him, he’s got to be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠around a hundred and eighty centimeters.”

“They say even at a hundred and fifty he was making a fool of defenders who were a hundred and seventy. So you can’t overpower him with pure physique?”

“Right. Other teams have stuck center-backs over a hundred and ninety on him as man-markers, and they got burned even worse because they couldn’t match his burst. I don’t have exact numbers, but Park Je-woo doesn’t look especially quick over a hundred meters. Over thirty meters, though, he’s ridiculously fast. Watching the way he explodes into those short dashes in matches, he’s about level with Madueke over that distance—and probably quicker than our Saka.”

“I saw that. The Eindhoven lads couldn’t stay with him either. Tch. If a kid like that had been here, he could have been Özil’s successor. Pull up the detailed numbers.”

“Terrifying. Put those numbers up at senior level and you’d be looking at well over a hundred million pounds.”

“A hundred million? Factoring in his age, that wouldn’t even come close.”

“That’s not the point—move on. Hughes, keep going.”

“Yes. Also, in the UEFA Youth League his numbers run roughly five to ten percent better than these. The PSV match in particular is overwhelming even on pure data. Among every match we’ve analyzed, that was the single outstanding performance. The numbers he put up were dominant.”

Footage and data from the PSV match filled the screen. Everyone in the room clicked their tongues.

“This is FIFA All-Star data, right? At this rate he’s an SSS-tier card.”

“I wish he were a game card. Then we could just spend the money and buy him.”

“Can’t we buy him with money as it is? He still hasn’t signed a professional contract, has he? And the Korean national team manager is Wagner now.”

“Even so—would he really come to us over that? He’s already met the homegrown quota conditions at Tottenham.”

Another coach added more.

“Rumor has it Manchester United, Newcastle, Liverpool and the rest all inquired about a transfer through Park Je-woo’s companions and were shut down on the spot. On top of that, Park Je-woo has no agent, so even making contact isn’t easy.”

“Tch. Make the wrong approach and you’ll get nicked for tapping up—illegal approach without the registered club’s permission—and Tottenham will take you to the cleaners.”

“Exactly. Breach of regulations, investigation, fines and compensation. That’s all you’d get out of it.”

“Why does every conversation keep turning into money? Enough about money.”

Gillard cut the coaches short and fixed his eyes on a single line of Park Je-woo’s data.

“Average minutes per match are low. Under seventy. Could there be a stamina issue?”

“Hard to say. But in the UEFA youth matches he played the full ninety.”

“Still, that’s about the only angle we can work. What if we put Mac Smith on him in the first half, then bring Patino on in the second and give him the full defensive-and-attacking brief?”

“I’m not sure Mac can handle it—but we’ll have to tell him to go in ready to take a yellow if he has to.”

“There’s no special solution, so that approach is probably right.”

The coaches, equally short of better ideas, agreed to try draining Park Je-woo’s stamina that way.

“All right. Next.”

“Next is Oliver.”