Dress Rehearsal
After our Round 9 clash with Arsenal, we never looked back. Defeat became a stranger.
Even with certain positions rotating through the squad, we kept racking up wins in the EPL Youth League. The problem was Arsenal. They were on a tear of their own. So despite our own undefeated run, two draws left us a single point behind them—stuck in second place in the group.
In the UEFA Youth League, we brought PSV to our home ground and beat them 3–1. The following week we dismantled Inter Milan 3–0 and locked down first place in the group. I put in strong performances in both matches, and apparently my name even flashed briefly on Korean terrestrial sports news. Coach Wagner called me afterward and told me to take care of my body—he was taking me to the 2019 FIFA U-20 World Cup no matter what.
The away fixture against Barcelona came after both sides had already secured second place in their groups, so neither team had much riding on it. Our side left a few regulars, myself included, at home. Both teams fielded patched-up lineups, and we came back with a 1–1 draw.
Then December arrived, and with it the FA Youth Cup. We entered from the third round—the Round of 64. Our opponents were Millwall of the U18 Professional Development League (the second tier), and we strolled past them 6–0.
On paper, we were supposed to meet Arsenal in the Round of 32. Then an upset happened: Arsenal fell to Swindon Town of the second division.
"Ah! A catastrophic mistake from Arsenal centre-back Jack Addley!"
"How does he make a blunder like that?"
Swindon Town's striker Harry ghosted past Addley with a phantom dribble. Addley lost his balance and went down—and on the way, he grabbed Harry's ankle with his hand. Harry went sprawling. The foul was inside the penalty area.
"A penalty is unavoidable, but it should only be a yellow, surely."
"If you call it a mistake, yellow. If you call it deliberate… Ah! The referee goes straight for the red card. He's judged it intentional."
"Arsenal's defence has always lagged behind their attack. Addley was the one holding that back line together. This is a disaster."
"And we're only ten minutes into the first half. They'll have to play eleven against ten for eighty minutes. In every sense, that's fatal."
After converting the penalty, Swindon Town immediately reshaped into a parked bus—a 5-4-1. Arsenal, already down a man and forced into a 3-4-2, simply could not break it down. In the fourteenth minute of the second half they got hit on the counter and conceded a second goal. By the final whistle, Arsenal still hadn't cracked the defence. They lost 0–2.
Crowded into the locker room watching the match, we erupted the moment it ended.
"Whoa! I thought we were facing Arsenal in the fourth round."
"Compared to Arsenal, Swindon is a freebie. Easy. So easy."
"Still, no room for complacency. Look what just happened to Arsenal."
"Nobody on our team is dumb enough to pull a stunt like that."
"Still—our luck this season has been pretty ridiculous, hasn't it?"
Our Round of 16 opponent in the UEFA Youth League, which would start in March, was Hertha Berlin. Hertha had drawn an absurdly soft group and ridden a streak of good fortune all the way into the knockout stage as runners-up.
"It's not just us, either. The first team’s been riding a wave too."
"True."
Tottenham's senior side had also punched through a group of death in second place, and their league form wasn't half bad either.
"Imagine if the first team and us both win our trophies. That would be something."
"Yeah. If this good luck holds just a little longer, we'd be writing Tottenham history."
"Exactly."
"If the luck keeps going… then next season I could make my first-team debut."
I nodded along as I listened to the boys talk.
And then something happened that made me wonder if luck had found me too.
"Je-woo! How tall are you right now?"
At the dinner table, my sister Jiyoon asked out of nowhere.
"Why the sudden interest? One eighty-three. Ugh—if I could just grow two more centimetres."
I'd long since left the trauma of my previous life behind. Still, human greed has no ceiling; I wanted a little more height even as my growth plates were closing.
"Perfect. Exactly what I needed."
"What are you talking about? One centimetre matters to me."
"Forget that. You—you've got a bit of free time these days, right?"
"Free time? I'm buried in free-kick training."
"But it's better than before, isn't it?"
"I guess. Why?"
"Je-woo. Just this once—help your sister out."
She looked at me with pure desperation. What on earth could it be?
"Help with what? Someone want an autograph? Or just to look at my face?"
Even with half of London's clubs around us, I was still a youth player, and that earned me a surprising amount of goodwill. The West Ham-supporting grandfather next door kept telling me to come join them someday.
"Not that."
"Then what?"
After finishing business at Korea University, Jiyoon had enrolled as a first-year in Image and Promotion—branding, advertising, and visual work—at Central Saint Martins. True to a world-class fashion school, their assignments were… unusual. Students from fashion design, styling, photography, and makeup artistry had to form teams and produce a full editorial shoot together.
"And that involves me how?"
"In London, finding an amateur-level female model is ridiculously easy. Male models? Nearly impossible. So… would you model for us for just one day?"
"What? Me? How am I supposed to do that? Just ask Manager Kang to call a modelling agency."
"Anyone with even a little name recognition is completely off-limits! Instant F if we get caught. And all the aspiring female models are teenagers, so we need a teenage guy. Teenage male model hopefuls are practically extinct."
She explained that young female models poured in from Russia, Ukraine, Germany, the Netherlands—but young men were vanishingly rare. Fair enough. A good-looking teenage boy with model potential was usually chasing an acting career instead. She sweetened the pitch by pointing out that the other teams were mostly white, so an East Asian face would make ours uniquely distinctive.
"What about the rest of your team? Are you the one stuck handling this?"
"I'm the team leader. No choice."
"Age got you the title, didn't it."
Jiyoon was an early '95. Most of her classmates were born in 2000. An East Asian student as team lead—she'd probably leaned on the age gap.
"No, actually. Our major oversees the whole fashion package, so the team-lead role falls to us automatically. Je-woo… please? Really?"
"How am I supposed to walk a runway?"
"You idiot! It's not that! You just stand still and hold a pose!"
She pressed on. "And you're going to shoot ads someday anyway. Think of it as a dress rehearsal."
"Hmm. When you put it like that… getting the experience once might not be so bad."
"Right?"
"How long does it take? And how many models? I hate crowded sets."
"No, no. Three or four hours, tops. Just you and one female model. Everyone else is crew and teammates."
That pleading face of hers made it clear she was truly desperate.
"Fine. But the only free slot I have is Sunday afternoon this week."
"Aah! Thank you! Half my team are already fans of yours. They're going to lose their minds. And the girl we cast is drop-dead gorgeous."
"Don't bother. Even if Grandpa dotes on me, he'd still give me an earful if I brought home a white girlfriend. Mum wouldn't like it either."
"Hmm. Grandpa might let it slide, but Auntie—Mum—would probably hate it. She's quietly conservative, isn't she?"
"Yeah. Most houses, the dad is the strict one and the mum is open-minded. Ours is completely backwards. How someone like her ever entered Miss Korea is beyond me…"
"Heh. Ji-chan and I talked about that too. There's a swimsuit round and everything."
My maternal grandfather, a doctor, was just as conservative. A genuine mystery. I'd have to ask Mum about it someday.
"Je-woo. You'll handle your physique yourself, obviously—but take care of your skin for the next few days. I'll give you some sheet masks."
"Haah. Fine."
A few days later, Sunday arrived. I finished a short morning session at Hotspur Way and headed straight to the meeting point. I'd been told to arrive by one; traffic was so light I got there a full thirty minutes early.
"Manager Kang, you can head back. I'll go home with my sister."
"Yes, young master. Fighting."
"Haa… that sounded like mockery. Tell me I'm imagining it."
"You're imagining it. Hahaha."
I sighed, short and sharp, and climbed out of the car.
Still—Jiyoon was the team lead, and she knew who I was. Showing up empty-handed felt wrong. I ducked into a nearby dessert shop and came out with an armful of snacks.
Then I reached the meeting place.
In front of the building stood a dazzlingly beautiful blonde, expression blank. I'd lived in London for five years, and I hadn't exactly spent them locked indoors—but a woman this pretty, in the flesh? First time. That brilliant gold hair and porcelain skin only looked more radiant against her black knit. She was tall, and the cut of her clothes left no mystery about the figure underneath.
"Wow. She's gorgeous."
The words slipped out on their own. Whether she heard the soft gasp or not, she turned to look at me.
For a fraction of a second her eyes went wide. Then her face hardened, cold as stone.
What?
Why the sudden change?
She hadn't said a single word, and yet the feeling rolled off her in waves: I don't like you.
Was she a racist?
Haa. I hadn't run into this in a while, so I'd almost forgotten it existed.
Irritating.
Without another glance, I brushed past her and walked into the building.