Play as a Striker From Now On
"Ooh..."
As I stepped into the first-team office building and walked down the stately corridor, a grand sight unfolded before me. The walls were paneled in fine wood, and the floor was covered in thick, plush carpet. It had that whiff of the British Empire's glory, didn't it? You could feel the weight of over a century of club history pressing down.
Clack-clack-clack.
The walls were lined with faded photographs and old memorabilia. That meant the club wasn't exactly setting the world on fire these days. At the end of the corridor stood a trophy cabinet. True to form for a team with zero league titles in over a hundred years, it was pathetically sparse. Aside from some trophies from minor tournaments too embarrassing to name, the three FA Cup wins were probably the club's crowning glory. And the last one was from the 1979-80 season... No need to belabor the point.
"Come on in! Our hope! West Ham's hero~"
Stepping into the general manager's office, Matthew Davidson greeted me with a grin that looked like it belonged on a TV shopping channel hawking foot peel masks. Matthew was a young elite who'd studied business and sports marketing in America, brought in by the current owner to shake up the Premier League's stuffy club culture, or so they said.
"Hello. I'm Na Yeong-ung."
Glenn Roeder, the first-team manager, and Tony Cascarino, the youth coach, were there too. Unlike Matthew, their faces weren't beaming.
Behind the GM's desk hung a massive photo of Bobby Moore. He was beaming with teammates, hoisting an FA Cup trophy—one of the three outside, no doubt. If this guy had played for another club, how many trophies would he have lifted? Wherever he'd gone, it would've been more than three.
"Yesterday's practice match was really impressive. Everyone was shocked when they heard your age. Asians these days have such great physiques! Haha!"
"..."
While Matthew prattled on, I scanned the room. Glenn had his usual dour expression, and Tony looked grim. That meant...
Matthew's cooking up something on his own.
From my past-life experience, running a football club was like a men's trashy drama. The owner, GM, and manager formed a three-way power struggle straight out of a Korean historical epic. They jockeyed for control all season long, and players, coaches, and staff had to carefully pick sides for their own gain. And looming above it all was God himself—the owner.
"Let me cut to the chase with my offer. Na Yeong-ung. Sign a full pro contract with us."
"Pardon?"
This was a plot twist I hadn't seen coming. I'd only been on a youth contract for less than a year—what was this?
"But there's a condition. Change positions. From now on, you'll play as a striker."
"Pardon?"
"As you know, our starting tall striker Kanouté is getting on in years and way off form. And with the season opener looming, it's not easy to find a tall forward to gel with Jermain on short notice."
"Ah..."
"Of course, we're not throwing you straight in. The first team isn't that easy. We'll slot you into the second team with a dedicated coach for training tailored just for you. A player with your physique and talent will improve by leaps and bounds in no time. If you grab the chance, a Premier League debut this season isn't a pipe dream. You'll storm the league as Asia's proud striker. What do you say to my plan?"
"..."
Of all the absurd twists. I barely stifled a hollow laugh.
I seemed fated to have a karmic grudge with the striker position that even my past life couldn't top.
No need for second thoughts.
Clack. I pointed at the photo of Sir Bobby Moore on the wall.
"I left Korea to join West Ham because I admire him. I have zero interest in switching positions."
"Ah... I see?"
Matthew looked flustered. He'd figured I'd bite instantly. Makes sense—everyone prefers striker over defender.
Tony's face brightened a touch.
"I'm not sure if you get it, Yeong-ung, but youth contracts and pro contracts are worlds apart. Once you're pro, the signing bonus and wages skyrocket by hundreds of times, and your status changes. You become real family to the club. Youth players? No guarantees tomorrow. Do you know what percentage of youth prospects make it to pro in the Premier League? Less than 1%. I'm telling you, this is a golden opportunity born from our club's unique situation. Passing it up means—"
"I know the odds are low. But with my skills, it shouldn't be impossible, right? You said it yourself at the start, GM. That I'm good enough."
"..."
Tony's face lit up more. Matthew looked offended, like his ego was bruised. He wanted to assert dominance here.
"Fine. I get it. If that's your will, I won't force you. But remember this: I'm the one who evaluates your worth as a player. And evaluations can change with the situation."
"Looking forward to working with you, sir."
I bowed politely, Korean-style. Then, lifting my head, I added,
"If I may overstep, could I offer some advice on our first team?"
"What~?"
Matthew's face twisted ugly. His pent-up anger was about to erupt when Glenn stepped in.
"Sure. Let's hear it. What advice?"
"Do we really need a big-and-small striker duo up top? I wondered. We've got plenty of skillful, fast players. Why not make Jermain the lone striker and add an energetic midfielder? It'd unleash Joe Cole and Di Canio even more. Sticking with Kanouté just for aerial presence seems to kill our mobility and attack efficiency."
"..."
Matthew glanced at Glenn, face screaming, Is this for real?
"Interesting take."
"I felt it defending yesterday. Our attack is seriously strong and fast. Impressive."
"Good point. I'll keep it in mind."
Glenn nodded.
"Then I'll be off."
I left the frosty office, striding quickly down the corridor and out of the club building.
"Whew~ Negotiations are always exhausting."
Making an enemy of Matthew? No big deal. He'd be sacked this season anyway. Along with Glenn. If my memory held, this was West Ham's relegation year. After a Boxing Day thrashing and fan backlash, owner Brown would fire Matthew and Glenn to appease the mob. Then ring in the new year with a new GM and manager. And still go down.
"What happened after that?"
The owner probably got fed up and sold to a Nordic billionaire. West Ham plunged into endless darkness.
"Money's a hell of a thing."
Honestly, if my bank account only had ten million won, I might've wavered. Sign pro, get registered in the Premier League, play one season, then switch back to defense. Something like that. Pros meant eight-figure cash right away.
But my account was already flush. No need to compromise for money. It let me ignore the noise and pave my own path steadily. Having money showed me its true power.
"People are unpredictable."
In that office today, youth director Tony ranked lowest. But six months from now, he'd be the only one left. Matthew and Glenn would be history's footnotes. Tony? He'd become an academy legend.
"It's not the strong who survive—survivors are the strong."
That was the pro world.
Matthew dismissed everyone and stayed alone in his office. Lately, he was on pins and needles. The season hadn't even started, and hardcore supporters were already chanting [Matthew Out!] They called this summer's transfer window a flop.
Matthew had his side. Player prices in the Premier League skyrocketed yearly, with global tycoons buying clubs and splashing astronomical sums. It was David vs. Goliath. Even holding onto current stars was tough.
West Ham owner Brown, who'd brought him in, had turned cold lately—treating him like a con artist.
Matthew was cornered on all sides.
"Daring to look down on me... Just you wait, Na Yeong-ung."