They Don't Even Think of Us as Rivals
"Why the hell Man Utd!?"
West Ham players erupted in frustration when they drew Manchester United as their quarterfinal opponent.
"Portsmouth, Sunderland, Sheffield—all those teams were there, so why Man Utd of all people? Our team's luck is always shit."
"Damn Millwall got the weakest team, Tranmere. Those bastards have all the luck."
"What if Millwall ends up in the final? I don't wanna see that."
Man Utd was the king of the Premier League. Arsenal was challenging their dominance lately, but it was still nowhere near the glory Man Utd had achieved.
We'd drawn the strongest opponent out of the eight teams in the quarters.
"You seniors are pathetic. That's why you get relegated. Tsk tsk."
"What'd you say!?"
They all flew into a rage at my blunt words.
"The FA Cup is a tournament where only winning it matters. You should be grateful we drew Man Utd early. If we're gonna win it anyway, we have to beat them sooner or later."
"...Winning."
The seniors murmured the word "winning" cautiously, as if saying it casually would bring disaster.
"Tsk tsk. That's why you haven't won in over twenty years."
West Ham boasted over a century of history, zero league titles, and three FA Cups. Their last one was the 1980 FA Cup.
"You think you'll survive the Premier League next year with this mentality? Be thankful we're facing Man Utd. We get to see firsthand what's missing against the top team in the first division. Use that data to sign the right players in the summer window, and we'll be stronger. Think progressively like that. 'Millwall drew this, we got Man Utd, oh no, scary~' What is this? Embarrassing."
"Yeong-ung... Hearing you makes me ashamed as a senior."
Jermain Defoe stood up and walked over to me. Then he suddenly locked me in a headlock.
"You cocky little shit! You haven't even played a single Premier League game yet!! It's no joke! Especially Man Utd—they're at the top. When you face them for real, the level difference hits you. And Man Utd at Old Trafford? That's a nightmare. They're called the Red Devils for a reason!"
"Agh! Let go!"
"Yeong-ung talks like an ass, but he made a good point. Like he said, we lack a winning mentality. Let's go to Manchester and learn the mindset of champions from them."
"I said let go!"
And so, the West Ham players prepared for the Man Utd match with anxious anticipation.
The silver lining was that Michael Carrick, who'd been ruled out for the season with an Achilles injury, had recovered faster than expected and would be available. He'd shown strong determination to play, apparently.
Was it because he was fated to transfer to Man Utd anyway? History around me was starting to shift.
The morning of the match, we boarded the bus for Manchester.
"Alright! Let's go cut off the king's head~~!!"
"Let's go~~! Hammers!!"
Fans swarmed the club parking lot early in the morning to cheer us on as we loaded the bus. West Ham fans' passion was incredible.
As our team bus pulled out, fan groups formed up and headed to Manchester too. We were the Hammers legion on an away expedition from London to Manchester.
Everyone was hyped and shouting at first, but once the bus hit the road, they all went quiet, closing their eyes. Many stared out the window, lost in music through their earphones.
I gazed at the drizzly London streets in the morning rain, deep in thought.
Now the real test begins...
After regressing, I'd ditched middle school, crossed to London, and built a successful pro career. Results were coming faster than expected—scary fast.
Whether I can swim with the big fish will be proven in this match.
I'd wanted to focus solely on training until 20 to solidify my skills, but I'd risen to the first team too quick and was caught in the whirlwind of the season.
Of course, playing matches was accelerating my growth more than training alone.
But those opponents had all been second-division teams.
All the achievements I'd built could crumble in an instant against a powerhouse like Man Utd.
"..."
Anton's face reflected in the window beside me, full of worry. Today, he'd finally face his brother Rio Ferdinand's Man Utd.
Rio was suspended for doping, so no direct matchup, but everyone would be watching Anton.
Anton had been compared to his genius brother his whole life. The complex always held him back.
"Anton. You okay?"
"Yeah. Of course."
"What're you listening to? Michael Jackson again?"
"Obviously. His songs calm me down. He's an amazing performer and vocalist."
"Once the match starts, Man Utd fans will target you hard. Comparing you to Rio will be standard. You ready?"
"...Yeah."
"Wanna bet?"
"On what?"
"Whether my 'dog meat song' chant gets louder or the ones comparing you and your brother."
"Hahaha."
"See? You look better when you laugh. Anton, this isn't you vs. your brother. It's team vs. team. Relax."
"...Thanks, Yeong-ung."
Anton's expression softened. I didn't always like his emotional side, but he was a good guy at heart. I needed to draw out a ruthless, tenacious edge from him for the pitch.
Especially against the monsters we faced today.
"Van Nistelrooy, Ryan Giggs, Forlán, Solskjær... and Portugal's prodigy Cristiano Ronaldo too..."
Just thinking about that star-studded attack line made cold sweat break out. Anton and I had to stop them today.
I tossed and turned before finally drifting off.
"There it is!"
The players' voices woke me. I opened my eyes to see Manchester United's home ground, Old Trafford, looming in the distance.
The iconic symbol of English football, seating 76,000. The Theatre of Dreams revealed its majestic form.
Thump-thump-thump-thump—my heart pounded wildly.
This was unexpected, even for me.
"Damn... Can't calm down."
In my past life, I'd watched Kim Ji-sung play there every week at dawn. I'd always imagined, What would it feel like to play there if my career took off? Just one match...
Man Utd players in red uniforms were my heroes, my idols. My favorite Premier League club, naturally.
Now I was facing them. Was I really ready?
Thump-thump-thump—
"What's with the face, Yeong-ung?"
"Nothin'."
"No way. You're nervous?"
"I'm not."
"Hahaha! You get nervous too? That's surprising!"
Anton blabbed cluelessly. Seniors overheard and started teasing.
"Hahaha! All that winning mentality talk—what's this? Yeong-ung, you chickened out seeing Old Trafford?"
"He chickened! Bet you've secretly idolized Man Utd. But freaking out at the stadium? You'll shit yourself seeing the players."
"Kuhaha!"
They were cracking up when boys in Man Utd kits and scarves passed in front.
They spotted our West Ham bus. We grimaced, remembering Preston.
But...
"Huh? What're they..."
Instead of middle fingers, the kids waved and grinned wide.
"Welcome~~"
We could read their lips.
Our players' faces hardened. It was more humiliating than abuse.
"We're... being ignored."
"They don't even think of us as rivals."
To Man Utd, battling Arsenal for the title, a second-division FA Cup foe was a gift.
The Manchester boys' welcome lit a fire under the West Ham players.
"We'll show 'em today."
"Teach these northern hicks London football!"
Fired up, we entered Old Trafford.
"West Ham team has arrived."
Ferguson was still in his office. He'd head to the locker room soon for the final pre-match meeting.
He was tracking their movements because of Na Yeong-ung.
Ferguson wanted a chance to meet him. Even if no immediate signing, he needed to gauge his mindset.
Loyalty to West Ham mattered, but most crucial was whether Na Yeong-ung had a winner's mentality.
His Man Utd squad shared a unique spirit—weeding out the mentally weak.
"This schedule's tricky. Guess I'll have to go down to London again..."
He scratched his head. No access before the match.
"Meeting after should work."
His plan: Show overwhelming superiority, make Yeong-ung crave a top team like Man Utd.
"If he's truly strong, he'll want strong teammates. That's winners' thinking."
Ferguson's legacy at Man Utd wasn't tactics or management—it was mentality.
Never satisfied with one win; always more. He'd instilled that winner's spirit, ruling players in red uniforms. Laggards were cut.
That was Ferguson.
"Sir. Players are waiting."
"Right. Let's go."
Ferguson left his office for the locker room.