I'm Dazed
"Yes. That's the plan."
I kept toying with Ferguson a bit more.
"Hahaha. What a naive kid. Sorry for laughing. But listen, Hero... Winning the PL is no easy feat. And West Ham doing it? A team that's never won in over a century—there's a reason for that. Even Bobby Moore, the man you admire, couldn't take West Ham to the top. That means there's a fundamental problem at the core of this club. You can't fix that alone."
Ferguson had clearly done his homework on me. The top manager in Europe going to these lengths to sign me—it was flattering.
"I love the Hammers' passion too. But the world of competition is ruthless. If you want to be the best, you have to play for the best team. Soccer isn't a game you win solo. The best teams always have the best teammates."
"The best teammates..."
"You're not planning to spend your whole career in one league, right? Not just our PL—later on, you need experience in Spain, Germany, Italy, all the top leagues. That way, when you return to Korea, you can properly teach the next generation. Think about your future. When you transfer to another league, would being at West Ham help more, or Man United? I'll admit it's self-serving, but West Ham is unknown beyond these shores. Man United? Go anywhere in Europe—or the world—and you'll see boys in our kit roaming the streets. What do you say? Am I wrong?"
Ferguson was sharp as a knife. My future lay right in his palm. He knew exactly the trajectory an Asian player needed to succeed.
"Thank you for the offer, sir. I'll keep today's meeting as a precious secret for life."
"...Very well."
"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not leaving West Ham. I promised the fans when I joined that I'd bring this team a title. Thinking of a transfer right after promotion in our first season—that's no way to respect them."
"...Romantic."
"And there's one more, even bigger reason."
"What's that?"
"Playing against your Man United is too damn fun. The thrill from our last match still hasn't faded. It was the most exciting game I've had since coming to England. But if I joined United, I'd never get to face them again."
"..."
Ferguson stared at me blankly, speechless. What kind of guy is this? His expression soon twisted into the viper's glare I knew so well—the cold face of the Premier League's ultimate winner, ready to do anything for victory.
"You'll regret those words."
Ferguson whipped his head toward the window. And with that, our meeting ended.
As I stepped out, two staffers climbed in, and they headed straight north, back to London.
The next day, I rose at the usual time and headed to training as always. Yesterday's secret meeting with Ferguson felt like a dream—but it wasn't. My gaze toward West Ham had changed.
Can this team really win the Premier League? That player? That coach? That manager? That director?
I now viewed the squad with a more critical eye. Of course, I kept my thoughts to myself.
And the seed Ferguson had planted in my mind was starting to sprout.
After the FA Cup quarterfinal against Man United, West Ham's players awakened, ripping off a winning streak to secure early promotion.
In the original timeline, West Ham failed to promote this season and hit rock bottom. I'd accelerated their return.
What impact this would have on the club's future remained to be seen.
Anyway, with promotion locked in, East London erupted in celebration. I became the neighborhood hero—restaurants and pubs wouldn't take my money.
With 19 goals and 17 assists, I took Best Player honors. A defender cracking the top five in both goals and assists? A first in English soccer history.
The whole club celebrated, though director Collins looked grim. My options on goals and assists netted me bonus pay equal to my salary.
"Thank you for the award. But we won't be back in the Championship. Look forward to West Ham shaking up the Premier League next season!"
My brief acceptance speech reaffirmed my resolve.
The West Ham squad entered summer break, eyeing next season. After two years, I boarded a flight home.
First class, courtesy of the club—pure bliss.
I flew economy to London... now first class home.
Memories flooded back: the grueling 20+ hour journey with Dad on the cheapest economy seats for my trial. Overwhelmed with emotion. Triumphant return. Words like that popped into my head, though I wasn't sure of their exact meaning.
And then.
"Um, Hero Na? Big fan. If it's not too much trouble, could we take a photo together?"
My world had shifted. Waiting for takeoff in first class, a stunning stewardess approached politely. A beauty rivaling any celeb, her admiration plain as day. Somehow, I'd become a star.
"Sure."
Click. Our selfie brought our cheeks inches apart. Her perfume and subtle scent hit me like a wave.
!
Living like a monk with no young women around, I got unexpectedly excited. I flinched back, handing over the camera.
"That good?"
"Thank you~ Hero~ You're even cooler in person~"
"Y-yeah."
I feigned calm, deep-breathing to settle down. The stewardesses whispered about how cute I was. The whole scene felt alien.
It hit me how sheltered my life in London had been. Stadium-training-home, day in, day out, surrounded by sweaty guys talking soccer. My last real chat with a peer of the opposite sex? Half a year ago with Daniel.
This was basically military service.
After a comfy 11-hour flight, I landed at Incheon. Clearing customs and exiting arrivals, I rubbed my eyes at the sight.
Congrats! Arrival! Korea Soccer's Hero! Hero Na! Let's go to the 2006 World Cup! - I'm Hero Internet Fan Cafe, all members
A massive banner stretched wide, hundreds of fans and dozens of cameras forming a blockade.
"He's out!"
Flash!Flash!Flash!
Blinded like machine-gun fire. What the hell? What happened in Korea while I was gone?
Panicking, shielding my eyes for the exit, a girl rushed up with a bouquet. Shockingly, she wore a West Ham kit with my name.
"Great job! Welcome back, Hero Na!"
She beamed, pivoting toward the cameras. Suddenly, I was in a two-shot with the flowers between us.
"What... is all this?"
"Hero Na! One word on arriving home! Everyone's been here since dawn!"
"How's it feel challenging the Premier League next season?"
West Ham had blocked all Korean media access. Desperate reporters showed up at training uninvited; I'd politely turned them away every time. Result? Minimal positive coverage, even for big performances—they ignored me.
Backlash followed. Fan cafes sprang up translating my UK press into Korean. To them, I was the true hero saving Korean soccer from the media blackout.
European soccer forums pushed back: Hero Na isn't that great. Online debates raged.
I'd had no time or interest to check.
"I'm dazed."
A snowball effect from one season's heroics on the other side of the world. The tax of fame.
Dodging the press amplified the mystery, drawing even more eyes.
"Thanks for the support, everyone. I'll deliver good results next season too."
Textbook response—I just wanted out.
But reporters don't let go easy. Some sharp-tongued hack always stabs.
"Hero Na, rumors say you rejected youth national team call-ups. True?"
"I never got an official offer. Why?"
"Dropped out of middle school and rushed abroad for military exemption, right? You're exempt anyway—no need to sweat the national team."
"..."
I stared down the wart-faced reporter. He snapped me awake. Pros need off-season discipline too.
"I left Korea early to learn advanced European soccer ASAP. Military was never a factor. No official youth team offer came. If the KFA calls, I'll consider it—it's not easy shuttling from Europe mid-season. Thanks for coming, though I didn't invite you. Gotta go."
I handed the bouquet back to the girl and bolted from the airport.
"Jamsil, please."
In the taxi, I finally exhaled. Sweating more than a 90-minute match.
But this was nothing compared to what awaited in Korea.