They're Talking About the Future of Korean Soccer
"Yawn~ Slept like a rock."
The next morning, I woke up after a solid twelve hours of sleep. My parents had set aside a dedicated room just for me in their place. The Jamsil apartment I'd bought them had a view of the Han River right from the living room. There'd been a lot of talk about how hot or blinding it must be with the river reflecting everything, but lounging on the sofa there? Man, that wide-open vista was pure bliss.
I dug into a home-cooked Korean meal my mom whipped up—something I hadn't had in ages. White rice, beef seaweed soup, rolled omelet, stir-fried anchovies, young kimchi, seasoned soybean sprouts, braised soybeans... It was delicious, but it hit me with a wave of nostalgia from those desperate days back in old Korea, back when there was no escape. Nearly brought a tear to my eye.
"Son, have some more rice."
"Sure thing~"
My parents had changed a lot in just two years. Their faces were relaxed, full of life. Guess financial security really does wonders for the soul. Dad had quit his job half a year ago and was living the good life—hiking, playing soccer, baduk, you name it. He and Mom even took little trips now and then. I suggested golf, but nope.
"I like soccer. Golf just looks like something for rich slackers."
Seeing them live worry-free like this? This life's already a win. When I crossed over to England with my second chance, I never dreamed success would come this fast. I was still young, time was on my side—no need to rush. I'd take it step by step, climb to the top.
But while my offline real life was peaceful, the online virtual world was blowing up over me, Hero Na.
L He'd won the second division and been named league MVP—what more proof do you idiots want? Are the English morons? Can't even read the UK articles, huh?
L Yeah, even our 2002 World Cup heroes were flopping in backwater leagues. Na Yeong-ung's already a beast.
L Dutch league a backwater? You clowns know nothing about soccer... Look up how many Eredivisie teams have won the Champions League. Tsk tsk.
Hero Na fans were getting trashed by European soccer nerds as "nationalist clueless hacks drunk on hype." The consensus? Doing well in the second tier meant squat in the first. I was curious too—how would I stack up against Premier League powerhouses? That's why I couldn't forget that Man Utd game.
Another hot topic: my patriotism. Self-proclaimed soccer fans were playing ethnic purity police, scrutinizing my loyalty. Naturally, my fans pushed back, and the two sides brawled online daily.
Me? While all that raged, I was out kicking a ball. Thud- thud- thwack- thump- At a nearby Han River park, running my post-regression daily solo routine. A few days off, and my body was itching.
"Nothing beats kicking a ball when you're bored stiff."
Working up a sweat felt great. Like my internal clock was finally ticking right again. Heading home after training, a guy in a black suit blocked my path.
"Nice to meet you. You must be the famous Hero Na."
"...Who are you?"
The suited man handed me a business card. His face and hands were tanned dark, like he spent most days outdoors despite the suit.
Korea Football Association
Youth Development Team Leader
Park Jae-yoon
"From the association. Your mom said you'd be around here."
"Ah, hello."
"Got a minute?"
"Sure."
We ducked into a nearby café. I'd expected contact from the KFA, but not like this. Team Leader Park Jae-yoon moved with zero hesitation—the classic vibe of a lifer in a cushy government gig. Reeked of arrogance from decades as the ultimate top dog.
"Yeong-ung, you've got us in a real bind."
"Pardon?"
"Put yourself in our shoes. Fans are hounding us—'Why isn't he on the national team?' We reach out to your club, crickets. We're the ones catching all the heat."
"Sorry. It was my pro debut season, and I wanted to focus on promotion, so I asked the club to block all outside contact."
"Heh..."
Park didn't lose his cool.
"No need to apologize. We were relieved, actually."
"Huh?"
"You get it, being a pro. Every organization needs political balance, right? Consideration. Ours too. But you... you're kinda awkward to place."
"Me?"
"Dropped out of middle school to go pro—no seniors or juniors in Korea, no school affiliation, no coach. Politically, where do we slot you? Back in the day, it was clean: Korea University or Yonsei. Perfect balance. Now? Too many mutts~~~ Ah, sorry, talking to myself."
"..."
Speechless. What the hell? Spilling something that could be his weakness meant he was rock-solid in his position. Or maybe just blind from the KFA's insular culture, clueless to his own BS.
"Point is, we have high hopes for you. But we're worried you might disrupt the team vibe if you join."
"Me?"
"You played soccer outside our system. The others grew up in it. Kids could get confused—pick up that cocky Western attitude from you."
"...What the hell are you saying?"
"I'm talking about the future of Korean soccer, Yeong-ung."
Park got serious, slurping his iced Americano through the straw.
"So here's my take: Focus on the English leagues next season too. Ignore our calls like before. There might be critical articles about you now and then—we need to dilute the hype. Stay quiet, don't speak out. It'll blow over, public forgets fast. Sound good?"
"So, to sum up, the association doesn't want me on the youth national teams."
"Who said that? I never did."
Park played dumb, slurping away. Guy was so punchable—I wanted to kick his cushy ass.
But.
"Got it. I'll do that."
"Smart kid. Premier Leaguer through and through."
Deal struck with the KFA. Worked for me—I wanted to focus on the league till the 2006 Germany World Cup anyway. My body was transitioning from teens to twenties; needed to cut games, prioritize conditioning.
"See ya, Yeong-ung. Fighting~!"
"Take care, Team Leader."
Park whistled off, smug as hell. Good at his job? Probably gets props inside the KFA.
Back home, I fired up the computer, checked soccer buzz. The national team was in chaos—foreign coach Humberto Coelho sacked after flops (like that 0-0 vs. Maldives), no replacement in sight. Hiddink's 4th-place miracle felt like a fading dream. Crisis mode everywhere. Fans obsessed over Korean soccer's future like it was their own.
"...Unbelievable."
Tons of self-styled fans and patriots debating solutions. Sad truth: they had zero clue how the actual soccer world worked. Fresh off meeting a KFA exec, I was floored. That guy couldn't care less about Korea's soccer future.
"Running a soccer club ain't easy. Insiders-only stuff outsiders miss."
I shut down the PC early and hit the sack.
The next morning. Was my rant prophetic? An unexpected bombshell hit East London.
In Seoul's Jamsil apartment living room, I learned my club's owner had changed. A blip in the Korean portal's sports corner. Fake news? I checked BBC UK.
"Oh my God."
Korean site: footnote. BBC: front-page top story. West Ham's stature in England was no joke.
I called Paul immediately.
Ring- ring- ring- My head spun. Per my past-life memory, Magnússon and Icelandic money taking over was years away. My fast promotion accelerated history. Fine so far—Magnússon invested more than stingy old Brown and loved the club.
But the 2008 global financial crisis loomed. Iceland's banks collapsed, near state bankruptcy. Magnússon went bust, dumped West Ham cheap. Hammers tanked again, relegated early 2010.
"Gotta do something."
Can't stop owner deals. But with my foresight, I could avert the downfall.
"Hello? Yeong-ung? Saw the news, huh? Shocker?"
Paul picked up.