Was It This Narrow?
“When was the club sale decided?”
“No idea. How would a lowly staffer like me know?”
Paul’s voice was brighter than expected. Well, he didn’t know the future, after all.
“It’s not a bad deal. Stingy Chairman Brown’s out, and a fat-walleted Icelandic gentleman’s the new owner. Expect big investments ahead—like Chelsea, Arsenal, Tottenham, all those other London clubs. Heh.”
“I see.”
“I know it’s a shock, but don’t worry too much, Hero. Foreign millionaires snapping up English football clubs is all the rage now. West Ham’s just caught the wave.”
Paul had no clue. The influx of foreign millionaires into the Premier League was just getting started. Soon, Mansour, American sports investment groups, Saudi princes—capitalists of every stripe would flood in, turning the league into a money bonanza. And West Ham, of all clubs, hooking up with Magnusson, would sink into a long slump alongside the collapsed Icelandic capital.
“What about the manager and director? Will they be okay?”
“...”
A brief silence fell.
New owners always wanted to sweep out the old and bring in the new. If you bought an expensive house and found the outdated dining table and sofa still in the living room, what would you do?
“Hard to say. You think they’d ditch the guys who got the team promoted in just one season that easily?”
“...”
“Don’t stress. Rest up in Korea and come back refreshed. By then, the club’ll be all Icelandic-style sorted. Just take care of your body.”
“Don’t stress. Rest up in Korea...”
I hung up and sank into thought. According to my past-life memories, Chairman Magnusson would axe the current manager and director and install his own people. History had already changed, so I couldn’t predict his moves. A new manager could shift my standing too. A conservative one would hate my overlapping runs. Last season’s heroics were only possible because Alan trusted me from the start. If he suddenly left...
‘Hero, if you want to be the best, play for the best team.’
Sir Alex Ferguson’s voice echoed suddenly. Did that old man know West Ham would be sold too?
“Son, why the long face? Something happen in England?”
“Our club got sold to an Icelandic tycoon.”
“Iceland?”
“Aigoo, so ignorant. It’s that tiny island nation right next to England. Famous for Guinness beer or something. Got historically bullied by neighbor Britain. You didn’t know that?”
Mom was pretending to know, talking to Dad.
“Mom, that’s Ireland. Iceland’s different. It’s an island between England and the Arctic—pretty unfamiliar to Koreans.”
“Oh? Why do all those countries have such similar names?”
“Beats me.”
Hearing about the ownership change made me want to rush back to London. I’d planned to stay over three weeks, but I changed my mind. I booked the soonest flight back.
Nothing I did would change things, but being on-site would ease my mind. That evening, something happened that made me even more anxious.
Ring ring—
Mom picked up the house phone in the living room and called me over.
“Son, it’s for you.”
“Me? Who’s calling?”
“A friend, apparently.”
“Huh? A friend?”
Too flustered to refuse, I grabbed the receiver.
“...”
My appetite vanished. After a long silence, I spoke calmly.
“Dongjun, remember what you said when I quit the soccer team?”
“What? What’d I say?”
“You called me a fucking selfish traitor. Said you’d watch if I made it in England. Ring a bell?”
“...”
Now silence from his end.
“No way~ I couldn’t have. If I did, I was just shocked at how sudden it was. Honestly, after you left, we got beat bad because of you. Seniors blamed us for not managing you, took it out on the coach too. It was rough~”
“That so? Sorry.”
Memories of those nightmare beatings I’d forgotten surged back. The stifling, nauseating air seeped through the receiver into my skin.
“Listen up, Dongjun. I’ve never seen you as a friend. And since I quit mid-way, we’re not classmates anymore. I’ll never deal with anyone from that school’s soccer team again.”
“Hero! Why talk like that? What does that make me, the one who called?”
“Advice: don’t stick around groups that feel off. Stay too long, and you’ll stink of them. Gotta watch out. I’m hanging up. Good luck with everything.”
Click.
“Son! Why hang up so rudely!? Wasn’t that a friend?”
“Not a friend. From now on, if anyone calls for me, say I’m not here. Just take their contact info.”
“What?”
“And scum will start buzzing around you, using my name for investments or whatever to scam money. Shut them down cold. Don’t give them any opening. Got it?”
“...Yeah. Got it.”
I set the phone down and went to my room. Mood soured. But necessary.
I didn’t want to waste this miraculous second life on worthless ties. Even in my past life, Dongjun was a lowlife scamming seniors, juniors, classmates by invoking team bonds. Give him an inch, he’d sell my name everywhere for cons.
“Shouldn’t have come back to Korea...”
First time in two years, and bad vibes from the airport onward. I set my departure for the day after tomorrow, but emptiness hit, so I bolted out aimlessly.
Walking Han River Park, sweating it out, lifted my spirits. Then a place popped into mind.
“Right, gotta hit that snack shop.”
I grabbed a taxi straight there.
Dropped near Jinhung Elementary in Cheonho-dong, I hunted down the shop. The place that saved me in my past life. After quitting soccer, blowing all my savings, drowning in despair—I stumbled in, and the grandma’s tteokbokki was my solace. Came every evening, bonded with her, ended up inheriting the place. No ordinary connection.
“Yeah~ that smell~”
Sweet-spicy aroma hit my nose. Sorry, Mom, but first real hunger since arriving.
I’d treated all food as fuel, scientifically portioned for an athlete. Taste? Irrelevant. But tteokbokki was different. My soul food, eaten for joy. Probably first whiff since regressing.
“Grandma~ hi~ Uh.”
“Welcome~ Oh~”
No grandma at the tteokbokki pan—a young girl instead. I double-checked the sign.
[Grandma's Snack Shop]
Right shop. Right smell. So this girl...
“Grandma’s sick today, so I’m filling in. Made it with her recipe—should taste the same. Come on in.”
“Oh. Sure.”
Dazed, I stepped in and sat. Three tiny tables; my build filled the space. I chuckled.
“...Was it this narrow?”
Back then, desperation clinging like a cliff-edge, I borrowed from Dad and took it over on impulse. Cooking station didn’t match my height—hunched over till my back ached. Ripped up the floor, rebuilt it taller.
“Uh, sorry for staring so hard.”
“No, it’s fine.”
She noticed my gaze from behind, flustered.
“Big fan of grandma’s tteokbokki. Curious how it’s made. No misunderstanding.”
“Oh, got it.”
Her voice trembled oddly. My age, maybe—short but poised, balanced, no wasted moves. Hoodie looked cute, like a ninja girl from manga.
“Granddaughter, right? Still in school?”
“Yeah. You?”
“High schooler, technically.”
“Heh, what kinda answer’s that?”
“Live abroad. Korean age, still high school.”
“Cool... You’re so big, thought you were an adult.”
“Get that a lot.”
She focused on cooking. Soon, my tteokbokki, fritters, and blood sausage arrived. I sampled each seriously, then mixed. Spot-on grandma’s—demonic harmony of sweet and spicy.
She relaxed seeing me devour it.
“Where abroad?”
“England. London.”
“Whoa~ Sounds awesome~”
Eyes sparkling, then shy dodge when ours met. Chatting up close felt good. Familiar, like old acquaintance.
“Pros and cons to life abroad.”
“Fair. Still... wanna try it someday.”
“Good to experience young.”
“Hoho, you sound so mature.”
“Get called an old soul a lot.”
“No! Not what I meant. Hahaha.”
She giggled girlishly, hand over mouth—pretty, delicate white hand.
Eyes twinkling: “Mind if I ask what you study in England?”
“...”
As I opened my mouth, a horde of elementary kids swarmed in. She rushed to the grill, taking orders, cooking frantically. I watched her back. Smiling sweetly at the kids, so kind. Innate gentleness.
“Hey, that uncle... where’ve I seen him?”
Then. Trouble brewed.