Afterward
The match ended with the goal.
...A draw.
I'd really meant to win, so it left me a little disappointed. Not just the goals I failed to put away — there were plenty of plays I could have done better. At least we hadn't lost. That was something. This wasn't our last match, after all.
Those who realized the game was over filed off one by one. I stayed behind and went looking for Jang Hoyeon first.
"Hoyeon."
"...Yeah?"
Unlike before, he stood with his shoulders squared, a happy smile on his face — confidence blooming where it hadn't been. He was taller than me, but I slung an arm around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Want to switch positions to winger?"
"...Me?"
"Yeah. You were a winger originally, right?"
"...How do you know that?"
I knew because in my past life, Jang Hoyeon had been a fairly famous footballer. Bullied in middle school, his self-esteem had cratered. He'd muddled his way into becoming a pro at twenty, then clawed his confidence back and shown what he could really do — a winger with overwhelming speed and a wicked kick. He'd even made a World Cup squad at twenty-five, drawn interest from the EPL — and then retired to become a golf pro because golf was more fun. Absolute madman.
Never thought I'd find that guy here.
When I first saw him, I figured it was just a shared name — a different person entirely. Who would ever connect the swaggering winger from the news with a first-year fullback whose self-worth barely registered? If I hadn't seen the speed and the kick, I never would have put it together.
"I saw you play in a tournament."
Whether that tournament actually existed, I had no idea — but as a youth player, he must have been in something.
"Uh..."
"Well, think it over yourself."
I wasn't about to force him. A man lives his own life. Still, I planned to stay close. That happy smile told me he wasn't about to quit football anytime soon. If he ever tried, I'd talk him out of it then.
"Alright. See you later."
"Ah, yeah. Okay. I'll head in first."
Jang Hoyeon headed for the locker room. When I turned around, the empty pitch stretched out, desolate.
"I should get going too."
Thinking of the woman waiting for me, I picked up my pace.
The moment I stepped into the locker room, a crowd of teammates swarmed me.
"Hey, how the hell did you do that?"
"Hmm?"
"That last shot."
"I couldn't even get a word out."
"What are you, Bergkamp?"
"Haha."
The praise kept coming.
Not like any of them have actually watched the old footage.
Nobody rewatched old clips the way I did — they only knew the name. Still, it felt damn good. I fielded the questions as best I could. After we'd cooled down and cleaned up, we gathered on the open ground in front of the pitch, listened to the coach for about a minute, and were dismissed.
"Yujin. A word."
"...Yes, sir."
Everyone but me. Coach Ryu Ilhae called me over with a distinctly serious look.
"Seonwoo, go on ahead. I'll catch up."
"Yeah. I'll wait for you."
Sensing something important was coming, I sent Han Seonwoo off to the others who were waiting.
"What is it, sir?"
"Actually, it's not me who has something to say. Kim Taesik wanted a word with you."
"The Seowon High coach?"
"That's right. Here he comes."
"Coach Ryu."
The man approaching with a wave was Kim Taesik.
"Hello, sir."
"Ah, young Yujin."
"Yes. I heard you wanted to speak with me..."
The way he addressed me like a proper student made me a little awkward, so I cut to the point.
"Mind if I ask just one simple question?"
"A question? Of course."
"Could you tell me why you turned down the U17 call-up?"
"...U17."
The U17 national team call-up. The call had definitely come during middle school.
I turned it down.
Whatever else might be fuzzy, the reason I refused was crystal clear. Back in middle school, after the U17 call-up, I'd met that coach at a café. Just the two of us — he'd specifically asked to see me alone, without my friends. First impressions had been fine. You can't spit on a smiling face, as they say — he'd greeted me with a grin from the start, and that stuck with me.
The change came at the second meeting, the one with the rest of the national team players.
His sense of authority was way too strong.
Worse than I could put into words. He kept it under wraps as best he could, so on the surface it didn't show — but he wasn't a man who truly cared for his players. The players might not have felt it, but watching from the side, I saw it immediately: something was off about him.
If I'd only had proof back then, he would have been gone a lot sooner.
That coach had been running corruption schemes right alongside his U17 duties — all kinds of graft, leveraging his position. He wasn't a bad coach, so nothing major blew up. Suspicious articles would surface now and then, but he'd keep cutting off the tails and grinding on. Hard evidence was scarce, but eventually time did its work — his true nature came out, and he vanished from football forever.
I'd sensed the rot before ever joining U17, so I refused the call-up. My friends trusted me and stayed away too. If anyone asked how I could refuse a chance to represent the country, or whether I regretted it — my answer would be the same decades later.
Two years from now, was it?
From this point, that coach would disappear from football in two years. Maybe I could make that happen a little sooner. So no more innocent kids got hurt.
I put on the same expression I'd worn the day they told me I'd never play football again.
"...He didn't look like he was enjoying it."
A seventeen-year-old speaking with a face like the world had ended — they couldn't help but take notice. And it was the truth, too. I want to play football because I love it. Not because I'm forced to.
"He didn't look like he was enjoying it?"
"Yes. The coach was... well..."
"Ahem. If you'd rather not say, you don't have to."
A glance at their faces told me they'd caught that something was off. Both men had deep roots in the football world. That future would come sooner now.
Kim Taesik held out his business card.
"If you ever need anything, give me a call. I'll help however I can."
"...Thank you, sir. May I go now?"
"Of course. Good work in the practice match."
I took the card, turned away, and wiped the expression clean — replacing it with a smile. I wasn't actually sad. It was time to meet my friends.
A short walk later, Han Seonwoo was standing there with three guys from Seowon High.
"Yo~ Yujin."
"What."
Seong Yumin sauntered over like he hadn't just played a full match and slung an arm around my shoulders.
"How'd you pull off that last one?"
"Which?"
"The shot fake. That thing."
"Oh, I just tried it?"
"You just tried it?"
"Yeah. Wanted to try it, so I did."
There wasn't a shred of lie in that. It was something I'd been thinking about for fifteen years — and this time, when I put it into practice, it worked.
"..."
"..."
They looked a little stunned, but I wasn't lying. It was true.
"This is why they call them geniuses..."
Seong Yumin muttered it under his breath, but I caught every word.
"I'm not a geni—"
"Yeah, yeah. Mr. Self-Proclaimed Mediocre."
"..."
The second I started to protest, Seong Yumin cut me off like he'd seen it coming a mile away. I sulked, and he naturally steered me along somewhere.
"Where are we going?"
"To eat, obviously."
"Hold on a second, then."
I stopped and gestured for them to wait.
"Huh? Why?"
"Jia noona's waiting for me."
"Ah, that doesn't matter. I already got permission."
"When?"
"Just now. She said we should all go together, actually."
"Hmm."
I'd been dating Jia noona since the first year of middle school, so these guys all knew her — nothing weird about it.
She's not mad, right?
Surely our noona wouldn't — but she might be a little miffed that Seong Yumin had contacted her before I did.
Nah, no way.
There was a time when I thought that, too.
A moment later, Jia noona arrived where we were standing.
"Noona!"
"Mm. Yujin."
"..."
Cold. Yeah, she was definitely sulking.
What do I do.
What else? Soften her up.
I went straight to her and wrapped her in a hug, nuzzling my cheek against hers, pouring on the affection. She stroked my hair without thinking — so she couldn't have been that angry.
"Noona. Are you mad?"
"Not really?"
"Then why so cold?"
"I just wanted to see you act cute. Hehe."
"...Haha."
I'd been played.
Thank god.
If she'd actually been mad, I might have had to work a little harder.
I was still smiling when I felt a few strange looks.
"...Baek Yujin, acting cute?"
"...Minjun. I think Yujin's injured somewhere."
"Hmm. So it wasn't just his football that changed dramatically."
"..."
I'd gotten so used to holding her and holding hands in my past life that I'd forgotten — that the me of this time had never done anything like this. They'd get used to it eventually.
When I finally let go of the hug, noona — who'd been wearing a slightly pouty look — suddenly let out a small gasp of realization.
"Ah."
"Hmm? What?"
"That, uh, Lee Eunho? He said he knew you, so he came along with me."
"...Uncle Lee Eunho? That guy?"
"Yeah. Over there."
There was only one Lee Eunho I knew. He'd started as a senior coach at a top EPL club, taken a break, then become manager of the South Korean national team. Our paths had crossed in middle school. First impression: after a middle school tournament.
He'd approached me warmly from the start.
Maybe because I'd said my dream was winning the World Cup. Even after that first meeting, he'd always thought well of me and never skimped on kind words. I had a lot of warm memories of him. The guilt I felt was probably because I'd never been able to repay him. I'd gotten injured before I could make that World Cup dream come true. Lee Eunho had been one of the people who genuinely grieved my injury.
We'd been pretty close in my past life, too.
The matches under Lee Eunho — when my four friends and I all played for the national team together — still make my heart race just thinking about them. We never won it all, but those days were worth more than any trophy.
"...But where?"
Except the spot Jia noona pointed to was empty.
"Huh? What? He came with me..."
"..."
He'd probably just taken a look at our faces and left. Similar things had happened when I was laid up in the hospital ward — I'd caught him at it once, so I could read the signs.
"I'll get in touch with him later. For now, shall we go eat?"
"Yeah. Let's."
"Done with the PDA?"
"Yeah. Let's go eat."
"How about meat?"
"Meat sounds good?"
"What about you, noona?"
"Whatever you guys want. I didn't play a match."
"I'm good with meat."
"Okay, majority rules. Meat it is."
"That doesn't really feel like a majority vote."
"Just go with it? Yujin."
"Haha."
And just like that, our weekend truly came to an end.