The Group Draw
A month had passed since the friendly match.
There was no denying it—my popularity had skyrocketed. It had never been like this before; I could feel the difference in the air.
The first time the world had ever heard of me was when I led my middle school team to a clean-sheet championship. But how many people in the world actually watch middle-school football, let alone memorize a player’s face and name? Even when articles floated around online, I was only mildly famous at school, and the whole thing fizzled out as if I had never existed.
High school was no different. Winning the national tournament had not changed a thing I could actually feel. Walking down the street, no one recognized me. Unless you were a professional footballer, the number of people who paid real attention was vanishingly small—so of course it was that way.
But a hat-trick in a U20 friendly carried an entirely different weight.
“Huh? I feel like I’ve seen that guy somewhere.”
“He’s pretty handsome.”
“Isn’t that Baek Yujin?”
“….”
As I walked the streets, people actually recognized me every now and then. About three times, maybe. Even if they never spoke to me, just being recognized was enough to make me grateful—especially when the looks were friendly.
It was strange how a single match had flipped reactions that had once been seventy percent negative into something overwhelmingly positive, and how I had suddenly become known around the world.
Living life a second time really is something else.
Well, I had played well, so of course this was the result. In the meantime, even footballers currently starring in the European leagues had mentioned my name. World-famous players, no less—I had been stunned. Quite a few others had brought me up as well. For all I knew, someone was talking about me right this second while I walked down the street.
Is this just megalomania?
Anyway, the thought itself proved I had become reasonably famous.
Going to Europe might not even be a dream anymore.
If this popularity and skill kept growing, it was entirely possible.
The place I was heading toward was a café near my house. The only reason I had come outside on a Sunday—the one day with zero training—was to meet one particular person.
A dedicated agent.
Lee Eunho had suggested that, now that I was famous, it might be good to have an agent sooner rather than later, so I was on my way to meet the man he had recommended. Since Eunho was introducing him with such confidence, I planned to sign on the spot as long as there were no personality issues.
I needed one anyway.
From what I had heard, sponsorship offers and professional contract inquiries were pouring in so heavily that handling them without a proper agent was nearly impossible. It was a holiday, and the timing for signing an agent could not have been better.
Jingle!
I stepped into the café and scanned the room. At the far end of my gaze sat Lee Eunho and another man.
“Hello.”
“Ah, there you are.”
Unlike Eunho, who was dressed casually, the man wore his hair slicked back, glasses, and a full suit that gave off a serious, no-nonsense air.
The type who keeps work and personal life strictly separate?
In short, he looked like someone who would be extremely good at his job.
Before I could even sit, the man rose and extended his hand for a handshake.
“Pleasure to meet you. I’m Shin Hawon.”
“Ah, yes. I’m Baek Yujin.”
I shook his hand as casually as I could manage and took the seat across from him.
“This kid’s always been a bit stiff, so cut him some slack. Still, he’s damn good at what he does.”
“Yes.”
When Eunho made his little joke, Shin Hawon glanced sideways as if to ask whether the small talk was finished, then rummaged through his bag and pulled out several sheets of paper.
“…What’s this?”
“The contract.”
“Already?”
We had barely spoken. Wasn’t this a little early?
“What if I turn out to be some kind of controversy magnet?”
“People who actually are never say things like that. And I’ve heard a great deal about you from the manager.”
“From Uncle?”
“Yes. He called you the son he never had, more than once.”
Shin Hawon added that he had also been told I possessed an unusually strong mentality and a kind heart.
“Ahem.”
Hearing that for the first time, I shot a glance at Eunho. He cleared his throat, looking faintly embarrassed.
So that’s how Uncle saw me.
It was a little unexpected.
“Mind if I look it over?”
“Take all the time you need.”
“Alright.”
I slowly examined the contract.
…Huh?
After reading the first page and carefully turning each subsequent sheet, the first emotion that rose was pure bewilderment.
“Isn’t this contract a little too good for me?”
Having handled plenty of contracts in my previous life, I was absolutely certain. The terms heavily favored me. It practically reeked of “we must sign this player no matter what.”
I had no idea what he had seen to make such an aggressive offer.
“Will you sign?”
“Could I at least hear the reason?”
“Simple. Because you are going to become an outstanding footballer.”
“…You believe that?”
“Looking at the recent media reaction alone is enough, and the manager said so. Why wouldn’t I?”
“….”
It felt like he was investing in my future growth potential.
Nothing to lose, right?
After thinking it over one more time, I signed the contract right there.
“Looking forward to working with you.”
“Yes, Yujin-ssi.”
“You can speak casually.”
“This is more comfortable for me.”
“Mm. Alright.”
Becoming close with him was clearly not going to be easy.
Still, he’s good at his job.
The structure of the contract, the wording, even the way he spoke—everything made it obvious he was excellent at what he did. People like that usually grew closer once you started working together.
Maybe within a week we’ll be calling each other hyung and dongsaeng.
I now had a dedicated agent I could trust.
My daily life split cleanly into before and after I got an agent. That was no exaggeration.
I had not fully understood how important an agent was until I actually had one.
This is so convenient.
First of all, the random distractions that used to pop up during training simply vanished. Whether it was because Shin Hawon was that good at his job or not, for the past week I had been able to focus entirely on football. I could not remember the last time I had immersed myself in training this completely.
Everything else can wait.
I planned to turn down every talk-show invitation and advertisement offer for now. The U20 World Cup was right around the corner; this was the time to concentrate on training. Shin Hawon was probably on the phone with various companies right this moment, telling them the contracts would have to be postponed.
I’m a footballer.
Not an entertainer. I had to stay ready to play football at any moment. Kicking and running still brought me pure joy, and the only thing that ranked higher than football was Jia-noona. With every minor contract detail and phone call handled for me, I felt a strange emptiness—yet the memory of Shin Hawon’s reliable expression kept me at ease.
Trusting Lee Eunho and signing that contract had been one of the best decisions I had made.
Late in the evening, even though it was a rest day, I was still out kicking a ball. It felt like I had developed a disease that made it impossible to go a single day without touching one.
Nothing left to do, huh.
The problem was that there was not much I could practice alone. I had already shot against the wall and trapped countless times, and I had lofted the ball high into the air and controlled it on the way down. I was running a little short on creativity.
“Hmm…”
Out of boredom I started juggling, then naturally caught the ball on the top of my foot and held it there.
Can I move like this?
I was the type who put ideas into practice the moment they appeared, so I tried shifting my weight. Given the posture, the only real option was hopping on one foot. Scoring a goal that way was close to impossible.
But if I receive a pass…?
Imagine a match situation: a high ball drops, I jump and trap it cleanly on the instep at the same time, spin away from the defender’s pressure, and shoot.
That’s actually good.
I could already picture it.
I’ll try it next time.
Tomorrow I would experiment with Han Seonwoo or Hong Seoin right away. Someone once said that realizations arrive without warning. This felt exactly like that.
“Heh.”
The thought that a wonder goal might come out of it made me grin without meaning to.
Bzzzt— Bzzzt—
“Hm?”
Still smiling and wondering what else I could invent, I noticed my phone buzzing on the bench. I kept juggling the ball with both feet as I walked over and checked the screen.
Messages from Shin Hawon—whom I now called hyung—plus the oddly close Raphael Pierre and Seong Yumin. Quite a few more had piled up as well. I answered the most recent one from Yumin first.
“….”
I had nothing to say to that.
Is everyone thinking the same thing?
Checking the rest one by one, I found nearly identical messages. They had all texted me because they figured I would be too busy playing football to notice.
What kind of image do I have that makes everyone do this?
I just played every day because I loved it. I still did not really understand.
After sending similar replies to the others, I finally checked the group draw results.
Group A had England as the clear favorite for first place. Group B looked manageable for all four teams. Groups C and D were ordinary. Then came the Group of Death—Japan, Brazil, Uruguay, and Iraq in Group E—and finally Group F, where South Korea’s name appeared.
Group F: South Korea, Argentina, Mexico, Senegal.
It did not look easy at all.
This feels like another Group of Death.
The road ahead was going to be rough.
Nothing ever came easy.