The 27 Club

No matter how much I hated God, this felt different.

Wait — the devil was the one who sent me back?

Fear prickled through me, but a dry laugh escaped almost immediately.

Hang on. Isn't the devil being a little too nice here?

Helping someone for no reason doesn't make any sense.

That was when it appeared.

Words bloomed in front of my eyes again.

The 27 Club?

A chill ran down my spine.

The 27 Club — that was the name given to artists who died young at twenty-seven.

Hey! Hold on a second!

Wasn't that an arts thing?

Three titles in the top four leagues? Are you insane?

And that was just number one? There was more after this?

Oh, come on… this isn't even the easy part…

No! I'm a player at Torino!

And you want a Champions League title?

Have you completely lost it?

That's not a devil. That's a lunatic.

My nationality is South Korea.

Forget winning — just reaching the semifinals again would flip the entire country upside down.

There's another one?

So I just need to pull off one of the four, right?

Bullshit. This is just impossible!

Even Messi only managed a World Cup win in the twilight of his career.

And now you're telling someone with an Asian nationality to go do it?

Are you out of your mind?

That's your opinion!

I know exactly where I stand.

Even now, starting for Torino FC is the peak of my career!

What, do you think I'm some world-class superstar?

Making me do things even geniuses can't pull off — give me a break.

Son of a…

"Teo?"

The teacher's voice cut through at that moment.

"Yes?"

"Try focusing, would you? I know you're dedicated to football."

"Ah — sorry…"

The teacher gave me a sharp look for a beat, then resumed the lesson.

"Right. Next, with the emergence of Giuseppe Garibaldi, Italy's…"

This was probably about the unification of Italy.

But I couldn't remember a single thing that came after.

I spent the rest of the period pretending to pay attention.

It was one in the afternoon.

The moment class ended, I headed straight for the training ground.

Normally I would have eaten first, but I didn't have the bandwidth to think about that right now.

The goddamn 27 Club. Coming back to the past had turned me into a man with a ten-year expiration date.

If sending me back in time was possible, killing me couldn't be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠any harder.

I was still turning over ways to survive when I realized I'd already arrived in Orbassano.

Orbassano was one of the towns near Torino — if Torino was Seoul, Orbassano was like one of those cities in the surrounding province.

The Valentino Sports Center in Orbassano was where Torino FC's youth teams trained, and I'd spent every year here right up through the U20s.

My stomach growled loudly.

"Ugh… maybe I should've grabbed something. I'm starving."

Hunger hit the second I stepped onto the grounds, but priorities first — I got changed in a hurry and headed in.

"Teo!"

A familiar voice called out the moment I entered the training area.

I turned. Standing there was Pablo Rebupfi, the U19 coach.

And beside him was another face I knew well — Giuseppe Scurto, coach ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the U20 team.

Seeing the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠two of them, I greeted them naturally in Italian.

"Good afternoon, coaches."

"Teo."

"Huh? You actually remember my face? I'm the U20 coach—"

"Giuseppe Scurto. Yes, sir."

"Oh! So you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠do know me."

Coach Scurto looked me up and down, then cracked a meaningful smile.

"I've heard a lot about you — that you're a pretty talented player. Honestly, I've been mulling it over. Whether to call you up to the U20s. I figure a little test today should give us our answer."

The memories of this moment came flooding back, vivid and sharp.

This was exactly when I'd turned down Coach Rebupfi's suggestion to switch to center back and gone up to the U20s instead.

But the Rebupfi standing right beside him wore a faintly worried expression.

"Hold on, Coach Scurto. Isn't it a bit early for Teo?"

"Early how?"

"Teo's already skipped ahead once to play with the U19s. Relative to his age, he's already on a fast track."

Pablo Rebupfi pointed at me and kept going.

"I'm aware Christopher got called up to the first team and left a spot open in the U20s. But I've been thinking Teo might have another path."

"Another path?"

"A position change. To center back."

Center back!

Right — this was it. The moment Pablo Rebupfi first proposed I convert to center back.

"A position change?"

"That's right. I believe Teo may be better suited to developing as a center back."

Scurto burst out laughing.

"Haha! Is this about his build? That shouldn't stop him from playing striker."

"It's not simply about height."

"Strikers are getting scarcer by the year. Doesn't it seem a waste to throw away attacking talent so easily?"

"I'm not saying throw it away. I'm talking about a higher ceiling."

The two coaches weren't finding common ground anytime soon.

One wanted to promote me to the U20s and mold me into a higher-caliber forward.

The other, taking the long view of my physique and technical profile, wanted to convert me to center back.

As the conversation heated up, I glanced between them and carefully opened my mouth.

"Uh, coaches?"

Both pairs of eyes locked onto me at once.

"Um… what if we just watch the test first, and decide after that?"

They both fell quiet. I pressed on carefully.

"I think it would be good to see first whether I can hold my own at the U20 level. After that, deciding whether I keep developing as a forward or switch to center back shouldn't be too late."

A brief silence settled over us.

Scurto was the first to laugh.

"Haha! Fair point. The kid hasn't even shown us anything yet and we were already racing ahead."

Rebupfi shrugged and smiled too.

"You're right. I may have gotten a little ahead of myself."

"Good. Then the order's settled."

Scurto clapped his hands once.

"Alright, Teo. First, show us you've got what it takes to play for the U20s. After that, we'll talk about your future at our leisure."

Rebupfi nodded in agreement. The two coaches were aligned.

I remembered the day I got called up to the U20s.

It had been a promotion test, and for some strange reason, everything about my football just… worked.

That day, it was as if the game bent itself around whatever I wanted.

A high cross came floating in and I rose to meet it — headed it home.

And that wasn't the end of it.

After snuffing out an opposing attack, the counter flew the other way.

A midfielder threaded a razor-sharp ball forward and I took it while shredding the defensive line.

One touch to push it ahead, then I struck it clean with my right foot.

A fiercely curling shot from distance.

Hit from outside the box, the ball sailed into a corner no keeper could reach and rattled the net.

A brace.

The moment that goal went in, my jump from the U19s was all but locked in.

But the test that day didn't stop there.

Next, a fullback overlapped and whipped in a cross.

It deflected off a defender, though, and came in as a bizarre, looping ball — floating high, wobbling every which way.

I scrambled for it anyway, throwing myself into an acrobatic volley.

And once again, the ball found the back of the net.

A hat-trick.

Just like that, I became the U20 team's starting striker on the spot.

Word of my performance in the test match naturally traveled upward.

I leapfrogged Christian — who'd been the longtime starting striker for the U20s — got called up to Torino FC's first team first, and even made my debut.

If I put in a strong showing in today's test, things would probably unfold along a similar path.

Alright. Coming back to the past meant I was a little behind schedule, maybe — but I'd put on a good display and grind the fundamentals somehow.

Just like I'd stopped shrinking at school, the experience I'd stacked up should let me play an even sharper striker's game this time around.

Steeling my resolve, I got ready for the test.