Finding Plan B
"I didn't expect you to turn it down so quickly."
Pablo Rebupfi looked genuinely surprised that I had refused Coach Giuseppe Scurto's offer.
"Most kids are desperate to move up. And you just said no."
"I don't know… I figured learning center back for a while wouldn't be the worst thing. You never know. Maybe I'll end up better at it than I ever was as a striker."
"Ahem…"
Still, Pablo Rebupfi had to admit it. Just as Giuseppe Scurto had said, the ability to receive the ball and link play with the people around you was not something you could simply teach. The way Teo found the player in the best position and delivered the ball to him had been almost unnaturally smooth.
Maybe I spoke too soon. This kid clearly has talent as a striker. He never used to play like that before…
Watching a seventeen-year-old pull off that kind of football made him wonder if his own judgment had been wrong all along.
"Still, trying it out for a couple of weeks doesn't sound so bad," I said.
"Is that so? Then not today… but starting tomorrow, let's give it a shot. If center back turns out to be a complete disaster, you can always go back to striker."
…
Well.
I could only manage a bitter smile at Coach Pablo Rebupfi's words.
"All right! I'll head back, then."
"Go on home."
On the way back, I didn't take public transit. I walked, taking my time, sightseeing through Orbassano for the first time in a long while. Clearing my head like that sorted my thoughts out fast.
"Yeah. For now, play center back. I've got way too many problems to be a striker right now, so I need a Plan B ready."
The next day, I headed back to the training ground.
The moment I arrived, Coach Pablo Rebupfi called me over.
"Teo. Learning the basics through training comes first, of course. But I also think it might be more important for you to jump in as a center back while you still don't really know what you're doing. So I want to run something like another test."
"Sorry?"
"When situations come up in a real match, I want you to feel with your own body how you're supposed to react."
It was a solid approach. Getting a taste of real match conditions and feeling out your weak points would raise your level faster than grinding through dull drills alone.
So I ended up in a practice match with the U19 players — only this time I wasn't standing up front where I always had. I took my place right in the middle of the back line.
Starting from the defensive line felt strange. For as long as I could remember, every match had begun near the halfway line. I used to stare at the opposing goal, coiled and ready to sprint forward at any moment, and even when we were defending I almost never dropped as deep as where I was standing now.
I was right in front of the penalty box.
Behind me, there was no one but the goalkeeper.
Knowing that a single mistake of mine could turn into a genuine scoring chance made my shoulders feel a little heavier.
But I adapted faster than expected.
When the opposition wasn't pressing hard, a center back's job was surprisingly simple: receive the ball, check your surroundings, and connect it to a teammate in a better position. That much, I could handle just fine.
Of course, the opposing players' movement soon changed — the coach must have given them new instructions. The high press kicked in. Their forwards closed the distance and came charging in to win the ball.
Fortunately, I had been a forward myself. My touch was on the rough side, but it wasn't that bad, and I had drilled both feet relentlessly just to survive as a striker. My weaker left foot wasn't perfect, but it was good enough to use in a match. I switched between right and left, slipping out of their pressure.
One touch to change direction. Switch the ball to the other side. Move into the open space again.
Honestly, it was a little annoying. I had to keep escaping the press and shifting into better angles. As a striker I would have just waited comfortably up front for the ball to arrive. As a center back, I had to move myself just to receive a pass. But the process itself wasn't hard.
In the end, I calmly worked the ball out of their press and delivered a clean pass to a midfielder.
That was easier than I thought?
The second I let my guard down and eased back, it happened. The midfielder who had just received the ball in the middle got caught under pressure and lost it. Attack and defense flipped in an instant.
The other side spread the ball wide without missing a beat, as if they had been waiting for exactly this.
Here comes the cross.
Sure enough, the winger used his pace and whipped it in.
So then… when does it really get under their skin?
The moment the decision clicked in my head, my body was already moving. I could roughly read the ball's trajectory.
I was a heading one-tool player.
At the very least, this was a fight I knew I could win.
I drove toward the ball as it came into the box, jumped first, and lightly pinned the opposing striker under me, clearing it with a huge advantage. The clearance found a midfielder, who pushed forward again.
Is this how you do it?
Hmm… not bad.
"Damn it."
Ivan Jurić, manager of Torino FC, let out a quiet sigh.
"Why does this keep happening to us?"
The reason for his frustration was simple. Injuries kept piling up across the squad. A few days earlier a striker had gone down and they had called someone up from the U20s — and now, barely any time later, a hole had opened in the center-back group as well.
"Boss, there are still good kids in the youth setup. Cristian, the one we called up, is working hard, isn't he? We can just pull someone up from below again."
"Yeah. No choice."
Ivan Jurić nodded at his assistant coach's words. But he already knew the U20 roster well enough, and honestly, none of those players impressed him. The assistant knew it too, but there was nothing to be done. The transfer window was closed. Raiding the youth ranks was the only option left, so all he could do was keep the manager as calm as possible.
"I should go see them myself. They're training right now, I assume?"
"They are. The youth system runs pretty well, all things considered. They stick to their training hours, so if you head over you'll catch them."
And so Ivan Jurić made his way out to Orbassano, where the youth teams trained.
When he arrived at the Valentino Sports Center, he scowled.
"Haa. When is the new training ground supposed to be finished? These facilities are… disappointing."
"The Robaldo Sports Center is scheduled for completion in 2025. It's still usable enough for now. Just watch the players."
Shaking his head, Ivan Jurić walked slowly toward the pitch to get a look at the squad. From a distance he watched the U20 players go through their session.
"Tsk… I don't see anyone worth bringing up."
"Haha. That bad?"
"I don't see kids ready to play in the first team. We'll have to call someone up anyway, so I'll take one of them, but… it's not great."
"Not much we can do. Signing someone would be nice, but the owner isn't exactly fond of spending money. The first team is overflowing with academy products and loanees as it is. Realistically, we have to compromise. Even if none of them thrill you, pick the least bad option and use him."
"Tsk…"
He still looked thoroughly unconvinced.
"Bravo~! Bene~!"
A burst of praise carried over from farther away, and Ivan Jurić turned his head.
"What's over there?"
"That's where the U19 team trains."
"U19? Hmm. Not bad. Let's take a longer look."
"The U19s, sir?"
"They're our youth players too, aren't they?"
"Understood."
Ivan Jurić headed over to where the U19s were working.
"They're running a practice match."
"They do hold these among themselves, but with a real match in two days it's a little unusual. Probably—"
"Hold on."
Ivan Jurić cut his assistant off.
"That player over there — what's his name? The black-haired Asian center back."
The assistant coach quickly flipped through his files looking for the player. He found an Asian name, but the listed position didn't match, and he tilted his head.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"
"Well…"
That was when it happened. A cross came whipping in, and the center back crushed the striker under him with almost casual ease before clearing the ball.
"Bravo! Teo!"
At the U19 coach's shout of praise, the assistant hurriedly checked the roster again.
Hmm? If it's Teo, that should be a striker…
"Th-that's Teo Kang, sir."
"Teo? Hmm… that kid's play is interesting."
Ivan Jurić reacted like a man who had just stumbled onto something genuinely intriguing.
"Is it?"
"Better than I expected. No — it's fascinating. Honestly, I like it. The way that defender carries the ball forward is extremely polished. Right there, a simple pass would have been fine. But once a defender closes him down you get a back pass, and the buildup from the back slows to a crawl. Instead this kid just drives it forward himself and leaves the opposition with no idea what to do. First-team players would probably react the same way."
Ivan Jurić's eyes grew steadily more serious. He stood there without another word, staring as if he meant to burn a hole through the pitch.
"Did you see that just now?"
"Ah… see what, exactly?"
"He pushes that high and still doesn't get greedy. He knows exactly when to stop, plays the pass, and drops back. Not bad for a kid that young. He understands restraint… look at that."
The manager's running commentary on the practice match only grew louder.
"Look at that. Look, look. At his age? Doing that? Well, I'll be…"
And when that center back won ten aerial duels in a row, he gave a slow nod.
"He can handle physical battles. How tall is he?"
"The file says 180 centimeters."
"That so? Decent for his age… though it might be a bit short for the first team."
"Are you planning to use him, sir?"
Ivan Jurić's face twisted.
"Have you got no sense at all? Go ask the youth training staff about that player and then come back."
"Ah! Right away."
The assistant coach hurried off toward the youth training staff.