Chapter 12
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: 1999, Who Will Be the First Korean Premier Leaguer?
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With Tim Sherwood gone and Gennaro Gattuso joining Blackburn Rovers.
And with Marco van Basten arriving to instill some discipline in the dismal attack line, the atmosphere was starting to shift.
Van Basten exuded charisma just by existing, barking at the forwards on the training pitch.
"Don't just stand there daydreaming, Kevin—keep moving up front!"
"You lot, don't just raise your hands from up there—jump or something to disrupt the defenders!"
"Watch closely. From this angle, you twist your body like this to target the keeper's blind spot!"
He was darting everywhere, demonstrating tussles with the opposing defenders, chip shots to spots hidden from the goalkeeper, and strikes from tricky positions—one by one.
'As expected from a Ballon d'Or winner.'
'Even four years after retirement, this guy's positioning is better than active strikers!'
As the players gawked in amazement, van Basten massaged his sore ankle and grumbled.
"Can't even run this much, and you stuff your faces with pasta and bread?"
I hoped van Basten's fiery coaching would yield real results.
"You really brought in a tiger of a drill instructor, huh?"
The British coach grinning as he approached me while watching training was Ian Porterfield, a Scot recommended by Dalglish.
He'd coached Aberdeen, Sheffield, Chelsea FC, and even national teams in Zambia, Zimbabwe, Oman—solid credentials from the Middle East and Africa.
"I heard you're handling basics training, but you don't seem to stick around long?"
"I run the program in the morning, then leave the players to their own devices after lunch."
While coaches like Brian Kidd or van Basten clamped down with iron discipline, others like Porterfield gave players autonomy.
"Kenny mentioned you're signing a Korean player soon."
"Most Korean players have great mental strength but can be a bit rough around the edges. Please drill the basics thoroughly."
"Got it, Mr. Lee."
Porterfield grabbed his notebook and water, heading slowly toward the players grinding it out.
I watched training a bit longer before arriving at the Blackburn office.
Most matters were handled through the London branch of Daeyang Global, or I'd requested specifics from HQ in Korea.
"Vice Chairman, call from HQ."
"Who's it from?"
"From the Global President."
"My brother."
At Section Chief Park's words, I picked up the office line right away.
Let's hear what my big brother Dae-chul had to say.
"You've reached him. Vice Chairman of Daeyang Global's UK Branch."
[Hey, Gun-ho. What's with all the rush air mail videos you ordered through the company?]
"Oh, that? Should be landing at Manchester Airport soon."
This wasn't an era of one-click smartphone uploads for gigabytes of footage. To scout foreign players, you'd film VHS tapes of targets and ship them over.
So I'd stuffed the group's priority air mail—usually for critical accounting or urgent imports—with Korean soccer player videos, packed tight.
"It's for business."
[Business? Even so, soccer footage by the truckload... Sigh, fine. Whatever. You know about the call to HQ?]
"Hm?"
[Some Jack Walker called Dad directly. Said you owe about 30 million pounds?]
"It's part of assuming the debt."
[...You sure you can handle it? Government's already cracking down on forex regs, and the press is going nuts over you dropping billions on a foreign soccer team.]
I'd been checking domestic press sporadically via email and fax.
[Daeyang Group Invests Big in Overseas Soccer Team Post-Restructuring?]
[Squandering Tens of Millions of Pounds When Every Penny Counts?]
[Chaebol Heir Clings to Unknown British Soccer While Korea Starves?]
British or Korean, reporters' wild hot takes were study-worthy.
No wonder I ignored the domestic media—they were roasting Daeyang alive.
[Dad's fuming right now. Says he'll have your hide when you get back to Korea.]
"Yeah, first I need to flip this public opinion. Reporters flipping out over me running an English Premier League club?"
[What're you gonna do?]
"Brother, just whisper to the sports desks: 'Signing one player to the Premier League for Korean soccer.'"
[What?]
The answer was simple.
Koreans griping about a chaebol running an EPL team in tough times? Make a Korean player, and they'd switch to praise mode.
"That's all it takes. Park Chan-woo's the Korean Express hero in LA Dodgers baseball, Park Se-ri's the golf queen—why not soccer in Europe?"
[Ha, but still...]
"Just slap it on: 'For Korea's first World Cup win, sending our top talent to Europe's best league.'"
[Fine. I'll try that.]
My brother Dae-chul bought it and hung up.
Alright, time to work those hacks into flipping opinion and showering endless praise.
I showed Dalglish the video tapes from Korea.
"Quite a haul."
"Easier to send Rovers scouts, but I'll trust the manager's eye this once."
I'd brought footage of top K-League talents and the Korean players' grit from the '98 World Cup matches and training—played them one by one.
Three Stars VCR, don't crap out on me today.
Then came the video of my top priority signing.
A striker fresh out of university, handsome with flowing black ponytail.
"Looks like Baggio."
"Plays like him too."
Ahn Jung-hyun, the 23-year-old K-League superstar blending elegance and ferocity.
"Name's Ahn. My number one pick."
"Too bad—he's not the one to sign now."
"What?!"
Dalglish pointed at the TV.
"Top technician in Asia, sure. But that physique... Tough for him to survive the EPL."
"But train him here and—"
"At least two-three years in Europe's lower leagues first. For the future, sure. But not immediate impact."
"Damn."
"He'd crumple body-checking EPL youth defenders. Shame, but tell him to build cardio and flexibility."
Dalglish was blunt: EPL's battering rams and killer tackles would break him.
No choice—save Ahn for the 2002 World Cup ride. Next player.
Ko Jong-soo, Three Stars Bluewings' left-foot free-kick wizard, super ace. Without injuries, he'd have been Hiddink's World Cup crown prince.
But Dalglish shut it off after 30 minutes.
"Next."
"Come on, Kenny?"
"He could back up Duff or Wilcox. We need a left winger, but not this one—not ready now."
Dalglish clicked through my tapes ruthlessly, killing any that didn't click and moving on.
"Mr. Lee, I said I'd sign any Korean who's instantly Premier League-ready. We need to grind the second half, escape relegation, climb the table."
"Yes. Hoping someone catches your eye."
One had to pop. Just one.
I even showed finals footage from top high school and college tournaments, but he dismissed them: "Too young," "One bad tackle and that talent's gone forever"—steering clear of raw amateurs.
Time ticked by until the ashtray overflowed.
"Hm?"
"Ah, that heartbreaking match..."
Dalglish's eyes lit up at the '98 World Cup: 3-1 Mexico debacle, 5-0 Netherlands rout, 1-1 Belgium draw.
"Ho?"
He was hooked on one player.
185cm, 80kg powerhouse with shockingly dyed yellow hair for the era, rampaging everywhere—a Korean midfielder.
Beyond national team clips, Dalglish pulled up his club, Ulsan Hyeonkyung Tigers, and watched nonstop, mesmerized.
"Thought he was a right back like Wright, but right wing? No, left back here too! What's his natural spot—defensive mid?"
Watching the familiar face shine, Dalglish praised endlessly.
"That guy was K-League top scorer last year."
"Jesus! A hunting dog defender with scoring too?"
"Plays forward too. Every position except keeper—league bests in defense, midfield, attack."
"Nice. Utility players like this are gold for relegation battlers."
Who'd Dalglish picked?
Korea's greatest multi-player, 2002 World Cup warrior from Ulsan—Yoo Sung-chul.
That name alone brings tears. This life, I'd make sure he shone, no matter what.
"Age?"
"Twenty-eight this year."
"Perfect. I vouch for him."
"Work permit?"
Third-world players needed FIFA rankings, 60%+ national team caps... and three big-name soccer endorsements for the visa.
"Mr. Lee? I say we sign him. Work permit's my problem."
Rock solid. So Yoo Sung-chul becomes the first Korean Premier Leaguer?
"What do you mean?"
"Sorry. Already called Ulsan—Yoo Sung-chul's gone to Japan's J-League."
"Shit!"
Section Chief Park's words drove me mad.
"To Yokohama Marinos. For $500,000 transfer fee."
"Half a mil, huh. No choice. Get me Yokohama on the line."
"...!?"
"Gotta bring him. He's just posed in the kit—no games played. Leagues start in March anyway, Korea or Japan."
No appearances, contract ink barely dry.
Trading company's move? Slash the lines, sweeten the pot, get 'em to sign ours.
"He's not J-League material. Bringing him to the EPL. Press in Korea's already tipped off."
"Uh, I'll call Yokohama's front office first."
Gattuso was first; Yoo Sung-chul second target.
I don't let targets slip away.