The Monster Named Pogba

Led by their ace Jung Hyuk, South Korea had already pulled off one upset after another. They had beaten tournament favorites Portugal and then crushed powerhouse Nigeria. And the shocks were far from over.

Defying every prediction, the Korean national team had topped Group B and advanced to the Round of 16. In the quarterfinals they faced African powerhouse Ghana and beat them 2–0 as well. Then came the semifinal qualifier against Chile.

Chile was a strong side — strong enough to have eliminated another heavyweight, Croatia, on their way to the last eight. On pure squad quality, Korea was clearly outmatched. Their back line simply could not contain Chile's attack and conceded cheap goals, getting thoroughly dismantled. Without some extraordinary variable, soccer fans around the world fully expected Chile to win. The gap in ability was that obvious.

Then the variable appeared.

Jung Hyuk. Even as his team was being overrun, he kept scoring. His presence on the pitch created a jarring sense of wrongness — as if a coach had wandered into a kids' soccer clinic and started playing. He did not look like a peer. He looked like a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠player from an entirely different class, and that alone was abnormal.

And so Jung Hyuk tore Chile apart.

South Korea had reached the semifinals.

The Korea U-20 national team had made the semis. Under ordinary circumstances their confidence should have been soaring — yet tension still hung on every player's face.

"Man… of all teams, we had to draw them in the semis."

"So we meet them after all. I was hoping it would be later."

"Ugh… I'm nervous."

Their opponent was the clearest favorite to win the entire tournament. France — the so-called Golden Generation — had marched to the final four without a single loss. The Korean players could not hide how badly that fact rattled them.

And Jung Hyuk was trembling too.

Of course, his nerves were of an entirely different kind.

"Whoa… my growth rate is insane."

Armed with S-class talent and the Soccer Genius trait boosting his growth speed by forty percent, Jung Hyuk was developing at a truly ridiculous pace.

"How much more will I grow if we beat France?"

How far would a match against a side as strong as France push him? Would his stats climb again? Those questions were what made him tremble.

And now the semifinal that would decide who reached the final — Korea versus France — was about to begin.

Both squads sang their national anthems, burning with the will to win. When the songs ended, the players shook hands and pledged fair play. Some smiled and offered well-wishes; others let their competitive fire show; others gripped hands hard. Each man measured his opposite number in his own way.

And every time Jung Hyuk shook a hand, he activated his trait, One Who Sees Through, and read the player's information.

Yeah… the French guys' average stats are clearly higher.

No wonder they were called favorites. No wonder most of them already belonged to strong clubs. The baseline ability simply was not the same.

Take Kim Sun-wook, one of Korea's starting eleven:

And one of France's starters, Veretout:

Clearly higher across the board than the Korean players.

Yeah… the gap really is that big.

Jung Hyuk clicked his tongue. He had expected a difference, but it was larger than he had braced for. And from what he could see, Veretout was only average by French standards. Plenty of their players ranked higher. One of them was on a level that made comparison with Veretout almost meaningless.

Jung Hyuk stared at that player with a look of pure disbelief.

For his age, those numbers were terrifying. Even Jung Hyuk — growing at a blistering rate — could not touch them yet on raw stats alone.

Pogba… yeah. He's a monster, no question.

Paul Pogba. An elite prospect who had been representing France at every youth level since he was even younger. Fans already called him the most likely candidate to become the next Zidane, and he was growing at a frightening clip to match the hype.

And Jung Hyuk knew something even more shocking.

That guy is going to get so much better than this. What the hell will his stats look like then?

Pogba still had room to grow. He would eventually stretch to 191 cm and become a seasoned, world-class midfielder far beyond what he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was now.

No wonder France won this tournament.

Before the regression, France had taken the 2013 U-20 World Cup. Looking at Pogba, Jung Hyuk understood exactly why.

Then a voice cut in.

"Jung Hyuk, right?"

Pogba called his name in English.

"You know me?"

Jung Hyuk answered. Pogba grinned.

"Of course. I watched your matches. Really impressive stuff. Your skill is something else."

"…That so? Thanks."

Jung Hyuk gave an awkward smile. Pogba was the kind of player who had already been starring in the Premier League long before Jung Hyuk ever set foot there — a senior figure, in a way. Getting recognized by him after coming back to the past left a strange feeling in his chest.

"Jung Hyuk. Let's make it a fun match today."

"Yeah. Pogba. Let's go at it. Though looking at your last few games, you've been running yourself into the ground. Might not be a bad idea to take it a little easy today — save the legs."

"What? Hahaha! No chance. What if we lose because of that? And from what I've seen, you're the one covering more ground. I still can't figure out your position. You defend, you attack — where the hell do you even play?"

"Wherever I am is my position. You watch yourself too. Today I'll be everywhere."

"Hahaha! You're actually funny."

"The match will be even more fun. Let's do this."

"Yeah. Let's do this. And just a thought — I get the feeling you and I are going to be seeing a lot of each other from now on."

Pogba waved and walked back to his spot. Watching him go, Jung Hyuk thought:

With ability like Pogba's, at the U-20 level he's basically Lü Bu astride Red Hare.

A player with those stats — and the Paul Pogba Jung Hyuk knew from the future — would be an absolute catastrophe for the Korean team.

Which meant he had to stop him himself.

Pogba. A few years from now might be a different story, but right now, dealing with me won't be easy.

Jung Hyuk had confidence.

If Paul Pogba was Lü Bu on Red Hare…

Then he was an S-class talent — a super genius.

The whistle blew.

The U-20 World Cup semifinal was underway.

France came out in a 4-3-3 against Korea. Their starting eleven glittered with names: Digne, Umtiti, Zouma, Foulquier, Kondogbia, Pogba, Veretout, Thauvin, Sanogo, Benzia — players who were already excellent and would only become more dangerous in the years ahead.

Against that France, Korea opened with a high, aggressive press from the first whistle.

"Hit them harder!"

"Press! You've got to press!"

"It's empty up top!"

"Don't give them time to breathe!"

France looked briefly unsettled by the intensity of Korea's pressure — but only briefly. Their trademark quick passing soon sliced through it. Individually skilled enough that misplaced passes were rare, they slipped the press more easily with every passing minute.

Thump.

Paul Pogba collected the ball. All game he had refused to hold it long, prioritizing sharp passes that broke pressure. Now, with the press finally loosening, he began driving forward himself, looking to create.

The moment he took possession, two Korean players closed him down — the natural reaction to a threat of his caliber. Even with both men on him, Pogba had space to spare. A soft touch, a shove of the shoulder — he rolled through them like a tank, a living demonstration of how dangerous elite physicality became when paired with elite technique.

"Get stuck in harder!"

"This guy won't budge!"

Kwon Jang-hoon and Kang Sung-woo threw themselves at him, but it was not enough. They were being dragged along, unable to win the ball. The gulf in quality was obvious.

Then a third figure stepped into Pogba's path.

Jung Hyuk.

Pogba's mouth curled into a grin.

"There you are."

"Yeah. Came to stop you."

Jung Hyuk's answer was flat. Pogba's expression hardened.

"Won't be that easy."

The challenge hung in the air. Jung Hyuk bared white teeth in a smile.

"No. It will."

The words were barely out before he lunged. His leg snapped out in a blur. Pogba reacted instantly, dragging the ball back under his sole — a textbook drag-back used by players who thrived under pressure. The move was so quick Jung Hyuk's foot cut only empty air. But as if he had expected exactly that, Jung Hyuk immediately drove his body into Pogba's.

Thud. Jung Hyuk gritted his teeth. It felt like colliding with a solid wall. Still, years of relentless physical training kept him on his feet. He clung on, harassing without pause. And it was not empty motion.

Jung Hyuk knew Pogba's weakness. Not from the trait — One Who Sees Through had found almost nothing to exploit. Pogba's attributes were too evenly excellent; the only soft spot was defending, useless against a man currently on the ball.

So Jung Hyuk reached for something else: memory. The memory of clashing with Pogba before the regression.

Pogba's balance was always his weak point. Even when he was world-class it was shaky — there's no way it's solid at this age.

Thud. Jung Hyuk slammed into him again. Pogba twisted and rolled his shoulders, trying to shake him off, but Jung Hyuk kept coming. A grunt escaped Pogba's throat. For a fraction of a second his balance broke — the relentless pressure had finally exposed the flaw.

Damn it—no!

Pogba desperately tried to find a teammate for a release pass. In that instant Jung Hyuk launched himself. A razor-sharp sliding tackle knifed under Pogba's feet and took only the ball — clean, veteran defending.

Crash.

Pogba went down, balance completely gone.

"Damn it!"

He scrambled up at once — but Jung Hyuk was already accelerating, exploding into the counterattack at terrifying speed.

Pogba's face went white.

"What the hell?! This isn't the guy I watched!"

It was the speed. The Jung Hyuk he knew had solid pace, nothing more — not a pure speed merchant. So what was this?

He was simply too fast.

French midfielders gave chase and could not close the gap.

Jung Hyuk ran with ragged breaths tearing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from his lungs, and the way he carried the ball was different from usual. He was moving beyond his own stats. The feel of the dribble was almost identical to his prime. A sensation flooded his body — the certainty that he could beat anyone, anywhere. It was no illusion.

He truly was tasting the sensation of his peak years.

Because of the message floating before his eyes.

The special effect of S-class talent. For a brief window, he could move past his limits.

Five French players stood between him and goal. On any ordinary day he would have turned back.

Not today.

Jung Hyuk did not stop. He had no intention of stopping. He would break through them. He would break through and score.

In that moment — for only a handful of seconds — Jung Hyuk, reclaimed of his world-class prime, drove at the French defense with explosive speed.