Facing Gerrard at Anfield
Liverpool FC was a traditional powerhouse, one of the so-called Big Four of the EPL—a side strong enough to earn that distinction without argument. For years they had delivered performances and results to match the pedigree, and they were equally famous for the ferocity of their supporters. Spotting a Liverpool fan in England, throat raw from roaring in a red kit, was about as difficult as finding rain in Manchester. Their financial muscle was solid too, which meant the name value of their starting eleven sat a cut above most of the league.
That same Liverpool now faced Southampton FC in Matchday 5 of the season. With Southampton riding a winning streak and whipping up a genuine storm, the tension among both sets of fans ran higher than usual.
"Liverpool can take this, right? Southampton's form lately has been no joke, though…"
"Of course Liverpool wins! Yeah, Southampton's on a run and playing well, but they're not ready to beat Liverpool yet. And Liverpool haven't dropped a single game this season, have they?"
"True enough. Still feels like it could get ugly, though. You think?"
"Yeah. Fair point."
Liverpool's supporters were confident of victory even as they braced for a difficult afternoon.
"Can Southampton keep the streak going against Liverpool? Doesn't seem likely, does it?"
"It's going to be a tough one. They're a different class from anyone we've faced so far."
"But if we actually take down Liverpool… Southampton might really make some noise this season."
"Please just win."
Southampton's fans expected a hard match, but they still wanted their side to come out on top.
And the date of the Liverpool–Southampton fixture arrived faster than anyone expected.
The EPL calendar was merciless. Calling it the most congested schedule in world football was barely an exaggeration. That relentless pace forced managers to treat player fitness as non-negotiable. Even a strong start meant nothing if key men burned out and the second half of the season collapsed. So Premier League managers—especially those of sides rated as underdogs—routinely rested their stars against opponents they had little chance of beating. Save the best legs for winnable fixtures; give the big boys a half-strength side. In a league this packed, it was simple efficiency.
Mauricio Pochettino, however, had no intention of using that method.
In his official press conference he had promised a straight fight against Liverpool. He would field his first-choice eleven and take points home. Those words were not empty.
Right now, Southampton FC's starting players were walking out onto Liverpool's home ground—Anfield.
The moment the side riding the recent storm appeared, a massive wave of boos crashed down. This was Liverpool's house, and the sheer volume of home supporters made the jeers feel physical.
BOOOOOOOOO!
At the same time, a roar erupted—the home fans welcoming their own.
WAAAAAAAH!
Anfield could hold more than fifty thousand. The noise those crowds produced—cheers and abuse alike—pressed down on every player like a weight.
And standing at the heart of Anfield, Jung Hyuk smiled brightly as he swept his gaze across the sea of spectators.
"Whoa. Quite the turnout."
There was not a trace of nerves. The stadium was far too familiar. In his previous life he had played here more times than he could count, and the memories were good ones—goals, assists, records broken.
Then his eyes found one particular man.
"Seeing him this young in the flesh… weird."
Short brown hair, pale skin. At 183 cm he was not towering by football standards, yet a distinctive charisma rolled off him in waves. Liverpool's captain. A living legend. Steven Gerrard.
Gerrard.
Steven Gerrard was the kind of midfielder who inspired and earned respect from countless players across the world—respected as a leader, respected for pure ability. Before the regression, Jung Hyuk himself had worked tirelessly to model his game after Gerrard.
And now he was curious.
Just how high were the stats of Liverpool's legend, Steven Gerrard?
Past his prime, of course—but still.
In 2013, Gerrard was thirty-four by Korean age. Calling that past his peak was no exaggeration. Even so, Jung Hyuk was certain the numbers would not be low.
Because Gerrard is Gerrard.
Jung Hyuk locked eyes on him and activated the trait One Who Sees Through.
Age: 34 (33 internationally)
Height: 183 cm
Preferred Foot: Right
"……!"
Jung Hyuk's eyes widened.
He's still ridiculous?
Even at a glance the numbers were monstrous. The stamina in particular was staggering. Holding a 97 at that age was something close to miraculous.
What a monster of a man.
Maintaining those attributes this late meant an almost obsessive level of self-management. Gerrard was the kind of player who forced pure admiration out of you.
Watching him, Jung Hyuk smiled.
In his previous life he had only reached the EPL after turning thirty. By then Gerrard had already retired. The man had always been the opponent Jung Hyuk never got to face—and the one he had always wanted to face at least once.
This is going to be fun.
A match against a giant like Liverpool could crush most players under pressure. For Jung Hyuk, it was simply an interesting game.
Preeeep!
The match kicked off.
On paper the gulf between the two sides looked enormous. Southampton had Jung Hyuk and Adam Lallana in sparkling form, but almost no other star-level names. Liverpool, by contrast, were stacked with EPL Elite talent—Steven Gerrard at the head of the list, followed by Daniel Sturridge, Iago Aspas, Victor Moses, Lucas Leiva, Jordan Henderson and more. At a glance Liverpool looked far stronger.
Naturally the fixture carried heavy pressure for Mauricio Pochettino. Even so, he had refused to duck it. The reason was not simply the team's recent surge, and it was not pride either. Pride was something he would discard in a heartbeat if it meant better results; a manager's pride, he believed, came from the table. The reason was simpler.
The numbers said they could win.
He had genuine confidence they could take Liverpool.
And today's Liverpool carried a glaring weakness.
Without Suárez, we can take them.
Luis Suárez—Liverpool's other ace, one of the finest strikers on the planet—was serving a suspension. He would not play today. That single absence was enough to feed Pochettino's belief.
On top of that:
Jung Hyuk's form right now is insane. And the kid I've watched can produce against big sides too.
Having a player with a heart that strong only raised the manager's confidence further.
Jung Hyuk did not disappoint him. From the opening minutes he began repaying that trust.
"……What the hell!"
Pochettino was not a man whose expression changed easily. Right now he could not keep the poker face. Jung Hyuk's movement was simply unhinged.
Slash!
Jung Hyuk cut out a ball headed for Liverpool midfielder Lucas Leiva—reading the pass timing and throwing his body into the interception. Deployed as an attacking midfielder, he was stationed so high he might as well have been a second striker. That meant the moment he won the ball he was already breathing down Liverpool's defensive line.
Thud!
He planted a hand, pushed himself up, and spun in one motion. Tap! Swish— a sharp turn to escape Lucas's pressure. The intention worked. With a clever shift of weight he slipped free and drove forward with the ball.
"You're not getting away!"
Lucas scrambled after him, but the gap only widened. His pace was nowhere near enough to catch Jung Hyuk.
With Liverpool's holding midfielder peeled off, Daniel Agger charged out. Jung Hyuk immediately stabbed a pass into the space Agger had just vacated. Thump!
It was not a random ball. Endless training with his teammates had taught him exactly what would happen—someone would be bursting into that pocket right now, and on this timing it would be Oh Jung-hoon.
The read was perfect.
Thud-thud-thud!
Oh Jung-hoon tore into the space Agger had left. Tap! He cushioned the ball cleanly and, without a second of hesitation, unleashed a right-footed shot.
BOOM!
Struck from inside the box, and struck with real venom. Liverpool goalkeeper Simon Mignolet never even moved. The ball was already past him.
Southampton's opener—three minutes into the first half.
"Hahahaha! Hyuk! Nice pass!"
Oh Jung-hoon sprinted over, thumb raised. Jung Hyuk grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.
A warm little scene. Too warm for Jung Hyuk's taste.
"Your finish did the real work. But no celebration this time? I figured you'd at least sprint to the camera and plant a kiss on the lens."
"Ah! I'm never doing that stuff again! Do me a favor and scrub those memories out of your head."
"Score a hat-trick and I'll consider it."
"……Against Liverpool? With Gerrard out there?"
"Then don't score one."
"I can score one. I'm completely confident."
"Oh……! So a future legend really does start with the confidence, huh?"
"Hey! Jung Hyuk!"
After Southampton's opener, Liverpool began carving out chances in search of an equalizer.
Centre-back Škrtel fed Lucas Leiva, who found Aspas. The attacking midfielder tried to play a progressive pass, but Southampton's press was too tight—no easy lanes. Forced backward, Aspas laid it off to Steven Gerrard.
And then Gerrard struck a fierce diagonal ball toward the far side. BOOM—
A pinpoint long pass aimed at Victor Moses, already surging. The kind of delivery that demanded elite vision and elite technique—and Gerrard produced it as if it cost him nothing.
Thump— Moses collected it. The moment the ball arrived he had already beaten Southampton's full-back. Without hesitation he whipped a low cross into the box. Thwack— Daniel Sturridge stretched a leg and met it cleanly. José Fonte, arriving late, lunged and never got a touch.
The ball glanced off Sturridge's boot and rolled straight into the net—a finish so perfect the goalkeeper never had a chance to react.
Swish—
WAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Anfield shook. Liverpool's supporters erupted.
Liverpool really were a top side. Clean, accurate passing and teamwork that meshed like clockwork. The score was 1–1, but the quality of play left Southampton chasing shadows. Their back line struggled badly against Liverpool's pace, and the midfield was getting overrun. Victor Wanyama and Morgan Schneiderlin could not handle the intensity of the press; progressive passes forward grew rarer by the minute.
Jung Hyuk, still listed as an attacking midfielder, kept dropping deeper to help. It restored some stability in the middle of the park, but every time the ball reached Southampton's defensive third the whole structure wobbled. That part was hard for him to fix. A player stationed near the front line could not simply abandon his post and camp in his own box.
Under relentless pressure, the inevitable finally arrived.
Aspas slipped a forward pass into Daniel Sturridge, who finished with a half-beat-early strike for his second of the afternoon.
WAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Another roar exploded across Anfield—loud enough to raise goosebumps, the kind of sound that sent a real shiver through the skin.
Under that crushing wall of home support, the faces of the Southampton players began to darken. The equalizer had already shifted momentum; the go-ahead goal had handed it over completely.
And that was when Mauricio Pochettino quietly called Jung Hyuk over.