The Start of Preseason
One of the conditions for admission to the Rehabilitation Center was a total ban on electronic devices.
For two weeks, I had to cut myself off completely from the outside world, focusing solely on my body and mind.
Maybe that's why, the moment I landed at the airport and turned on my phone, it exploded with notifications.
— ZZZING! ZZZING!
I frowned at the flood of text alerts.
Most of them were from Han Ye-jin.
The first few were apologies and pleas.
But when I didn't reply, her messages started revealing her true colors—threats mixed with gaslighting.
Apologies, threats, coaxing, gaslighting—a barrage laced with every emotion under the sun. The old me would've wavered at those words, drowning in guilt, convinced I had to go back to her.
You were gaslit by her. She eroded your self-worth and made you dependent on her.
But not anymore. Thanks to my sessions with Christina, I could see her patterns crystal clear.
Without a second thought, I blocked Han Ye-jin's number.
Right then, my phone rang.
It was Son Tae-young.
"Hyung! Hyung! Why haven't you been picking up?!"
"I told you, I'm coming back from rehab."
"Whatever! I'm at the airport right now, so hurry up and come out! You're gonna be in deep shit if you're late!"
Click.
The call cut off abruptly. Baffled, I grabbed my bags and headed outside.
— SCREECH!
A bright red sports car screeched to a halt in front of me. The driver's window rolled down, and Son Tae-young poked his head out, sunglasses on.
"Hyung, get in! Hurry!"
Still clueless, I climbed into the passenger seat.
"Hold on tight!"
— VROOOOM!
The car roared off. I demanded answers.
"Hey, hey! Slow down! What's the rush?"
"Hyeon-seong hyung said to grab you the second you landed and bring you straight to the training ground! He said he'd cover any speeding tickets, so don't worry!"
"Then don't speed."
"Argh, seriously! Coach Lechat ordered everyone to assemble by noon!"
Tae-young grumbled but eased off the gas, driving right on the edge of the speed limit.
We tore through central London and soon pulled up to London City FC's training ground.
"Hyung, run! Assembly's at noon!"
Tae-young nagged. I glanced at my watch: 11:55.
Five minutes left. I bolted from the car toward the facility.
Sprinting down the hallway, I nearly collided with someone walking ahead—a cheerful-looking Brazilian.
"Oh! You're Cha Kang-min?"
He flashed a bright grin and offered a handshake.
"Nice to meet you! I'm Asac. Just transferred in."
A starting attacking midfielder from a top Dutch league team. I'd heard the name before.
"Nice to meet you. Cha Kang-min."
"I watched your games. Impressive stuff. Been dying to play with a forward like you."
His genuine praise lifted my spirits, but time was short.
"Thanks, but I gotta run. Coach Lechat said be there by noon."
Asac just laughed it off.
"Haha, a minute late's no big deal. Coach'll understand."
Not for me. I took off first.
Finally, I reached London City's inner sanctum training ground.
The players were all gathered, and there stood Coach Lechat, stopwatch in hand. He glanced my way and noted the time.
"Cha Kang-min. On time. 11:59:31."
— Click.
"And that's everyone who made it through preseason camp."
Just then, Asac strolled in late, waving cheerfully.
"Haha, sorry, guys. Got held up a bit. Hey, Coach!"
Asac greeted everyone with easy charm, but Lechat's face didn't budge.
"Asac. You're late."
"Ahaha, yeah, sorry. Traffic was killer."
"Report to the second-team training ground. You don't qualify for preseason."
Asac approached, flustered.
"Coach, wait. I'm a starter you signed. You know how much the transfer fee was?"
Lechat's expression twisted in disgust.
"Get out. Lazy fuck. Don't defile this sacred pitch."
I hurried to Yu Hyeon-seong's side. He couldn't stand injustice; if I left him be, he'd clash with Lechat for sure.
"Hyeon-seong, hold up."
I grabbed his arm. His mouth, poised to speak, snapped shut.
"Don't mouth off to the coach."
"But, sunbaenim, that's too much, isn't it?"
"I know. But not now."
Back in Germany, I'd asked Christina about Lechat.
She saw right through him and laid out exactly how to handle him.
'Lechat's an extreme control freak. He only straightens out when everything's under his thumb. Play by his rules at first—until you earn his trust. Then shatter them with overwhelming skill. That's what he ultimately wants: results.'
I gave Hyeon-seong the short version.
"Our job's clear. Follow his rules and prove ourselves with results."
Hyeon-seong swallowed hard.
"…If sunbaenim says so, it must make sense."
Translation: His rational side couldn't wrap around it.
Typical of the kid with such a strong ego.
We settled in to listen quietly as Lechat began his speech.
"Hey, you second-division trash."
…What an inspiring opener.
I nearly let out an admiring whistle, but bit it back. A few murmurs of "What?" rippled through the group.
"Wondering why I took this shitty second-division team? Simple. London City offered me full control—including the power to terminate all your contracts."
"What kind of contract is that?"
Someone muttered from the back.
Lechat pressed on as if he hadn't heard.
"From now on, this team runs on my absolute whims and biases."
His voice was ice-cold, unyielding.
"The preseason camp ahead will be hell. The instant you fall out of my favor, forget starting. But survive this hell and prove your worth? You'll get a real shot."
He scanned each player one by one.
"Let me repeat: I've been given total authority. You're not the club's anymore. Not the fans'. You're my pieces on the board. Act like it—follow my orders. Do that, and…"
When faced with true madness, people fall silent.
A suffocating hush blanketed the training ground.
"In three seasons, I'll make this team Premier League champions."
My jaw dropped.
Crazy bastard.
A real lunatic.
The first task for any incoming manager: seize control of the team.
Modern players have egos bloated beyond reason—glued to SNS, swayed by agents, challenging coaches' authority. To rein them in, you crush them decisively. Best to sacrifice a player who's not much use to the team anyway, with a plausible excuse.
Lechat had his scapegoat picked out.
'Cha Kang-min.'
A wounded beast is always cast out from the pack.
Lechat had reviewed my old footage and judged swiftly.
They said my skills weren't even 70% of my peak. Injury history plus mental issues—I could crumble again any moment.
In Lechat's player evaluation system, my stats ranked dead last: lacking explosiveness, timid choices. A team player who hid himself, nothing standout.
But I was also symbolic. The hero who'd dragged the team from fourth division to second on his back. Dump me, and no one else would dare defy him.
Perfect scapegoat.
"Alright, preseason starts now."
Lechat declared to the players with a predatory smirk.
"Of course, dropouts from this survival game? Second team—permanently."