FIFA U-17 World Cup: Homecoming and Orphan Stars
Even though Real Madrid had won against Rayo Vallecano thanks to Jesus' game-winning goal in the finale, the team couldn't shake off the heavy atmosphere.
"Sergio! You got any idea what's up? Why's Jesus suddenly acting like that?"
"How the hell should I know what that lunatic's thinking."
"Is it 'cause he was benched this game?"
The players, unaware of the full story, figured the team's ace Jesus was pissed about sitting on the bench.
"Hahaha!"
"Heh heh heh."
As Real Madrid captain Sergio Pepe wore a worried expression, coach Valverde and Jesus boarded the bus looking all chummy and reconciled.
"What? They made up?"
"Gotta be, right?"
Pepe and Luka Savic exchanged quiet words at the sight.
While the players headed home to rest,
the reporters were quick to fire off their articles.
The familiar sights of Korea—changed yet unchanged—greeted me. As I signed autographs for the fans welcoming me back,
"Jesus! Over here, just one look!!"
A reporter shoved through, knocking a fan to the ground. I glared at her, face hardening.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
The reporter just stared back like what's your problem and launched into her interview anyway.
"Jesus, Asia's first-ever Ballon d'Or winner—kyaa—!"
I snapped, snatched her mic, and chucked it before growling at her.
"Tu puta madre."
She clearly didn't get it, so I kindly translated into Korean.
"Your mom's a whore, you bitch—get the fuck outta my sight."
Her eyes welled up, insulted. She burst into tears and fled. I helped the fallen fan to their feet.
"You okay?"
Then I went back to signing for the fans.
"Y-Yeah! Thank you!"
I could already picture how that grudge-holding reporter would spin the story. But my status in Korea was rock-solid post-Ballon d'Or. Tabloid trash like her couldn't touch me anymore.
And honestly, the real kicker? My market value's too damn high now—Korean brands won't touch me even if I play nice for the image.
Maybe I should Mao Zedong this shit—Great Leap Forward for endorsements or something.
And yeah, that reporter's article was right on cue, just as I headed to the orphanage. Burning with rage, she blasted it online, claiming she'd been humiliated.
Public opinion was on my side—no need for me to clap back. I called Kim Dusik hyung. It was 4 a.m. in Spain, but whatever.
That's not my problem.
"Yo, hyung, it's me. Time to work."
"...You know what time it is in Spain?"
"Agents don't get personal time. Get to it."
I decided to have the Korean agency sue her agency for defamation and false claims—nice and nyangnyang.
"You could've just called the rep yourself!"
"Huh? Agent talking back?"
"Aaaaah—!"
—You little shit! Why're you yelling all of a sudden!!
I hung up quick at the roaring from the phone and prayed for Dusik hyung's safety.
"Man, why'd he yell? Tsk tsk."
Right before the opening ceremony.
At the football association's request, I got a meet-and-greet with the kids.
The kids stared at me tensely. Among them, I spotted Juyun and Junasaret, who'd shot up in height over the past year.
"Hey, kids."
"Jesus hyung—!"
"Ah! Dude! Sit down! Embarrassing!"
"Aw, lemme go!"
Juyun waved excitedly, while Junasaret yanked him down, embarrassed. I kept catching the scene.
I'd worried they might face orphan discrimination, but they looked brighter than the others.
The kids around them were even looking out for the pair.
I nodded quietly at the sight.
Orphans definitely need a solid backer in life.
I got hit with every kind of bullshit discrimination, bullied for being an orphan, suffered through hell, and clawed my way to the national team on raw talent alone…
Well, that's my story. Not saying these kids need to go through that.
That's why I'm their sponsor. Having Dusik hyung smooth things over nicely with the association.
And when he doesn't listen? I threaten: Retire from the NT? You wanna make me retire? I'll quit 'cause of you, fucker? Carrot and stick to tame 'em.
"Sunbae-nim! How do I get as good at soccer as you?!"
I flashed a bright smile at the kid's sparkling eyes.
"Talent, kiddo."
Baby, the world ain't won on effort. Life's no fairy tale.
"Sigh…"
I saw agency rep—master Kim Dusik—clutching his head at my words. But crushing their dreams early is the kind choice for these kids.
The FIFA U-17 World Cup kicked off.
Korea's opener was against Spain.
"Dae~hanminguk!!"
Jesus watched from the VIP seats the association hooked him up with.
Spain's core midfielders had long been Barcelona products—from the legendary three stooges to Pedri, Gavi, and more.
True to form for a nation of midfield legends, Barcelona lads dominated this lineup too.
But the stars stealing the show weren't Spain's hyped Barca trio—they were Juyun and Junasaret from Jesus Orphanage.
They complemented each other perfectly.
Juyun drove the attacks, while Junasaret owned defense.
Spain's net rippled.
By the corner flag, kids in red uniforms—baby-faced and cheering wildly.
Spanish players swarmed the ref, protesting innocence. The jumbotron caught it, and boos rained from the stands.
"Booo! What foul, you yankees!!"
"Hey! No racist crap!"
Warnings flew at the guy for the racial jab. He slunk back to his seat, sheepish.
The ref checked VAR, disallowed Korea's goal, and yellowed Juyun.
More boos, but the call was spot-on.
Others might've missed it, but I saw: Juyun's Marseille turn to shake the mark, then slamming a Yerae Shinjang right into the guy's solar plexus.
"Tch, caught red-handed, scrub."
My grumble hid a satisfied smirk. Korea's soccer future looked bright.