Possession

Reading through the comments, I let the corner of my mouth curl up just a little.

"What am I doing? Reading novels, you bastards."

After dying of a sudden heart attack at twenty-nine and somehow coming back, the emptiness that hit me once I retired from football was enormous.

I'd started my pro career on a semi-pro contract with Jeonbuk, racked up six consecutive K-League Young Player of the Month awards, then crossed over to Italy and swept Serie A Player of the Year, Midfielder of the Year, and the assists crown. And at Newcastle, my last stop? I took League Player of the Year, delivered the club its first-ever treble, and climbed onto the Ballon d'Or podium as a defensive midfielder.

Maybe it was all those wild years. Being forced into retirement by a heart attack mid-match left me with a mountain of regret.

I'd heard those consolations a hundred times from people trying to soothe me. Of course I understood what they meant. I knew pure luck was the only reason I was still breathing.

Still…

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed."

Watching matches, studying tactics with the vague idea of coaching someday — none of it filled the hollow space inside me. Strangely enough, what finally patched that gap was soccer novels.

At first I only checked because some lunatic had written a book that turned me into a psychopath.

I'd been called a gentleman of the pitch — and off it — during my career, so hearing I'd been painted as a total personality wreck made my blood boil. I went in ready to rage. Then I kept reading, and damn if the thing wasn't actually entertaining.

Unlike me, who'd ground myself into dust and barely dragged Korea into a World Cup semi, the protagonist one-man-carried his way to a World Cup title like it was nothing. And when he clashed with the football association, he casually naturalized to Germany or Brazil and stuck it to the president. Satisfying as hell.

Sure, some people might sneer that a grown man had no business enjoying that kind of unhinged fantasy. So what? If I was having fun, that was enough. As long as a story kept one foot in reality while delivering the right amount of wish fulfillment, spending money on it was completely justified.

"I've already blown past a million won on this stuff. I'm losing my mind."

What started as pure curiosity had become an indispensable hobby. Like any other day, I started digging through the newly uploaded sports novels — and before long, I was smiling wide.

"It's up!"

The Striker Scores Too Well. Just like the title promised, it followed the striker protagonist Yoon Seung-hwan as he steamrolled his way through everything. The pacing was clean, the chemistry with the supporting cast was solid, and most importantly, it delivered the wish fulfillment that sports novels lived and died by.

If stress caused my heart attack, those triangle-haired striker bastards who never finished a through ball would've owned a serious share of the blame. This novel doesn't have any of them.

A striker who put even the ugliest passes into the back of the net — the exact creature I'd begged for my entire career — lived inside these pages. Judging by the previous chapter, this update had to be the Champions League final win. I opened the latest chapter with a flicker of anticipation.

What the fuck?

The author's note wiped every scrap of the chapter I'd just read from my brain. My eyes went wide.

What the hell was this insane writer babbling about?

Korea played fine without a traditional holding midfielder?

Not having a proper DM is exactly why they jammed Park Woo-yong — a guy who was nowhere near a classic holding mid — into a two-man midfield as a lone pivot, and that absolute clown of a tactic is what tanked the 2023 Asian Cup.

Before I knew it, I was hammering out a novel-length reply.

Strikers? Important, yes. But in modern football, no position mattered more than the defensive midfielder.

Stable progression had made rear build-up not optional but mandatory. Ball-playing sweeper-keepers had entered the game. And the defensive midfielder had evolved past simply sitting deep and defending — he'd become the heart of the midfield battle and the entire build-up. Declan Rice transferring to Arsenal for £105M and shattering the Premier League transfer record in 23–24, only for Moisés Caicedo to smash it again a month later at £115M to Chelsea, said everything you needed to know.

What a load of absolute nonsense…

I couldn't accept it. Accepting that would be the same as denying every year I'd spent running myself into the ground as a player. No matter how much garbage he spouted, I was going to tear it apart point by point. That was the mindset I held as I stared at the screen.

What?

If I was frustrated, I should go play? Was he mocking me right now?

I hadn't expected him to accept being wrong. But if he couldn't respect the argument, he could at least not ridicule me.

I clutched my throbbing head at the deranged reply for a moment — then something felt wrong.

"What the hell? Why did my phone brightness just go up?"

The screen, which had been sitting still, started getting brighter on its own. At first I thought I was imagining it and tried to turn it down, but the brightness setting was still locked at 50% like always.

So… why did it keep getting brighter?

"Is something wrong with my eyes…? Wait, what is this? What's happening?"

Before long the screen washed out to pure white, so bright I couldn't read a single character. Right before the display drowned completely in white, a short line of text appeared.

In that instant, a single thought swallowed my entire mind.

"No way. Possession? Fuck!"

FWOOOOSH!

Possession. The second I recognized it, the light exploding from my phone swallowed me whole.

The Striker Scores Too Well was popular for its clean pacing and overflowing wish fulfillment — but that didn't mean it was flawless. To deliver that satisfaction and those effortless power-fantasy beats, the story inevitably filled its cast with people who dismissed and undervalued the protagonist, Yoon Seung-hwan. And when you mold that many characters, some end up with no personality at all, while others twist into something deeply warped.

"Baek Yi-an…"

An eighteen-year-old character who joined Jeonbuk Future Motors on a semi-pro contract alongside the protagonist was exactly that type.

"A kid with genius talent who'd been called Korea's top defensive midfielder prospect since childhood — but so lazy by nature he barely trained, and so jealous that when Yoon Seung-hwan's skills skyrocketed he nearly shattered the guy's ankle."

He could fill a villain role just fine. The problem was that he also did things that made readers physically cringe. I hadn't liked Baek Yi-an either. No matter how much of a dirty-play merchant I'd been on the pitch, I still hated work-ethic-free trash.

If I'd still been my old self, I would've written him off without a second thought.

But I couldn't trash Baek Yi-an anymore.

Why?

"Why the hell… why is my face Baek Yi-an's face? And what is this status window floating in front of me? Death if I fail? Is this thing serious?"

Why? Because I'd become Baek Yi-an, that's why.

So when he told me to go prove it myself if I was so frustrated, this is what he meant? I'd been half-seriously thinking I should go play some amateur football to make my point, maybe even talk to my doctor first —

No, seriously? I get possessed? All because I argued with some garbage take?

My eyes squeezed shut in pure frustration. And this wasn't even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a normal possession. There was a quest. A quest with the insane condition that failure meant death.

For a moment the future looked pitch black. Then the confusion flipped into rage.

He'd spouted nonsense in public, I'd given him some advice as a longtime ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reader, and his response was to possess me?

Unacceptable.

Fine. If you still don't get it after all that explaining, I'll just have to show you myself.

I still remembered plenty about Baek Yi-an. Talent and a physique that rivaled the protagonist Yoon Seung-hwan's — no, that might have surpassed him entirely if the kid had simply been diligent.

"He was such a monster that even after trying to snap a teammate's ankle, the coach and staff still tried to cover for him."

What would happen if you poured my football IQ into a body like that?

Right up until the heart attack, every outlet had been screaming that this year's Ballon d'Or was mine without debate. After retirement that became an impossible story… but not anymore.

With this body, I wouldn't have to fear another heart attack. I could pour out every ounce of ability I'd possessed in my previous life. Baek Yi-an had that kind of talent.

"Looks like it's time to cause some real chaos."

I pulled my gaze from the mirror and picked up a photo sitting on the desk. People in green kits, smiling wide on a podium. Right in the center, Baek Yi-an holding a trophy with a grin on his face. The inscription on the photo was clear.

2028 K-League Youth Championship winners… so this is right before the 2029 season, when he signs a semi-pro contract and joins the first team.

This was around the time Baek Yi-an would start getting irritated by Yoon Seung-hwan closing the gap on him. If I remembered right, the jealousy began to swell now. The real attempt to bury Yoon Seung-hwan would come during training a few days after the K-League kicked off.

"Doable."

In other words, I wasn't too late. This was still salvageable.