Ripple Effects (1)

Ulsan had clawed their way back with an equalizer, and for a moment the atmosphere in their ranks had flickered back to life. Then Hwang Yo-han — the team's oldest player, their very pillar — drove a dagger straight through that recovery with an all-time classic own goal, and they simply collapsed.

Of course there was no recovering from it.

That was what it meant for a team's morale to break.

Sure, there are always a few guys who grit their teeth and tell themselves the ball is round so anything can still happen if you play to the end…

The ball is round, so you never know how a match will finish? Unexpected results can still happen?

True enough.

But the ball can also roll exactly the way you expect, and produce exactly the result everyone predicted.

An own goal seven minutes from full time.

If it had been a normal goal conceded, maybe they could have tried to regroup. But when the team's senior figure smashes a wonder strike into his own net, morale doesn't just dip — it sinks into the gutter.

Which meant the outcome was inevitable.

Having been named Man of the Match, I prepared for my interview not in the locker room but at a spot set up on one side of the pitch.

Me, MOM? Didn't see that coming.

Yoon Seung-hwan had scored the opener — forced or otherwise — and Chun-jae hyung had handled most of the attacking load, so I'd figured one of those two would get the award.

Apparently they valued the way I'd anchored the back line even with Jeonbuk's defensive line pushed high, plus the fact that I'd engineered Hwang Yo-han's own goal.

I was waiting with a mix of bewilderment and relief when the announcer sidled up, cleared her throat, and launched straight in.

"All right, we'll now conduct an interview with Baek Yi-an, named Man of the Match in the K League Round 1 clash between Ulsan MR and Jeonbuk Future Motors. Hello, Baek Yi-an! You've taken the win against Ulsan — how are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling… well, good. Facing last season's defending champions in the league opener, our fans must have been pretty worried, so bringing home the win feels great."

"Understood. Then we should dig into the match itself. You put in a strong defensive shift as well, but we really can't ignore that own goal at the end of the game. Did you… engineer it?"

"Engineer it?"

Was she asking if I'd deliberately manufactured that own goal?

Honestly, if I claimed I'd set that up on purpose, wouldn't anyone with eyes know I was lying?

How the hell would I even do that… He just did something stupid all by himself… There's a reason I was impressed.

Even I, who could treat a same-team striker like Yoon Seung-hwan as a trajectory-altering object, couldn't manufacture the kind of curling header Hwang Yo-han had produced. If I could mass-produce wonder goals like that in my garage, I'd be sweeping the Puskás Award every single year.

That said, it wasn't as if I hadn't aimed for something. What I'd originally envisioned wasn't an own goal — it was Hwang Yo-han committing a defensive error that would drop the ball at Yoon Seung-hwan's feet.

You deal with low crosses with your feet and high ones with your head. That's the basic approach to defending crosses. But the ones that are too high for a foot and too low for a clean header? Those are the real headaches.

Through our little chat I'd figured out that Hwang Yo-han's body was locked tight with tension — whether from nerves or from some ironclad resolve to carry out the manager's orders to the letter, I couldn't say.

With that kind of zeal, he'd throw his head at anything, so I decided to hunt for a mistake in that height zone.

Then he suddenly redlined all on his own, charged at me, clipped it off-center, and curled a header straight into Ulsan's own net.

Pure coincidence. An unintended windfall, you could call it.

"Come on, who in the world could actually aim for something like that?"

I had no intention of claiming that one as mine.

And answering this way would make it clear I hadn't set it up — that Hwang Yo-han had simply redlined on his own, overcommitted, and scored an own goal.

In other words, the subtext of what I was saying boiled down to this:

Something along those lines?

I shook my head as I finished answering. The announcer, apparently replaying the own-goal clip in her mind, snorted out a laugh, then composed herself and tossed the final question.

"Thank you for that answer. One last question, then. There's a lot of talk that Jeonbuk's form looks seriously sharp. Aside from the first-leg ACL Round of 16 match against Suwon, you've been putting out cutting, free-flowing football every time. Your next opponent is Gwangju CF… how do you plan to prepare? Are you confident?"

"Confident? Of course. Next match is here at Jeonju Castle as well, from what I understand. We'll tear Gwangju apart the same way we did to Junsan."

"Y-yes? Ju-Junsan?"

"Yeah, Junsan. Or would you rather I call them Chitsan? Strictly by the record books it should be Chit-chit-chit-chit-chitsan, but…"

The moment the word Junsan left my mouth, the announcer's face went pale blue.

And just like that, the atmosphere froze solid…

Had I somehow stepped on a landmine?

Junsan is just Junsan, though…

Wasn't this the club with a historic ten K League runner-up finishes? Sure, they'd been strong the last few years and even won a few titles, so people talked about an Ulsan dynasty or whatever. But in my memory, Ulsan was still just Chit-chit-chit-chit-chit — ten-time runners-up.

Anyway, why was the mood like this? We got called Maebuk and Stonebuk and all sorts of things. Getting nicknamed Junsan for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠finishing second ten times didn't seem that vicious, did it?

"Ahaha. Thank you for the interview! We'll be rooting for you in the next match as well! Once again, congratulations on MOM, Baek Yi-an!"

"Yeah. See you next time."

Watching the announcer scramble away as if she'd seen a ghost, I scratched my head.

Apparently I'd kicked up a pretty serious storm.

After Jeonbuk's win over Ulsan, football communities were flooded with articles about the match rocketing to the top of the concept boards.

When a match everyone had written off as a sure Ulsan win somehow ended in a Jeonbuk victory, the media frenzy was only natural.

But the communities were exploding for a slightly different reason.

Even a garden-variety own goal sets football communities on fire.

But when the quality of that own goal is this high? When you can legitimately call it a Puskás-caliber wonder goal? The reaction doesn't just burn — it detonates.

With things like this, nobody cared about the tactics from the Jeonbuk–Ulsan match, or which players had put in strong performances.

The only names circulating were Hwang Yo-han and Baek Yi-an — the two men who'd produced an all-time own goal.

The day after the Ulsan match arrived.

It was the weekend, so a day off would have been nice — but unfortunately, with a match against Gwangju CF to prepare for, I had to report to the clubhouse same as any other day.

Even if a day off was out of the question, I'd at least planned to grab lunch with A-yoon in the morning since it was the weekend…

With Shin A-yoon's sudden cancellation, I had no choice but to head to the clubhouse a little early.

Getting a same-day cancellation sucks when you're the one receiving the text… but what can you do? I had to be understanding.

If we'd only just started dating and were still building rapport, maybe it'd be different. But childhood friends — and our families were close too — so cutting her some slack wasn't a bad thing.

Buzz—

What? Seung-ah got a boyfriend?

My pocket had vibrated, so I checked — it was a notification that A-yoon's little sister had started streaming.

School had been a lost cause, and since she'd been born a girl she'd decided to become a VTuber, begged me to become her first fanclub member, and I'd signed up and even cheered her on to do well.

Apparently she'd gotten tangled up in some kind of incident.

Well. Seung-ah's allowed to date at least once, I guess.

For the people watching her stream, this was probably the kind of content that made blood pour from their eyes. For me, it was none of my business.

To me, Seung-ah was just the little sister of my girlfriend A-yoon.

She'll handle it. She said it was a misunderstanding so no need to worry. I should just focus on my own work.

I shoved my phone back into my pocket, walked into the clubhouse, and headed up to the third floor where the manager's private office was.

The reason I'd reported early wasn't simply because I was a rookie trying to make a good impression.

Sure, sometimes I came in early for that — looking good never hurt — but that wasn't it today.

Knock knock.

"Manager. It's Baek Yi-an. May I come in?"

"Yeah. Come in."

The moment I opened the door, the manager scrambled up from his desk and sat down at the table set up in front of it.

I bowed my head in greeting, and at the same time my eyes drifted to the newspaper lying on his desk.

Ah, fuck. Maybe I should've just said Chitsan instead of Junsan.

The fallout from what I'd said in that interview had been bigger than expected.