Ripple Effects (2)

When he saw the newspaper on the desk, he'd figured he was being called in for a dressing-down.

Contrary to expectations, the moment Manager Sun Ki-baek laid eyes on him, his whole manner softened and he held out a drink.

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No idea what he's thinking. Might as well drink it first, right?

The beige liquid in the cup was none other than misutgaru.

Still—on a sit-down like this, didn't people usually offer coffee or water?

For a man this fanatically careful about his players' bodies, why hand over a grain-powder drink…?

Slurp—

"Well? Taste all right?"

"Mm. It's good."

It wasn't bad, at least.

Nothing to make a fuss over, but the grains caught between your teeth now and then and left a deep, roasted savor behind. The only mild disappointment was that it wasn't as sweet as he'd expected. From the plain taste of it, the man had clearly mixed it with water and some artificial sweetener like aspartame instead of sugar or honey—exactly what you'd expect from a pro-team manager watching every calorie.

Must've just grabbed the expensive one at the supermarket. Still, misutgaru is best with honey. Even if there's artificial sweetener in it already, he could've thrown in a little more…

What could he do? Even someone as thoroughly unmannered as him couldn't exactly ask his manager, So do you have the criminal habit of mixing misutgaru with water instead of milk?

He had no real expertise in coffee or alcohol, but when it came to misutgaru he could at least claim a graduate student's level of knowledge. Next chance he got, he'd have to mention which brands were actually good.

Maybe he should at least tell him never to buy this one again?

"Right? My mother went down to the mill this morning, ground the grains herself, and sent it over. Figured it'd be decent."

"Ah, that explains it. I could really taste your mother's touch. The way the grains chew in the middle—mm."

Fuck. That was close.

Watching the manager smile with quiet pride, he wiped imaginary sweat from his chest. If he'd told him not to buy that supermarket brand next time, he might have become the first man in history to witness the face of pure murderous wrath.

Maybe the relief showed on his face, because Manager Sun Ki-baek, still sipping his misutgaru, finally got to the point.

"Yi-an. You ever check community reactions before or after matches?"

"Communities? Not really. I don't go looking for them."

"That so? Then you wouldn't know what kind of reaction you're getting from that Ulsan interview either."

"No, sir. Is it bad?"

At the question, Sun Ki-baek's mouth curved up.

"Bound to be some of it. Ulsan fans losing their minds over Junsan or Ripsan isn't exactly new. There's the usual noise about me being a kid, too… but not every reaction is like that."

Swish!

The manager swept the newspaper off the desk, revealing a tablet underneath. The moment the screen lit up, the headlines jumped out at him as well.

"Didn't realize the national-team seniors think that highly of you. Covering for you this hard… You got some connection to Ki Sung-ryong or Gu Ja-cheong I don't know about?"

When he shook his head firmly, the manager gave a short snort of laughter and went on.

"The other clubs aren't treating it like a crisis either, and the federation apparently doesn't see any real need for discipline beyond maybe a light fine. Ulsan side's having a meltdown, of course."

"Them I get. They've got every right to be pissed about what I said."

He'd only spoken nicknames rooted in fact, but mockery was still mockery. He would probably give the exact same interview even if he went back in time—but he could understand the anger.

The real question was what the manager thought.

"You're not mad, Manager?"

"Me? Why would I be mad? Nothing you said was wrong."

So that part, at least, he didn't need to worry about.

Come to think of it, no one on the squad loved Jeonbuk more than this man. His feelings toward Ulsan or Suwon were probably even worse than Yi-an's.

If a reporter asked him for a manager's take on my comments, he'd just say "factos" and nod, wouldn't he?

As if to prove the thought right, Sun Ki-baek leaned back into his chair like he was about to lie down and heaved a long sigh at the ceiling.

"You came in thinking you were getting chewed out, but that's not what this is, so relax. Junsan, Ripsan—it's true, so what? Hell, if Ulsan starts screaming that the Maebuk bastards have zero character, am I supposed to care? Why? Because it's true."

Embarrassing past? It already happened—what the hell was he supposed to do about it?

If that was the manager's mindset, of course he wasn't going to scold him.

"I only called you in here because the club wanted me to at least pretend to ream you out, so don't sweat it. Besides, there was something I wanted to say anyway."

"Something you wanted to say?"

"Yeah. Look—I feel a little bad about throwing you into such a huge match for your debut when you weren't fully ready, and I wanted to give a player who's been grinding to fit into the team after a sudden start something nice to hear."

"Something nice?"

He had no idea what the manager meant by debuting him unprepared or about him "grinding," but he decided to keep quiet and listen.

More important—what good news was he about to drop? As far as Yi-an remembered, nothing particular had been happening around this time.

Reading the puzzled look on his face, the manager sat up and swiped the tablet screen sideways. A new article appeared.

"The national team manager's coming. Odds of getting picked just for playing well are low, of course. But if you put on a good show with the national team boss watching, who knows what good things might come later?"

The national team manager was coming.

Sun Ki-baek's mouth curved up at the thought.

What? From what I remember, the match Martin Valde came to watch in person wasn't ours…

Yi-an wore a puzzled look.

Whether Korean football was doing well or poorly, there were always people the fans loved to trash.

Namely, the Korea Football Association.

From that sentence alone you might wonder what on earth they did to end up in such a pitiful position—getting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cursed whether they succeeded or failed. But even a brief summary of their track record made it far less mysterious.

Trying to quietly reinstate match-fixing bans right before an A-match and getting caught. Using the players they were supposed to protect as human shields the second their own rice bowls were threatened, then slipping out clean…

They said that if anyone asked about the future of the nation at Korea's top university, you should lift your eyes to Gwanak. If someone wanted to see the true face of institutional incompetence, you only had to point them at the Korea Football Association and they'd go, Holy shit, all the fucking idiots are right here.

A living textbook of how to handle everything like absolute clowns.

That was the species known as the football association.

And the really amazing part is that's just the institutional disasters. If you start listing the personal scandals of the people inside, you could talk all night and never finish.

Just look at the path walked by Jeong Mung-gyo—Korean football's JOAT, the Prince of Pathological Lying, the man whose future was already written off as trash.

A guy who'd worked hard enough while at the Korea Football Federation, only to take a direct hit from the Idiot Corruption Beam the second he became association president. When Pohang, winners of the Korea Cup, tried to do their trophy ceremony, this association president shoved into the middle like he was recreating the Bossing Wah from Slam Dunk and hogged the center. Got caught in the stands wearing Suwon Oseong team padding while being the owner of second-division Busan A-Park. Took a joke from failed idiot coach Klinsmann, appointed him manager on a whim, and then gave interviews that looked like he was trying to crush Son Heung-min—then the living legend of the Korean national team—under pure institutional authority.

Even now, it was hard to believe people this insane actually existed.

Still, they say spring comes eventually. Even in the chill of Korean football, a single ray of light finally broke through.

The Prince of Pathological Lying's seemingly unstoppable fourth term as association president collapsed at a National Assembly audit when every scandal and every false testimony he'd ever given was dragged into the open. Mung-gyo's spring came to an end.

After cleaning out the remaining hangers-on and spending endless time on normalization, the association was finally showing something resembling human administration—and the fruit of that work was none other than the appointment of Spanish manager Martin Valde.

A proper big-name coach: Super Lig Galatasaray runners-up, then a title with SL Benfica.

Unfortunately, those credentials hadn't translated when Newcastle—looking for a replacement after Eddie Howe's sacking—brought him in; he failed to show enough and left before his contract ran out. Even so, you couldn't deny he was a manager of a caliber who had proven himself in the absolute top flight.

And for a national team from an Asian football backwater like Korea, he was about the highest level of hire you could realistically land.

And that Martin Valde is coming to watch Jeonbuk versus Gwangju…

The conversation with the manager kept circling through his head.

Showing him that article was probably meant to suggest that a strong performance here might catch the manager's eye and put him on the national team.

Of course, Yi-an didn't see it that way.

Still… the national team already? Isn't that early?

If a player was in outstanding form, aiming for the national team was fair enough. But at least right now, he didn't think he was in any position to hope for that.

He was eighteen. Barely debuted in the pro ranks, with all of two matches under his belt.

Strip out every scrap of personal bias and look only at objective data—wasn't it ridiculous?

What insane manager would put a player like that in a critical national-team spot? Better to park a veteran there.

Granted, the defensive midfielder role I'm playing is a rare position, and most of the guys who are supposed to handle basic holding and anchor work can't even do that properly…

Even so, it wasn't as if there were zero alternatives. Dig a little and you'd find people who could replace him to some degree.

It's impossible right now. Unless Martin Valde points straight at me and throws himself on the floor whining that he refuses to coach if that kid isn't selected, this simply isn't happening.

A prospect hyped since his youth days, strong showings with the age-group national teams, impressive form even after his senior debut—fine. But the timing was still far too early.

So he decided not to expect anything.

He's probably only coming to this match to watch Yoon Seung-hwan anyway. That bastard's the protagonist. People will make a huge deal out of him even if he plays half-decently.

Since he wasn't getting called up anyway, he might as well just do his own job properly.

Having reached that conclusion, he slapped both cheeks—smack!—and steeled himself.

There was still plenty of time. Eighteen years old. Not even a full adult yet. As long as he kept working hard, the chance would come eventually—unless he was well past thirty with the aging curve already breathing down his neck.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he looked out the bus window.

"All right. Shall we go rip someone up today?"

"Huh? Rip who? You talking about Seung-hwan's head? Nah—his calves looked pretty solid today. Maybe aim there instead?"

At the sight of Jeonju Castle outside the window and Han Gang-rok's voice from beside him, the corner of Yi-an's mouth tugged upward.

The K-League Matchday 2 fixture between Jeonbuk Future Motors and Gwangju CF was staged at Jeonbuk's home, Jeonju Castle.

Jeonju and Gwangju.

As the two cities that essentially represented Jeollabuk-do and Jeollanam-do, fans who hadn't really entered the K-League often assumed there would be some razor-edged atmosphere and simmering rivalry between the clubs.

In reality, the relationship between the two sides wasn't that bad at all.

The real bad blood is with Jeonnam Wyverns. We barely have any history with Gwangju…

If you forced a rivalry, you could maybe spin it as "richest club in K League 1 versus poorest club," but aside from geographic proximity there was almost nothing that actually qualified as a derby.

That said, for a Jeonbuk side that needed to keep its upward momentum, it was still a match they had to win.

"Yi-an. For now, stay ready to warm up depending on how things go."

"Yes, sir."

He was on the bench for this one, not in the starting XI.

It wasn't that he'd lost a starting battle. Personally, he suspected the manager wanted to check whether the remaining pieces could still fill the picture if Yi-an wasn't in it.

Without any major tactical shift, Seung-yong hyung took the holding role and Choon-jae hyung handled the box-to-box work, and the team kicked off. Just like the previous match, they immediately began smothering Gwangju under heavy pressure.

"Oh. Not bad."

A little unstable, maybe, but true to the combination of the Emperor of Spring and a veteran, Choon-jae hyung and Seung-yong hyung were managing a 3-2 build-up well enough to progress play from the back. Recognizing the need for more attacking involvement, Choon-jae hyung—maybe tapping into some of that Emperor of Spring form—started tearing holes through Gwangju's midfield.

Perhaps thanks to that, Yoon Seung-hwan was already beating Gwangju's center-backs cleanly and creating meaningful chances early in the first half.

The trouble began around the thirty-eighth minute.

"¡Aaaah!"

Seung-yong hyung had cut out Gwangju's counter and sprayed a long ball into the middle for Andres. The instant it met Andres's foot, a Gwangju player came flying in with a brutal tackle. Andres grabbed his ankle and rolled on the ground, screeching.

When the team doctor checked him and shook his head, the manager turned and looked straight at Yi-an.

"Yi-an. Warm up, now. Hyun-ook—move Kim Choon-jae into Andres's spot. Put Yi-an in as the box-to-box and we keep this momentum going."

"Understood."

He nodded, stripped off his top, and started getting ready.