2030 World Cup Third Qualifiers (2)
Watching the World Cup third-round qualifier between Iraq and South Korea with her family, Shin A-yoon’s expression gradually hardened.
“Aigoo… this match is way too frustrating.”
“You’re telling me. It’s not like the manager or our players are bad, either… man.”
It really was a stifling game.
The quality of Korea’s second line—resources that could rival Europe, the national team’s greatest strength—had been completely locked down by Iraq’s filthy style of play. Whenever they managed to force an opening, Iraqi players immediately threw themselves in with yellow-card-worthy challenges, shattering the rhythm.
Time dragged on endlessly. Ten minutes into the second half, the anger everyone had been holding back finally boiled over.
“Seriously, what’s with their style of play? It’s that dirty? What happens if our players get hurt—are they going to take responsibility? Just look at Lee Kang-jin alone. He’s at Man City, and his transfer value is—”
“Honey… I get that you’re a City fan, but do you really have to single out Kang-jin right now?”
“Am I wrong? You’re only watching so calmly because none of your precious Liverpool players are on the national team. Do you even know how much I love Kang-jin? I was devastated when he left Mallorca for Paris!”
“Ehh, Mom, Kang-jin belongs at Man United. He’s the perfect successor to Park Ji-song, you know?”
“What? Shin Seung-ah! What did you just say? Are you telling our Kang-jin to go to those Man U trash?”
“…Ah. No, I just meant… you know.”
“Alright, alright, fellow in-laws, let’s not fight and focus on the match. We still don’t know, do we?”
“That’s right. Our son might still come on…”
Shin A-yoon sat quietly listening to the conversation between Baek Yi-an’s family and her own, forcing down the burn in her chest.
Come on, huh. Will Yi-an even get on the pitch today? They sound like they’re secretly hoping for it.
She couldn’t know what Martin Valde was thinking. Still, A-yoon expected Baek Yi-an would not play today. It wasn’t that she thought his skill was lacking for the national team. This simply wasn’t the stage for a rookie debut.
World Cup third-round qualifiers.
A win today could lock in their place in the finals. Unlike a league where one slip could still be recovered, World Cup qualifying offered only limited chances—most managers instinctively avoided gambles. A man like Martin Valde, who had built his career in Europe, would understand that better than anyone.
Still… won’t Yi-an be disappointed if he doesn’t get on?
A-yoon looked down at the phone in her hand and hung her head. When they had read the squad announcement together, Yi-an had barely reacted to being selected. Deep down, though, she was sure he had been happy. That was what the national team meant. For any player, performing well while representing your country was a lifelong dream. Yi-an would want nothing more than to step onto a stifling pitch like today’s and show something special.
Looking at his usual style, he’d actually be perfect against Iraq… His physical frame is already so much stronger, and his press resistance is elite. They’d be crazy not to at least consider him…
But he probably wouldn’t appear. Even Martin Valde, whose string of unconventional, bias-free choices had already shocked people once, would know exactly how important this match was.
“Ugh… at this rate Yi-an oppa won’t even come on and we’ll either concede or draw against Iraq, won’t we?”
“Those Iraqi kids are playing really rough. Please just don’t get injured…”
“Is it because it’s the Middle East? Nothing’s coming easy… At this point maybe we just take the draw and go win the next one…”
One frustrating moment after another. From the mouths of family members who had been watching with quiet hope came words already assuming defeat. Listening in silence, Shin A-yoon set down the chicken she had been eating and headed for the bathroom.
Thud.
“Haaah…”
She leaned against the door and let out a long breath. Hearing her family talk only made her picture Yi-an’s face—disappointed at not getting on—and she felt like she might cry. Twenty minutes left on the clock, maybe thirty to thirty-five with stoppage time.
Just ten minutes… Stay here a little longer, splash some water on my face, then go back out.
If she could settle her heart first, she would be able to watch the rest more calmly than before. With that thought she crouched down and waited. When the clock told her eight minutes had passed, she stood to wash her face—
“Yes! Yesssss!”
“Uwaaaaaah! Our son! Yessss!”
“What the hell? Are you kidding me? Unnie… wait, where did you go again without watching? Unnie! Get out here right now! If you miss this you’ll regret it for the rest of your life!”
“Wh-what?”
A sudden explosion of noise from outside. Cheers? Had they scored?
Heart racing, Shin A-yoon frantically opened a football community app. The short loading screen vanished and the page appeared.
“Huh?”
Scenes she could barely believe began flooding her eyes.
The moment Korea finally claimed the opening goal after suffering under the Middle East’s newest brand of bed-football, exhausted viewers found their energy again.
“Baek Yi-an! Completely toys with Ibrahim Shulaka using a Marseille turn! Is he going all the way? He keeps the speed and drives forward to the end! Plenty of options in the second line! What’s he choosing?!”
“He plays it immediately! While the Iraqi back line is sucked toward Bae Jun-hong and Yang Min-hyung, he threads it straight to Yoon Seung-hwan! Seung-hwan takes it, drives in, keeper’s at his mercy… GOOOOOAL! Yoon Seung-hwaaan! Baek Yi-an and Yoon Seung-hwan! The two eighteen-year-old prodigies from Jeonbuk Future Motors have just rescued South Korea from the brink!!”
“Wow… that was exactly the kind of moment the national team desperately needed. Those two kids just poured life back into a side that had been tortured by Iraq’s rough challenges and time-wasting!”
“Ah… look at the seniors. They’re walking over to the youngest players and ruffling their hair. Of course they are! How could they not look adorable right now?”
“Exactly. If I were out there I’d be planting kisses on them.”
A combination goal created by just two teenagers. A miracle from players who had been doubted nonstop ever since their call-ups. Of course the atmosphere was exploding.
“Let’s look at that goal again. Hassan first charges in to contest Baek Yi-an, but he solves it with real cleverness.”
“Exactly. Because of Baek Yi-an’s height, Hassan probably expected an aerial duel or a screen. Instead Yi-an deliberately bounces the ball off Hassan, recovers it instantly, and the moment Ibrahim Shulaka closes him down he beats him with a silky turn.”
“Then he plays the forward pass and Yoon Seung-hwan finishes it beautifully.”
“Ah, look at Ibrahim Shulaka… staring at the pitch with that hollow expression. In a way it was his mistake, so the guilt must be heavy.”
“Yeah. He got completely sold by the turn and then fell, so he couldn’t recover and it became a one-way attack. Of course he’s gutted.”
“The moment I say that, Baek Yi-an intercepts an Iraqi pass! He’s driving forward again at pace!”
For a professional player, the word “debut” usually means one of two things. The first is your actual first appearance on a professional stage. The second is your debut for the senior national team.
For someone like me, the latter carries enormous weight. I don’t mean to trash Jeonbuk or the K League, but a domestic league forever stuck in second place behind baseball and the national football team that every single citizen watches live in completely different dimensions of attention.
Even if you debuted for the biggest club abroad, nothing would ever leave a better impression on Korean fans than performing well right here.
This stage is that important… I’ve already got plenty of experience so I’m fine, but for most people it must feel like walking on thin ice.
It was unquestionably the dream stage. Do well here and I could act like a complete menace in the K League and still become “our Yi-an.” Make a mistake and the first words out of people’s mouths would be “that bastard Baek Yi-an.”
And I was a defensive midfielder, no less. The unsung hero. A position of pure absurdity where excellence barely registers but a single error screams for attention. Unlike a striker who can atone by scoring, one mistake here and you instantly become Suspect Number One. For a rookie to leave a good impression, you needed a performance that was both rock-solid and impossible to ignore.
That near-impossible task… I was currently pulling it off.
“Ugh!”
“Yi-an, you can give it straight!”
I cleared a misplaced pass from the Iraqi attack and immediately drove the ball through the center. Ibrahim, still fuming from being made a fool of once already, charged at me with gritted teeth. Unfortunately for him, I had no intention of dancing with him again.
“Kang-jin hyung, I’m playing it into the space ahead!”
Boom!
Thump!
I released the pressure by sliding the ball into the half-space where Kang-jin hyung was already hunting. Instantly the Iraqi back line felt the danger again. With the best player currently available to Korea—Manchester City’s Lee Kang-jin—left completely free, they were suddenly facing a resource that multiple men struggled to contain. Freedom returned to our play.
“Min-hyung, take it yourself if you want!”
A clean through-ball from Kang-jin hyung put the ball inside the box. Min-hyung hyung received it, created an angle with a quick dribble, and struck.
Clang!
“Ah! Tsk!”
The deliberately lofted shot fooled the keeper but, cruelly, crashed against the crossbar and bounced free. The attack was broken; at the same time the ball hung high in the air, slowly dropping back into the box.
“I’ve got it!”
Thump!
“Damn it!”
Out of nowhere Namu hyung had ghosted into the box and threw his head at the ball. The keeper, who had already dived to deny Min-hyung, had no chance of recovering to the far side. The net bulged.