Jeonbuk Future Motors (2)
We'd conceded the opening goal, sure. But the moment we equalized, the entire complexion of the match swung decisively our way.
No matter how complete a striker the other side possessed, if the supply of balls to him dried up, he became useless.
I'd spotted that early and prepared for it; the 5-4-1 defensive shape we'd set up paid off handsomely.
If you run a 4-3-3, space inevitably opens between the wingers and full-backs. Plug those gaps and you lose the ability to create numerical superiority in midfield and press hard; the whole thing collapses into nothing more than "run a lot."
Close the space and the essence of the tactic fades. Leave it open and the opponent's attack cuts like a knife. Most people would freeze, unable to choose. I made the call in a heartbeat and poured bodies into the back line.
Why? Nothing fancy. In that moment, it was simply the best option available.
I'd wandered through enough countries and sat with enough managers—some of them genuine greats—to understand the headache they lived with every day. There was no perfect system for every situation; that was a myth. You just stayed up nights building something that could smother the other side even a little.
"Yun-ho, you know this? Every tactic has a weakness. But if you can completely neutralize the strengths of whatever the other guy is using, then in that moment the flaws vanish and the strengths shine."
"Give flesh to take bone... something like that?"
"Oh? That's a fun way to put it. Exactly right. Equivalent exchange. I give this much, so you hand over something of equal weight. You get it?"
Give flesh to take bone. There wasn't a better phrase for tactical warfare, and it still held true now.
3-2-4-1. In attack the wingers drag the ball as wide as possible to pull the full-backs out, then either carve into the half-spaces that open up or feed the center. A system built to hunt space.
So their whole plan was optimized for space? What happens when you erase that space to the extreme?
From that point on, the fancy 3-2-4-1 they'd brought with such ambition left them with nothing.
Of course we paid a price too. That ridiculous 5-4-1 handed them the initiative, and manufacturing any real chance on the break meant running ourselves into the ground. But if the currency was stamina and the prize was shutting down every attacking lane they had, it was a trade worth making.
"Run ahead!"
Thump!
"Ah! Damn it!"
"Hey, how do you miss that?!"
Another counter. I was surging forward to put out the fire when, for a split second, I saw the gap between the two center-backs boxing in our striker.
Tap!
The through ball I stabbed into that pocket hit his foot and that was the end of it.
Thump! Splash!
"Yes!"
"Ha! Seriously! Are you even going to defend or what?!"
Their net bulged again. The fourth goal. The noise in the stadium began to die.
There was still time left on the clock, but anyone who wasn't an idiot knew overturning this was already impossible.
Still... I'd run a ridiculous amount and I still wasn't tired.
"Reading about it on paper never really hit me, but this body's physical gifts are even better than they look."
Maybe the balance was a little off, but I suddenly understood why Baek Yi-an had drawn more eyes than Yoon Seung-hwan in the youth ranks. Hell, even in my past life I hadn't been this monstrous at the same age.
And once I thought that far, Baek Yi-an's lazy personality made perfect sense. Without it, this vicious talent would have stolen every last scrap of attention that was supposed to go to Seung-hwan.
Could an author mainlining lethal doses of striker-glaze stand to watch a holding midfielder soak up the cheers with his own two eyes? Of course not. If he could, he never would have taken my sincere advice and stuck me in this body as revenge.
The spotlight belongs only to the striker, or at least to the attackers. That had been the author's creed.
"Too bad for you. Looks like I'm about to steal that spotlight completely."
You forced the possession on me; now you're going to pay the price.
I was still smirking when I realized the players were drifting toward the bench one by one. In the center of the pitch the coaches were waving us in. Practice match rules: once the gap got this big, there was no point continuing even if time remained.
I nodded and started walking. A voice came from behind me.
"You were really good today. That sudden defensive shift— that was your idea, right? We couldn't do a damn thing."
"Hm? Yoon Seung-hwan?"
Tall, easy smile, hand already outstretched. I hadn't expected him to come to me first.
The surprise threw me for a second, but I took the hand anyway. No hidden agenda—we'd be seeing a lot of each other going forward, and standing there awkward would have been worse.
That was all it was. Seung-hwan, apparently, took it differently.
"W-what? You're actually shaking my hand? What's gotten into you?"
"You're the one who stuck your hand out first. What are you even talking about?"
He greets me, offers the handshake, then acts shocked when I take it... What is this guy's deal?
Maybe the hand wasn't meant as a greeting and I'd just assumed wrong?
While I was still turning it over, Seung-hwan scratched his head, then seemed to decide something and finally said what he'd been holding back.
"N-no, I just never thought you'd actually accept a greeting. Honestly it was also kind of a peace offering."
"Peace offering? What are you on about right now?"
Had Baek Yi-an and Yoon Seung-hwan actually fought? Sure, if you went by the original novel they should have been beating each other senseless, but as far as I knew there had never been any real contact between them. They'd never even argued. Baek Yi-an had simply grown impatient watching Seung-hwan's form rise, felt the wall of talent closing in, started avoiding him, and finally launched one ugly tackle. That was the whole story.
Had the future I knew already changed?
While I worried, Seung-hwan looked like a weight had finally dropped off his chest and let go of my hand.
"I thought I'd done something wrong to you... Ever since the quasi-pro contract you stopped returning greetings and scowled every time you saw me, so I figured I'd messed up somehow..."
"You didn't. I was just in a bad mood lately. Don't worry about it."
"Haha. Really? That's a relief. Ever since youth, playing with you always felt the most comfortable."
The knot inside him gone, color returned to his face. The corners of his mouth lifted.
"Let's keep doing well together. While we're at it, we should tear up the first team the same way we did the junior league."
He said it and walked off. I just stared after him.
Tear them up, huh...
Of course we would. If we didn't, I'd be dead.
And more than that, I still have a score to settle with that author bastard.
Ballon d'Or and World Cup glory. Alone it would have been brutally hard.
With that guy around, though, the story changes completely.
A complete striker painted head-to-toe in protagonist buffs. With him, clearing the quests—and chewing through matches—wouldn't be that difficult at all.
"Hoo, it's hot. I should head in too."
I huffed a short laugh, made my way to the bench, and dropped onto the grass. Every player had to sit through the coaches' feedback, but the losing side always went first. My turn was a long way off; for now I could rest easy.
What to do while I waited? Before I could decide, the phone beside me buzzed against my skin. My eyes snapped to the name on the screen.
Shin A-yoon.
Even looking at it, the message reeked of exhaustion and quiet desperation. But my eyes stayed locked on the sender's name.
Shin A-yoon.
A name far too familiar. Not because I'd known her in my past life. The reason I knew her name was simpler: she was one of the heroines in this novel.
Not the main heroine of The Striker Scores Too Well, but a sub-heroine with heavy screen time because of her setting as a physical performance coach trainee—plenty of scenes tangled up with Yoon Seung-hwan. And she was my personal favorite.
A text from the character I loved most in the whole book. Packed full of that heavy, worn-out feeling, no less.
But that wasn't why my heart was racing. I'd simply remembered something I'd completely forgotten.
Right. Baek Yi-an and Shin A-yoon were childhood friends.
The heroine I adored most, and the person currently closest to her in the entire world, was me.
And there was something even more important still.
Today's date is February 17th... This is the day Baek Yi-an says something cruel, wounds her, and she ends up finding comfort—and the first seeds of affection—with Yoon Seung-hwan.
The last of the two big mistakes Baek Yi-an had made. The day I could still fix it.
Today.
By the time that thought finished forming, my hands were already moving.