Special Performance (1)

Soccer looks simple enough from the outside, but it’s a sport where a single small shift can decide victory or defeat.

So unless the gap in capital between clubs is truly extreme, most teams spend an entire season cycling through rise and fall. A side that surges early and looks ready for a real revival can suddenly crash and end up right back where it started. Another that nobody expected anything from can explode overnight and finish the season on a high. All of it comes down to the same thing.

Compared to the short, spaced-out cup competitions, a long league campaign is structured so that those kinds of accidents happen very easily. For a manager preparing for matches, that means every tiny variable ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠has to be weighed, and the best possible plan has to be built around them.

Sun Ki-baek.

He had been a coach at CD Castellón in Spain’s Segunda División before financial trouble thrust him into the interim manager’s seat, where he proceeded to raise a storm. He never quite managed promotion, though, so he had already tasted the bitter edge of failure once. Maybe that was why, despite leading the league with a crushing 7–1 record, his expression remained set in stone.

“So if we put the coaching staff’s opinions together, you’re saying we need to rework the tactics for the Suwon Ohseong Bluefeather match?”

“That’s right. We did win against Suwon CF, but the way we set a high press line and, when we lose the ball up top, keep pressing even harder instead of dropping back into the defensive line… the fatigue is stacking up pretty badly.”

“Then what about subbing the regulars out early in the second half and rotating the bench more aggressively? Wouldn’t that solve it?”

“Even setting aside the chemistry of the players coming on, it would only be a temporary patch. The real problem right now is how intense your tactics are, Boss. We can paper over it for a few matches, but after that the same issues will start showing up in the replacements too.”

Head coach Oh Hyun-ook answered Sun Ki-baek’s questions with a dry little laugh.

“And more than anything, replacing the key pieces in the current system isn’t easy. Just look at the Pohang match without Yi-an.”

“True enough. We lost by a hair, but the performance itself wasn’t satisfying.”

Resting both hands on the desk and closing his eyes, Sun Ki-baek cast his mind back to the early-April clash with Pohang. From the outside it had looked as though Jeonbuk, even without the suspended Baek Yi-an and Han Yong-ho, had kept their tactical identity and still put Pohang under pressure. Sun Ki-baek hadn’t liked that match one bit. The build-up from the back had been stiff, and more than that they had basically steamrolled Pohang’s thin depth—already weakened by lack of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠club support—through sheer individual effort. That was what Jeonbuk looked like once the core players were missing.

With that kind of performance, could we really go up against Ulsan or Seoul?

He mulled it over for a moment, then let out a quiet snort of laughter. Defeat. The word every manager hated most—yet the saying that failure is the mother of success existed for a reason. If they hadn’t lost to Pohang, he would have completely forgotten this crucial fact.

“Does everyone else share the head coach’s view?”

“Yes. We’re all thinking along the same lines.”

“Looking at the team doctors’ reports, they’re asking for lower press intensity and a more fluid, organic system.”

“Lee Seung-yong’s rehab is going very well, so we hear he can come on for short spells starting next match. Using a system that can get the most out of him wouldn’t be a bad idea either.”

“Understood. I’ve already got a system in mind, so…”

Having heard the coaches out, Sun Ki-baek rose from his seat and walked over to the tactics board.

Tap. Tap. Scrape.

The coaching staff watched closely as he moved the magnets representing the players this way and that. When he finally stepped back from the board, nodding twice in satisfaction, the staff could see the new blade Jeonbuk intended to draw against Suwon Ohseong Bluefeather.

“That’s…”

“A 3-4-3 setup. It can morph into a 5-4-1 defensively, and in attack it can still push into the usual 4-2-3-1, a 3-box-3, or even a 2-3-5. Definitely room for organic variation.”

“Which means the players will have to have a real grasp of space…”

3-4-3. Exactly what the coaches had asked for—a system that could roam the pitch wide, smother the opponent with constant organic movement, lower the overall intensity of the press, and still unleash maximum aggression when the moment demanded it. That was the new blade Sun Ki-baek had drawn.

“Don’t worry about the formation. I’ve already got the players in mind.”

Sun Ki-baek allowed himself a thin smile and looked at his staff with complete confidence.

“Word is Suwon’s front office is coming in force to watch the match against us. They’re out of the ACL, so supposedly it’s just to support a side that’s doing well in the league, but…”

Silence stretched. The coaches simply stared, hanging on every word. And in that silence they saw it.

The mad devil who had turned down love calls from multiple La Liga clubs and come home to Korea for nothing more than pure love of Jeonbuk.

“In other words, the most important part of our tactics is overload. It’s not just about creating numerical superiority—it’s about constantly forcing the opponent to make choices.”

On match day against Suwon Ohseong Bluefeather, the manager was in the dressing room, moving his whole body as he explained with full intensity.

“Let’s assume a situation like this. Shaferi tucks inside, and the wing-back Han Gang-rok fills that space. That means Han Gyeong-rok drops a little deeper to form a back four. Now you’ve got an asymmetrical back four with the second line shifted to the right, and the opponent is stuck with an easy decision that isn’t easy at all—do they clog the right where the ball is, or do they cover the open space? We’re forcing that choice on them.”

The system the manager had prepared this ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time wasn’t the usual 4-2-3-1 but a 3-4-3. From what he’d said, it was meant to ease the brutal intensity of the previous tactics and cut down on player fatigue. That must have been why so many new faces were in the lineup today—as if he were dealing an entirely fresh hand.

So instead of Sang-yong hyung he’s pairing me with Choon-jae hyung in the double pivot, and for the back three he’s put in full-backs and center-backs who can cover for Gang-rok and Gyeong-rok when they push up as wing-backs?

Lee Ye-jun and Son Sang-hyeon. Both had looked solid for Jeonbuk last season, but like Sang-yong hyung they had been out for a while because of club issues. Seeing them in the lineup now, those problems must have been sorted out.

They’re experienced seniors, so even in an unfamiliar center-back role they should be fine. And with wing-backs in the system, even if they start as center-backs their actual job is going to feel more like full-backs anyway.

So there was no need to worry about whether the seniors would do their jobs, or whether I’d have to clean up every mistake that came from that line.

“All right. Take a short break, then get ready to head out when you’re set.”

With that the manager returned to his place, and the players began preparing for the match according to their individual routines. Me? I had nothing particular to do, so I just checked my phone.

Coplay Pick. It was a segment run by Coplay, the platform that handled K League broadcasts. Normally it was about match dominance, pass maps, and debating where the game would be decided. Lately, though, they had been doing it in a slightly unusual way.

By 2029 AI technology had advanced so far that it was now widely used in sports. They were using it to select each team’s key player. Experts could still pick standout players without AI, of course, but people had tastes, so they were leaning hard into AI for purely objective, data-driven analysis.

Still, I hadn’t expected them to pick me…

“They’re picking me for this?”

“Ooooh… Yi-an’s on the Coplay Pick. Then again, a guy like you deserves it. You’re doing everything from the back.”

“What? Hyung! Baek Yi-an got the Coplay Pick? I scored a brace last game, so why—”

“Yoon Seung-hwan. No matter how well you play, you think an AI is going to pick a guy who dumps three million won in cash into a dating app?”

“Yeah, that tracks. I’d pick the handsome Baek Yi-an too.”

“I did not! And it wasn’t Platinum—it came out Diamond, okay?!”

Apparently he had expected to be the one selected. The moment Yoon Seung-hwan overheard my muttering, he completely lost it. He screeched and flopped onto the locker-room floor while the twins cheerfully snapped photos of the whole scene. Looking at them, it was hard to believe those two had been mortal enemies in the original novel.

Still, the fact that Seung-hwan’s calling it Diamond rank means he’s actually tried the dating app himself.

Back at the clubhouse he had thrown a fit asking why anyone would even use that stuff, so I had thought he was some pure-love type. Apparently not entirely.

I had tried it too, of course. Not because I wanted to meet anyone besides A-yoon—nothing like that. The twins had just been curious what score my face would get, so they snuck my photo onto the app without telling me.

I think the rank that came back was Grandmaster or something. I deliberately uploaded a weird photo so people wouldn’t realize I was a Jeonbuk player, and even then I still beat Seung-hwan.

I was still thinking that when the twins, apparently bored of teasing Seung-hwan, wandered over and sat down around me.

“Yo, Yi-an. Speaking of which, you see this? The Suwon manager did another interview about our team.”

“Again? Like last time?”

“Yeah, but it’s not trash talk the way it used to be… Ah, just look.”

Han Gyeong-rok shook his head mid-explanation and simply handed me his phone with the article open.

“Still thinks he can beat us, huh? We already beat the hell out of them once. Guess that wasn’t enough.”

“Compared to before, though, the venom’s definitely gone. We must actually scare them a little.”

That was true enough. This was the same guy who used to say things like “I’m not factoring in the new faces; they won’t even play.” After the league started and the young players on our side—including me—kept putting in good performances, he must have learned something.

Even so, the gall of saying he would win “overwhelmingly” was not something I was prepared to forgive.

I kept scrolling and found the follow-up article.

Oh… JE Planning’s representative is basically Suwon’s owner, right? And he’s actually coming to watch.

The massive Ohseong Group itself had largely lost interest in sports. Aside from baseball, it was rare for them to show up at matches of the clubs they sponsored. Whatever the reason, they were coming today.

Why, though? Just to cheer the players on?

I was curious why the club’s top brass had suddenly decided to attend, but I decided not to dig too deep. Knowing their reason wouldn’t change what I had to do.

If we just win, everything works out fine for me anyway.

Showing Suwon’s front office, who had come all this way, what real soccer entertainment looked like. Wasn’t that all there was to it?

The article had a short blurb about JE Planning’s representative. It said that taking up cycling as a hobby had gotten him interested in exercise, and that was what led him to start visiting the football club.

Wow. How does this guy already know I picked up more than five red cards for provocative celebrations back when I was at Juventus? Maybe I should treat him to a bicycle-kick celebration.

There were so many moves I had prepared that I rarely used them unless I was in a particularly good—or particularly foul—mood. But for Suwon’s VIP who had made the long trip out… putting on a little show didn’t sound like such a bad idea.