Special Performance (2)

We may have demolished Suwon 4–0 in the ACL, but they were never a side you could afford to write off.

Unlike the spring-to-fall league calendar, the AFC Champions League Elite ran on a fall-to-spring schedule. That round-of-sixteen clash with Suwon had been played at the end of February, before the league even opened — meaning both ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sides were still half-built when we met. Even a settled squad can look clumsy in its first outing, with mistimed passes and mismatched runs; a team in transition suffers worse.

Granted, our roster had changed more than theirs. The point was this: an early win meant nothing. They were sitting third in the league for a reason, and they had the grit to prove it.

Like right now.

"Gyeong-rok! Don't give them intervals — hold the line! Just jockey! Ye-jun, keep your spacing!"

"I'm trying to spring Yong-ho free! Someone pick up the runner coming from deep!"

"What? Ah, shit!"

From the kickoff, Suwon pushed forward with a 3–1 build-up, stitching midfield open with one-twos and long balls before switching play to Yoo Si-on on the far side. He hugged the touchline and drove at us, forcing our back line to drop — and the moment a gap opened between the defense and the holding mids, five Suwon players flooded the channel.

Thud!

Thump!

"Hoo. Don't drop that deep! If you're going to retreat that far, the holding mids have to drop with you! You're just inviting them in!"

Tae-yeong hyung's save kept it out, but Suwon had forced a shot on target inside the opening minutes. That alone told them they could dictate tempo against Jeonbuk.

This isn't going to work...

A flicker of unease settled in my chest. The point of the manager's 3-4-3 was simple: overload the opposition, force easy decisions, and seize the midfield through sheer numbers. Control the middle, and every attacking pattern becomes a weapon. Against a Suwon side that preferred to break with fewer midfielders and live off runs in behind, that control was non-negotiable.

"Hoo. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Guess I've got to take the wheel."

I'd planned to ease into the game — my head was still half on the performance prep — but the unfamiliar shape had everyone looking lost. If I wanted any kind of build-up before the real show, I'd have to drive it myself.

"Yong-ho! Straight to Yi-an!"

"Yi-an! You set the tempo — break them down yourself!"

From Tae-yeong hyung's clean claim, the ball moved through Yong-ho and into my feet. A crisp first touch, and I began to stroll the pitch, rearranging bodies as I went.

"Han Gang-rok! Push high! Come up on Shaferi's side — Sang-hyeon hyung, cover Gang-rok's spot! Yeah, that's it! Perfect!"

Wing-back Han Gang-rok surged high while Han Gyeong-rok dropped deeper, converting the three-man back line into a temporary four. Yeon-woo hyung and Shaferi stepped up, and suddenly the middle held a box of four: me, Choon-jae hyung, Yeon-woo hyung, and Shaferi.

The three Suwon midfielders involved in the build-up were completely pinned. Wherever the ball went, we had the numbers.

But the true purpose of the manager's system wasn't just to trap three men.

The real magic happens the moment you split the pitch in half.

Pack five players on the right, and you overload their shape until it buckles. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Easy enough to see from the stands or the technical area. From the middle of the pitch, though? Almost impossible to diagnose in real time.

"Yeon-jun, you have to release it now!"

"Seong-jin hyung, there's too many markers! Osgar, drop in and help!"

"Ah, damn it!"

"Bo-hyeon! Come get this! Stop looking to run in behind and drop!"

Caught in the press, Suwon's midfield started coughing up the ball. A side that lived off transitions rather than patient possession rarely had the cleanest feet under pressure.

Tap!

"Ah! Get back on him — win it!"

"Nice ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one, Sang-hyeon. Play it on!"

"Yes! Yong-ho hyung — Yi-an and Choon-jae are free. Straight ahead!"

"Yi-an! Take it and switch on the half-turn!"

Sang-hyeon senior pounced on Hwang Bo-hyeon, stripped him, and funneled the ball through Yong-ho to me. Suwon's midfield had gone limp; their teammates, seeing them trapped, started drifting central to help.

Unfortunately for them, arriving late didn't make them saviors.

"That's when you get boxed in. You think, Yes, the cavalry! — and then it's, Oh. We're trapped too."

Once you get dragged over, space opens on the other side. It's football's oldest truth, and the keystone of every system ever drawn up.

"Han Gyeong-rok! Run!"

Thump!

"Hey! Switch! Switch — get across and stop him!"

Suwon had forgotten that truth entirely.

Tap!

Gyeong-rok took the ball into the empty acres of Suwon's back line and tore forward. The remaining defenders scrambled to slow him down.

Whoosh!

"What? How did he get past there?!"

Han Gyeong-rok and Han Gang-rok — listed as fullbacks, but with the pace and appetite of wingers. One-on-one, beating a man was nothing for either of them.

Drive after drive. Run after run. Suwon's back line was getting picked clean, and the finishing touch, as always, came from a familiar face.

"Yoon Seung-hwan! I'll square it — put it away! Miss and you know what happens!"

"Ah, come on — you think I can't bury this?"

Thump!

Gyeong-rok's cross found Yoon Seung-hwan. He chested it down and struck in one motion.

Rip!

The shot tore into the net hard enough to threaten the frame.

The roar of the Mad Green Boys on the far side told me, from my spot near the center circle, that the ball was in. Which meant there was only one thing left to do.

"You haters! Putting Baek Yi-an as your co-op pick instead of me? Fine — then I'll just celebrate— SIUUU— ugh!"

"Baek Yi-an, get over here! I've got Yoon Seung-hwan! Han Gyeong-rok — you run too, we've got a celebration to do!"

Yoon Seung-hwan had already started spinning his right index finger for the Howu celebration when Han Gang-rok charged in and locked him in a bear hug from behind. Mid-jump, Seung-hwan was pinned and thrashing. I closed the distance and launched into the routine we'd prepared.

"Nice work, Gang-rok. Yoon Seung-hwan — face down, now. We've got a celebration to run."

"What? Why me? If we're celebrating, the guy who scored should be the star! What is wrong with you people— hey— AAAGH!!"

"Shut up and lie down... Yi-an, hurry!"

Han Gyeong-rok slipped in, hooked Seung-hwan's legs, and dumped him flat. Gang-rok, cast as the handlebars, locked into position. I mounted the saddle — Seung-hwan — like I was driving a stake, and started pedaling.

The bicycle celebration.

A rare sight even in Europe — and in the relatively buttoned-up history of the K League, completely unheard of. Something that went past clever and straight into the deeply unhinged was now unfolding at Big Bird.

"Stop it, Baek Yi-an! My back! Think about how much you weigh, you bastard!"

"Man, Gyeong-rok — we cooked with this one, didn't we? Look how much the Suwon fans love it."

"Right? Since we're already here, want to give them a little more?"

"I said stop! Why are you doing this to me?!"

The bicycle celebration that had whipped Suwon's stands into a frenzy finally ended when the referee came sprinting over, out of breath.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?! Provocative celebration — yellow cards, all of you."

"Sir? I'm the victim here! Baek Yi-an, Han Gyeong-rok, Han Gang-rok — those three are the problem! Absolute menaces!"

"You little— Yoon Seung-hwan, you want to keep talking back? Looking for a red?"

"This is insane — it wasn't me! I was forced!"

"Quiet! I'm done listening. Baek Yi-an! Watch yourself. Next time, you're gone. Understood?"

"Uh, sir? Quick question — may I use my speaking rights?"

"What."

"Since we've already got the cards... could we just finish the wheelie? This is the highlight we prepared—"

"You little—!"

The threat of a red wasn't bluff; the ref's face had gone scarlet. I waved both hands and backed off.

A yellow card. For a holding midfielder who lived in contact duels, it was a real constraint — the kind that could change how you played.

I didn't care. A card wasn't going to stop me, and any player who flinched at one yellow had no business being out here.

Moments like this called for optimism. Half a bottle of water left? Don't say it's half empty. Say it's half full.

One yellow? Then next time I pull an even better celebration, pick up a second, clock out early, and go roll around with A-yoon. We're first in the league anyway — a few losses wouldn't touch the title.

If Jeonbuk steamrolled everyone, the rest of the league would lose the will to fight and the whole competition would go flat. A little well-timed villainy from me could put the brakes on and keep the product healthy.

Ha. I really do everything around here. At this point they should invent an award above Player of the Month just for me.

I snorted at my own talent for normalizing the unhinged and glanced up at the scoreboard — then past it.

Hmm... that must be the Suwon owner. The one sweating through a conversation beside him looks like the sporting director. Wonder what celebration I should cook up next...

From the skybox in Big Bird's W seats, they were looking down on the pitch. I flicked a little smile their way.

The Jeonbuk Circus Troupe's special performance for Suwon's owner was far from over.