The True Core of Jeonbuk (2)

“Hey, Baek Yi-an. So what did the manager say about me? I was sleeping with my eyes open, so I completely missed it.”

“Huh? He said he can’t stand watching you strut around already thinking you’ve locked up the Golden Boot, so he’s not playing you next match.”

The moment I delivered the line with a completely cold expression, Yoon Seung-hwan’s eyes went round as saucers and then started trembling.

After a brief freeze, he immediately jabbed a finger into Han Gang-rok’s arm beside him.

“Hey. Did the manager notice I was asleep?”

“Huh? You were sleeping? I thought you were awake the whole time. Did you figure out how to sleep with your eyes open? Dude! If you’d cracked that secret, you should’ve told me! I’ve got Yong-ho hyung next to me so I can’t even doze off!”

“That’s not the point right now, you lunatic! Did the manager say he’s not using me next game or not?!”

Seung-hwan grabbed Gang-rok’s arm with a desperate look, and Gang-rok stared back at him with pure “what the hell is this guy’s problem” energy.

“Not using you? What are you talking about, you idiot? If he doesn’t play you, who’s supposed to feed me and my twin brother assists? Our mom’s coming to the Seoul match—you want her to watch us run around like dogs and just go home?”

“Huh? But Baek Yi-an said the manager told him he wasn’t playing me…”

“He said that? No way. The manager said the team doctors flagged the four of us for a bit of fatigue buildup, so we’re starting on the bench.”

“Ah, what the—Baek Yi-an, you bastard, you scared the hell out of me!”

Having received the red pill from Han Gang-rok, Seung-hwan finally realized he’d been thoroughly trolled. He shot to his feet, eyes blazing.

Lately I’ve been wondering how on earth a guy like this is supposed to be the protagonist of this world.

Even in the novel he was painted as a bit of a maniac, but that version of Yoon Seung-hwan was usually the one actively roasting teammates. He was nowhere near the punching-bag role he plays now.

Maybe the ones who dish it out best also take it best? Anyway, it’s fascinating. Truly fascinating.

While I was thinking that, Seung-hwan was still catching his breath like he’d just aged ten years.

Curious, I quietly listened to his muttering and caught something interesting.

“Aigo. Almost blew the commercial deal. Thought I was done for.”

“What commercial deal? Someone actually offered you an ad? Don’t tell me you fell for some weird spam DM. I knew you were dumb, but I didn’t think you were that dumb…”

“What are you talking about? It came from someone reliable, okay? Just wait and be surprised. While you’re sitting at home sucking your fingers, I’ll be on TV and YouTube.”

Seung-hwan looked so smug about it. At first I figured he’d gotten scammed by some spam mail again.

But looking at that face, it seemed he’d actually received a real commercial offer from somewhere.

Or…? The way he said he ‘almost blew it’ makes it sound like nothing’s locked in yet—they’re just watching him closely.

The idea that anyone would offer this guy a commercial was already funny enough, but at the same time a question popped into my head.

Who on earth would make the insane decision to cast Yoon Seung-hwan as their advertising model?

Plenty of brands use footballers as models, sure. But not European-based stars like Kang Jin hyung or Min-hyeong hyung—an actual K-League player like Yoon Seung-hwan?

Unless the client was completely obsessed, how did this even make sense?

Faced with something I couldn’t understand, I thought it over carefully and finally remembered one key fact.

Ah, right. Ha Ji-yoo. She exists.

There was someone next to Seung-hwan who had enough influence to personally pick advertising models.

If you were the beloved youngest daughter of the chairman of Meta Vibe—one of the biggest conglomerates in Korea—you’d naturally have some say in who the company used for ads.

Ha Ji-yoo, completely smitten with Seung-hwan, had probably said something like, “Work hard and I’ll plug you into one of our company commercials!”

With no real talk of a club takeover yet, that was pretty much the only card she could play with him right now.

Knowing that, I finally get why he freaked out so hard. He wanted to put in a good performance, lock down the commercial, and nearly ended up finishing the match on the bench—yeah, that would drive anyone crazy.

Of course I personally had zero attachment to commercials or TV appearances—aside from one talk-show appearance after winning the World Cup, I never really did ads or shoots.

But most players make serious money through endorsements, so I couldn’t exactly blame Seung-hwan for getting this desperate.

Still, whether he can actually put in a good performance against Seoul is another question entirely.

Listening to Seung-hwan’s bizarre little whimper, I smirked and thought about the opponent waiting for us.

The Seoul I remember played the kind of football that made you want to throw up.

Not because their style was disgusting or the club itself was unlikeable.

It was the manager.

Specifically, the football philosophy that Seoul United’s manager Nam Jae-yoon pursued—from my perspective, it was pure vomit-inducing stuff.

Manager Nam Jae-yoon is similar to our manager yet completely different. The common point is that neither of them was a former player, yet both walked the managerial path purely out of love for the game. The difference is that our manager just packed up and left for Spain, while Nam Jae-yoon started by knocking on doors all the way down in the K7 League.

Their styles were polar opposites too.

Manager Sun Ki-baek valued build-up play and aimed for free-flowing football that took points off opponents with clean, attractive performances.

Manager Nam Jae-yoon was different.

He was the kind of man who would abandon build-up entirely if necessary, just to clog the opponent’s attack and hunt for counter-attacks… the so-called “don’t-lose football.”

You could never call it overwhelming or charming. If anything, it was pure “results football.”

Basically a budget version of the Special One, José Mourinho, during the Chelsea era when he won titles with the fewest goals conceded.

The sad part was that this version of Mourinho was more like his Manchester United days rather than Inter or Chelsea.

Still, even Mourinho at United was a hell of a manager. Back then I was so curious how he used to play that I looked up old matches—I’d fall asleep around the fourteenth minute and wake up to find the game either drawn or won.

He parked the bus against strong teams and weak teams alike, making every match filthy boring. And once he decided to park it, he should have at least defended properly—instead he’d make some useless substitution that gutted his own defensive solidity and self-destruct, which used to make my blood boil.

Even so, his results football still produced good moments at United.

There’s a reason people still say that, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ferguson aside, Mourinho was the best manager United ever had…

The style alone was enough to make you tear your hair out, but it was unmistakably “don’t-lose football.”

He actually finished second in the league and won the Europa League trophy, after all.

And the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠team we had to face—Seoul—carried that exact Mourinho DNA in thick doses.

On top of that, it was a Children’s Day match at Sangam. From Seoul’s perspective, they would be desperate to take ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us down.

In that case, Seoul is going to sit in a blood-boiling low block.

Until kickoff there was no way of knowing exactly what tactics they had prepared.

They might double down on their usual approach and go even more extreme defensively. Or, contrary to my expectations, they might come out swinging early to seize momentum and then shut up shop.

But one thing was certain.

This is going to be a seriously tough match… that much is crystal clear.

Which made the consideration the manager had shown us feel pretty damn good.

If he rested us properly in the first half and then brought us on depending on the situation in the second, it would give us more than enough time to figure out exactly how Seoul intended to play the game.

And once I had that information, what I needed to do on the pitch was obvious.

Buzz.

Scouts’ eyes are already on me? Then making damn sure they know exactly what kind of player I am during the match wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.

That said… why does Oliver also insist on shortening Ibrahim Poppy to just “Poppy”?

No matter how hard I thought about it, I simply could not understand it.

The moment I heard our opponent was Seoul, I judged that we would struggle far more than in our previous matches.

Our team currently had no losses in the league except for the Pohang game, and we often ran up big scores when we won, so the prediction might have sounded overly humble.

But the reason I made that call was simple: Seoul was extremely good at defensive football.

Not just good. Extremely good.

Defend first, counter later.

It was the kind of tactical style you usually saw from weaker sides with thin squad depth and lower-quality players when they faced a massive gap in quality.

But that system wasn’t exclusive to underdogs. If a properly stocked, solid squad built an entire system around defend-and-counter, the matches would be boring as hell… but the results would be rock solid.

From the opposing team’s perspective, it was the kind of vomit-inducing performance that made you wonder what kind of lunatics you were dealing with.

That was why I had judged the Seoul match would be seriously tough.

And that judgment was proving exactly right.

“The game’s really bogged down, isn’t it, Manager?”

“Tell me about it. Seoul is dead set on giving us zero space. They’ve completely stretched the gap between the first and second lines.”

“With them sitting that deep from the start, we can’t get any penetrations through. Even when we try to overload, their shifting is too fast. Should we tell the boys to use more long-range shots?”

“Long shots aren’t the answer. When they’re packed that tight, set pieces are the better option. Actually, this works out fine. They can’t keep running like that until the final whistle. Have them move as much as possible in the first half to drain their energy, then we’ll throw the dice in the second half.”

I expected it, but they’re really playing dirty. How badly do they want this win?

Watching Seoul’s defense from the bench made my eyebrows knit on their own.

They kept dropping from a mid-block into a low-block without end, to the point I thought even a defend-first side was taking it too far—then the moment they settled near the penalty box they built a literal Wall of Lamentations.

Our team threw everything we had at it—overloads, occasional breakthrough attempts—but every single effort got snuffed out by Seoul’s defense.

I was well aware that with the usual starters—including Seung-hwan and me—and the fullback twins all out, the chemistry was lacking and the quality wasn’t complete. Even factoring that in, Seoul’s defensive solidity remained an unchanging fact.

The manager is clearly focusing on draining Seoul’s stamina in the first half with the second-half substitutions already in mind.

Right now that wall was not going to be easy to break. So once the second half started and ten to fifteen minutes had passed, we would have to throw the main players—including me—straight into the fire and force a result.

Once I understood the manager’s intention, I couldn’t just sit still.

Sitting on the bench where I could read the flow of the game more comfortably, I had to find some way—any way—to crack Seoul’s defense.

And so, after the first half ended and five minutes of the second half had ticked by…

Hmm… wouldn’t this work?

I found a way to break through Seoul’s defense.

It was only the result of running simulations based on my past-life experience, so whether it would actually work was something I would only know once I was out on the pitch.

“Yi-an. Get ready. You’re coming on for Seung-yong. Start as a double pivot for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now, but if Seoul keeps sitting in that low block, leave the back to Sang-yong and push up into Choon-jae’s position to form a line. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Understood.”

Fortunately, the moment of proof arrived sooner than I expected.