First Experience (1)

Thanks to my parents ditching their son to go watch UFC, I was left alone at the table, hunched up and quietly holding down our seats.

It wasn't that I felt self-conscious sitting alone in a restaurant, or that I was scared. Who the hell would be scared of something like that? If I'd been that timid to begin with, I never would have managed a single celebration on the pitch.

I was just a little awkward about the way this whole situation was unfolding.

No matter how many times I see it, I just can't get used to this. How on earth do those two keep their relationship going?

Whether it was A-yoon's parents or mine, watching them always made me wonder how they'd ever managed to meet and actually get married.

My mother and father had met while training for the Asian Games, bonding over practice sessions, while A-yoon's parents had gone to a blind date set up by a university joint club of overseas football supporters, realized they were fans of rival teams, decided to just go grab a drink instead—and somehow ended up dating and then married.

Getting all the way to marriage means they must be a good match, but…

How could two people fight every chance they got? Some days my mother would take the beating, and other days my father would get thoroughly worked over instead.

Maybe bickering that often is actually the secret to their relationship?

Having never managed a proper romance or marriage in either this life or my last one, I simply couldn't wrap my head around it. Who knows? Maybe someday A-yoon and I would end up like that too. Thinking about it, I was genuinely grateful she wasn't a fan of any team yet. At least we wouldn't end up in a marital shouting match over a football match.

Sitting around nervously waiting for my parents to come back from their scrap wasn't exactly appealing, so I pulled out my phone.

Hmm… nothing to look at. Huh? What's this?

As I scrolled absently, one name snagged my eye.

Do something about Yoon Seung-hwan? More importantly, what kind of chaos was he causing that they were calling me for help?

Normally, when those three got together, the Han twins should have been the ones pinning Seung-hwan between them and beating the hell out of him.

"Is there even anything that would make Yoon Seung-hwan lose it like that?"

I racked my brain, but nothing particularly convincing came to mind. At best, he'd won Player of the Month in March, then got pushed down to Young Player of the Month by me in April.

After a moment of thought, I decided I had the time to check. Even if Seung-hwan was throwing a fit, he'd almost certainly just be sulking over something trivial.

"Ugh, how many messages piled up? Sixty-four?"

What on earth could three guys be talking about to generate that many messages? I started reading carefully from the unread portion—and immediately understood.

This bastard's at it again.

I didn't know the reason, but quiet Seung-hwan was once more going completely off the rails. From the look of things, signing with a famous German agent had him painting a picture of transferring to the Bundesliga at the end of the season.

"Did I hit him too hard when I forced him to change course last time? He didn't look like he was in pain, so I just went for it, but maybe the internal shock was worse than I thought."

I was curious how he'd even managed to sign an agency deal with Volker Struss, who mainly worked the German market—but I decided not to care that far. With an outstanding agent like Oliver already in my corner, I had zero interest in anyone else.

What I needed to do right now was kindly put Yoon Seung-hwan, who was clearly mainlining pure German hype, back in his place.

The same Seung-hwan who'd been firing off message after message went dead quiet the moment the Fullback Dynasty brothers and I ganged up on him. But I wasn't ready to stop yet.

This ought to straighten his head out for good.

"I don't get why he pulls this weird crap when he's just going to get put in his place again in two seconds."

Showing him the brand-new articles that had just dropped was enough to shut Seung-hwan up completely. With that settled, I turned my attention back to the food.

What waited for me after re-signing with Jeonbuk was none other than a home match against Pohang.

We'd already faced them once in Matchday 5 and suffered a frustrating loss—but that had been an away game, and I'd been missing as the linchpin of the back line. It hadn't been a full-strength side by any measure.

Not that I was trying to pull a "we can't accept defeat just because a few players were out" speech like some legendary Japanese national-team first-stringer. I simply believed that with our key players fully back and in peak condition, we had to prevent another bitter loss no matter what.

"You all remember the painful defeat we suffered against Pohang last month, right? The chance for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠revenge has come—so go out there and play without any regrets! Understood!"

"Yes, sir!"

I clearly wasn't the only one thinking that way. The moment the manager finished his speech, a thunderous roar erupted from the squad.

This was a home game at Jeonju Castle, completely different from last time, and I was back after missing the previous match through suspension. On top of that, Jeonbuk's recent form had been nothing to scoff at. Our team's morale was soaring high enough to pierce the sky.

"Ah, shit, this is driving me crazy. I thought we'd finally caught up."

Unfortunately, that sky-piercing morale must have twisted into arrogance, because in the thirty-fifth minute of the first half we conceded another equalizer-turned-lead goal.

With the score now 1–2 after the go-ahead goal, Pohang's supporters erupted in celebration. Strictly speaking it was still the first half with plenty of time left, and only a one-goal gap—so was that much cheering really necessary? Then I glanced toward our own half and understood how they felt.

"…That actually hurts. I've been working my ass off, and instead of cheering the fans are accusing me of tanking."

"They're telling you to hang in there—why are you getting all mopey? Get back in position already."

Thinking over the performance Pohang had shown throughout the first half, I frowned. I hated to admit it, but Pohang had clearly prepared well for us, while we were failing to execute the game plan we'd practiced.

And the bigger problem is that Pohang didn't even bring a special anti-us tactic.

They were simply playing their usual style with a few tweaks to the finer details—no major tactical overhaul. In other words, we'd been getting outplayed on pure quality so far.

"Their base is a 4-2-3-1, so the midfield is already crowded, and when both fullbacks tuck inside to form a four-man midfield they seize the numerical advantage and the game just won't go our way…"

I wanted to use the reverse presses and overload-isolation patterns we'd drilled until they were second nature, but being outnumbered in midfield left me with no answers. To break this open, someone had to grind through by force…

And I don't see anyone else who can do it…

Was I really the only one who could crack this crisis open?

Honestly, if I had to, I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could. It wasn't like I'd sat on a Ballon d'Or podium for nothing. Pure ability-wise, people in the game had rated me as comparable to Rodri—Ballon d'Or winner and the Premier League's best defensive midfielder. That kind of quality doesn't just disappear.

The only thing holding me back was a lack of self-assurance about pushing high up the pitch without the manager's orders.

A trigger. If I had that, I was confident I could attempt some real crackerjack play.

"Huh?"

Coincidentally, the person who gave me that trigger was the camera operator working Jeonju Castle.

"Is that A-yoon? What the—when we re-signed, Oliver said as a gift that family could use the VIP seats for free anytime. Did they actually set that up?"

I couldn't hear her voice, but on the big screen ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A-yoon was bouncing up and down, waving her arms. She was probably shouting my name and yelling something or other. A pleased smile slipped out as I watched—then a warning bell clanged in my head.

Hold on. Does that mean on A-yoon's first day watching from the VIP seats, I might show her the pathetic sight of us losing to Pohang?

Anyone else might ask what the big deal was. Not me. My girlfriend's boyfriend had succeeded as a footballer, re-signed with enough clout to get free VIP access whenever he wanted, and on this historic day of her coming to see that for herself—I was going to show her a loss?

Absolutely not. Ruining A-yoon's first VIP experience was completely off the table.

Those thoughts flashed through my mind in a fraction of a second—and in that same instant, my body was already moving.

"Ah, damn it! Sang-yong! It's coming your way! Stop the counter!"

"Got it! I'll take him! Yi-an, you cover the space!"

"No! I'll track him myself. Sang-yong hyung, you cover the space! Just watch the right-back overlap! Defense, don't drop too soft—hold the line!"

Pohang wasted no time converting our mistake into a lightning-fast counter. I left protecting the back four to Sang-yong and kept my distance from their attacker, waiting patiently for the right moment.

The core of Pohang's tactics, as I'd pieced it together over the first half, was simple.

To cover for a somewhat weaker volante, both fullbacks pushed into the middle, momentarily transforming the 4-2-3-1 into a 2-4-3-1. From that midfield numerical advantage they played out with composure, then either threaded a through ball into space or immediately hit on the break the moment they won the ball. In the process they would organically push the fullbacks high again—almost like wingers—to form a five-man front.

So they double down on midfield numbers, then go all-out when they attack.

Fine. A five-man front would overwhelm most back lines, and that overwhelming attack would translate straight into goals. That was exactly how Pohang had managed to put two past us in the first half.

But my belief has always been that there's no such thing as a perfect tactic in football. Every system has a gap.

They've pushed the right-back high again to form that five-man front. If I can just take the ball here, they're completely open.

Once the collapse starts, it becomes unstoppable. That was what I was aiming for.

Tap. Tap. Tap!

I didn't rush in. I held my distance and dropped off. The Pohang attacker watching me slowed down and started controlling the ball. He had plenty of options—take me on himself, or use the teammates around him. I judged that he'd go for the pass, and watched the atmosphere carefully.

Tap… tap… tap!

Eyes off the ball. Now!

The instant his concentration on scanning his surroundings let the ball drift away from his feet, I exploded forward and stuck out my leg. A burst of speed no one expected from a frame like mine. If he'd been ready he might still have reacted, but with his focus elsewhere the attacker completely missed my movement.

"I'm busy, so I'll be going first."

"Shit! We're fucked! Get back, now!"

The moment I stripped the ball, a wide-open midfield greeted me.

One tackle had neutralized five attackers. That left five opponents behind the ball, not counting the keeper. Three of them had to hold the back three, so they couldn't charge me. Of the remaining two, one might close me down, but the other had to guard against a switch. In short, one mistake had left Pohang with only a single available body for man-marking.

"Shit! Please—!"

Tap, slip!

"Aaah!"

Even as a defensive midfielder, beating one player was nothing.

"Yi-an!"

"I was going to pass it anyway. Drag it down the flank, and when I get set, put it on my head!"

Still at full speed, I beat another man with a Marseille turn and laid the ball off to Han Gang-rok, who'd sprinted up in support. The second he received it, Gang-rok carved down the wing. I shifted into the central space where our attackers had already spread out, planting myself in the single most ideal position for Gang-rok to deliver the ball.

Five against three. That was the numerical gap between our attackers and Pohang's defense—and with the marking that loose, I could afford an even greedier choice.

Boom!

Thud!

The instant Gang-rok's cross came in, I attacked the near-post blind spot with my head. The result was obvious.

Swish—!