First Experience (2)
For the weekend, Shin A-yoon had come out to watch Jeonbuk’s home match—only to find herself in the middle of a heart-stopping ordeal.
“Seong Jae-hyeooooon! Yeeeeees, GOOOOOAL! Pohang’s own Seong Jae-hyeon buries another equalizer—no, a go-ahead goal! And it’s only the thirty-fifth minute, but Pohang already have two against Jeonbuk!”
“Wow… Pohang have been looking sharp in the league, sure, but nobody expected them to put on a performance like this against Jeonbuk.”
“Exactly. Right up until kickoff, Pohang fans were probably thinking, ‘Please just don’t lose—a draw would be fine.’ That’s how strong Jeonbuk are. But Manager Park Dong-geon didn’t back down, and the fruit of that resolve is right here in the thirty-fifth minute.”
“Aaaaah! No! You can’t concede there—what are you doing…!”
“A-yoon… calm down. If you freak out like that and the broadcast cameras catch you, what then?”
“But still… Ji-yoo. We’re not actually going to lose this, right?”
“Come on, lose? There’s tons of time left. Our Seung-hwan will sort it out.”
Her boyfriend had renegotiated his contract and thrown in free VIP-box access as an option, so she’d dressed up and come all the way out—only for this to be waiting for her?
Right from the opening whistle they’d conceded a ridiculous goal off Ju Tae-young’s blunder, clawed their way level, and now, on a perfect counterattack they couldn’t even touch, they’d fallen behind again.
She’d been watching matches to manage Baek Yi-an’s body properly, but the Jeonbuk in her memory had always been dominant—so failing to understand what she was seeing wasn’t exactly strange.
Our Yi-an’s playing well—why are these people talking nonsense.
Sick of the commentary team replaying every Pohang highlight like a highlight reel, A-yoon had no choice but to turn to the community boards—
But as they say, there’s no paradise for the ones who run. The boards were just as unhinged.
Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. She was so frustrated she almost considered descending on the community herself the way she had during Shin Seung-ah’s boyfriend scandal.
In the end, Shin A-yoon carefully logged into the secondary account she’d prepared ever since that day.
The page refreshed—and a very particular comment swam into view.
You don’t get why they give Yi-an the ball? Who is this person? Are they trash-talking our Yi-an right now? Because Yoon Seung-hwan is the best, my boyfriend should just play support or something?!
A comment engineered specifically to scrape every last Baek Yi-an fan raw, turning chaos into pure hellscape.
For Shin A-yoon—first blade of the Baek Yi-an Defense Corps—it was not a comment she could scroll past.
“Urgh…”
That was the moment her carefully held restraint finally snapped.
“What the hell is this bastard saying?”
“Hm? A-yoon. What was that?”
“Huh? Nothing. Just saw something weird.”
She’d kindly corrected the record, and instead of accepting it the other side had come back with pure snark—she was just about to pull out the templates she’d prepared in advance when Ha Ji-yoo asked, and Shin A-yoon hurriedly lowered her phone.
Her head was still boiling, but she couldn’t exactly start a keyboard war while huffing and puffing in front of a friend who had no idea what was going on.
Having to watch the match without landing a proper comeback made irritation surge, but thinking of her public image, Shin A-yoon gritted her teeth and held it in.
The reward for that patience arrived not long after the goal they’d conceded.
“Pohang are on the counter again. Before anyone realizes it, five Pohang players are driving into Jeonbuk’s half. Hwang Yun-jae. He eases off a touch with Baek Yi-an in front of him…”
“Hesitating—ah! The second the ball leaves Hwang Yun-jae’s foot, Baek Yi-an surges in and steals it! And instead of passing right away, it looks like he’s choosing to carry it himself?”
“Baek Yi-an is already across the halfway line. Beats another man and accelerates! Han Gang-rok! Tracks up, takes the ball, and drives into the channel! Quick cross coming iiiin!”
“Baek Yi-aaaaaan! GOOOOOAL! Baek Yi-an heads home and snuffs out every last spark of hope Pohang still had! Only recently converted to a pro contract and already carving his name into K League history—this is exactly why Jeonbuk had to lock him down so early. He’s showing you with his football!”
“Wow… if you break it down, this goal is basically something Baek Yi-an manufactured by himself, isn’t it? Steals it off Hwang Yun-jae, drives up, beats the midfielder who closes him down in the final third, then connects on his teammate’s cross with a header of his own…”
“We’re stunned—imagine how the fans watching feel! Even I’m sitting here wondering how that is a defensive midfielder!”
“Baek Yi-an, after scoring, slides toward the corner flag and soaks in the crowd’s roar. He’s earned it. When the youngest pulls the team out of the fire, how can you not adore him?”
“Waaaaah! Ji-yoo! Tell me I’m actually seeing this! Our Yi-an scored, right?!”
“Y-yeah! A-yoon! Your boyfriend scored for real!”
Baek Yi-an’s goal had casually crushed every baseless pile-on—and it wasn’t just any goal. It was the pure essence of every tool in his arsenal, distilled into a single product.
For Shin A-yoon, who had always believed he would prove himself, it was nothing short of the perfect gift.
And on top of that, he’d deliberately drifted toward the corner flag on the VIP-box side and thrown in a sliding celebration, right where she could see it easily.
To Shin A-yoon, every bit of it felt like he was saying: You’ve worked hard. It’s okay now. You can watch without worrying.
Only then did she realize her friend had been watching her squirm the whole time.
“Haa. Now that we’ve scored, let’s actually enjoy the match. I got way too worked up.”
“Yeah. You rest a bit. I thought you’d lost it earlier.”
“First time in the VIP box—if we lost, it would’ve felt weird. But I think we can relax now. Ji-yoo, you want anything? Apparently you can order food up here.”
“Me? I’m fine. I think I need to step out and get some air for a second.”
“Huh? Get some air?”
All of a sudden, at this timing?
True, she’d looked a little uncomfortable ever since Yi-an’s goal—was something going on?
“Yeah, why? Are you feeling sick somewhere? Your face hasn’t looked great for a while.”
“Not sick. Just a little pest I need to deal with. It’s nothing, so don’t worry about it too much.”
Ha Ji-yoo waved it off like it was trivial, and Shin A-yoon decided not to dig further.
Ji-yoo had never been the kind of friend who needed fretting over in the first place.
“Alright. Take a short break and come back.”
She’ll handle it. With that thought, A-yoon turned her attention back to her phone.
At the same time, a very particular notification started rolling in.
“This crazy bitch is at it again. NouveauRicheYoungestDaughter? I don’t know who you are, but today you’re going down.”
We’d made the equalizer—but I still couldn’t relax.
Equalizer. In other words, we were right back at square one, weren’t we?
Either way, our team wanted revenge for the loss we’d taken against Pohang last time, and nobody had any interest in backing down here.
“Sang-won! If you can’t, play it back!”
Sang-won hyung, who’d come on for Chun-jae hyung, looked like he was freezing under Pohang’s press, so I immediately stepped in to cover.
Like a man who’d been waiting for someone—anyone—to approach, Sang-won hyung hurriedly shoveled the ball away and started hunting for a comfortable pocket again.
Naturally, the pressure that had been on him became my problem to absorb.
Pohang’s players came charging in again. After letting me break through once earlier, they weren’t just sprinting in blindly anymore—they were distributing numbers more carefully for the press.
Even if one of them got beaten, the other could take a card and foul to shut it down. That was the confidence, I supposed.
Of course, if I simply refused to play along, that was that.
Tok!
“Hyung—switch it straight to the other side, Yeon-woo hyung!”
I twisted my body and laid the ball off to Ye-jun hyung behind me; he took it lightly and launched a long switch to the far side.
Yeon-woo hyung received it and, with that signature sharp movement of his, started carving into Pohang’s flank.
And when the ball was finally dragged all the way to the byline—
The one who finished it was none other than Yoon Seung-hwan.
“Shit, yes! I’ve been waiting for this— wait, huh?”
“Seung-hwan! ¡Oye, el portero lo ha cubierto bien! ¡Déjamelo a mí! (He covered it well! Leave it to me!)”
…Almost. But by the narrowest of margins, the ball sailed over Yoon Seung-hwan’s head and found Xaperi’s foot instead.
The keeper had been set solely for Seung-hwan’s header, and Seung-hwan’s ridiculously tall frame had screened Xaperi’s run from the side into the middle—
And Xaperi made the absolute most of the situation.
BOOM!
THWACK!
“VAMOSSSSSS!”
Confirming the net was billowing like it might tear, Xaperi roared out a thunderous celebration as he peeled away.
Yoon Seung-hwan stood there with his mouth hanging open, the same hollow expression as a goalkeeper who’d just been beaten.
Muttering like he was begging his parents watching at home to have made him just a little taller, Seung-hwan only snapped back to reality as Xaperi’s celebration was nearly wrapping up.
“Ian, hoy tus pases fueron increíbles. Pensé que eras Rodri. (Ian, your passing today was insane. I thought you were Rodri.)”
“Rodri, my ass. Call me Guimarães.”
“Guimarães? That player’s good too! I didn’t think many people in Korea liked Newcastle, but you know your stuff.”
“Xaperi! You! you! must….trust me?”
“Oh! Seung-hwan? What’s that? I have to trust you? Aigoo, of course I trust you too! Who should I call you—Haaland? Though I think your face is better.”
“No, that’s not—you need to respect m— ahh damn it, I should’ve studied English harder! Hey, Baek Yi-an! How do you say ‘you need to respect me’ in Spanish?”
Not long ago he’d been running his mouth about going to Spain and becoming the first Korean at Real Madrid or whatever.
Watching him fume because he couldn’t speak Spanish after getting his goal stolen—I was so speechless I almost laughed.