Misjudgment (2)
For Shin A-yoon, the World Cup third-round qualifier between South Korea and Iraq was a match she absolutely could not miss.
With qualification for the finals already secured in the previous eighth match, some might have thought this game could be watched a little more casually. After all, with a place at the World Cup locked in, Manager Martin Valde was almost certainly going to use this ninth fixture as a stage to test his final roster.
Even so, Shin A-yoon refused to miss a single minute of it.
The reason, of course, was Baek Yi-an.
"Unlike what we saw in the eighth match, Iraq is showing a completely transformed style of play since Javier Sayes took over as manager."
"That's right. Iraq used to favor the so-called 'bed football' style that represents Middle Eastern soccer. Lately, though, they've been putting more care into their build-up and raising the tempo."
"And the moment we say that — a long ball is launched from Iraq's half toward Korea! The winger and midfielder make an immediate run!"
"What are you doing?! Why would you let that through?!"
"A-yoon, keep it down! If the dorm supervisor finds out you're here, we're all screwed!"
"No, seriously — what is Martin Valde thinking?! Why is our Seung-hwan starting on the bench?! Is Park Nam-oo really that good?!"
"Ji-yoo, you shut up too! You two can get kicked out and not care, but we can't!"
A sigh of frustration slipped from Shin A-yoon's lips as she watched the match with fierce concentration. She usually watched games with her family, but her streamer younger sister had run into trouble with the soundproofing booth and was broadcasting from home. That left A-yoon sneaking into her high school dormitory to watch with her friends.
One of those friends had clamped a hand over her own mouth, desperate to kill even the slightest sound — but A-yoon paid her no mind at all as she stared at the screen.
Once that brief flurry of noise settled, the momentum of the match sat firmly in Iraq's hands.
"Ah! Muhammad links up with Tariq on the run and blows right past Shin Nam-hyuk, who was tracking him! You can't just abandon the half-space like that!"
"They have to stop it! Iraq is a side that uses its wingers extremely well — they must not surrender ownership of the half-space! Baek Yi-an! He chases Muhammad down from behind at incredible speed!"
"Baek Yi-an! Baek Yiiii-an! A clean sliding tackle strips the ball clean off Muhammad!"
"That was an absolutely clean tackle. He closed the distance at high speed, got in behind, and went only for the ball. Even veteran players often hesitate to tackle from behind because of the risk of a card — but Baek Yi-an is different."
"Being a rookie might actually make him freer that way. Either way, it's a superb tackle even on the replay. There's no way that gets a booking!"
"Huuuuh! Yiiii-an!"
"Aargh! Shin A-yoon, you lunatic! Stop screaming! We're actually going to get kicked out! Oh for — when did the blanket we stuck on the door fall off?! Don't we need to put that back up? So-yeon. I'll hold A-yoon down, go stick that thing back on."
One brief mistake had nearly snowballed into real danger — but Baek Yi-an's clean tackle shut the sequence down, and the tension that had gripped Shin A-yoon burst out of her as a scream of pure relief.
Of course, not everyone was watching that moment with the same joy.
"Whoa. Baek Yi-an is actually insane... Ji-yoo, you've been watching a lot of Jeonbuk games for a while, right? Was he always this good?"
"He was good, yeah... but Seung-hwan's better..."
"Seung-hwan? Who's that? What number is he? Is he even on the pitch right now?"
"...He's still on the bench."
"What, so he's a substitute?"
"A substitute? Hey, what did you just say?! Are you looking down on our Seung-hwan as some benchwarmer?! This is a guy who scored over ten league goals and won Player of the Month and Young Player awards back to back, and you're treating him like some bench-heating resource who lost the starting striker spot to Park Nam-oo?!"
"Bench-heating? What's that even mean? Oh! I've seen the water jug and the boot-washing jobs before. So Seung-hwan's the one who heats the bench?"
"Aaaargh!"
"Ugh, why is Ha Ji-yoo having a meltdown now — I told you to shut up! You know what, I give up!"
Faced with Ha Ji-yoo's full-blown seizure, Kim A-young — the actual owner of the dorm room who had been trying to keep the peace — finally decided to let everything go. She had concluded that there was simply no stopping Shin A-yoon and Ha Ji-yoo.
If they were already this bad before the thirtieth minute of the first half, she was never going to get to watch the match anyway. She'd spend the whole game babysitting everyone else and accomplish nothing.
Whatever. She didn't care anymore.
If they got caught and kicked out, if they got disciplined — that was their problem.
With that thought, she flopped down and turned her eyes back to the game, while Ha Ji-yoo and Shin A-yoon, their reins completely cut, went roaring off like an eight-ton truck with a busted steering wheel.
"What? The referee is giving Baek Yi-an a yellow card? Even on the replay that was a perfectly clean tackle with nothing wrong about it!"
"Ah... Martin Valde and captain Lee Kang-jin are talking to the referee, asking for VAR, but head referee Wang Sizong just shakes his head firmly. Baek Yi-an — it may be absurd, but this is exactly when you have to keep your head."
"You crazy bastard of a ref! Why does my boyfriend get a yellow?! Give it to the manager instead!"
"Ha. Getting a card this early is going to mess with his holding midfielder work... This isn't good. As soon as half-time hits I think we need to swap Baek Yi-an and Seung-hwan."
"Iraq's corner... Kim Jun-ho! Clean claim, and he immediately feeds Kim Min-je! Kim Min-je surges high up the pitch and finds Baek Yi-an! Yi-an takes the ball — and Iraqi players are swarming him!"
"Don't get trapped, Baek Yi-an! Ah! Ahmed, charging at him, goes down all by himself! Baek Yi-an glides past Ibrahim with a phantom dribble! It's Baek Yi-an! Baek Yiiii-an! He whips in an outswinging ball!"
"At the end of that exquisite outswinger is Park Nam-oo! Park Nam-oo with the headeeeeer!"
"Yeeeeees! Park Naaam-oo! The partnership goal from Park Nam-oo and Baek Yi-an that lit up Sangam in the eighth match is recreated here in Iraq!"
"Yesssss, what did you just say?! Take our Yi-an off? Don't talk nonsense! With Nam-oo out there, who needs Yoon Seung-hwan!"
"What? A-yoon! How could you say that to me!"
Bang! Bang!
"Hey! Room 203! Lights-out was ages ago and you're still screaming! And why is it so loud in there — open this door right now!"
"We're not opening it! You think I'm leaving this room?"
"What? Who even are you! Room 203 is Kim A-young and Choi So-yeon, isn't it? That voice doesn't match! Don't tell me you brought outsiders into the dorm?! Open up right now or it's a write-up!"
"Go ahead and write us up! I'm not leaving until our Seung-hwan comes on!"
A moment ago they had been locked in a staring contest with each other; now Shin A-yoon and Ha Ji-yoo were locking horns with the dorm supervisor who had come running at the noise. Kim A-young watched them with a hollow little smile.
"Ah, damn it... starting tomorrow I'm taking the school bus. Mom, I'm sorry."
Her mother's face flashed through her mind like a life review, and Kim A-young wiped at her tears.
A first half steeped in corruption and street-fight football ended with my fantasy outswinging cross and Nam-oo hyung finishing it perfectly.
As the players trudged into the dressing room, Manager Martin Valde came charging up from behind, planted himself in the center of the room, and started bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"Shut up! Not another word out of anyone! Sit down, drink water, and rest! Even if the kid got an outrageous call from that goddamn referee, you will not rage — you will keep your cool!"
"Boss... we weren't saying anything."
"Kang-jin! Are you talking back to me right now?"
"No. Drinking water. Everyone sit down and shut up."
With shameless force of will, the manager seized total control of the locker room. Half-time was short enough that we barely had time to talk through our second-half stance and whether tactics were changing — and yet the first thing he did after settling the squad was point at his own knee.
"Do you all see this wound? The knee of my suit is torn open, the skin is ripped, and blood is running. This is not a simple scratch. It means the first half against Iraq was that kind of filthy, grinding fight! And it means that in the second half, you are going to grind those bastards who gave me this damn wound into the dirt. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
What? I'm pretty sure he got that when he went berserk alone after I got the yellow and tripped over himself.
It wasn't even that bad a wound. Just a little scraped skin — leave it alone and fresh flesh would grow back on its own. Watching the manager try to stoke the players' fire with something like that nearly made me snort out loud, but I stayed quiet. One wrong word of pushback and the unfair heat Kang-jin hyung had just taken would swing straight onto me.
"That damn Javier Sayes is managing his players exactly the way we expected before the match! Being the side that has to chase means he'll have to bring changes in the second half — but even so, all he can really do is swap players and refine the fine details."
Manager Valde huffed through the briefing, then steadied his breathing and fixed us with a sharp look.
"Even then, it doesn't matter. Just because the other side changes tactics doesn't mean I'm going to sit still. We're changing players too. I briefed you before the match, so you should already know — this game is less about simply winning and more about checking the chemistry between players. Of course we still take the win. Understood, Seung-hwan?"
"...Huh? Oh, of course! VAMOSSSS!"
Had that bastard Yoon Seung-hwan been dozing off again while the manager was briefing?
He'd been staring into space with vacant eyes, so I'd wondered — and sure enough, same as in Jeonbuk briefings, he'd been sleeping with his eyes open. At least he hadn't completely lost his social instincts. In a split second he read the room, realized this was a moment that demanded a loud, spirited answer, and delivered.
"Good. Well said. VAMOS — VAMOSSS! Go crumple the faces of that filthy bribed referee and those Iraqi bastards!"
Thankfully, the manager's full-blooded response let the whole thing slide past without disaster.