Asian Champions Elite (1)
Before the Seoul–Ulsan match, most experts had tipped Ulsan to win.
Seoul United and Ulsan MR. Both were heavyweights in the K-League, sure—but you could not simply ignore the stature Ulsan had built over the years.
Their nickname alone said enough: Jjun-Jjun-Jjunsan.
There were people whose lifelong dream was simply to watch their club scrape into the upper split. Ulsan strolled into the upper split like it was breakfast, and getting mocked for finishing runners-up was just part of the daily routine.
Past or present, the consensus among analysts was that Ulsan was always a side that could challenge for the title. So even if Seoul had been signing star players and injecting tension into the league, the assumption was that they would still lose—especially on the road—and head home empty-handed.
Yeah. The overwhelming expectation was that Ulsan would casually crush a side like Seoul.
“What the hell is even happening right now?”
“Yi-an… I think Ulsan’s completely fucked…”
Even as I carefully pulled out one of my earbuds, I still could not believe what I was watching.
What kind of situation was this supposed to be?
It was not that I had come to cheer for Ulsan and was now in a foul mood. If that had been the case, I never would have been out here calling them Tear-san or Junsan in the first place.
I had simply figured that since Seoul was a top-half side, they could put up a proper fight-well-even-if-you-lose performance against Ulsan—and since I had come on a date with A-yoon, I wanted to watch something entertaining. That was all.
But this is a bit much… I get that Seoul plays defensive football, so Ulsan struggling to score makes sense. But conceding four goals in a row? Is that even legal?
Every time another Ulsan mistake turned into a Seoul goal, the stadium shook as if an earthquake had hit.
At the same time, bloodshot eyes from the Ulsan supporters’ section locked onto me.
“Ah—the Ulsan supporters are sending Baek Yi-an a ‘Get out!’ chant. Honestly, this is a fascinating phenomenon, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. For most players it wouldn’t matter, but for Baek Yi-an the Ulsan fans have a… special meaning. Ever since Jeonbuk beat Ulsan early this season, whenever Baek Yi-an gives an interview about Ulsan—or whenever an Ulsan player mentions him in an interview—the next match they play, they faceplant. It’s become a pattern.”
“To Suwon Oseong fans he might be the messiah who turned their chairman’s heart around, but to Ulsan fans Baek Yi-an is the icon of defeat. Their personal voodoo doctor.”
“Baek Yi-an, get out! Baek Yi-an, get out! Baek Yi-an… please just leave. Baek Yi-an… please go. We’re begging you.”
Yeah. This was bad.
Between the idle chatter still leaking from the earbud I had not fully removed and the Ulsan supporters screaming themselves hoarse, I slowly rose from my seat.
I had heard stories about Suwon fans roughing up rival supporters, but never about Ulsan fans assaulting anyone.
Even so, anyone with a shred of social awareness could tell that if we stayed put, A-yoon and I were about to become the historic first victims.
If nothing else, my survival instincts were elite. I yanked A-yoon up and got us out of there in a hurry.
The moment we slipped out of the stadium, the sports tabs exploded with headlines.
Baek Yi-an, who made a surprise appearance at today’s Ulsan–Seoul match at Munsu Stadium, shared his thoughts outside the ground.
“I don’t think Ulsan lost just because I showed up… but either way, I feel bad for the Ulsan fans. Don’t worry too much, though. If Ulsan had just been plain bad, there wouldn’t have been anything to take home—but they had enough fight that I managed to get a decent read on Seoul’s finer tactical details. Using the intel we extracted from Ulsan’s sacrifice, I’ll show you the full dismantling-analyzer results in our next match against Seoul. Everyone, expect a packed house.”
After that scorching interview, Baek Yi-an added one more line.
“I’d love to sing Ulsan a send-off chant. Farewell… fare thee well… wait, is that not it?”
With that, Baek Yi-an bolted—dodging the Ulsan fans sprinting after him.
I had thought of it as a date disguised as scouting. Turns out the claim that I had visited the stadium for analysis was not a lie—because in the next match, Jeonbuk completely dismantled Seoul.
It still felt a little early to talk about upper-split confirmation as a done deal, but the experts and sports journalists were already saying that Jeonbuk had gone beyond a perfect revival—they might rewrite the history of the league itself.
Under normal circumstances, this was the kind of moment where the press would join hands and start casting voodoo curses. Instead, Jeonbuk just kept walking, step by step, toward their goal.
You would have expected this to be the season for a retail-investor shakeout, but Jeonbuk did not ease off the pace—if anything, they looked like a car with a stuck accelerator, flooring it into sudden acceleration.
The results were simple.
The ACL—the competition that had been the long-cherished wish of every Jeonbuk fan, and the biggest stage on which they could prove the club had truly returned.
If they won the final, they would not only prove Jeonbuk’s revival; they would also open the door to the miracle of a treble.
And of course, when that final stage was set, Shin A-yoon and Ha Ji-yoo could not be left out.
“Ugh, where even is this? Huh? Ji-yoo! Ji-yoo!”
“A-yoon, you’re here? Over here, over here!”
Ha Ji-yoo waved as Shin A-yoon shoved her way through the packed crowd toward her.
Originally, Shin A-yoon had planned to watch the match with Baek Yi-an’s family and her own parents. But Ha Ji-yoo had also come all the way to Qatar, where the final was being held, to take in Yoon Seung-hwan with her own eyes—so the two of them ended up watching together.
“Glad you found me okay?”
“Don’t even start. Do you know how hard it was getting here? People everywhere, people on both sides talking in languages I can’t understand, I know the seat number but when I try to ask for directions I can’t communicate with anyone from the Middle East… Anyway, I took forever—weren’t you bored waiting?”
“Nah. What’s there to be bored about? I didn’t wait that long.”
Faced with Shin A-yoon’s sheepish question, Ha Ji-yoo waved her off as if to say it was nothing.
It was not that she was deliberately spinning things to keep her friend from feeling guilty. She genuinely had not been bored for a single second while waiting for A-yoon.
Ugh, why did that BaekDevourer bastard suddenly stop arguing? He was spamming replies until just a little while ago…
If anything, she still had unfinished business she wanted to unload now that A-yoon had arrived.
So Ha Ji-yoo had no reason to scold her.
“Phew… that’s a relief. I’m really sorry. I’ll buy you something to eat in a bit.”
“Forget it. You’re already stuck watching without your family because of me—that much I can cover. By the way, A-yoon. Your dog’s name wouldn’t happen to be Poppy, would it?”
“Poppy?”
Shin A-yoon tilted her head at Ha Ji-yoo’s completely out-of-nowhere question about a dog’s name.
Why on earth was she asking about a dog’s name the second they met?
“Poppy is part of it, yeah? But the full name is Ibrahim Poppy. Be careful—Yi-an is weirdly sensitive about that.”
“…Is that like a last name and a first name?”
“No? The name is Ibrahim Poppy, and the family name is Shin-Baek. We combined mine and Yi-an’s. Anyway, why?”
“Huh? Why am I asking… well…”
Should she just say that BaekDevourer went around every day claiming their house dog Poppy was better than Yoon Seung-hwan?
In a single instant, a thousand calculations flashed through Ha Ji-yoo’s head.
In the end, the decision she reached was simple: if you are not sure, better to keep quiet.
“I-it’s nothing. Just feels like a lot of dogs these days are named Poppy…”
“Is that so? Anyway, our dog isn’t just Poppy—it’s Shin-Baek Ibrahim Poppy, so be careful.”
“Y-yeah…”
“Oh? The players are coming out! Yi-aaaaaan, I’m heeeeere! Tear Yokohama apaaaaart!”
Shit. Then who the hell is it? Should I dig around and sue them?
Shin A-yoon screamed at the top of her lungs as Baek Yi-an walked out for the entrance. Across from her, Ha Ji-yoo’s worries only deepened.