The Championship (Part 1)
Qwal looked like a total idiot as he took the pitch. He was seething, glaring at the referee the whole time like he wanted to eat him alive.
There was no way anyone could see what I’d done, and it couldn’t have changed a single thing anyway. So why was he acting like this?
From everything the players who’d taken my clever fouls before had told me, the guy should’ve been out there apologizing to his teammates instead of sulking like this. But I wasn’t going to worry about it. I pulled my attention away from Qwal and headed straight for the seats near where A-yoon had said we’d be sitting, dragging Yoon Seung-hwan along with me.
“Yo, Yi-an! Is this spot okay?”
“Yeah. It’s a little cramped, but this is exactly where the space lines up. Han Gang-rok, you ready to hold the edge? Gyeong-rok, you’re on my back—don’t let me fall.”
“What the— what are you two even doing?! Stop! What the hell are you trying to do with me?!”
He’d already taken a lot of stuff, yet he still didn’t get it.
He really was the kind of protagonist who never picked up on the harem-novel hints, just like the original story described.
If anything, Seung-hwan had probably clocked what the twins were up to too, but…
‘Even after he noticed, he still didn’t move.’
That silent nod of approval… maybe that’s what it was?
If he’d really hated it or sensed real danger, he’d have bolted on his own. I nodded along, rationalizing it away, then lifted him up, tossed him to the ground, and immediately started setting up the show.
This time the celebration was the Human Bicycle Ceremony.
It had started as a meaningful tradition to win over the Suwon Osung chairman, who knew nothing about football, and lock in solid support for me.
But repeating the old one would be boring, so I’d upgraded it a bit.
“Gang-rok! You’ve gotta hold tight. If I fall, big trouble, got it?”
“Yeah, trust me. I did lower-body work yesterday just for today’s sake—my biceps are fried.”
“Great. Seung-hwan, pump those legs.”
“What?! Why my legs… AAAAAH!”
I hoisted Yoon Seung-hwan’s legs like I was doing a leg raise, planted my feet on his, and started pedaling like mad.
Last time it was just bare legs and it looked half-finished. This version was way smoother.
“Hey! Hey! It actually hurts! It hurts so much my legs are gonna snap! AAAAAH!”
“You bastard? During a sacred circus performance? Keep this up and I’ll pedal faster.”
“AAAAAH! Coach! Coach, save me! I swear I’ll never sleep with my eyes open during a briefing again! AAAAAAHH!”
“Hey. Yi-an. This bicycle ceremony is no joke, right? The bell’s loud as hell.”
I wasn’t paying attention to the bell, but he’d adjusted it for me. The sound-control issue was a flaw, sure, but who cared?
[Hehehehe! Ooh-reele! Ooh-reele!]
‘As long as the fans are enjoying it, that’s all that matters. Look, A-yoon’s having a blast too.’
After a few minutes of pedaling, I scanned the crowd who were going wild. In the middle, A-yoon was waving his arms like he was on fire. I couldn’t hear what he was yelling over the noise, but the way he was grinning ear to ear and roaring at the top of his lungs told me he loved the show I’d prepared.
Next to him, the girl caught my eye.
‘Wait… isn’t that Ha Ji-yoo? Where the hell are my parents and father-in-law?’
If it had been random, I’d have expected my folks to be nearby, but they weren’t. Something weird was going on.
More importantly…
‘Why is Ha Ji-yoo crying like that? She’s sobbing so hard she’s got one hand clamped over her mouth while the other keeps waving at nothing?’
A Jeonbuk fan shouldn’t have been crying like this—especially not after something like this.
She looked like a heartbroken lover.
What the hell was she doing?
I remembered Ha Ji-yoo from the game. She hadn’t been the type to get that obsessed with the capsule version, but…
Isn’t there a butterfly-effect thing in this world? I’d possessed Baek Yi-an and hadn’t been extra careful, so the future had probably shifted a little.
Maybe she’d thrown herself into her father’s company’s game a bit more than I remembered.
Even so, she seemed pretty decent.
If she’d been the one taking a registered celebration, she probably would’ve been furious enough to build a shotgun keyboard and roast me, yet she was this heartbroken over a version of it in the game?
“Guys, this is gonna turn into ‘do it again later’ talk, isn’t it?”
“Who the hell would even ask for that kind of thing?! Stop and get off, you bastard! Hey! Han Gang-rok! Stop backing up! Your heel just landed on my head, you idiot!”
Yoon Seung-hwan had been yelling the whole time.
The guy who barely even got injured was this dramatic.
Still, it had been fun, so I called it a day.
***
Qwal’s brainless tactics had been repeating themselves when Yoon Seung-hwan’s headed goal slammed into him.
The Japanese coach who’d taken a nuke from the U.S. probably felt the exact same panic as he switched to a desperate stance.
We’d been skipping the midfield with long balls to pull out our backline build-up and the centro-forward plus holding-midfield duo.
Now we were switching to a standard 3-2 build-up and playing the ball off the back.
It was too late, but accepting defeat and wanting to improve was something I had to respect.
A guy clinging to stupid tactics and still losing… compared to the coaches who kept insisting their plan was perfect and the players just couldn’t keep up, Qwal actually looked pretty decent.
But accepting defeat didn’t bring the lost match back.
It made it worse.
A perfectly normal tactic, yet Yokohama’s players, who’d gotten used to our midfield-skip style, looked stunned by the sudden change.
Of course their game dropped the second they had to run a tactic they weren’t familiar with.
‘It’s embarrassing, but… honestly, I love it when players like these get destroyed.’
Watching the clumsy Yokohama build-up, I muttered under my breath while staring at Qwal.
The Yokohama coaching staff looked serious, brows furrowed, eyes fixed on the pitch.
I couldn’t read their minds, but they were probably thinking the same things: “We can still pull it off” and “Just score two more goals and catch up.”
Clumsy though it was, clinging to that faint hope that the build-up might somehow work out was exactly the kind of thing that would happen.
Of course the hope died quickly.
“Hehe! Bro! I scored too! I scored!”
“Well done, little bro. What celebration are we doing now?”
“Bro, look—Seung-hwan’s running! We have to catch him!”
“Yi-an’s already going after him. Let’s drop him and start the show.”
53rd minute of the first half. Gyeong-rok’s curling shot curved perfectly into the net. According to AI stats, Yokohama’s win probability had dropped to just 4 percent.
The last thread of hope was gone. Jeonbuk Future Motors tore into Yokohama like they were trying to win the lottery.
“What the—ref! I was fouled! Yi-an just kicked my thigh! You son of a—”
[Hehehehe VAMOOOS!]
Five minutes into the second half. Another goal from Chaperi. The number of goals Yokohama needed to stay alive jumped to four.
Their will was already at zero.
It was only natural the score ended the way it did.
Piieeek! Piieeek! Piieeeeik!
[And that’s the final whistle! Jeonbuk Future Motors have won the AFC Champions League Elite final against Yokohama with a staggering 6-0 scoreline!]
[Anyone watching the match today will tell you—this isn’t just a win. It’s a dynasty rising from the ashes! A signal that Jeonbuk is back, stronger than ever!]
“AAAAAHHH! FUCK! WE WON! WE FUCKING WON!”
“Pffft… bro…”
“Little bro…”
The referee’s whistle cut through the chaos. Yokohama players collapsed on the ground while every Jeonbuk player and staffer on the bench charged onto the pitch and went absolutely feral.
Maybe that’s what a real championship feels like?
With only the Korea Cup to show for an otherwise terrible season, a Champions League Elite title felt like the final boss drop.
For me it was expected, so I wasn’t that hyped, but I had no desire to ruin the vibe, so I just stood there quietly and enjoyed it.
After giving the players a quick “Well done,” we wrapped things up nicely.
I set my earphones aside for a second, then slipped out from the bench and gave the fullback twins and Seung-hwan a couple of pats on the back before dropping him to the ground again and moving on.
Eventually I reached the center circle and started stroking the heads of the players gathered there.
Slippery hair, dry hair, drenched in sweat—slowly, slowly, I walked from one to the next.
When I reached the last head, a strange sound started.
“Hey. Good work today. You really went off.”
“What? In this team the only guy who touches my hair is—”
“…”
“Hey, Yi-an. You really just petted my head? You’re talking back to the coach right now?”
“…Coach, you were Pep Guardiola today.”
I was trying to play it cool and loosen the tension, but the coach’s pupils were still burning with anger.
In the end I had no choice. I sat on the ground right next to a Yokohama player and asked,
“You and me, we probably can’t go home either. Want to cut our throats?”
“Huh?”
The Yokohama player looked at me like I was crazy while Qwal slowly walked over.
I shut my eyes tight.