Homegrown Pureblood (1)
After wrapping up my meeting with the manager, I sat down with Oliver and walked him through everything I had planned for the summer transfer window.
"Hmm… so you're thinking we just ride out this summer, then?"
"If a real big-league club came knocking, sure. But you already said none of these are that caliber."
"Right. Even among the big leagues, the best offer is Augsburg in the Bundesliga, and honestly that one doesn't exactly set me on fire. They say they're willing to pay the buyout, but let's be real—they're still looking at you as a prospect."
Being rated as a hot prospect was fine. At the end of the day, it meant other clubs saw something in me. Settling for that and jumping ship early, though? That was pure insanity.
"So I'd either have to fight for a starting spot—or, worst case, get loaned out the second I arrive."
"Exactly. That's why I didn't even bring it up to you earlier."
Retired pros always say the same thing when they counsel active players about transfers: even if the club is a step down—even if it's the reserves—you go where you can actually play. Unless you're a goalkeeper locked behind an ironclad starter, the smartest move is always the one that gets you the most minutes.
And if we completed the treble here, the list of clubs that would come calling afterward would look completely different, wouldn't it?
Leave now and the ceiling was Augsburg. Stick around a little longer and a jump straight into a mid- or upper-table big-league side wouldn't be strange at all.
"By the way, tough break for you, Oliver. If I'd moved this summer you would've at least pocketed some commission."
"Ah, come on, don't worry about commission. I only just started taking agent work seriously. I barely have any clients—I'm basically a rookie. I never expected to be rolling in cash."
Oliver paused, then broke into a broad, easy laugh.
"Besides, I've already got more than enough money."
"Oh yeah? Landed a sweet deal?"
"Yeah. One of my players was headed to a club, then got hijacked by another. Both sides panic-bought and it turned into a complete brawl—I cleaned up pretty nicely in the middle of it."
Well then, nothing to worry about. When two clubs go to war and bid the price into the stratosphere, the front offices bleed—but Oliver's wallet gets fat.
That was the end of our conversation.
If I was staying to chase a treble and then move on to a better club, I needed to train like hell.
In the old days, any spare minute would have meant walking Ibrahim Poppy up the mountain behind the house, or just wrapping myself around A-yoon and killing time. Declaring I was staying really had rewritten my whole life.
I'd decided to become the team's heart and face, so I was making a real effort to maintain some dignity. If I saw trash on the ground, I stuffed it into Yoon Seung-hwan's or Han Gang-rok's bag. Where I used to duck my eyes and freeze whenever the manager spoke, now I pushed myself to push back and talk right back to him.
Of course, change was hard, and it was bound to ruffle feathers…
"Who am I? The first treble owner in Jeonbuk history."
Wasn't that enough?
"Man, just smiling makes me feel better. So this is what they mean when they say the position makes the man?"
"What the hell are you muttering about? Hey, Baek Yi-an. More importantly—you've worked hard up to now."
"Huh? Seung-hwan, what are you even talking about all of a sudden?"
I was still grinning to myself when Yoon Seung-hwan appeared at my side and stuck out his hand. What was this? Why was he telling me I'd worked hard?
"Something up?"
"I heard. My agent was going over the summer window and said a bunch of clubs sent you offers too. One of the Bundesliga sides even said they'd cover the buyout. That's why I'm saying you worked hard."
What absolute nonsense was this idiot spouting?
I'd made up my mind to stay ages ago, and now he was dropping this out of nowhere. I hesitated for a second, tempted to correct whatever garbage intel he'd swallowed—but once Seung-hwan got rolling, there was almost no stopping him, so I decided to just hear him out.
"Honestly I'd be a little sad if you left, but a Bundesliga move? That's life-changing, man. What was it—Augsburg? That's a good club. Even Gu Ja-cheong, the Korean football legend, played there."
He clapped me on the shoulder a few times, squeezed his eyes shut, and sniffed hard before continuing.
"Ahem. Damn this rhinitis. Anyway, work hard over there, you hear me? Without me it'll be a little tougher fighting for a starting spot, but you've got to pave the way properly so it's easier for me when I go to Bayern later, yeah? Yeah, yeah. You go on ahead, Yi-an, and I'll take the treble here! Ugh, Mom returned the headgear and I was so pissed, but maybe that was for nothing."
With that, he brushed past me, one hand in his pocket and the other raised high in a wave.
I had no idea where he'd picked up that garbage, but I barely managed to hold back a laugh. Just as he started to pull away, I looked at him and said:
"I'm staying."
"…What?"
What do you mean, what? Staying means I'm not leaving.
I grinned at him, and Seung-hwan's mouth fell open like he'd just seen a ghost. In the same breath he scrambled for his phone and started dialing someone at full panic speed.
"Hello! That headgear! My mom returned it on her own, okay? Send it again! No, it's not buyer's remorse! My mother returned it! No, Yoon Seung-hwan is me! My mother, Park Young-ju, said what kind of hat costs five hundred thousand won and returned it while I was gone! Send the headgear back! I'll cover the shipping, just send it again! Do you want to watch someone die from taking a football to the head?! Huh? What is this? Argh! Who the hell stuffed trash in my bag?!"
Is this guy completely insane?
From every angle, he was not of sound mind.
The opponent waiting for us in the Korea Cup quarterfinals was none other than Daejeon One Citizen.
Back when Jeonbuk was riding high, Daejeon had been a second-division punching bag, so there had never been any real rivalry to speak of. This time, though, things were a little different.
Hey Maebuk, we'll take good care of your youth lololol
Wow, look at the banner the Daejeon fans prepared.
Anyone with eyes could see it was built for the sole purpose of riling up Jeonbuk's supporters. Looking at it, a hollow laugh just slipped out of me.
Oliver had mentioned that a few domestic clubs had sniffed around about me too, not just the overseas ones. That banner had almost certainly come from that. We hadn't confirmed I was leaving, and no official word had dropped, so from a normal person's view it might look like overkill—but I was pretty sure even the Daejeon fans didn't actually believe they could sign me.
Of course not. Sure, there's talk that Daejeon's owner has me on his shortlist, but that's not the same as a job offer.
An overseas move I might consider. Inside the K League, though, there was no club I would play for except Jeonbuk. That had been true before the possession and after it. Daejeon had to know that—so hanging a banner like this could only mean one thing.
Yeah. They put in real work just to needle Jeonbuk.
A little time, a little money, and you could reliably set Jeonbuk's fans on fire. That was all the Daejeon crowd wanted. Beating us on the pitch was clearly impossible given the form Jeonbuk had shown this season, so they were just being thrifty—getting their digs in while they still could.
Whether they understood that or not, disappointment was written all over the faces of the Jeonbuk fans, and here and there you could even spot people pleading desperately for me to stay. In that case, the only thing a homegrown pureblood like me needed to do was put in a performance that would settle their nerves.
Dismantle the opposition the usual way, then in the Man of the Match interview drop a nice little "My heart is green"—and updating the season sales ranking for Jeonbuk kits wouldn't even be a dream.
Man, my brain is firing on all cylinders today. Ibrahim Poppy! Daddy's gonna go earn your treat money!
I stepped onto the pitch with one clear purpose: destroy Daejeon with everything I had. The unexpected variable arrived sooner than I expected.
"Aaaagh!"
Preeeep!
The second I jumped to claim a ball in the air, the referee's whistle cut through everything. Someone came sprinting toward me in a panic, so I looked around—and found a Daejeon player sprawled beside me, clutching his head.
"Baek Yi-an! You know you committed a reckless foul in an aerial duel, right? Don't argue. I'm not listening."
"Excuse me, ref? I just jumped. This guy jammed his head into my elbow on his own. I'm the victim here."
"Tsk! Are you going to keep talking nonsense?"
"This is so unfair I could die."
Was this referee even watching the game properly? I'd gone up for a header and another player had crashed into me—and the guy who got hit was getting the card?
This is a bit much.
For a second I genuinely wondered if I had done something wrong. Then I saw the manager and coaches storming all the way up to the touchline, raining curses, and it became obvious the call was shady as hell.
"Hmm… Baek Yi-an. Twentieth minute of the first half…"
The referee scribbled my name on the yellow card with a little nasal hum, completely unbothered. I wanted nothing more than to grab that nose and rip it clean off—but as the provisional treble owner who had to maintain his dignity at all times, I forced myself to swallow it this once.
More importantly, what now? An authoritarian ref with bad eyesight is an emergency…
Reading a referee's temperament and calibrating your aggression for the day was a serious part of the job. Drawing a weirdo like this—and eating a card already—was about as dangerous as it got. The Mad Green Boys were already stewing in greasy regret, convinced their pureblood youth might be packing for a rival down the road. If I wanted to reset the mood, I had to do something. And I had to do it fast, before another card found me.
It was harder than anything I'd imagined. But I still had to make it work.
"Do I have no choice but to use that method…?"
In that moment, one idea floated up in my mind.