Korea Cup Quarterfinals (1)
The moment the Daejeon–Jeonbuk match ended, reporters flooded the sports tabs with articles as if they'd been waiting for this day alone.
Ordinarily, when a match produces an upset like today's, the interviews go to the winners and the side that took the loss. This time, though, the star of every piece was none other than me.
My celebration had been so over the top that becoming the main character of every article — win or loss be damned — was only natural. I knew that much. And so I had nothing I particularly wanted to explain.
A red card on accumulated yellows. Suspended for the next match. If any other player took a hit like that, their mentality would wobble and training would go out the window. Not me. Not that I'm bragging, but even after the possession, red cards and send-offs had hardly been rare.
Of course, picking a fight with Daejeon fans was a shame. But hadn't I given our Jeonbuk supporters some peace of mind and shown them a proper homegrown youth move?
Yeah. That was enough. A Jeonbuk player loved by Jeonbuk fans — what was the problem supposed to be?
Sure, my somewhat aggressive behavior might make someone frown. But was there any actual downside? Maybe just losing popularity with people who care about manners? From there it might balloon into trouble with domestic ads and TV appearances. But I'd never been the type to care about that stuff in the first place.
Even in my past life I'd walked around acting like a villain. I built a World Cup away-round-of-16 miracle and made a Ballon d'Or podium, and I still never once thought about shooting commercials or going on TV. If you play well enough, people will suck up to you on their own. Of course, "well enough" meant vaulting so far past domestic players that you carved a line into history — but I'd managed it with a body wearing a heart-attack time bomb for a necklace. There was no reason I couldn't do it again in Baek Yi-an's frame.
Don't overthink it. Just do my job. Yeah.
Having decided it was no big deal, I opened the comment sections to check the public mood.
Other corners of the internet might be on fire, but at least Jeonbuk's fans were firmly on my side. Yeah. This was enough. Get sent off and not only avoid the hate, but have the club's own supporters double down with pure affection?
"I like this."
"Hm? Yi-an, like what?"
I'd been quietly closing my eyes, savoring a manager's full-body shiver of secondhand embarrassment, when A-yoon's voice came from behind me — arms wrapped around my shoulders.
Slurp, slurp.
And then Ibrahim Poppy, who'd burrowed into A-yoon's clothes so that only his face poked out, started licking the top of my head.
"Just reading articles."
"Articles?"
"Yeah. Because of the red card, there's a ton of stuff about me instead of the match itself."
"Really? Is it hard on you?"
Hard? Not especially. Missing a few matches barely mattered for the league, and the manager himself had scored and gotten sent off before. Besides, he'd already said he was planning to start managing minutes and give rest with the Korea Cup in mind.
I shook my head to say it wasn't like that. A-yoon hesitated, then spoke carefully.
"If the hate comments are getting to you... want me to comfort you?"
At the same time, she started slowly lifting the hem of the jersey she was wearing. Panic lasted half a second. Then I was already running the numbers in my head — who was still home, when the neighbors next door usually got off work. I concluded that right now was fine, and in that exact moment the previously quiet Ibrahim Poppy intervened.
Grrrrrr!
"Aaah! Yi-an! Poppy bit my hand! Ah— hey, get him off me!"
To Ibrahim Poppy, who already treated hands under blankets as hunting practice on a normal day, A-yoon quietly grabbing her jersey and trying to lift it for my sake looked exactly like a game. And for a Cocker Spaniel living for walks and play, that was not something he could ignore.
"Yi-an. You've got to trim them properly. Careful not to make him bleed."
Click, click, click.
"Got it. More importantly, A-yoon — any scratches?"
"...Just a little."
"I'll put ointment on it in a bit."
Huff, huff.
Looking at Ibrahim Poppy, still clamped in A-yoon's arms with a treat in his mouth, I let out a long sigh and carefully started trimming his claws.
As the ancestors said — the one who's eaten meat before eats it better.
Having collected accumulated-card bans like they were meals, I spent the suspension period in a light mood, enjoying the refresh.
In the meantime, Jeonbuk had handled the league beautifully even without me. Honestly, a second's thought made that obvious. The only reason Daejeon had managed a draw against us was less about my absence and more about being outnumbered.
Who was the protagonist of this world, after all? Yoon Seung-hwan. A flawless striker who put anything that touched his body into the net more often than not — an unfair bastard who generated stans just by running, unlike me, who drove both fans and haters insane.
Even in the original orphanage MK2 Jeonbuk timeline where Baek Yi-an never existed, the kid had lifted a log and still won the league. That ability hadn't gone anywhere. Lined up eleven against eleven, stopping him was never going to be simple for the other side.
Our twisted protagonist seemed to have had a rough time of the Suwon away trip, but whatever. A win was a win.
The league was rolling along smoothly. Now all we had to do was prepare properly for the Korea Cup and nothing would be a problem.
"Today, huh?"
Watching the dawn slowly brighten, I let out a quiet smile. Korea Cup quarterfinals. The match against Gwangju was today — and whether I could hit my goal would be decided by whether we won or not. We had to win, one way or another. I held that fact clearly in my head, and at the same time I checked the opposing manager's interview for a little extra motivation.
"Ha. This guy still hasn't learned."
I snorted a smile, got dressed, and left the lodging inside the clubhouse.