Pohang Irons (1)

After our first-leg win, we beat Gwangju in the second leg just as expected and advanced to the semis. We then crushed Gimpo without breaking a sweat and booked our ticket to the final.

Across both legs the scoreline read a brutal 12–2. Conceding two goals still stung a little, but those came after me and the core defensive pieces had been subbed off for load management. By any honest measure, while I was on the pitch we completely dominated Gimpo.

Of course, saying "we didn't concede while I was playing" after a match you actually lose is peak clown behavior. Still—we won. Self-justification was allowed.

That left only the Korea Cup final on the horizon. And the good news didn't stop there.

The Final Split—the last stage that decides the league champions—was locked in, and I'd also taken Young Player of the Month. If I'm being honest, the influence I showed during matches was more than enough for full Player of the Month... but I decided not to complain about winning the Young Player award.

What choice did I have? If Yoon Seung-hwan had been playing like absolute garbage I could've argued pure quality even with fewer minutes. But whether it was the author trying to keep the original protagonist from looking completely outclassed, or just genuine form, the kid had been on a ridiculous hot streak lately.

Still pisses me off thinking about it. The author bastard already isekai'd me into this body—wasn't that enough? Still not done mainlining striker juice?

At this point, unless I actually won the Ballon d'Or, there was no fixing that idiot's brain.

"Yeah. Even a headcase like him will get the message if I shove it in his face."

"What are you mumbling about, Yi-an? Stop talking nonsense and look. This part's actually important."

"...Yeah."

While I was muttering to myself, A-yoon appeared beside me, tapping my shoulder.

"See, when you go into a tackle in defensive situations, your lower-body center feels like it's sitting too far ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠back. And look here—that screen play you do like it's second nature? You're locking the lower body completely and only using upper body and shoulders. Your frame isn't going to get bullied in the K-League anytime soon so it's fine for now, but..."

I had no idea when she'd prepared all this. A-yoon had analyzed every single one of my movements mid-match and turned it into data. Lately we'd been dating like normal people, but for some reason starting a few weeks ago, every time we met she skipped the "let's go somewhere fun" and just handed me posture data instead.

The whole reason we'd been able to keep seeing each other after she gave up track was this exact work, so after months of pure playtime it felt like things were finally normalizing. Still—

Honestly, the reason A-yoon suddenly switched into this mode is probably because the season's winding down.

Anyone with half a brain could see it. Once this season ended, I was leaving Jeonbuk. Looking at the results alone, a move overseas was already more than justified, and it wasn't even wishful thinking—Oliver had been getting calls from big-league clubs showing interest.

Mom and Dad, being my guardians, would already know everything Oliver was feeding them. And since they were close with A-yoon's parents, the news had probably relayed its way to her too.

She's thinking this year might be the last we get to do this, so she'll help me with everything she's got until I leave. Something like that, right?

Thinking of it that way, I really was grateful. Back when I only knew her as a novel character, I was surprised how many people pushed Shin A-yoon as the main heroine. Now she kept dropping main-heroine moves in real life.

If I let a girlfriend like this slip away, I'd deserve every "you're actually brain-dead" comment that came my way. Fullback-dynasty sons would try to dropkick me on sight, and if Yoon Seung-hwan ever found out, I'd lose a verbal sparring match to that idiot for the first time in my life—absolute worst-case scenario.

Of course I already knew that. Which was why I had a plan ready.

Still... better to wait for the right moment instead of saying it now.

Huff, huff.

"Alright, Ibrahim Poppy. Want to take a lap around the park with Dad?"

Grrrr.

"Hey! You've only run five laps and you're already trying to cool down? Our Poppy can do ten. Cocker Spaniels need to burn energy regularly or they get stressed. Poppy. Go. Run more."

Whine...

Poppy had trotted over with the walking harness in his mouth, but after A-yoon's scolding he had no choice but to drop it and start running again.

Sorry, Poppy. I'll carry you home later...

The K-League was finally nearing its end. All thirty-three regular rounds were finished; only the Split Round remained.

The Split Round. Most overseas leagues just rank by points, or use playoffs, so a lot of people find this system confusing. Simply put, it works like this:

Once all thirty-three rounds are done, you check the table, chop it cleanly in half—top half becomes the Final Split, bottom half the Relegation Split.

The six teams locked into the Final Split play each other once more and fight for the title. The bottom group scrapes to avoid relegation. That was the meaning of the Split Round used so often in the K-League.

How it got introduced and all that history doesn't matter. There's only one thing that does: as long as we don't do something insane like lose every remaining five matches, the double is already locked in.

Normally the Final Split is packed with strong sides, so talking about the title right after round thirty-three is a bit early. That didn't really apply to us, though. Just look at our record.

"Thirty-three matches. Twenty-six wins, four draws, three losses."

An absurd points haul that made you wonder if a team like this was even allowed to exist. The gap between mid-lower and upper teams this season had stretched to a ridiculous degree, which was lucky for us. If sides like Pohang or Ulsan hadn't at least been chasing us, people would've already called the title a formality.

In that sense, today's match carried a lot of weight.

2029 K-League Round 34

So this is how it lines up...

The two mountains Jeonbuk had to clear to seal the title: Ulsan and Pohang. Today, Pohang was the enemy waiting for us at Jeonju Castle.

The Mad Green Boys, tasting the long-awaited league title so close they could almost touch it, launched into the chants with everything they had. Their singing poured all the way into the dressing room while I regulated my breathing—and at the same moment, my eyes met Manager Sun Ki-baek's.

"Yi-an... you understood what I just said, right?"

"...I'm sorry."

"Ha... damn it! I'm not saying this twice. The schedule we've got left is seriously important, got it? Just don't get sent off. You can score an own goal! Do whatever weird shit you want! Just no cards and no reds! Understood?"

"That's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠right, Yi-an. I just went up to the skybox ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and shoved bossam into your family's hands. You get me? Let's just get through cleanly until the Ulsan match!"

The manager was on his knees begging, and the coach had already bribed my family—and A-yoon—up in the stands with bossam. If they wanted it this badly...

"Hah. I don't normally take requests like this. Just this once..."

"...Thanks, Yi-an."

Accepting felt like the decent human thing to do.

"Hyung. That Baek Yi-an bastard is actually insane."

"Little bro. Don't you ever end up like that, okay?"

"Yeah. But hyung, Mom says she wants jokbal from the stands and wants us to send money?"

"This place is famous for yukgaejang cup ramen. Tell her to eat that."

What the hell are those two whispering about?

I shook my head at the twins murmuring to each other like nobody could hear them—when everything was perfectly audible.

The Jeonbuk–Pohang match drew massive attention from K-League fans. Part of it was two sides that had looked sharp in recent rounds colliding. The bigger reason, though, was how much was riding on it.

Maebuk deserves to rot. Finally getting the proper punishment of relegation to the second division.

Wasn't that the kind of garbage K-League fans used to throw at Jeonbuk every single day? Even if you wanted to clap back, the results were too poor—and then the ridiculous triple punch of Musique, Dan Petrescu, and Kim Doo-hwan forced the fanbase to pack up and leave the conversation entirely. This title was their chance to claw the prestige back.

For Pohang, who'd at least managed to compete when every other side was getting dismantled by Jeonbuk, the mindset was simple: beat Jeonbuk and at least make ACL.

So both sets of supporters poured it on until Jeonju Castle itself seemed to shake.

Barely a few seconds after kickoff, something strange started to unfold.