The Best Debut Match (2)

In the early stages of the match, Suwon's bench had been in a thoroughly cheerful mood.

"Whoa… Jeonbuk can't do a thing."

"Told you. There's a reason they call our manager a mastermind."

"Jeonbuk used to play really good football… It's a shame watching them stuck like this with no bounce-back."

As if to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠prove that their crushing win over Jeonbuk in the ACL Round of 16 first leg had been no fluke, Manager Park Yong-taek's new pressing system had Jeonbuk completely locked down. For a solid fifteen minutes, it looked like they were penning them in and thrashing them at will.

Of course, a manager was the kind of presence who could flip a situation with a tactical switch or a substitution, so complacency was never wise.

At least, that was what Park Yong-taek believed—that he didn't need to be that wary.

Last season, Jeonbuk's key player was Choi Yong-hwan, no question—he could do both the holding and the box-to-box roles. Everything started from him: winning the back build-up, winning the midfield battle, then attacking through those quick wingers. That was Jeonbuk. But now… Choi Yong-hwan isn't here.

Korea is a truly small place.

When someone screws up and causes a scandal, word reaches your own ears almost immediately, more often than not.

The K-League was no different.

Even when it was news about a rival club, Park Yong-taek was well aware of the problems that flared up from a player's misconduct, and of the fact that a certain manager was struggling to keep a grip on his dressing room.

And he was banking on exactly that.

So what are you going to do? Put the player back in after he got caught going to a club after losing a Division game and got suspended? Or leave things as they are?

He didn't know Manager Sun Ki-baek's thinking in detail. Maybe Sun would still try to use the veteran for the sake of winning, even if it meant losing control of the dressing room.

But Park Yong-taek had already decided that would never happen.

As expected… Choosing pride over winning, are we? Well, not the worst call.

That was why he hadn't lost his smile even when the news of Jeonbuk's substitution came through.

Even if they threw in a rookie defensive midfielder, there was no real chance of a turnaround.

They said he's hot-tempered—makes mistake after mistake once he gets worked up. I'll just tell Yeon-jun to press him hard and get under his skin.

It wouldn't hurt to teach them a lesson while he had the chance.

What happens when you put pride first—how an early substitution card can come back as one of the worst decisions of the night.

Park Yong-taek's lips curled into a smirk. He finished giving Choi Yeon-jun his instructions, then turned his eyes back to the pitch.

And less than five minutes ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠later, he understood.

"Hey, Seong-hoon… You said you ran into Baek Yi-an a lot when you were hanging around the Methane area, right? That this bastard goes completely feral if you just needle him a little? So what the hell is that? Yeon-jun's riling him up and he's just standing there grinning?"

"W-well, senior… The Baek Yi-an I know is definitely a hot-tempered psycho with a personality problem, okay?"

"That guy? And what the hell is that press resistance? His tempo control is ridiculous too. Didn't you say his vision narrows the second he gets heated?"

"He was like that in the youth teams, yeah, but… what is this? This is weird."

What the hell? Where did this absolute monster come from?!

Manager Sun Ki-baek hadn't brought Baek Yi-an on to save face.

He had pulled out a pure variable—someone who could flip the current situation on ability alone.

He's completely read the front-press structure, and after beating the press he's unlocking their clogged midfield all by himself… Damn it, at this rate—!

Now that he grasped Sun Ki-baek's intent, Park Yong-taek should have adjusted and prepared for it in advance.

Unfortunately, it was already too late.

"Hey! Yoon Seung-hwan, pass it! I'll make your debut a quadruple, I swear!"

"Don't screw with me! I don't want to die yet! Get the hell away from me! Don't follow me, Baek Yi-an!"

THUMP!

WHAM!

"YEEEEAAAH! SEUNG-HWAAAAAN!"

"Olé olé~ Olé olé~ Olé olé~ Olé olé~

Olé olé~ Olé olé~ Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!"

Jeonbuk's trademark Olé. Even the people in the S seats turned away from the pitch and started jumping, pounding the stands in rhythm.

The Poznań Olé.

What it meant was simple.

"It's over…"

There was no need to watch any further. This match belonged to Jeonbuk.

Park Yong-taek knew that meaning as well as anyone.

Tweet! Tweet! Tweeet!

Three blasts of the referee's whistle rang out across Big Bird.

At that irritating sound, Park Yong-taek clenched his jaw and had no choice but to take the hand of Sun Ki-baek, who had already drawn near.

"Good match. Looking forward to seeing you in the league as well."

"…Likewise."

Irritation spiked, and for a moment the hand he gripped tightened hard. In the end, though, Park Yong-taek let the strength go and trudged off toward the locker room.

"Yi-an! Look at this! The communities are full of highlight clips of you going off! The most viewed one already has over eighty thousand!"

"Yeah? So other people think I did well too. More importantly, A-yoon. My leg hurts, so now…"

"Hm? What?"

"Never mind. Just stay nestled there."

"Okay. Heehee."

Watching Shin A-yoon curled up in my arms, grinning as she scrolled through the community posts, I gave up and let the corner of my mouth lift.

She'd even gone to watch the match live, and she was still rewatching the highlights. Was it really that fun?

Well. A-yoon's preparing to become a coach. If it's footage of a player showing good movement, she might want to loop it over and over.

When I played against Suwon, I approached the match as Kang Yun-ho, not Baek Yi-an.

In other words, the player in the clips she was watching was essentially that unfortunate world-class midfielder who once stood on the Ballon d'Or podium—only to have it stolen by his own team's winger.

No harm in her watching a lot. Every bit of that player's movement will make good material for her later.

While I was at it, I should dig up some of the training footage from the clubhouse too.

Shin A-yoon would probably love that as well.

"Oh, right. More importantly—you're not allowed to go posting on communities or anything later, okay? You know that?"

"…Come on, I'm not a kid. You think I'd do that?"

"I know. As if I don't know you. More importantly—did you not wash the jersey I gave you? That thing must've been soaked in sweat."

As I stroked the head of Shin A-yoon pressed tightly against me, a stuffy sweat smell hit my nose.

I'd given her the jersey I'd worn for my debut as a gift. She wasn't seriously wearing it without washing it, was she?

"A-yoon?"

"Wash it? Not washing it is better—I mean, no, why would I wash it? There's only one. It's precious."

"There's only one? It's just a jersey. If I ask the team I can get a new one, so go ahead and wash it. If you're worried the lettering will come off, I'll get you one without a name—just tell me."

"O-okay! I'll say something if I need it, so s-stop talking about the jersey! More importantly—did you get hurt anywhere during the match? Is your body okay?"

"My body?"

Why was she suddenly asking about my physical condition? It had already been more than two days since the match ended.

No reason for my body to be in bad shape. It's not like I took half a dozen tackles.

Repeating sudden sprints and stops could put a strain on the muscles, sure… but according to the team doctor's check, there was nothing wrong.

Besides, Baek Yi-an's body was a steel frame on par with Yoon Seung-hwan's. Getting injured wasn't likely.

Yoon Seung-hwan… Thinking of that name, the face of the idiot who'd been interviewed by the announcer after being named MOM floated up unbidden.

Is he insane? He doesn't even answer the question and blurts out "Be happy!" out of nowhere.

Something was clearly wrong with his head. Next training session, I'd knock him a few times and fix it.

Anyway. Thinking about the match brought something else to mind—something I was still owed from Shin A-yoon.

I leaned down carefully toward the ear of the girl in my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠arms and asked.

"By the way, A-yoon?"

"Hm? Whaat?"

"I fixed everything you told me to. So when am I getting my reward?"

"Hm? R-reward? What are you talking about?"

"What do you mean, what. You said if I fixed my form from forefoot to midfoot, you'd give me a reward. You came to the match—you know I fixed exactly what you pointed out, perfectly. So what kind of reward were you planning to give me?"

"Ah. Th-that, well…"

At my question, Shin A-yoon hesitated for a moment, set her phone down, and hung her head deep.

She'd probably only said it assuming I wouldn't actually get on the pitch.

Tch. I was curious what kind of reward it'd be… but it's not like this is my only chance.

There would be plenty of days ahead for me to play. Of course there would be days when I showed her something even better than what I'd done against Suwon.

In that case…

I can wait, I guess.

Smack!

"Huh? A-yoon, what did you just do?"

"Y-you said you wanted a reward… I haven't prepared anything properly yet. So for now, just be happy with this. If you do well next time, I'll give you something better…"

Shin A-yoon buried herself into my chest, her cheeks flushed as if they might burst.

The sight of her pressing her lips to my cheek and calling it a reward almost made me laugh.

Still. This is a pretty good reward as it is.

For now, I decided to be satisfied.