CS 05

Chapter 5

Something More Important Than Money (4)

The midfielder Park Min-hyuk, who had been assigned to the same team as Kang Do-in, was quite a highly regarded prospect in middle-school soccer.

He was already set to attend a high school affiliated with a K League club, and he had been a regular member of the age-group national teams since his second year of middle school.

Naturally, he was also acquainted with Kang Do-in.

Even if Park Min-hyuk had been a starter while Kang Do-in had been a substitute, they had still been teammates who played together, hadn’t they?

Park Min-hyuk wasn’t the kind of person who casually divided people into social ranks, so even though they’d only known each other for a short time, he had gotten fairly close to Kang Do-in.

They didn’t contact each other often, but they’d even exchanged phone numbers.

It had only been about six months, so it wasn’t even that long ago.

Did he forget me?

Standing on the field before the practice match, Park Min-hyuk recalled what had happened earlier.

More specifically, he remembered Kang Do-in asking him what his name was.

Anyone could see that Kang Do-in had acted as though he were meeting him for the first time.

He’d thought they’d gotten along pretty well.

Had that just been his own misunderstanding?

He felt a little disappointed when his supposed friend simply asked him to pass the ball to him.

Whether he knew how Park Min-hyuk felt or not, Kang Do-in was casually waiting for the match to begin while yawning.

His position was right winger in a 4-3-3 formation.

No. Let’s just focus on the match for now.

Park Min-hyuk slapped both cheeks to clear his head and steeled himself.

Whatever happened, this was a showcase being watched by Spanish scouts.

He couldn’t afford to miss an opportunity to experience the youth systems of Spanish first-division clubs.

Just like every other player standing here.

Whistle!

The match began with the referee’s whistle as the striker for the bib team passed the ball backward.

When Park Min-hyuk, who was playing as a central midfielder, received the ball, the players moved in unison.

The opposing forward closing him down.

His teammates moving into position to receive a pass.

Before the opposing forward could put him under pressure, Park Min-hyuk passed the ball to Kang Do-in, who had been loitering on the right flank.

It wasn’t as though he’d passed to him because of the request—or rather, command—before the match.

He’d simply passed because Kang Do-in was completely unmarked.

“Defenders! What are you doing?!”

“They’re getting through everything!”

The short Kang Do-in scampered forward and worked his magic.

He used a body feint to get past the opposing fullback, then advanced while constantly tapping the ball and dragging opposing players along with him.

Then, in an instant, he accelerated, cut inside toward the center, and curled a shot with his left foot.

Smack!

The ball traced a clean arc before finding the upper corner of the far post.

All of this happened in less than a minute after the opening whistle.

“Whoa, what the hell?”

“That guy’s crazy.”

There were roughly thirty players gathered for today’s showcase.

Most of them were national-team prospects who had previously been selected for age-group national teams.

In other words, the players gathered here were among the best middle-school soccer players in South Korea.

Naturally, the defenders were no exception.

And yet someone had just pulled off a one-man show like that.

There was no way the opposing team wouldn’t be bewildered.

Of course, his own teammates were just as dumbfounded.

While the players on the bib team wore expressions that were half delighted and half bewildered, Kang Do-in, who had celebrated his goal, approached Park Min-hyuk—the midfielder who had officially assisted him—and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Nice pass.”

Faced with such an utterly shameless expression, Park Min-hyuk couldn’t say a word.

It was absurd.

To be honest, I had never particularly favored attacking through dribbling, even when I was young.

To give a simple example, I had never wanted to become an attacker like Messi or Neymar.

For one thing, my position was striker.

But more importantly, the risk of injury was simply too high.

The longer you kept possession of the ball, the greater the chance that an opposing defender would eventually tackle you.

The very players I’d mentioned as examples had received plenty of rough challenges from defenders throughout their careers.

Taking up a good position through off-the-ball movement and aiming for the goal with the minimum number of touches.

That was my preferred way of attacking.

But people couldn’t live their lives doing only what they liked.

Especially when money was involved.

And more importantly, wasn’t this a showcase?

A showcase.

Showcase.

An event designed to demonstrate a person’s talent or an object’s strengths.

Since I was here to promote myself, I needed to put on a more spectacular performance than anyone else.

It wasn’t as though dribbling was my specialty.

Still, I’d spent twenty years playing professionally and had built a career that I had no reason to be ashamed of.

And more importantly, my opponents were still kids whose bodies hadn’t even finished developing.

No matter how wild I went, they were all still within the palm of my hand.

“Nice pass.”

“Uh, y-yeah…”

The practice match was played in a three-quarter format, with three periods of twenty-five minutes each.

During the first quarter, I received the ball in the final third, used a phantom dribble and put the ball through the legs of two opposing defenders, and scored to bring the quarter to an end.

The score was 4–2.

The bib team won.

I had recorded two goals and one assist, and once again gave a thumbs-up to the midfielder who had passed me the ball.

His name had been Park something…

Hmm.

It was a fairly distinctive name.

Or was it Kim?

Anyway, the first quarter ended, and we were given a short break before the next one.

With December approaching, it was easy to catch a cold.

I pulled on my padded jacket and made sure my sweat didn’t cool too quickly as I rested.

Then an association employee approached me.

“Kang Do-in, good work.”

He handed me a hand warmer and asked whether I could play in a different position starting from the second quarter.

“I don’t see why not. Where would you like me to play?”

“One of the scouts would like to see you play as a center-forward as well. Would that… be okay?”

“Of course. Tell him it’s no problem.”

The association employee said he understood before scurrying toward the scouts.

His destination was the Valencia scout who had spoken to me in the auditorium earlier.

Apparently, he’d remembered that I’d told him my original position was center-forward.

It felt pretty good to know that he was interested in me.

Regardless of what happened, if there was a team willing to take me, why would I turn them down?

“Phew…”

As I let out a sigh of relief at how well things seemed to be going, a cloud of white breath escaped my mouth.

It wasn’t even the middle of winter yet, and it was already this cold.

The colder the day, the more careful I needed to be about injuries.

For a professional athlete whose body was his livelihood, there was hardly anything more disastrous than getting hurt.

Safety first.

Safety second.

I silently repeated the slogan I’d heard countless times at construction sites during high school as I got to my feet.

Time to go kick a ball.

“Achoo!”

Ugh, it’s cold.

“Achoo!”

Antonio, a Spanish man approaching thirty-seven years old, let out a hearty sneeze as the cold bit the tip of his nose.

Spain was a country characterized by a Mediterranean climate.

Its summers were hot and dry, while its winters were comparatively mild.

Even in the dead of winter, temperatures rarely dropped below freezing.

For someone who had spent most of his life in Spain, therefore, there was only one way to describe the Korean winter weather.

“It’s fucking cold…”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his padded jacket and shivered all over.

Then, suddenly, he felt warmth against his cheek.

“Hey, Tony. Here, drink this.”

Antonio glanced sideways.

Inigo was holding out a paper cup with steam rising from it.

He had played alongside Inigo for a Spanish second-division club when they were younger.

Now that Inigo worked as a scout for Valencia, Antonio, who worked as a scout for Real Madrid, accepted the paper cup without hesitation.

“Gracias, amigo. But what’s this?”

“Korean instant mix coffee. One of the association employees asked if we wanted some, so I figured I’d ask him to make three cups while he was at it.”

“Three?”

“One for you, one for me, and one for the guy from Mallorca.”

“Ah.”

There were three clubs participating in the Korean Football Association’s Spanish study-abroad program this time.

Valencia, Mallorca, and Real Madrid.

Each club planned to select three players they wanted and have them train alongside the club’s youth players for one year before sending them back to Korea.

Of course, if a club really liked a player, they could formally offer him a contract and keep him at the club even after the one-year study period ended.

Well…

That was only a possibility, though.

“Ah, when is this going to end…”

“It just finished the first quarter.”

“Those kids are all pretty much the same, aren’t they? They’re going back to Korea next year anyway. Do we really need to agonize over picking them?”

Inigo shrugged as he watched Antonio grumble while sipping his coffee.

He couldn’t say the man was entirely wrong.

The level of the Korean prospects they’d seen so far wasn’t bad.

But it was only that.

There were plenty of players at that level if they searched through their own youth system.

And yet a smile curved across Inigo’s lips.

“Still, I think it was a good thing I came to this country.”

“Looks like you found a player you like.”

“You saw him too. The right winger on the bib team.”

“Oh, him. His name was definitely…”

“Do In. That kid is definitely different.”

His speed, clean ball control, destructive dribbling, and composed finishing.

Above all, he was short.

All of those qualities were enough to remind Inigo of a certain player who had once made Barcelona the best team in the world.

There was no reason not to pick him.

“I even walked around and talked to every player before training started. He was the only one who could speak Spanish, too.”

“…When did you even talk to him?”

“If we’re going to do this, we should take a proper player home with us. And when I asked him earlier, he said his primary position wasn’t on the wing. It’s center-forward.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah. That’s why I told one of the association employees earlier. He’ll probably play in the center starting from the second quarter.”

“Well, okay.”

Watching Antonio’s continued lack of enthusiasm, Inigo secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

In this showcase, each club would be selecting three players they wanted.

If multiple clubs wanted the same player, competition between the clubs was bound to arise.

Inigo had already discreetly sounded out the Mallorca scout by bringing him some coffee, and it seemed that he was also quite interested in Kang Do-in.

If Real Madrid joined the competition as well, things could become troublesome.

Therefore, Inigo quietly breathed a sigh of relief at Antonio’s reaction, which suggested that he had no interest whatsoever in Kang Do-in, before heading toward the field.

It was almost time for the second quarter to begin.

“Tony, aren’t you coming?”

“Wait. I need to send a message.”

Inigo left after motioning for Antonio to go ahead.

His friend’s faint smile, which seemed strangely pleased with itself, made him feel a little uneasy.

Still…

It probably wasn’t anything serious.

—Me: Santiago, Santiago.

—Director of Football: Tony? What is it this time?

—Me: You know that striker I mentioned earlier.

—Me: Kang Do In.

—Me: You know, the short striker.

—Director of Football: I’m not a goldfish. You told me a few minutes ago. You think I forgot already?

—Director of Football: So what is it? Didn’t you say earlier that you wanted to bring that striker over and leave it at that?

—Director of Football: We need to talk to FIFA about the contract situation, so wait a little.

—Director of Football: Whether he’s the next Messi or whatever, we haven’t even signed a contract yet.

—Director of Football: Or is there something else?

—Me: The thing is, he can speak Spanish too!

—Me: And apparently his primary position isn’t on the wing. He’s actually a center-forward!

—Me: This is freaking amazing!

—Director of Football: …That’s a good thing, right?

—Me: Of course it is! If he’s that good playing a position that isn’t even his main one, imagine how much better he’ll be in his actual position!

—Director of Football: Sigh…

—Me: What’s wrong?

—Director of Football: Listen, Tony. You’re way too excited right now. I haven’t even seen how the kid plays yet.

—Director of Football: And you.

—Director of Football: When I told you to go to Korea, you looked like you’d eaten shit and said you didn’t want to go.

—Director of Football: Now you’re making way too big a fuss.

—Me: I’m not making a fuss.

—Me: Seriously. I’ll send you the video later, so make sure you watch it.

—Me: You’ll understand why I’m acting like this, Santiago. You’ll be rushing to draw up the contract yourself.

—Me: I’ll even bet money on it.

—Me: I’m telling you, this kid is the real deal.