---
🏁 After the Match
Other teams played after them, but none drew the roar that Seoul FC did. When they took the field, it was like the entire stadium had shifted. Seats that were once half-empty now overflowed. Scouts — real ones, from Europe and elsewhere — crowded into corners with clipboards and cameras. These weren't just kids playing for fun. These were the future of South Korean football.
Seoul FC was in a league of its own.
Government-backed, elite-funded — their academy accepted no donations, no bribes, no politics. Only raw talent. Entry was through a grueling, near-impossible exam. Their coach? Paid more than some club professionals.
And their star? Jin-Ho — the golden-haired winger — lit the pitch on fire.
He scored two goals, assisted another, and barely broke a sweat. His close control, explosive pace, and sharp decision-making stunned everyone. Even the other teams paused to watch. Even Min Son couldn't help but feel it.
> "Football is about levels..." Coach Park said later that evening, gathering his players in a quiet corner of the stadium.
He didn't shout. He didn't scold. He pointed to the screen replaying Seoul FC's domination and said calmly:
> "Keep that fire in your heart. We're not here to watch—we're here to grow."
He reminded them that they now sat at the top of their group with three points. Two more group-stage matches remained. Only then would the real test begin: the knockout, quarterfinal, semifinal, and final.
> "Jin-Woo is now the top scorer across all groups," he added, looking at the quiet striker. "Three goals. Jin-Ho has two. The rest are on your heels. Don't get comfortable."
He smiled then — a rare, tired smile — and dismissed them.
Most of the kids ran to their parents, full of excitement, sharing replays and selfies. Min Son stood back, watching quietly. No one was there for him.
Only four players — the ones with absent parents — boarded the academy bus back.
Min Son was one of them.
---
🏠 Back Home
The ride was long and quiet. The sun had dipped by the time he got off, bag slung over one shoulder, match-worn socks still clinging to his ankles.
He opened the front door gently.
And froze.
In the dim light of their small apartment, his mother lay in bed, an IV drip hooked to her arm. A nurse sat quietly beside her, checking vitals.
> "Ah, you're back," the nurse said with a soft smile. "She's okay, don't worry. Just stress. Exhaustion. She pushed herself too hard again."
Min Son didn't speak. He dropped his bag slowly and walked over to the bed.
His mother was asleep, brow slightly furrowed, skin pale. Her usual energy — the one that used to fill the whole house when she hummed while cooking — was gone.
In the living room, his father sat in front of the TV, bottle of beer in hand, a cigarette lazily resting between his lips. He didn't even look up.
Min Son pulled a small stool next to his mother's bed and sat silently beside the nurse. She offered him water. He shook his head. His eyes stayed on his mother's chest, rising and falling.
He sat like that until his head slumped forward and sleep took him.
---
📆 Two Days Later — The Academy
The sun had barely risen. The academy's training field was already buzzing.
Min Son was back on the pitch, back in his training kit, boots laced, eyes locked on the grass ahead.
His mind hadn't shaken what he'd seen at home.
But he knew what he had to do.
Train.
Win.
And one day… make enough to get her out of that apartment forever
---
🌄 Early Morning Training
As always, Min Son was first on the pitch.
The morning air was crisp, and dew still clung to the grass. He stood alone with a ball at his feet, quietly lining up his shots. He'd been practicing the Blitz Curler again — the move that lit the crowd on fire just days ago.
But he hadn't forgotten the two failed attempts before that.
The one that hit the bar? That was just luck... right?
> "I need to make it feel natural," he muttered under his breath. "Like breathing."
He adjusted his stance. Placed the ball. Three steps back. Strike.
The curl was clean — but not sharp enough. It bounced wide.
He sighed, stepping forward to retrieve it.
---
🧍♂️ The Arrival of Others
The sound of footsteps and chatter grew behind him. More players were arriving.
Some glanced at him. Some whispered.
> "He's acting like he's the hardest worker in Korea." "He wants us to clap because he's out here sweating alone?" "Low-lives always overdo it. Twice the effort just to keep up with us."
Min Son didn't react. He never did. He picked up the ball and walked back to his spot.
But their words lingered, thick in the air like fog.
---
😏 Enter Jin-Woo and Mok Gyeongwoon
Laughter echoed from the edge of the field.
Jin-Woo walked in with his best friend, Mok Gyeongwoon, the team's rock-solid center back — thick, tall, and built like a wall. The two had known each other since day one, and shared the kind of effortless bond only bullies and boys born into strength often do.
"Bro, that first goal of yours?" Mok grinned. "Masterpiece. How the hell did you know the keeper would open his legs like that?"
Jin-Woo smirked. "If you knew that, maybe you'd be the striker, not me."
They both laughed.
"Instincts," Jin-Woo added coolly.
---
🎭 The Hidden Resentment
Mok continued, his grin widening. "But real talk… that pass from that lowlife—" he nodded toward Min Son "—that one left me speechless."
Jin-Woo's smile faltered slightly, but he said nothing.
"I mean it," Mok said, munching on gum. "The kid literally baited the whole backline. Dribbled one. Then slipped it to you like it was scripted."
He chuckled.
"If I were one of those defenders, I'd break his twig legs before he even tried that."
Jin-Woo's jaw tightened.
"And that second goal — how did he even kick the ball like that? That wasn't just a curve, that was some weird—magic. You've gotta treat that boy to lunch sometime."
Jin-Woo narrowed his eyes.
"What about my finish?" he asked quietly.
"Huh?"
"The execution," Jin-Woo said louder. "My positioning. My read of the play."
Mok rolled his eyes. "Come on, bro. You just tapped it in. Anyone can do that."
Something snapped.
Jin-Woo grabbed the front of Mok's shirt, shoving him back a step.
"You think tap-ins are easy?" His voice cracked with frustration. "You think it's just 'stand there and shoot'?"
He pushed harder, eyes flaring.
"You have to time your run perfectly. Too fast — you're offside. Too slow — the chance is gone. You have to read the game before it even unfolds. That's what makes a striker."
He released Mok's shirt with a final shove and stormed off.
Mok blinked, stunned.
---
📣 Coach Arrives
The silence didn't last long.
Coach Park's whistle rang across the pitch, sharp and commanding. Everyone scrambled to line up.
"Endurance work today," he barked. "No magic. Just sweat."
Min Son was already jogging to the start point — wordless, distant.
Behind him, Jin-Woo walked with fists clenched and thoughts storming.