The next big step. A generational leap.
This wouldn't be easy, and I knew it way before the taxi even dropped me off at my destination. My rally. My national team. The last training camp before we'd go out there and prove our worth to the entire world. Not that I needed to prove anything. It was just that the country's expectations were higher than a giraffe's testicles.
The Asian Cup was one thing, but the World Cup was a whole other level.
My Kakao account had blown up. All those football aficionados, the ones who had been following my career since I was a kid, were eagerly waiting for me to join the senior team, and hoist the country to the top. It'd likely happen after this World Cup. My reputation was reaching the heavens.
And for a Korean boy, all this popularity would've been enough to crush one under the pressure.
Jun-hwan was facing a similar level of attention, though nowhere close to mine.
I adjusted the strap of my bag, heaved a deep breath, and marched on.
...
Coach Anh-ki Seok's POV:
Until a few years back, he didn't believe something like this could've been remotely possible. And it wasn't just proudly winning the Asian Cup, but completely crushing every opposing team that faced them during their march through that event—or in previous qualifiers.
Reaching the peak of a mountain, usually, required a lot of effort, and one had to be careful of predators prowling. There was rarely a clear shot to the summit. Usually, there was a myriad of obstacles to overcome, and the most brilliant minds always faced challenges on the journey to the top.
No one is a genius at all things.
Everyone had their blind spots. Their faults and weak points. No football player could be already complete. Even the best of the best, to this day,cwould still be learning how to grow stronger. The world stage was a big place. And one wrong step would make all the difference.
Yet his men had reached the pinnacle. The South Korean team, kids not even adult, were like an unrivaled force of nature as they tore a path through the entire tournament, firmly planting their flag at the top, an unquestionable feat of superiority no one could overlook.
What a huge jump it had been. They went from a team barely getting by to an overwhelming force within the blink of an eye.
Seok frowned, taking a moment to contemplate on what exactly made their journey to the top so effortless.
This rise of the national team wasn't caused by his ability, but because of them. And if he was brutally honest with himself, his involvement had only ever been a side note to the success. He was merely a motivator—not much of a driving factor to their victory. Sure, he was responsible for their training and well-being, but beyond that, it was really thanks to his boys that the national team now stood at the very top, proud and towering high as a lone monument against the backdrop of the eastern countries.
This was a once in a generation occurrence.
And in his country, Korea, this would be an event they wouldn't live to see another generation experience.
However, the coach himself was also coldly aware of how the giants all around the world were beginning to come out of hiding, what with their extreme young powerhouses, carefully nurtured talents, little legends in the making, and excellent skills to back up the claims.
Even if his boys took the cup this time, they couldn't rest on their laurels and think themselves invincible. Brazil. England. Italy. France. Spain. Germany.
South Korea, in a way, was both unlucky and lucky. They might be considered one of the rising stars, with all their newfound talent in Cha Jae-il and Kim Jun-hwan, both of whom could easily make it into the most premiere leagues of the world and be widely talked about for years to come, but... at the same time they were already bound by misfortune, because they were born in an era that was overflowing with talents unlike anything before, or after.
The world was moving, fast, relentlessly, and the next 15-20 years would be the new age, a renaissance of players, teams, leagues and players the likes of which could not be found even back in the good old days.
Ahn Ki-seok could feel it, on his skin, in the somewhat austere atmosphere currently in the camp. He looked to his left.
Academy Director Lee had come down to see the players. With him, an entourage of staff and neatly suited executives.
Director Lee had that particular walk.
Twenty years in football administration had given him a posture that said 'I have seen things that would humble you.' and on most days he was right.
He moved through the training facility's corridor with two assistants flanking him, a tablet tucked under one arm.
The players were coming off their afternoon session.
Ahn had run them through a tactical exercise—high press, counter-press, transition windows—nothing that would hollow out their legs before the camp proper began, but enough to shake the rust off after the Asian Cup celebrations and whatever mischief they'd gotten up to in the weeks since.
Most of them were toweling off, trading mild insults, stealing each other's water bottles.
Jong-su, predictably, was doing an impression of someone—Ahn couldn't tell who—that was making Dae-hyun laugh so hard the big defender had to brace himself against a wall.
Everything was normal. Confidence was high.
Director Lee paused at the edge of the pitch, surveying the group. Then his eyes found Ahn, and he gave a small, respectful nod that was also somehow a question: a word?
Ahn walked over.
"They look well." Lee said, watching Jong-su's impression reach its apparent climax to thunderous approval from the assembled squad.
"They're playing well." Ahn corrected gently, before frowning when he vaguely realized Jong-su was making a mocking impression of him. "Which is different. Playing well I can work with. Looking well is just optics."
Lee smiled at that. He'd always appreciated Ahn's refusal to indulge sentimentality in a professional context. "Fair. Though the optics haven't hurt us. I've had three calls this week from broadcasters wanting extended access for the Japan leg. And—" he glanced at his tablet briefly, "—merchandise figures from the Asian Cup window are up four hundred percent on the same period last year."
"That's because Jun-hwan and Jae-il."
"Mostly, yes."
"Then it's a problem for your department." Ahn said without heat. "Mine is keeping them healthy and focused."
Director Lee tilted his head slightly. "About that. I'd like a few minutes with both of them. After you're done here. Is that manageable?"
Ahn looked at the group. The session had wound down naturally. Nobody was going to run a sprint on their own initiative at this point. "Give me ten minutes."
He pulled Jae-il and Jun-hwan aside himself, which he knew would draw attention.
When the coach separated two players from a group after a session, the rest of the squad transformed into a single antenna, tilted and receptive. The trick was to make it look routine. Ahn managed it by being boring about it. No drama, just a flat "You two, over here" while pointing at the side door with the same energy he might use on his kids.
Both Jae-il and Jun-hwan dislodged from the group and walked up to the coach.
"Director Lee wants a word." Ahn said simply. "I'll be nearby."
xXx
Director Lee's POV:
The room they settled in was one of the smaller meeting spaces off the main corridor.
Four chairs, a whiteboard that hadn't been written on yet, a window overlooking the pitch where the rest of the squad was beginning to drift toward the locker rooms.
He placed his tablet face-down on the table.
"Firstly." Lee said, settling back slightly. "Well done on the Asian Cup. Both of you. The entire squad, but particularly the two of you." He said it without ceremony, which he hoped communicated that he meant it rather than just leading with it. "Seven goals conceded across the entire tournament. Three in the final group stage, none in the knockout rounds until the quarter final."
Jun-hwan gave a small, composed nod. Jae-il didn't move.
"You've evolved." Lee continued, brightly. "When I watch the footage from the AFC qualifiers versus the final, well... the gap is significant."
He let that land for a moment. They both dipped their heads in a subtle nod of acknowledgment and gratitude. He reckoned they already knew how good they were, and were likely swamped with praises ever since the tournament began.
"I want to talk about what comes after Japan."
Jun-hwan's posture didn't change visibly, but Lee noticed the slight adjustment in how his hands rested on the table. Jae-il's eyes settled on him more directly.
"There's been significant interest from European clubs," Lee said. "This isn't new. There were feelers after the qualifiers, a few more after the group stages of the Asian Cup. What has changed is the seriousness of the interest, and one conversation in particular that I want to be transparent about."
He retrieved the tablet, turned it to face them. On the screen was a BVB crest.