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Kim Kang-hyun, born in 2001.
Freshly discharged from military service, ready to take on the world.
He believed he could do anything.
His life was destined for nothing but a brilliant future...
Or so he thought—until three months passed.
Now, Kang-hyun smiled bitterly as he stood in the cold dawn air.
The streets were empty.
He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
Well, no one's around to care anyway.
"Ugh! I don't wanna go to work!" He shouted into the void.
The chilly morning wind stung his face.
A month after his discharge, he had partied hard—his self-proclaimed "gift" for finishing his service.
He met friends, drank, and enjoyed himself.
But then came the inevitable question:
"Hey, Kang-hyun, have you thought about what you're gonna do now? You quit soccer, right?"
"Hell if I know, man. Why bring up serious stuff while drinking?"
He always brushed it off, but the truth was, he'd heard the same question countless times in the military.
"Hey, Kang-hyun."
"Private Kim Kang-hyun."
"You're getting discharged soon—what are you gonna do out there?"
"…Dunno. Guess I'll figure it out."
"You should start thinking now. It'll be too late once you're out."
His platoon leader had given him earnest advice.
"Sergeant Kim, what're you gonna do after discharge?"
"Whatever puts food on the table."
"If you don't have an answer, don't bother lying. Heh."
"This punk's talking nonsense."
He'd joked around with his fellow soldiers, but deep down, he was avoiding the question.
His entire school life had revolved around soccer.
From elementary to high school, he played as a midfielder.
But his coaches always said the same thing:
"You lack talent, so you've gotta make up for it with effort. Got it? Run like Park Ji-sung."
They demanded insane stamina from him.
And he knew it himself—he wasn't naturally gifted.
So he compensated with sheer effort, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion on the field.
The result? Retirement at 19.
He wasn't even good enough for a college soccer team.
Outwardly, he pretended it didn't bother him, but it did.
Right after high school, he enlisted, as if running away.
He enlisted in March 2020 and was discharged in September 2021.
Now, three months later, with no skills or future plans, his only option was factory work.
"Another solo Christmas."
Not that he'd ever not been single, so it didn't sting.
But the thought of turning 22 in a month weighed on him.
I've done nothing with my life, and now I'm 22…
Still young, sure, but the time he'd spent in the military felt wasted.
If he'd started working at the factory earlier, he'd at least have saved some money.
He put out his cigarette and waited for the commuter bus.
It arrived shortly—he was used to this routine by now.
This bus would take him to the industrial complex.
Just gotta kill time till then.
---
The factory Kang-hyun worked at operated on two shifts.
He ate breakfast there, then killed time on his phone before work started.
"Hey, Kang-hyun!"
"Yeah?"
A senior worker, a guy who'd been there for nearly 20 years, called out to him.
Startled, Kang-hyun looked up from his phone.
"You used to play soccer, right?"
"Uh… yeah. Why?"
He vaguely remembered listing it on his resume.
"So you're experienced?"
"Yeah. What's up?"
The senior grinned slyly.
"Well… we've got a bet going with the other team. A soccer match. One of our guys can't make it."
"Oh… okay."
Apparently, the full-time employees had organized a friendly match.
Kang-hyun was just a contract worker.
This factory was technically a major corporation, but most hires were contract workers.
And converting to full-time? Impossible.
They'd work you for nearly a year, then fire you right before they had to pay severance.
Kang-hyun didn't plan to stay a year anyway, but the pay was decent, so he stuck around.
"Wanna join?"
"Is it on the weekend?"
"Yep!"
Despite three months at the factory, Kang-hyun kept his distance from coworkers.
He wasn't interested in making friends, and they didn't approach him either.
This was the first time anyone had bothered.
"I quit because of an injury. Not sure I can play."
"Aw, come on! Just this once?"
Ugh. Why's this grown-ass man whining like a kid?
Kang-hyun's face twisted in disgust—something he'd never been good at hiding.
Back in the military, he'd gotten chewed out for it.
The senior noticed.
"So you won't do it?"
"Nah. Injury aside, I need my weekends to rest. Work's already exhausting."
"Your section's a cakewalk, though."
Is he picking a fight?
Kang-hyun glared silently. The senior laughed and waved his hands.
"Kidding! How about this? Play, and I'll give you 30,000 won. Score a goal? 40,000. Win? 50,000. It's just a 60-minute game—easy money!"
"30,000 just for playing, 40,000 per goal, 50,000 if we win? Wait, is that cumulative?"
"Nah, just bonuses."
Seeing Kang-hyun hesitate, the senior pressed on.
"60 minutes for 30,000 to 50,000 won? That's a steal! You can leave right after—no after-party crap."
"Hmm… can I let you know later? Need to think."
"Sure, but tell me by tonight. Deal?"
"Yeah."
Work began.
As usual, he zoned out, mind blank.
His hands moved automatically—no mistakes here.
Hmm. This is tempting.
The "injury" was a lie.
He hadn't gotten hurt—he just wasn't good enough.
Lunch passed, then quitting time.
"Kang-hyun, decided yet?"
The senior cornered him before he left.
Kang-hyun nodded.
"Yeah, I'll do it. Where's the match?"
---
December 11, 2021. Saturday.
Match at 11 AM.
Current time: 5:20 AM.
His alarm had gone off—he was on the day shift this week, so he'd have woken up now anyway.
Maybe a little more sleep…
He checked the time, then closed his eyes again.
But once awake, sleep wouldn't come.
If anything, he felt more alert.
Giving up, he got up. Ten minutes had passed.
After washing up, he stared blankly out the living room window.
His father slept in the living room—a weird habit.
His mother slept in the bedroom.
They never shared a room.
When he'd asked why, his mother said his father ground his teeth and talked in his sleep.
His father just said he slept better alone.
Kang-hyun sat on the sofa, watching the dark dawn.
December mornings took their time.
Bored, he opened YouTube.
Tottenham had played Norwich, and Son Heung-min had scored.
The thumbnail showed Son celebrating, arms raised, with the caption:
[Son Stabs Norwich in the Heart]
Though he'd quit soccer, Kang-hyun still loved it.
He watched, mesmerized.
Son had snatched the ball mid-scramble in the penalty area and fired into an open net.
A scrappy goal, but it took skill.
If I were in his place, I'd have frozen and blown the chance.
Comments flooded in:
[Local commentators can't ignore this! Golden Boot incoming!] (985 likes)
[In that chaos, he spotted the gap and tapped it in—best finish this season.] (604 likes)
Kang-hyun liked every comment, then returned to his room.
I used to dream of playing in the EPL…
In middle and high school, he'd imagined himself as a 22-year-old EPL star.
Now? About to play a pickup game with factory workers.
He chuckled dryly, then glanced at the soccer ball displayed reverently in his room.
It bore the autograph of Han Myung-shin, a legend of Korean football.
He took the transparent case and touched the ball.
"Wonder how much this'd sell for…"
A signed ball from the man who'd once inspired his dreams.
He'd gotten it at 12—ten years ago.
During an A-match.
Han Myung-shin was a true legend.
Park Ji-sung and Son Heung-min were great, but Han was on another level.
"The Bomber of La Liga."
A starter for Real Madrid, top scorer, multiple Champions League winner.
But whether due to racism or politics, the Ballon d'Or always went to his teammates or rivals.
Then, at 34, he died in a helicopter crash during bad weather.
That was 2016—five years ago.
"Why'd you have to leave so soon?"
As Kang-hyun muttered to himself, the ball trembled.
What the—? Poltergeist?
"Who's there?"
A voice answered.
"Where am I?"
"AHH!"
Kang-hyun screamed.
A ghost stood before him.
"Yikes! You scared me!"
But the voice… familiar?
The build, the face—he'd seen this man before.
"Wait… Han Myung-shin?"
"Yes. But where is this? This looks like Korea, but I was just in Spain…"
Five years after his death, Han Myung-shin's ghost had appeared.
Why? Why me?
Did his spirit attach to this signed ball?
But he must've signed thousands—why mine?
"What's that?"
"Huh?"
Han pointed at something translucent—a holographic window.
Like something from a video game.
[Football Manager / Start]
…Football Manager?
FM?