Right after the final whistle blew.
Kim Shin-woo couldn't shake off the shock.
'What the hell… was that just now?'
Kim Shin-woo.
A promising young defender who had even won the Outstanding Defender Award in the high school division of the National Sports Festival.
Yet, he couldn't stop a 13-year-old forward.
He'd faced plenty of youth players with exceptional technique, but Ho-young's skills were on a completely different level.
Dazzling.
But not clumsy. His Marseille Turn was clean, efficient, and even had speed.
'Is that… what they call… a genius…?'
It made sense now.
Why the media made such a fuss about him.
'He really is that good… way too good.'
His skill was undeniable.
Then, he suddenly remembered what he had said to Ho-young earlier that morning.
'Damn it.'
An embarrassing memory.
'You idiot, why would you say something like that… to a kid, no less.'
He'd told him not to get hit and just play well.
A comment he wished he could erase from his memory.
He couldn't bear to look his teammates in the eyes.
The armband on his arm felt so worthless now.
Just then.
The silence was broken by none other than Ho-young's voice.
"Thank you for the game."
"O-oh, yeah…"
Ho-young was the first to come over and bow respectfully.
Because of that, despite the loss, Kim Shin-woo didn't feel too bitter.
If they'd lost narrowly, he might've been angry, but the gap in ability was so obvious, there was no room for that emotion.
And to top it off, Ho-young was humble despite his young age.
Not to mention, he had a ridiculously handsome face.
Most of all, Kim Shin-woo liked players who were good at football.
Whether you were 10 or 100, if you could play, that was all that mattered.
Kim Shin-woo reached out and placed a hand on Ho-young's shoulder.
"You were good. You said you're thirteen?"
"Yes."
"How the hell are you that good?"
It was a question born of pure curiosity, no sarcasm or bitterness.
But Ho-young's answer was even more unexpected.
"Haha. You can play well without getting hit, you know."
"Yeah… guess you can…"
Kim Shin-woo nodded.
There was no way to argue with that.
As was typical in Korea where hierarchy was strict, even after the game ended, players continued to exchange "thank you for the game" across the pitch.
After parting ways with Kim Shin-woo, Ho-young walked elsewhere.
There was a player he really wanted to shake hands with.
But to his surprise, he didn't even need to make the approach.
"Good game."
Lee Chung-yong had come to him first.
"Thank you for the game!"
Ho-young felt a lump in his throat for no reason.
Partly because he missed that kind of Korean-style greeting, but mostly because one of the players he had admired from a young age had come over to shake his hand.
It wasn't quite the trembling feeling he had with Neymar, but this wave of national pride made his heart swell.
"Looking forward to playing with you, hyung."
"Hahaha. No need to be so formal. Just relax."
Lee Chung-yong beamed, revealing a slightly crooked tooth.
He was much kinder than his public image suggested.
At least, for now.
And as if that wasn't enough, he even gave Ho-young a gift.
[Exceptional Composure (B-)]
His first day with the national team.
It was a fantastic start.
Sunday, March 20th
In a county-sized area under French jurisdiction called Montaigu.
A picturesque landscape centered around a river.
From all over the world, under-16 football prospects gathered there.
They had come to participate in the Mondial Football Montaigu tournament, which would kick off on the 23rd.
Held annually in Montaigu, France, the tournament had reached its 32nd edition, with a long-standing reputation.
The prestige of the tournament was just as significant as its history.
Players like Zinedine Zidane, Pavel Nedvěd, Thierry Henry, Andrea Pirlo, Cristiano Ronaldo, and Carlos Tevez had all taken part at one point.
It was Europe's most renowned and prestigious youth football tournament.
It was no surprise that scouts from all over the world would gather to watch.
That's why the players gave everything they had on the field.
To catch those scouts' eyes.
To earn a shot at a big club in a major league.
"As soon as you're done unpacking, gather in the first-floor lobby."
Upon arriving at their lodging in Montaigu, the South Korea U-16 national team headed straight to a nearby training ground.
It was a facility loaned to them for a week by the local club Montaigu FC. But since eight countries were participating, each team had limited time slots to use the facilities.
Every minute had to count.
Coach Park Kyung-woon gathered the players on the pitch and addressed them.
"As you all know, our first opponent is France."
Of all teams, they were facing the host nation in the opening match.
The players' nervousness was written all over their faces.
"Look, whether it's us or France, we're all the same age. They eat bread, we eat rice. That's the only difference. So don't get scared."
This year, France wasn't considered a strong title contender.
Reports said their squad was much weaker compared to last year.
Meanwhile, Korea's U-16 squad had only lost four players who had turned 17.
Veterans like Lee Chung-yong and Kim Shin-woo were still eligible since their birthdays hadn't passed yet. So the team's core strength wasn't significantly reduced.
Still, the absence of senior leaders had affected their morale.
And the fact that their opponent was the host nation didn't help.
France would no doubt throw everything into securing a successful opening match.
However, even if they lost, it wouldn't mean immediate elimination.
The Montaigu tournament was divided into Group A and Group B for the group stage, with the top two from each group advancing to the semifinals.
Korea was placed in Group A alongside France, Germany, and Ivory Coast.
'Our best finish was runner-up, if I remember correctly.'
Ho-young recalled a news article he'd read before his regression.
South Korea had finished second, led by players like Lee Seung-woo and Jang Gyeol-hee from Barcelona's youth academy.
'It's 2005. There's no reason we can't do it too.'
Of course, it all depended on the opposing teams' strength.
How strong France's squad would be was the key question.
'Can't wait to find out.'
Having already faced some of Brazil's top youth talents, he felt confident no matter who showed up.
And more than anything.
'I hope there are a lot of familiar faces.'
As he thought about the teams participating—France, Germany, Japan, Portugal, England—his mouth dried up with anticipation.
It was truly a paradise for football prospects.
It was going to be one hell of a tournament.
March 23rd, three days later.
Stade Maxime Bossis de Montaigu, a stadium with a 36,000-seat capacity.
The temperature had dropped to 5 degrees Celsius, but the home team locker room was filled with fiery tension.
It was the energy radiating from the boys in blue.
This was the France U-16 team, the nation with the most titles in tournament history.
They were determined to reclaim their crown after losing to Japan, the previous year's champion.
Among them, one boy stood out with especially fierce determination.
Mamadou Sakho.
Currently part of the Paris Saint-Germain youth team, the 1990-born defender was a key part of the squad.
Among his teammates, he was nicknamed "The Beast."
His broad, powerful back made the nickname self-explanatory.
'Man, I can't wait. I just want to get out there already.'
His strong physique, typical of a black athlete, was already brimming with energy as he imagined the victory to come.
His eyes burned with competitive fire.
A few minutes later.
As the players stepped onto the pitch, Sakho's eyes were drawn to a boy with sharp facial features.
He remembered what the coach had drilled into them over the past week.
—Be careful of a young player named Ho-young.
'He's supposed to be some hotshot from Brazil.'
Still.
'One good player won't change anything.'
The opponent was Korea.
Korea, one of football's backwaters.
Sure, they had that 2002 World Cup miracle where they reached the semifinals, but that didn't change Sakho's impression of the nation.
To him, Korea was the weakest of the group. Just another meal to consume.
But there was a slight problem.
Some of their key players had picked up minor injuries during training and wouldn't be available for this match.
'It's fine. I'll handle it myself.'
Sakho had complete faith in his own ability.
He was ready to tear it up out there.
It was time to let loose.
3:00 PM
The sun gently lit up the field.
The opening match between France U-16 and South Korea U-16 was about to begin.
"Uooohhh!"
The stands were only half full, but the roar of the crowd showed just how prestigious this tournament was.
Sakho steeled himself once more.
'Scouts are definitely watching. It's the opening match, after all.'
His gaze locked onto one boy.
Number 7, Ho-young.
'Born in '93, huh?'
Three years younger than him.
Sakho smirked.
'Hope he doesn't start crying. Scouts from all over the world are watching.'
"Heh."
Beep!
With Sakho's mischievous laugh still lingering in the air, the match kicked off.
Thud.
It was central midfielder Quentin who started the match with the kick-off.
At the same time, the French players spread out like an eagle unfurling its wings.
They were set up in a 4-3-3 formation with two defensive midfielders, clearly aiming to shut down Ho-young's runs through the middle.
Korea, on the other hand, lined up in a 4-3-1-2.
'A two-striker system. One of them is called Suk Hyun-jun… and the other is Ho-young.'
Sakho stuck closely to Ho-young, man-marking him with relentless effort.
But the game took an unexpected turn.
Everyone had assumed France would dominate, but the match quickly turned into a fierce battle, almost too intense for a youth game.
Neither side looked likely to back down.
However, as time passed, France began to take control of the midfield.
Using the flanks to move dynamically and disturb Korea's formation, Quentin fed precise passes to the wingers, opening up attacking routes.
Crosses from both wings began raining in, throwing Korea's defense into disarray.
This continued until the 15th minute of the first half.
By that point, the balance had already tipped.
France, having gained a firm grip on the midfield, began to hold over 80% of possession.
'Not much to it, huh.'
Sakho was relieved that they were winning but also disappointed.
He'd hoped to make a name for himself by shutting down Korea's ace.
But what was this?
Ho-young, supposedly the ace, hadn't even touched the ball properly in the first 15 minutes.
With France cutting off Korea's build-up at the midfield, the Korean forwards were effectively bystanders.
'The coach totally overhyped them. These guys are terrible.'
He couldn't understand why they were told to be so cautious.
'How did a country like this make the World Cup semifinals? Ridiculous.'
In the middle of the game, Sakho furrowed his brow.
Annoyance started to build.
'It's only because they were co-hosts.'
France, the tournament favorite, had crashed out of the group stage in the 2002 World Cup, while Korea had somehow reached the semis.
Thinking back on it made him irrationally irritated.
'That was the worst World Cup ever.'
Just the memory made him feel sick.
Not that he hated Korea as a country.
He was just annoyed.
'Seeing teams get lucky and go far really pisses me off.'
From that strange bitterness, Sakho's competitive spirit flared up again.
And he made a vow.
To crush them with pure skill.
'Our midfield is solid. I just have to shut down the space. Then the win is guaranteed.'
Marking and physical pressure were his strengths, and he was confident he could neutralize Ho-young.
But that confidence only lasted until Korea made a tactical shift.
Thump!
"...Ugh!"
Ho-young.
Suddenly, his movement became more intense. As he moved to claim space, their bodies clashed.
'He's sturdier than I thought.'
Gulp.
Sakho swallowed hard.
But it wasn't enough to make him panic.
'Sure, he's strong for his age, but he's not on my level.'
The three-year age gap, combined with the fact that Ho-young was Asian, inflated Sakho's confidence.
He convinced himself that Ho-young was just a precocious East Asian kid.
He deliberately stuck to Ho-young, trying to bait him into physical duels.
Naively.
Sakho had no idea what the real problem was.
Smack!
"What the hell?!"
The French midfield that had been so tightly controlled was suddenly unraveling.
What was going on?
It didn't take long to find out. The reason was Ho-young's increased activity.
Although he was a striker, Ho-young had dropped back to the second line to receive the ball.
That shift spread the French midfield thin.
'That lunatic.'
His work rate was unreal.
Even Sakho, known for his own stamina, had to admit it was impressive.
'Tch… let's see how long you can run like that. You'll burn out in the second half.'
But 3 minutes passed, then 5, and Ho-young still didn't slow down.
Even as he gasped for breath, his legs never stopped moving.
It was grit.
And that pissed Sakho off.
To make things worse, Korea's midfield started coming alive. They began distributing balls forward.
It was a situation that could lead to conceding at any moment.
Sakho chased after Ho-young relentlessly, but it wasn't enough.
His off-the-ball movement was sharp, slipping through tiny gaps with precision.
'Damn it.'
What would the scouts think, watching this?
It was obvious.
They'd shift their focus from Sakho to Ho-young.
'What a waste.'
That's why Sakho knew he had to do something.
For his team. And for himself.
"You little rat! Stop running and come at me!"
He snapped and shouted in frustration, trying to provoke him, but Ho-young didn't even flinch.
At that moment, Sakho felt it in his gut.
Something was off.
Like something was about to happen.
(To be continued.)