8 — The Next Level

The day of the tryouts for FC Seoul’s Youth Academy arrived, the culmination of weeks, no, a literal lifetime of preparation. My father, Yeong Gu, drove me to the training ground. He was a bundle of nervous energy, constantly tapping the steering wheel or adjusting his position in the seat.

"I hope you remembered your cleats. You have them, right?" He asked for the fourth time that morning.

"Yes, dad." I said patiently.

"What about the registration forms? Did we sign them?"

I glanced at the papers on the dashboard, all neatly filled out and bearing our signatures. "Right there. All ready to go."

"Okay." He let out a breath, his fingers tapping an unending rhythm. "You're my son, you'll be fine. Just... remember the strategies we went over and you'll ace it."

"I'll do my best." I said with a smile of my own, trying to calm his jittering nerves.

Next to him, in the passenger seat, Eun Ha sat serenely. She looked back at me with a warm, encouraging smile, her calm in stark contrast to Yeong Gu's palpable anxiety. She had come more to manage him than me.

"Just remember what your father said, and it'll be fine. They would be foolish not to take you."

Once again, I found myself nodding repetitively. It was an understandable concern slash anticipation they had, after all, FC Seoul wasn’t just a club—it was the pinnacle for youth players in South Korea, offering a clear, established path to the K-League.

This was a huge opportunity, and one that, if successful, would set my path back towards professional football, this time in this new life.

I glanced out the window. 'Time sure does fly by though...'

A slight nudge on my side brought my attention back to the car. Mia, sitting beside me, gave me a conspiratorial wink and a mischievous smile. "Just remember, you mess this up, and I get to say 'I told you so' for the next hundred years." She whispered, her tone teasing but not malicious.

After that afternoon together, this pesky little kid warmed up to me considerably. She wasn't suddenly affectionate, but it felt like some barrier between us had fallen.

"Your confidence in me is inspiring." I replied, a chuckle escaping me. "Don't worry, your chance to gloat isn't here yet."

She grinned. "We'll see." Her hand sneakily brushed mine. "We'll see..."

Su Ah, ever the observer, gave me a quiet nod across the seat.

I nodded in return. She then reached over to squeeze my hand briefly.

Mia subtly interfered by shifting her weight so that our hands couldn’t properly meet.

Su Ah glared, before her mother's calming voice cut the tension short. "Girls… please…"

'An interesting rivalry, isn’t it?' I thought to myself, a bemused smile on my face.

Eventually, the massive complex of the FC Seoul Youth Academy loomed before us, a stark contrast to the familiar patch of grass behind our house or the modest grounds of Suryong Private School. Gleaming modern buildings, perfectly manicured pitches stretching as far as the eye could see. It screamed professionalism.

This was the big league, even for seven-year-olds.

Dad’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Alright, son. This is it. Remember, deep breaths. Play your game. And… have fun?” The last part sounded more like a question, as if fun was a luxury he wasn’t sure was permitted here.

It was unusual to see him like that, not knowing what to say or do. He was typically a pillar of stoic authority in the family.

His words of caution about my supposed hubris, echoed back in my head.

Eun Ha laid a calming hand on Yeong Gu's arm. "Dear, it's going to be okay." She assured him, her voice gentle. "Our Jae-il has got this."

Yeong Gu exhaled, a slow, controlled breath. He glanced back at me through the rearview mirror. “Good luck.” He managed, his voice tight. "Make us proud, Jae-il."

"We know you'll do well." Eun Ha added with a smile, reaching back to gently squeeze my hand.

Mia leaned closer, her breath warm against my ear as she whispered. “Show them your magic, little bro." Her usual tease held an unusual sincerity, almost a vote of confidence in disguise. Well, would you look at her? "If there's anything in the world you can do without messing it up, it's this."

Su Ah's usual mask of indifference held a hint of dignity and anticipation as well. "Just don't trip over the ball on the field."

After a quick series of encouraging words from everyone in the car, we arrived in front of one of the smaller, less impressive buildings, where a group of children was gathered with their parents and guardians. From their nervous pacing, anxious fidgeting with soccer balls and cleats, and frequent, almost longing glances towards the main pitch, it was obvious who these kids were—prospective recruits.

This was a different kind of intensity, and I was genuinely fascinated by it.

From here, I saw everything.

There were no more than a dozen or so kids. A few stood out due to their size or demeanor. But overall, they were what you could expect from an academy of that caliber. Decent, yes, but nothing extraordinary. Some, however, did carry a unique flair in their movement, the hint of latent talent.

I’d recognize that anywhere.

The car door clicked open, and I stepped out of the cool comfort into the humid, sticky heat.

“Here we are, son! Main entrance for U-8 check-in should be over there." Yeong Gu announced, pointing. "Are you all set?”

“I think so.” I responded, stepping out of the car.

He nodded briskly, the nerves from earlier replaced by a more familiar determination.

As we approached the check-in tables, the sheer number of hopefuls became even more apparent. I’d estimated a dozen from the car, but now, closer, it was clear there were at least fifty, maybe sixty kids my age. All vying for the few spots the academy offered. A low murmur of anxiousness hung in the air like an omnipresent cloud.

"Cha Jae-il?” A woman with a clipboard and a no-nonsense expression called out.

“Here.” I replied, stepping forward. Dad hovered just behind me, craning his neck.

She ticked my name off a long list and handed me a bright orange bib with the number ‘23’ printed on it. “Pin this on clearly, front and back. Warm-up will be on Pitch 3. Coaches will direct you. Parents, please remain in the designated viewing areas.” Her tone was brisk, efficient, clearly used to managing hordes of excited children and their even more excited parents. “Next.” She barked, her gaze shifting to the next hopeful, already reaching for another number.

I pinned the number 23 to my chest. The fabric felt crisp and new. "So... just go on over to pitch three and do as they say?" I said to Dad, more rhetorical than questioning, as I knew what I needed to do.

He patted my head. "Yes, Jae-il. Show them what you've got. Remember: stay cool and play smart."

Eun Ha stepped in smoothly, pressing a water bottle and a neatly wrapped snack box into my hands. "Eat and drink, even if you're not hungry. It's going to be a long, tough day." She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on my forehead.

'Long day? This is just the beginning.'

From the sidelines, Mia waved, an uncharacteristically sweet smile on her face, though I swore I could see the hint of a smirk playing in her eyes. "Go kick their butts! Make those other kids wish they’d stayed home and played video games!" She said, causing Yeong Gu to harrumph.

Su Ah remained impassive as ever, merely giving a tiny nod to show she was listening and wished me well.

I gave them all a reassuring nod, a small smile playing on my lips. Turning, I headed towards Pitch 3.

The designated area was already teeming with other bib-wearing kids.

Coaches in official FC Seoul tracksuits were starting to corral them, their voices sharp and authoritative.

I took a deep breath.

One of the coaches, a man with a weathered face and eyes that seemed to miss nothing—I’d later learn he was Coach Park, one of the head assessors for this age group—blew a sharp blast on his whistle.

“Alright, U-8s, listen up!” His voice boomed across the pitch. “Welcome to the FC Seoul Youth Academy tryouts. Today, we’re looking for talent, for hard work, and for passion. We’ll start with some basic drills, then move into small-sided games. Give it your all, listen to instructions, and show us what you’ve got!”

He pointed towards a set of colorful cones at one end of the pitch. “Get lined up for some warm-up exercises!”

We started the warm-up, stretching, and agility exercises. Some of the children, in their excitement or anxiety, rushed their movements, causing one of the coaches to pause and emphasize the importance of proper form to prevent injuries. He shot a quick glance my way as if acknowledging that I alone had followed their guidance correctly. 'Maybe that's a good sign.'

A kid next to me, visibly struggling with the exercises and clearly out of breath from rushing the last few movements, received no such acknowledgement.

'I doubt we’ll be sharing a locker room.'

I wasn't worried about competition here.

'Competition is overrated. Quality, though. Quality makes a champion.'

After a brief pause for a well-supervised hydration break, we moved on to skill drills. Passes, traps, turns, feints. Some were quite sloppy, some showed promise.

Coach Park, along with the others, watched us with an eagle-eyed focus. They noted every fumble, every hesitation. But what they seemed to value the most wasn’t perfection—because perfection at seven wasn’t really possible.

However, if I wanted to speedrun this shit, perfection would come sooner than anyone could expect.

I smiled; it was finally my turn.

‘Jair Campinho is back, bitches.’