Chapter 3: The End and the Beginning (3)

After spending a while consoling the dejected Hyung-Min, Arthur finally managed to coax the young rookie manager (interim) back to his senses and began preparing for the season opener.

"The first thing you need to do is convince the locker room."

"That's true."

"Since you're just an interim manager, if you can convince the leaders to follow your lead for a few games, they'll sort out the locker room for you."

"Who are the leaders in the first team locker room right now?"

"Hmm… for the first team, it'd be Ben Mee, Jack Cork, and Jay Rodriguez. They've got some sway."

Thinking of the first team's starting defender and captain, the starting midfielder and vice-captain, and the veteran striker who'd returned to lead the attack after coming up through Burnley's youth system, Hyung-Min grew gloomy again.

"Would those guys even come if I called them?"

"I don't know about you, but if *I* call them, they'll come. Probably?"

"…"

True to the rugged, direct football style Sean Dyche had instilled in Burnley's key players, the three summoned to the manager's office were all over 180 cm tall with sturdy builds.

As their broad shoulders filled the sofa to the point it looked like it might burst, Hyung-Min cautiously sat across from them on the opposite sofa alongside Arthur.

Facing three players who'd come when called but clearly had no idea why, all wearing similar puzzled expressions, Hyung-Min struggled to speak.

"Uh, I'm Kim, the new youth team manager who started last month. Well, who I am isn't that important. I've been asked to step in as the interim first team manager until a new one is appointed, so I'm here to ask for your help."

Thanks to the previous manager's strict emphasis on professionalism when selecting players, none of the three sitting before Hyung-Min laughed or scoffed outright.

But their bewildered expressions were all much the same.

"You're going to manage the first team?"

Captain Ben Mee spoke with disbelief, and Hyung-Min steadied his shrinking shoulders before replying.

"Sean's resigned, and the reserve team manager, Mike, followed him out. The club seems to have handed it to me as a stopgap. I think it's because I'm the only one here with a UEFA Pro License. Hopefully—soon, maybe?—a proper manager will take over, so if you could just follow my lead until then… wouldn't that work?"

As the three players' expressions soured at his trailing words, Arthur, who'd been watching from the side, jumped in.

"You lot! What's so bad about Kim managing you for a few games as interim?! Any of you got a UEFA Pro License? Or do you want to take charge yourselves?!"

Ben Mee, the captain who'd been with Burnley for over a decade and had trained under Arthur in the reserves early in his career.

Jack Cork, the vice-captain who'd been on loan at Burnley early on and also worked under Arthur in the reserves.

And Jay Rodriguez, a Burnley youth product who'd been coached by Arthur since his snot-nosed kid days.

All three players, deeply tied to Burnley Football Club, quickly started managing their expressions in front of the ornery old man from the English countryside.

"Back in my day, huh! When you lot couldn't even tell piss from shit—"

"No, that's not true, Arthur—"

"Arthur? *Arthur*?! Am I your mate?!"

"No, I mean—Coach Arthur, no, Manager Brimelow!"

"That's right! Sean's been coddling you all this time, so you've forgotten your place, eh? Good thing I'm here—I'll straighten you lot out today!!"

Watching the old man berate three professional footballers—each likely twice his size—with florid rhetoric and stubbornness, Hyung-Min realized anew the universal truth of grumpy old men: British ones weren't much different from Korean ones.

After enduring over 30 minutes of Arthur's roaring lecture, the three mentally drained players—and Hyung-Min (who, for some reason, had become a target of the tirade alongside them)—gathered themselves and finally began discussing the real purpose: preparing for the next match.

"The opener's against Everton. I think we should approach it with a 4-3-3 formation."

At Hyung-Min's suggestion, vice-captain Jack Cork tilted his head and asked,

"Do we really need to change the formation now? We're all used to 4-4-2, and… uh… if a new manager comes in and changes tactics again, won't that just confuse things more?"

Glancing at Arthur—who didn't react, since it was true a new manager would eventually replace Hyung-Min—Jack sighed in relief briefly. But he froze at Hyung-Min's next explanation.

"Sean's 4-4-2 style has already been completely figured out by every Premier League opponent. Pushing forward with it has hit its limit."

"We've survived four seasons in the Premier League with that style," countered captain Ben Mee.

Hyung-Min shook his head.

"That's true, but the Premier League itself is evolving. Even if we stick to the old ways, our opponents are changing, so we can't just ignore that shift. Look here—this is data I've compiled on Premier League teams' attacking trends over the past four seasons."

Pulling out some documents from somewhere, Hyung-Min handed them to Arthur and the three players, then began explaining.

"Check this chart. Not only has the number of passes per game gone up overall, but the number of pass sequences without losing possession has increased too. Teams are getting more comfortable controlling games with short, quick passes."

The front page of the report featured a chart with a smooth upward curve trending to the right.

"This means their ability to break down teams like us, who sit deep in defense, is improving."

"Can't we just solve that by defending solidly?" Ben Mee pointed out.

Hyung-Min shook his head again.

"In the past, if we held firm, opponents would rashly attack, get intercepted, and we'd send long balls to strikers like Chris Wood or Ashley Barnes to finish. But look—last season alone, we spent way longer periods getting pummeled in our own box."

Flipping a page in the report, Hyung-Min prompted the other four, who were listening intently, to do the same.

"Here, you can see the gap widening in opponents' possession, total passes, pass sequences, and shots. They're holding the ball longer and turning it into shots. Even if their shots are blocked, they buy time to regroup, reducing our counterattack chances. And if they keep getting the ball back and taking shots, it becomes a numbers game. No matter how solid our defense is, if we're bombarded with this many shots, we'll get breached. Now, look at the next chart…"

The three players, dazed by Hyung-Min's explanation, glanced at him, then at Arthur—who was equally engrossed—and finally realized something.

*Oh, it's not just the grumpy old man. Once this young guy starts talking, it's another endless hellgate.*

With slightly glazed but somewhat convinced expressions, the three players pledged the locker room's full support and fled the room as if escaping.

Afterward, Burnley Football Club's first team manager (interim) and sole staff member (interim, soon to retire) began a tactical meeting to analyze the opponent.

"Donny van de Beek? Why's Donny van de Beek, who's with Manchester United, playing for Everton?!"

"No idea. Looks like Solskjær must've allowed a loan."

"Uh, what do we do? Donny van de Beek wasn't in my scenarios!"

Unable to bring himself to use Sean Dyche's office (still "Sean Dyche's office" in his mind), Hyung-Min and Arthur were in the meeting room where the first team staff usually gathered, working on opener tactics alone. Checking Everton's first team roster, Hyung-Min groaned.

"Argh! With Dominic Calvert-Lewin up top as striker and Donny van de Beek as an attacking midfielder behind him? How do we stop this?"

"Stop it? You just stop it well," Arthur quipped nonchalantly from the side.

Hyung-Min glared at him.

"We've seen how Rafa Benítez uses attacking midfielders with his 'Ge-To line' at Liverpool!"

"…Ge-To line?"

"You know—Gerrard and Torres! Anyway, Calvert-Lewin will lead the line, and the wingers and attacking midfielder will exploit the gaps he creates. Van de Beek's got great passing—he could draw out the defense and distribute, or even drive in and finish himself…"

Muttering to himself, Hyung-Min rummaged through his laptop for data.

Soon, the meeting room's large screen lit up, displaying footage of Donny van de Beek from his Ajax days (Hyung-Min had ruthlessly dismissed his Manchester United footage as irrelevant), when he was considered one of the Netherlands' top midfielders.

"But can we actually pull off a 4-3-3 with pressing up top? These guys have been playing defensive, long-ball football under Sean for eight years," Arthur mumbled worriedly.

Analyzing the Van de Beek video in slow motion, Hyung-Min replied without looking up from his notes.

"We'll have to change it through training. Start with simplified movements and gradually build up the complexity."

"Is that possible? We've only got five days."

"Well… we'll see. I just need to get through this opener—after that, a new manager will take over, so it's not my problem anymore, right?"

"Fair point."

---

"Did you sleep?"

On the morning of the opener, Arthur asked Hyung-Min the moment he saw his face at work.

Hyung-Min shook his head weakly.

"I think I ate something bad. Didn't sleep a wink—threw up all night."

"Ate something bad? We had dinner together, and I'm fine."

"Then what did I eat that was bad?"

"What else? Nerves."

At Hyung-Min's puzzled look, Arthur shook his head and explained.

"You've never managed a pro-level first team—or even a reserve team. Maybe an amateur or semi-pro gig, but at best, you filled in as youth team manager for a few games at Salzburg, right?"

"Well, yeah…"

"And now you're suddenly leading grown pro players in the Premier League, one of the world's top leagues—of course you're a wreck. Even seasoned veterans struggle to sleep before high-pressure games. For a rookie like you, it's only natural."

"Is that how it works?"

"That's how it works! So straighten up—since you're probably gonna lose anyway, just lose spectacularly!"

Hyung-Min snapped at Arthur's hearty laugh.

"No, I'm not gonna lose!"

"I don't know. Don't ask me."

*If I hadn't spent the night hugging the toilet, I could've chased down that old geezer,* Hyung-Min thought as he dragged his shaky legs toward the meeting room.

Before the afternoon match, with the players yet to arrive, it was time for one last tactical review.