The second half began exactly as the first half had ended, with Muju Alpine FC in complete control. Ansan kicked off, hoping to start fresh, hoping to erase the memory of those disastrous forty-five minutes. They passed backward, trying to build something, trying to find a rhythm. But before they could complete their third pass, Lee Dong-min was there, reading the play, stepping into the passing lane. He stole the ball cleanly, and then, the music started again.
Dong-min played it simply to Park Gun-woo, who had already started his run forward. Gun-woo, one touch, to Ahn Jae-won. Jae-won, one touch, to Bae Jin-ho on the right. Jin-ho, one touch, back to Kim Tae-hwan overlapping. Tae-hwan, one touch, inside to Lee Dong-min, who had continued his run.
One touch. One touch. One touch.
The ball moved like it was on a string, purple shirts finding each other with an almost telepathic understanding. Ansan players chased, lunged, desperate to make any kind of impact. They couldn't. Every time they got close, the ball was already gone, already finding another purple shirt in another patch of space.
The crowd loved it. Every completed pass drew cheers, the sound building with each sequence. *Ole! Ole! Ole!* The chant started small, then grew, then became a wall of sound that seemed to push the players forward.
In the technical area, Tae-yang watched with the same calm expression he'd worn all game. But behind his eyes, something was stirring. This was exactly what he'd dreamed of. Exactly what he'd spent five years imagining. His team, playing his football, dominating a professional opponent.
Beside him, Yoon Ki-hyuk was grinning like a fool. "They have no idea what to do."
Tae-yang nodded. "That's exactly the point. They should fear us."
The minutes ticked by. Fifty. Fifty-five. Sixty. The ball barely left Muju's possession. Ansan chased shadows, their frustration growing with every completed pass. They committed fouls out of desperation, cheap shots born of embarrassment. The referee's whistle became a regular sound, stopping play only briefly before Muju resumed their masterclass.
Sixty-two minutes. A beautiful sequence. Twenty-three consecutive passes, every player touching the ball at least once, culminating in a through ball from Ahn Jae-won that split the defense like a knife. Kim Joo-sung ran onto it, but the goalkeeper was quick off his line, smothering the ball just before the striker could reach it.
Close. So close.
Joo-sung jogged back, not frustrated, just focused. The chance would come again. He knew it. They all knew it.
---
Sixty-five minutes. Time for changes.
Tae-yang turned to his bench. Three players stood ready, stripped and waiting, their eyes hungry.
Sakamoto Kenji, number fifty-two, the young Japanese defender who had arrived just weeks ago. He'd trained hard, integrated quickly, earned his place on the bench. Now he would get his debut.
Hwang Jae-sung, number seventeen, the versatile wide player who could slot into multiple positions. Fresh legs, fresh energy.
Jung Hyun-soo, number twenty-two, the young fullback with endless stamina and a willingness to run all day.
Tae-yang approached them. "Sakamoto, you're in for Gun-woo. Sit in front of the defense, keep it simple, keep the ball moving. Jae-sung, you're in for Sung-kyu. Same instructions, wide left, stretch them, but come inside when the space opens. Hyun-soo, you're in for Tae-hwan. Right back, overlap when you can, but don't leave us exposed."
They nodded, focused, ready.
The substitutions were made. Park Gun-woo jogged off to a standing ovation, his work done, his contribution immense. Yoon Sung-kyu followed, applauding the crowd, exhausted but satisfied. Kim Tae-hwan came off last, high-fiving Hyun-soo as they passed.
The game resumed, and Muju kept playing.
If anything, the substitutions made them sharper. Fresh legs, fresh energy, the same relentless philosophy. Sakamoto settled into the defensive midfield role immediately, his passing crisp, his positioning flawless. He'd learned the system quickly, and now he was showing why Tae-yang had signed him.
Seventy minutes. Seventy-five. Eighty. The ball kept moving. The crowd kept chanting. Ansan kept chasing.
---
Eighty-seven minutes.
Ahn Jae-won received the ball on the left side of midfield, the game slowing slightly as players shifted positions. He looked up, assessed the options, and began to drift toward the right wing.
The Ansan defense adjusted, following him, expecting him to cut inside as he'd done all game. But Jae-won had other ideas. He kept going wide, taking the ball all the way to the touchline, drawing defenders with him.
Then he stopped.
In the space of a heartbeat, he saw it. Sakamoto, the young Japanese debutant, had drifted into space at the edge of the box. Not the penalty spot. Not the six-yard box. The D, the edge of the area, where defenders rarely expect a shot.
Jae-won didn't hesitate. He played the ball low and hard across the grass, a driven pass that skipped past two defenders and arrived perfectly at Sakamoto's feet.
Sakamoto didn't have to adjust. The ball was there, exactly where he needed it, exactly when he needed it. He took one touch to set himself, and then he hit it.
His right foot connected with the ball like a hammer striking a nail. The shot was pure power, pure technique, pure intention. It rose slightly, then dipped, screaming toward the top corner.
The goalkeeper never moved. He was still reacting when the ball hit the net.
Four-nil.
Sakamoto stood still for a moment, processing what had just happened. His first goal. In a stadium of seventy thousand people, in front of a coach who had believed in him enough to bring him here. Then his teammates mobbed him, and he disappeared under a pile of purple.
In the technical area, the coaching staff celebrated again, though they were running out of energy. Hwang Ji-min was laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. Choi Sung-wook was pumping his fist. Yoon Ki-hyuk had his arm around Tae-yang, who for once didn't pull away.
"Your signing," Ki-hyuk said. "Your goal."
Tae-yang said nothing. But his eyes, fixed on the celebrating players, were warm.
---
Ninety minutes. Three minutes of added time.
Ansan had given up. They were going through the motions now, waiting for the whistle, wanting only for the nightmare to end. Muju kept playing, kept moving, kept searching for more.
Ninety-two minutes. A corner kick.
Ahn Jae-won trotted to the flag, ball under his arm. He looked at the box, at the players jostling for position. Hwang Sung-min, the veteran center back, was being marked tightly. Ryu Jae-hyuk, his partner, was lurking at the far post, less conspicuous, less watched.
Jae-won raised his hand. A signal. A plan.
The ball arced into the box, high and hanging, dropping toward the penalty spot. The goalkeeper hesitated, caught between coming and staying. Defenders jumped, but the ball was too high, too perfectly placed.
And then Ryu Jae-hyuk rose.
He seemed to hang in the air, suspended by will and timing and the sheer desire to make this moment count. His neck muscles tensed, his eyes locked on the ball, and he met it perfectly.
The header was unstoppable. Powerful, precise, directed into the far corner where no defender could reach it.
Five-nil.
The stadium erupted one last time, a final explosion of joy from seventy thousand voices. Ryu landed, turned, and ran toward the corner flag, his face split by a grin so wide it seemed to consume him. His teammates chased, caught him, celebrated like they'd won the league instead of just one game. In the technical area, even Tae-yang allowed himself a small fist pump. Just one. Just enough. The referee checked his watch, raised his whistle, and blew three times.
Full time. Muju Alpine FC 5, Ansan Greeners 0.
---
The players collapsed onto the grass, exhausted and elated. They'd done it. They'd actually done it. Their first professional match, and they'd won by five goals. Against a seasoned K League 2 team. Without conceding a single shot on target. The fans stayed, cheering, chanting, refusing to leave. They'd witnessed something special, something historic, and they wanted to savor every moment.
In the owner's suite, Yoo-ri stood at the glass, tears streaming down her face. She didn't try to hide them anymore. Let them see. Let them all see. Her team had won. Her team had dominated. Her team had made history.
Min-jae was beside her, equally emotional, his arm around her shoulders. "We did it," he kept saying. "We actually did it."
Cha Jin-ho rose from his seat and walked to stand beside his daughter. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, quietly, "You've built something remarkable here."
Yoo-ri turned to look at him, surprised by the words. "We built it, Father. All of us."
He nodded slowly. "I see that now."
It wasn't everything. It wasn't years of neglect erased. But it was something. A beginning. A crack in the wall.
On the pitch below, the players were still celebrating, still embracing, still unable to believe what they'd accomplished. Tae-yang walked among them, shaking hands, patting shoulders, offering quiet words that meant more than any speech could.
When he reached Ahn Jae-won, he stopped.
"Two assists and two goal. Man of the match, probably."
Jae-won grinned, exhausted and ecstatic. "Not bad for a lazy playmaker, huh?"
Tae-yang's mouth twitched. "Not bad at all."
They stood together for a moment, coach and player, looking out at the crowd that refused to leave.
"This is just the beginning," Tae-yang said quietly. "One game. Three points. Thirty-three to go."
Jae-won nodded, understanding. "We'll be ready."
"I know."
---
## Match Statistics: Muju Alpine FC vs Ansan Greeners
| Statistic | Muju Alpine FC | Ansan Greeners |
|-----------|----------------|----------------|
| **Possession** | 78% | 22% |
| **Shots** | 22 | 0 |
| **Shots on Target** | 9 | 0 |
| **Passes** | 687 | 189 |
| **Pass Completion** | 94% | 61% |
| **Fouls** | 8 | 14 |
| **Yellow Cards** | 0 | 3 |
| **Red Cards** | 0 | 0 |
| **Corners** | 12 | 0 |
| **Offsides** | 3 | 1 |
---
## Goal Scorers
| Minute | Player | Assist | Score |
|--------|--------|--------|-------|
| 1' | Ahn Jae-won | Kim Joo-sung | 1-0 |
| 20' | Kim Joo-sung | Bae Jin-ho | 2-0 |
| 44' | Ahn Jae-won | Yoon Sung-kyu (set piece) | 3-0 |
| 87' | Sakamoto Kenji | Ahn Jae-won | 4-0 |
| 90+2' | Ryu Jae-hyuk | Ahn Jae-won (corner) | 5-0 |
---
## Assist Providers
| Player | Assists |
|--------|---------|
| Ahn Jae-won | 2 |
| Bae Jin-ho | 1 |
| Kim Joo-sung | 1 |
| Yoon Sung-kyu | 1 |
---
## K League 2 Standings (After Round 1)
| Position | Team | GP | W | D | L | GF | GA | GD | Pts |
|----------|------|----|---|---|---|----|----|----|-----|
| **1** | **Muju Alpine FC** | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 5 | 0 | +5 | **3** |
| 2 | Suwon Samsung Bluewings | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 3 | 0 | +3 | 3 |
| 3 | Busan IPark | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 2 | 0 | +2 | 3 |
| 4 | Daegu FC | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 2 | 1 | +1 | 3 |
| 5 | Gyeongnam FC | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 2 | 1 | +1 | 3 |
| 6 | Gimpo FC | 1 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 0 | +1 | 3 |
| 7 | Seoul E-Land | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | +1 | 3 |
| 8 | Cheonan City | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 0 | 1 |
| 9 | Seongnam FC | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 0 | 1 |
| 10 | Jeonnam Dragons | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 1 |
| 11 | Suwon FC | 1 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 0 | 1 |
| 12 | Chungbuk Cheongju | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | -1 | 0 |
| 13 | Paju Frontier | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 1 | -1 | 0 |
| 14 | Chungnam Asan | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 2 | -1 | 0 |
| 15 | Hwaseong FC | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 1 | 2 | -1 | 0 |
| 16 | Gimhae FC | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 2 | -2 | 0 |
| 17 | Yongin FC | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 3 | -3 | 0 |
| 18 | Ansan Greeners | 1 | 0 | 0 | 1 | 0 | 5 | -5 | 0 |
---
In the tunnel beneath the stadium, Tae-yang stood alone for a moment, letting the silence wash over him. Above, the crowd still chanted, still celebrated, still refused to leave. The sound filtered down through layers of concrete, a constant reminder of what they'd achieved.
His phone buzzed. A message from Yoo-ri.
*You did it.*
He typed back: *We did it.*
Another buzz: *Drinks tonight? To celebrate?*
He almost smiled. Almost.
*Not tonight. Game on Wednesday. Need to prepare.*
A pause. Then: *You're impossible.*
Another pause. Then: *I'll be watching.*
He pocketed the phone and walked toward the dressing room, where his players waited, where the celebration continued, where the season was just beginning.One game down. Thirty-three to go. The sun had risen. And it was shining brighter than ever.