Double Pivot

Three things.

First, Minji’s stamina and strength make her perfect for the box-to-box midfielder role.

Second, Hanni’s vision and technique make her perfect for the deep-lying playmaker role.

Third, your timidity and submissiveness make you perfect as, for them, the seat role.

—

“It can be anything, really.”

The faculty member looks at you with a tinge of derision in her eyes. You can feel it. “Anything?” That fucking intonation in her voice. She knows you’re awfully desperate.

“I mean, nothing too physical.” You raise your arm halfway up to show her your lanky muscles.

There’s about a month left, currently, until the semester’s end. You, to start, have zero (0) scholarship hours. To keep this education support money, there’s a requirement of twenty-four (24) hours of university work per term for your full scholarship. These can be gradually collected through the events and activities: Orientation Day, International Day, Student Committee. Still, you decided for the last few months to slack off and do absolutely nothing, except taking Rushall Olympic to UEFA Champions League glory three (3) times in a row with the meta tactic of Football Manager Two Thousand and Twenty-Four (2024): 4-2-3-1 gegenpressing.

“You came too late,” the faculty member states. She must be about fifty or somewhere around there. The folds in her skin are apparent. And with the nature of her gaze through her rectangular glasses, it’s apparent that she’s not so fond of a shirker like you, very likely worn out by them over the years. Seoyeon — that’s her name.

“Is there, like, really nothing?” you ask with your discouraged look. Your back hunches. Your lips quiver.

Seoyeon scoffs, “You said nothing physical, and that basically filtered out the remaining,” and her eyes glance at the computer screen, “three jobs.”

You sigh, resigning to your fate. “What are they?”

The faculty member chuckles. “Well, there’s this camp for the underprivileged — three days of area department.”

That means carrying things, using a handheld radio, and staying up late. You’re definitely going to look like an asshole for saying no to it, but you push on through, regardless.

“What’s the other two?”

Seoyeon’s brows are raised scornfully. You just give her a silent sorry. How dare you say no to a charity camp!

“There’s a week of bathroom cleaning.”

Seoyeon definitely sees you recoiling. Still, washing your filth is already enough for you. There’s no need for others’ in your life!

“And this one just came in: a coach for our faculty’s women’s football team.”

Well, now we’re talking.

Your eyes widen. You smack your hands on the counter immediately, drawing a few unwelcoming eyes from the other folks working behind the counter. Seoyeon’s expression remains rather calm, however.

“Didn’t catch you as the sporty type.”

A smile unwillingly escapes your lips, “I used to play football,” and you weren’t particularly good at it, not really. With your rather short height, your days as a central midfielder did give you some experience in this regard. Your passivity and lethargy got in the way of being a professional footballer, though.

Seoyeon chuckles before putting up a remark, “Well, it’s definitely great that you show interest in this,” and she does a few more clicks on her computer. “Still, I have to say that this is the most complex job out of these three.”

“Yeah — tactics, people management, mentality,” you say eagerly out of the adrenaline rush you’re getting. “Trust me, I’ve been through it.”

“Vanarama South?”

You blink out of a little surprise. “North! Didn’t catch you as the sporty type.”

Seoyeon chuckles, still remaining wary of her words. “My partner likes to share about their Dagenham and something team.”

“Dagenham and Redbridge!”

“Yeah, that one,” Seoyeon says with a polite smile. “Well, I can register you in and we’re done.”

Without a hint of doubt, “Yes, I’ll take the job.”

—

“Have you heard about the ads in ChatGPT?” Gaeul asks you, one hand holding her tote bag. Her mid-back-length pink hair sways around as she walks beside you in the hallway. She’s looking as elegant as ever. Her grey jacket barely covers the professional thirst-trapper text on her white tee.

“Oh, that, yeah, I’ve seen it. Shit’s fucking dystopian.”

She sneers, “Gotta re-read everything now.”

“Bait or deadass?”

Gaeul just chuckles as she readjusts her bag that’s sliding down her shoulder. “So, what are you doing for the scholarship hours? You have zero now, right?”

“I registered for the girls’ football team,” you answer. The sentence feels splendid rolling off your tongue.

Gaeul shoots you a slightly amazed look, taken aback by your confidence. “Wow.”

You giggle. “Yeah, wow.”

“So those hours in FM aren’t wasted?”

“They’re not.”

Gaeul elbows you tenderly. “Damn, I have a proper manager friend.”

Your heart flutters a bit at your friend’s words. You’re positive that she means it.

“Any tips?” you ask.

Gaeul thinks sonically with her finger on her lips, then: “Just don’t put yours into the players.”

Your brow knits, not understanding her advanced joke. “My what?”

“Okay, wait, that was too crass. I shouldn't—”

“Oh.” Any tips? Tips, and you laugh in a child-discovering-pee-and-poo-joke kind of way at Gaeul’s unapologetically nasty humor. “Yeah, great one. Like I’d stand a chance against tall, athletic, sweaty women.”