The Kick-off Goal
At halftime, the Suwon Blue Sky locker room was wrapped in a silence that stood in stark contrast to the energy before kickoff.
The players sat with their heads bowed, unable to meet each other's eyes, and a heavy gloom hung over the entire room.
Yoon Hyeonjin, whose absurd reverse-dribbling blunder had gifted the opposition their opening goal, was motionless, face buried deep in his chest. The burly senior defender—already responsible for an own goal, a conceded penalty, and a red card—sat clutching his face in both hands.
After a moment, Manager Kim Seongcheol and his coaching staff filed in, their expressions grim. The manager swept his gaze once over the defeated players before speaking.
"...Lift your heads."
The players reluctantly raised their eyes.
"Yes, we were bad in the first half. We made mistakes, and luck wasn't on our side either. But... this match isn't over yet!"
The manager's voice grew louder with every word.
"What's with those faces? You're all hanging your heads like the game's already lost—aren't you ashamed in front of our supporters out there, screaming their lungs dry for you?! Even at this very moment, they believe in us and they're cheering! What kind of players show the world they've already given up before the final whistle?!"
The players bowed their heads even lower under the scolding. It was then that Cha Kangmin quietly raised his hand.
"Coach, could I have a word with you for a second?"
Manager Kim studied him briefly, then nodded. The two stepped out of the locker room and began speaking in low voices near the entrance.
Kim Hanbin, seated close to the locker room door, caught fragments of their conversation.
"Coach... the way Hyeonjin is right now, there's no way he can play the second half. His mentality's completely shattered. If he goes back out there like this, he won't be able to do a thing."
"Hmm... but if not Hyeonjin, I don't exactly have another attacking card to play..."
In a situation like this. Could there be a chance for him?
This is it... now's my chance!
Kim Hanbin didn't hesitate. He rose from his seat and walked straight up to where the two men were talking.
"Coach."
At his sudden appearance, Manager Kim and Cha Kangmin turned to look at him at the same time.
"I... I'd like to play in the second half."
His voice trembled, but it carried a quiet gravity.
"Hm?"
Manager Kim's eyebrow rose slightly.
"I know perfectly well the team's in a difficult spot right now. But... if you give me one chance, I'll prove it to you. That your judgment and Kangmin-hyung's weren't wrong."
Kim Hanbin's eyes were dead serious. Desperation and confidence shone through them in equal measure.
Manager Kim studied him in silence for a long moment.
Honestly... things can't get much worse than they already are. The first half was as good as lost anyway... maybe it's time to let the kid get some experience in a moment like this...
Cha Kangmin leaned in and whispered to the manager.
"Coach, give Hanbin a shot. Hyeonjin's in no state to help anyway, and frankly, there isn't another card on this bench that can change anything up front."
Manager Kim closed his eyes, as if deliberating. Then, seemingly reaching a decision, he opened them and called out to the coaching staff.
"Gather around for a minute."
He pulled aside the head coach and the attacking coach and exchanged a few brief words with them.
A few minutes later, Manager Kim returned to the locker room and announced:
"Alright. At the start of the second half, Kim Hanbin comes on for Yoon Hyeonjin."
A stir rippled through the room at the manager's decision. Throwing in a rookie whose entire career consisted of middle school matches—into a do-or-die crisis like this?
But the team's situation was already so dire that the players quickly accepted it with a sort of resigned shrug and turned their focus to the manager's next instructions. Alongside the fatalism of a team with nothing left to lose, there was something like a faint flicker of hope—a willingness to believe in a miracle, however unlikely.
Manager Kim pointed at the tactical board and began laying out the second-half formation and strategy.
"We've got nothing left to lose anyway. Second half, we go all-in route one—Hanbin alone up top. Midfielders push as far forward as you can, both fullbacks join the overlap aggressively. Defense... Kangmin, that's on you. Hold it down. And..."
The manager looked each player in the eye as he drove his words home.
"Find a way to win us set pieces. Draw a foul near the box, win a corner—I don't care how. Get dirty if you have to. Just create the chance!"
The message was unmistakable: squeeze every last drop out of Kim Hanbin's free-kick ability.
The end of halftime was drawing near.
Just then, a roar began to penetrate the thick walls of the locker room, swelling in from outside the stadium. The voices of the Suwon supporters.
ALL WE WANT IS VICTORY! ALL WE WANT IS VICTORY! ALL WE WANT IS VICTORY! ALL WE WANT IS VICTORY!
Their desperate cry carried into the locker room with startling clarity. Manager Kim shouted to his players.
"You hear that?! Our supporters haven't given up—right up to this moment, they're out there cheering their hearts dry for you! If only for their sake, we cannot collapse here! Now, let's go!"
"Let's go!"
"Let's get it!"
With the players' answering shouts, the heavy, sunken atmosphere of the locker room ignited once more into burning heat.
One by one, the players filed out of the locker room and headed for the pitch. Kim Hanbin followed—then his steps briefly faltered.
He walked up to the veteran midfielder he'd run into in front of the restroom earlier. The senior said nothing, only watching him.
"Hyung-nim."
Kim Hanbin looked him dead in the eye and spoke with firm resolve.
"Just like you said earlier—I'll prove it. You have my word."
The veteran stared at him for a moment, then let out a short snort of laughter and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Alright then. Show me what you've got."
With that, he disappeared down the tunnel toward the pitch.
The moment Hanbin passed through the tunnel and stepped onto the field, the heat of the stands hit him in a crashing wave of blue. Tens of thousands of supporters were spinning their tricolor umbrellas in perfect unison, singing their anthem at the top of their lungs.
Ore-o-re~ Olay olah~ Ore~ Ore-o-re~
Champion of Blue, White, and Red!
Wherever you go, even into dreams, we'll follow you~
At the sight, Kim Hanbin's chest swelled all over again.
Yes. If only for those supporters... we win this match today. No matter what.
Kim Hanbin took his position at the kickoff spot. Waiting for the referee's whistle to signal the start of the second half, he glared fiercely across at the opposition's half.
He could feel several Gangwon players glancing his way with curious eyes, as if to say, who's this guy supposed to be?
Yeah, take a good look. You're about to find out exactly who I am.
Then Kim Hanbin's gaze landed on the opposing goalkeeper.
The Gangwon keeper, apparently receiving instructions from his coaching staff, had wandered all the way out to the edge of the penalty area, shouting back and forth toward the Gangwon bench.
The goal stood all but unguarded.
Tweeeeeet—!
The referee's whistle split the air. The second half had begun.
Now!
Kim Hanbin didn't hesitate. He charged full-tilt at the ball on the kickoff spot and unleashed a surprise long-range shot straight at the opponent's goal.
BOOM—!
With the dull, cannon-like crack of an artillery shell being fired, the ball tore off Kim Hanbin's foot and ripped through the air at terrifying speed.
It climbed high in a graceful arc, then dropped—soaring clean over the head of the keeper who had strayed out to the edge of the box—and was swallowed straight into the goal.
For roughly one full second, the entire Suwon World Cup Stadium made no sound at all.
"......"
It seemed everyone needed a moment to process what they had just witnessed.
Then that brief silence shattered, and a delirious roar—WAAAAAAAHHH—!!!—swept across the stadium.
The supporters leapt to their feet in a single mass of euphoria, and on the team bench every coach and substitute player surged upright, arms thrown high into the air.
The first ones to come charging at Kim Hanbin, still standing dazed at the halfway line, were his own teammates.
"HEY!!! THAT ACTUALLY WENT IN?!!!"
"He's insane! He's lost it! What WAS that!!"
Screaming in disbelief, the players threw themselves at Kim Hanbin, ruffling his hair and hammering his back.
Even the ones who had doubted or eyed him warily just moments ago were, for this one moment, celebrating with a single heart.
The veteran midfielder from the restroom also came sprinting over, grabbing Kim Hanbin by the shoulders and shaking him.
"You crazy little—!! What the hell ARE you?! You actually put that in!!"
Cha Kangmin couldn't contain himself either, sprinting over and slamming his palm down on Hanbin's back as he howled.
"Holy sh—!! SHIT!! You seriously... WOW!! I TOLD you I had a feeling! I said this kid was the real deal, didn't I!!"
What spilled out of his mouth was a torrent of exclamations that could have been praise or profanity—it was impossible to tell. The other players were no different.
They crowded around Kim Hanbin, each shouting over the other, utterly unable to contain their excitement over the impossible goal. Almost all of it was a raw, unfiltered mix of praise and cursing—emotion at its most unguarded.
The referee looked briefly flustered as well, but soon pointed to the center circle and awarded the goal. The score: 1–3. One goal back.
And in the most dramatic way imaginable—straight off the second-half kickoff.
Amid his teammates' thunderous celebration, Kim Hanbin fought to keep a composed expression, but his heart was pounding like a drum.
...It went in. It actually went in. That was pure luck.
It really had been a fortunate goal—the opposing keeper had just happened to leave his post to talk with his coaches, standing well outside his box.
Song Minjun, the veteran center-back of Gangwon FC, was dumbfounded.
A kickoff goal conceded the instant the second half began. In his entire footballing life, he had never seen a goal so absurd.
Granted, the keeper had left the goal wide open by pushing up—but who on earth was this guy, firing cannonballs from the halfway line?
Who the hell is this lunatic?!
A young face he'd never seen in a Suwon shirt. Clearly a rookie—anyone could tell at a glance.
And that rookie had detonated a goal like that the very second the second half kicked off.
As if that weren't enough, now that he was actually marking the kid up close, his frame was no joke.
It's not just his height, is it? Up close, the guy's built like a tank—his whole torso is ridiculously thick.
Song Minjun prided himself on being one of the K League's most physical defenders, a man who never lost a battle of bodies. But after a few collisions with this rookie, something felt... different.
The kid came at him head-on, force against force, but the impact landed with the crushing weight of running into a brick wall.
His strength is no joke...! This is actually rough...
After a handful of duels, Song Minjun felt sweat beading on his forehead.
And worse—the sneaky way the kid slipped in his elbow whenever the referee wasn't looking. It was irritatingly un-rookie-like.
He'd jab in cleverly from just outside the referee's line of sight, and the official never caught a thing.
Young punk's already learning all the dirty tricks. This is exactly when a senior's supposed to teach him some manners.
So on the next aerial challenge, Song Minjun timed his jump to meet Kim Hanbin's and raised his elbow a touch higher, driving it in with a bit of force.
It wasn't an obvious foul, but it was the kind of movement that could inflict plenty of pain.
Yet, contrary to expectation, Kim Hanbin won the aerial ball without the slightest sign of distress.
And the instant his feet touched the ground, a sudden groan—"Ugh!"—burst from his lips as he clutched his stomach and began rolling across the grass.
Then, as if he'd taken a catastrophic blow, he tumbled this way and that, writhing across the pitch.
Wh... what the hell? Look at this punk flopping!
Song Minjun was incredulous. Sure, he'd used his elbow—but he hadn't hit him anywhere near hard enough to justify that kind of rolling around.
The kid had been fighting him body-to-body just fine seconds ago, and now suddenly he was writhing like this—anyone watching would call it a Hollywood production.
Anger boiling over, Song Minjun marched up to Kim Hanbin and shouted.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?! Get up already!"
That instant, the Suwon players descended on Song Minjun like a pack of wolves, as if they'd rehearsed it.
"Hey! What the hell are you doing to our rookie?!"
"Did you see that?! That guy was throwing elbows!"
"Hey! It's his debut today! You're up 11 on 10 and you've still gotta play this filthy?!"
Led by captain Cha Kangmin, the Suwon players protested furiously, and in a flash players from both teams were tangled together, the air turning ugly.
The referee, watching the situation spiral, rushed in to pry the players apart, walked over to Song Minjun, and issued a verbal warning.
Then he awarded Suwon a free kick.
"Ah, for god's sake, what a goddamn joke of a game!"
Unable to swallow his rage, Song Minjun spat out the profanity and shot a glare at the opposing rookie striker.
But that kid—the same one who'd been rolling on the ground howling like a dying man seconds ago—looked perfectly fine.
The moment the free kick was awarded, he calmly picked himself up, collected the ball, strolled over to the spot, and started measuring out his angle!
Faced with such sheer audacity, Song Minjun found himself speechless.