The Center Circle Threat and the Whispered Insults
THWANG-!
The ball left Kim Hanbin's foot and curled inexorably into the top right corner of the Argentine goal.
The keeper flung himself desperately through the air, but the trajectory was already perfect — beyond any save.
SHAAAAP-!
With the sound of the net snapping taut, the roar of the Red Devils filling Seoul World Cup Stadium erupted like a dam breaking.
The fans surged to their feet in unison, arms thrown skyward, delirious.
“WAAAAAAAH!!!”
Both wingers, who had charged toward the goal after Hanbin's shot hoping to pounce on any rebound, spun around the instant they saw the ball hit the back of the net and came sprinting toward Hanbin, screaming their lungs out.
“Hey, you absolute maniac!! Waaah!! That actually went in?!!”
“You seriously just buried that?! Whoa! Holy—!”
The players hurled themselves at Hanbin as if they couldn't believe their eyes, ruffling his hair and pounding every inch of him they could reach.
Amid his teammates' violent shower of congratulations, Hanbin stole a quick glance toward the bench.
Sure enough, the tactical coach and Head Coach Baek Seungnam were wrapped up in each other's arms, beside themselves with joy.
'Good. Let's keep it exactly like this.'
And so the score stood at 1–0. South Korea had drawn first blood against Argentina.
Argentina had held the upper hand in possession through the early stages, but with one sublime mid-range strike from Kim Hanbin, the team now racing against the clock was Argentina itself.
Stung by the concession, the Argentines pushed forward with renewed aggression.
Determined to claw back an equalizer as quickly as possible, both of their attacking fullbacks began joining the offense far more eagerly than before, probing down the flanks.
And naturally, the pressure on South Korea's two wingers eased a touch as a result.
After a long, fierce exchange of blows, another chance came Kim Hanbin's way.
Receiving a pass in midfield, Hanbin shielded the ball with an Argentine defensive midfielder pressed against his back, holding possession under pressure.
Into Hanbin's view came Lim Kyuhyun, a teammate winger sprinting into the open space behind Argentina's left fullback, who had pushed up to join the attack.
Lim Kyuhyun. The very winger who had floated a pinpoint corner kick to Hanbin for an assist during the national team's intrasquad match.
'Good, Kyuhyun-hyung. This time, I'll pay you back.'
Without a moment's hesitation, Hanbin threaded a razor-sharp through pass in perfect sync with Lim Kyuhyun's diagonal run.
At the same time, the instant the ball left his foot, Hanbin himself surged forward toward the Argentine goal.
Lim Kyuhyun collected Hanbin's pass and drove into the Argentine half at full speed.
Then, in the split second he lifted his head to deliver a cross toward the center—
Judging the situation too dangerous to leave alone, Argentina's left center-back flung himself into a rough sliding tackle on Lim Kyuhyun.
CRUNCH-!
With the sickening sound of the collision, Lim Kyuhyun, caught full-on by the center-back's brutal challenge, tumbled across the grass, rolling over and over.
TWEEEEET-!
The referee's whistle pierced the air and the match ground to a halt.
It was a dangerously violent tackle — far beyond what belonged in a mere friendly, let alone anything resembling a competitive fixture.
The referee wasted no time walking over to Argentina's left center-back and brandishing a yellow card.
Watching this, the South Korean bench and players erupted. Several players sprinted toward the referee, protesting furiously.
Faced with their demands for a red card, the referee shook his head firmly.
“NO VAR. NO VAR. NO VAR.”
The referee's answer — that there was no VAR system, because this was a friendly — only inflamed the Korean players further. But without video review, there was nothing left to argue.
In an instant, the atmosphere on the pitch turned ugly.
Boos and jeers rained down from the stands, aimed squarely at the Argentine's rough play.
Just then, the center-back who had made the tackle approached the fallen Lim Kyuhyun, wearing an apologetic expression, and repeated “Sorry, sorry” in English several times over.
At his apology, the fury of the Korean players seemed to cool, if only a little.
While play was suspended, Lim Kyuhyun received a quick examination from the medical staff and — mercifully, it appeared to be nothing serious — returned to the pitch.
And so South Korea was handed a promising set-piece opportunity out wide.
Since the foul had occurred on the flank near the corner flag, it looked far more advantageous for Hanbin to aim for a headed goal off a cross rather than attempt a direct shot.
Hanbin walked into the Argentine penalty box along with his teammates and settled into position.
Sure enough, the moment Hanbin stepped into the box, two or three Argentine defenders clamped onto him and began double- and triple-teaming him.
As the players tangled together in a fierce battle for position, the Argentines surrounding Hanbin struck up a conversation in Spanish.
“Hey, why'd you go in that hard back there? This is just a friendly.”
Argentina's captain chided the left center-back who had made the rough tackle.
The center-back snickered and answered with a dismissive shrug.
“Eh, the game wasn't going our way, so I figured I'd just lay one on him. Do that once and next time they hesitate to throw their body in. Heh heh. Besides, you know how it is with Asians — put on a sorry face and say 'sorry' a couple times in English, and they let the whole thing slide.”
At his tone, another Argentine player nearby warned him cautiously.
“Hey, shut up! Why are you saying that stuff HERE?!”
But the left center-back, still wearing that brazen grin, glanced casually around before replying.
“Relax, relax! Who else here understands Spanish besides us? The refs looked Middle Eastern to me — come on. The only Spanish word they know is vamos, right? Heh heh.”
Kim Hanbin, who had been listening to every word of their conversation from mere inches away, felt his eyebrows twitch.
Hanbin burned the Argentine left center-back's face and shirt number into his memory.
'You're dead.'
The taker was Lim Kyuhyun, fussing over the ball as he settled into position to deliver the cross.
Kim Hanbin's eyes, watching for his chance inside the penalty box, met Lim Kyuhyun's in midair.
Without a word, the two men gave each other the slightest nod.
TWEEP-!
The referee's whistle sounded, and Lim Kyuhyun whipped the ball hard with his right foot.
FWOOSH-!
With a crisp crack, the ball traced a graceful arc and dropped into the danger zone closest to goal, deep inside the Argentine penalty area.
Hanbin, who had already read the ball's landing point, launched himself off the ground without hesitation.
At that exact moment, the Argentine left center-back — who seconds earlier had been smirking and sneering right beside him — sensed Hanbin's movement and stepped into his path, trying to smother the jump.
All around them, players from both teams were already shoving and grappling in a fierce battle for position, making it nearly impossible for the referee to catch such subtle movements between the two of them.
Hanbin didn't miss the center-back's shift for an instant.
Even as he leapt, Hanbin raised his elbow — as if by pure accident — and drove it with full force into the center-back's solar plexus.
THUD-!
“Kuh—!”
The unexpected impact knocked a strangled cry out of the center-back, followed by the whoosh of air leaving his lungs.
Clutching his chest, he crumpled onto the ground.
Ignoring the scream at his back, Hanbin fixed his entire being on the ball hurtling down toward him.
And he found the impact point with perfect precision, meeting it square with his forehead.
THWACK-!
The thunderous header tore into the corner of the net before the Argentine goalkeeper could so much as twitch a finger.
WAAAAAAAH-!!!
Another earth-shaking roar convulsed Seoul World Cup Stadium. It was Kim Hanbin's insurance goal — South Korea's second.
The Korean players came flying at Hanbin once more, screaming their joy.
“Two goals! That's two!”
“Whoa!! You're insane, Kim Hanbin!!”
“Hanbin, seriously, thank you! You saved us out there!”
Lim Kyuhyun, who had just delivered the cross, sprinted over and wrapped Hanbin in a crushing bear hug.
“No way, hyung. I should be thanking you — that cross was perfect.”
Hanbin answered with a laugh.
“No, seriously, thank you, Hanbin! If I make the final roster this time, it'll all be because of you! Really — thank you so much!”
Lim Kyuhyun, visibly moved, pounded Hanbin's shoulders again and again.
Just as the Korean players were basking in the goal for a long moment, the Argentine bench and the players on the pitch began furiously remonstrating with the referee.
“¡Es falta! ¡Ha sido un codazo claro! (That's a foul! That was a clear elbow!)”
“¡No puede ser gol! (That cannot be a goal!)”
They insisted that Kim Hanbin had used his elbow in the aerial challenge and that the goal had to be disallowed.
But the referee simply waved both arms in firm refusal, repeating “NO VAR! NO VAR!” over and over.
No VAR in a friendly meant no overturned decisions — period.
In the middle of the commotion, Hanbin walked over to the Argentine left center-back, still sprawled on the grass from the blow of his elbow.
And with a remorseful look that said he knew nothing at all, he asked anxiously in English, “Sorry, sorry. Are you okay?”
Several Argentine players, incensed by the referee's endless “NO VAR” rulings, now began closing in on Kim Hanbin with menacing expressions.
Seeing them advance, the Korean players — bracing for a possible clash — moved forward as well, shielding Hanbin.
In a heartbeat, a taut tension stretched across the pitch between the two teams.
One spark, and this could spiral into an all-out brawl.
Just then, the Argentine captain, armband on his sleeve, hurriedly threw himself between his teammates.
Calming the fired-up players, he approached Kim Hanbin and addressed him in English.
His face showed both genuine remorse and a clear determination to defuse the situation.
“I'm truly sorry about what just happened. My teammate's tackle was far too rough. We all got a bit heated, but let's not forget this is a friendly match. I'll have a firm word with him right now.”
To the Argentine captain's courteous apology, Kim Hanbin nodded and replied in English.
“Understood. My apologies as well.”
With the exchange between the two captains, the hostile atmosphere began to settle. The situation seemed headed for a heartwarming resolution—
—when the Argentine center-back, the very man floored by Hanbin's elbow, rose to his feet without warning, marched up to Kim Hanbin, and spat out a curse in English.
“You motherfucker...!”
The Argentine captain scrambled to restrain him, but the center-back paid him no mind, jabbing a finger at Kim Hanbin, working himself up to lunge.
And at that very moment, from the mouth of Hanbin — who had spoken nothing but English until now — came words no one expected.
“Te pedí disculpas, ¿no, hijo de puta? (I said I was sorry, didn't I, you son of a bitch.)”
Flawless Spanish — from Kim Hanbin, of all people.
The Argentine center-back mid-tirade and the captain trying to hold him back froze solid.
Then they stared at Hanbin, dumbfounded.
An Asian, speaking Spanish this perfectly?
In that instant, the conversation they had just exchanged in Spanish inside the penalty box flashed through both men's minds.
Those sneering remarks they'd tossed around so freely, certain there was no way Asians could understand Spanish.
The moment they realized Hanbin had been absorbing every word from inches away, the color drained from their faces until they were ghost-white.
Racist language was the disciplinary offense the association took most seriously of all.
Above all, the center-back, shoulders sagging, shuffled up to Kim Hanbin and stammered out another apology.
And this time, unlike before, the apology carried genuine sincerity — and a trace of outright fear.
“Lo... lo siento mucho. (I... I'm really sorry.)”
Kim Hanbin regarded the center-back for a long moment, then let out a slow breath — phew — and issued a warning in a voice like iron.
“De ahora en adelante, ten cuidado con lo que dices, donde sea. ¿Entendido? (From now on, watch what comes out of your mouth — anywhere. Got it?)”
“Sí... lo siento. (Yes... I'm sorry.)”
The center-back answered in a voice utterly drained of defiance.
With the matter settled, the players of both teams dispersed to their positions without further incident.
Before long, the referee's whistle signaled the end of the first half.
Home side South Korea had gone into the break leading the powerhouse Argentines 2–0.
On the walk back to the locker room — and inside the locker room itself — the players talked over the scene that had just unfolded on the pitch, and Hanbin's Spanish, above all.
“Hey, Hanbin, I heard it from clear across the field — you were going back and forth with that Argentine guy in Spanish? You can speak Spanish too?”
Lim Kyuhyun's face was a mixture of astonishment and burning curiosity.
“Yeah... well, I get by, more or less.”
“Whoa... first your English seemed great, and now Spanish too? Is there literally anything this kid can't do?”
“This guy's just a fully loaded talent, ready-made for Europe.”
The compliments poured in from his teammates, but Kim Hanbin only grinned sheepishly and deflected them all.
Just as the players were still chattering away, Head Coach Baek Seungnam and his coaching staff entered the locker room.
The players cut off mid-conversation and turned as one toward the manager.
“Alright, everyone, quiet down! That was a tough first half, and every one of you did brilliantly. Our defensive line held off Argentina's fierce attacks superbly, and the attackers— Hanbin especially, outstanding work. Great effort from everyone! Let's have a round of applause, all together!”
At the manager's praise, the players clapped and cheered one another on.
For Kim Hanbin in particular, the room erupted with chants of “Kim Han-bin! Kim Han-bin!”
“Now, as I said before kickoff, we're swapping out the entire starting eleven for the second half. Those of you who started will cheer your teammates on from the bench. Players coming on in the second half — from this moment, focus up and listen carefully.”
“Yes, sir!”
True to Baek Seungnam's word, the second half kicked off with South Korea's entire U-23 starting eleven replaced. Much like the first half, it was a blend of regulars and reserves.
Argentina, by contrast, had swapped out only a handful of starters — the bulk of their key players remained on the pitch.
With several of its core pieces gone, South Korea's second half unfolded in a markedly different fashion from the first.
The Koreans looked somewhat creaky and out of sync, while Argentina — as if determined to atone for their limp first half — pressed South Korea harder than ever.
In the end, South Korea could not hold their lead against Argentina's second-half onslaught.
The match finished in a 2–2 draw.
Since the primary purpose of this evaluation match had been to assess squad depth and gauge individual players, the result itself was never the point — but on Coach Baek Seungnam's face, the regret of letting a victory slip through his fingers was plain to see.
'If only we'd pushed the starting eleven through the second half... we wouldn't have conceded an equalizer so helplessly like that. And if Hanbin had stayed on, there were a few moments we could have even gone hunting for a third goal.'
Baek Seungnam chewed over the thought in silence.
Of course, the whole point of this evaluation match had been to give a wide range of players minutes and trial various tactics — his choice of a full second-half rotation could hardly be called a mistake.
An evaluation match was, at the end of the day, an evaluation match.
But as a manager, the sting of letting a win slip away was unavoidable.
And though there was still time before the next evaluation match, one thing had already been firmly decided in Baek Seungnam's mind by tonight's game: the composition of the attacking line that would take the pitch at the Olympic finals.