Chapter 10
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Even Germany Can't Stop Park Si-hyun
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Even Germany couldn't stop Park Si-hyun.
In the continued training session, Park Si-hyun proved why he was aiming for the German stage with just one word: 'class'.
A low, fast cross deliberately made hard to receive, blatant marking with clear intent, and relentless pressure from the semi-pro defender Lee Sung-min—
But Park Si-hyun handled them all with casual ease, as if they were just scripted parts of a show, turning and letting the ball glide past.
Then came an explosive sprint, followed by a perfectly timed jump.
From his 193cm frame, the header rocketed into the net like it was tearing through it.
The final individual training video turned even a simple ball touch into a highlight, with the camcorder capturing every one of his movements precisely.
The Park Si-hyun on screen was overwhelmingly dominant—no one could dismiss him as just a 17-year-old.
"That's it for today."
As Jang Do-yoon wrapped up, cheers erupted from the citizens watching nearby.
"Whoa, insane! What was that header?!"
"He's really a player. A pro, right?"
"Isn't that the kid from TV? I swear I've seen him somewhere!"
"No kidding... Wonder if I can get an autograph."
If this were 2023, anyone could just pull out their phone, search, and quickly learn Park Si-hyun was a player who hadn't even debuted yet—
But this was 2001.
A time when smartphones were still a novelty.
Maybe that's why the 'scene' they'd just witnessed etched itself so strongly and vividly into their minds.
There's a world of difference between seeing something on video and live.
"Excuse me! Which team are you with?"
One middle-aged man mustered his courage and approached.
"I don't have a team yet."
The area buzzed at Park Si-hyun's reply.
"What? He's not a pro?"
"No team with skills like that?"
"No way..."
The murmurs grew louder.
Everyone had assumed someone with that level of skill would be playing for any K League team by now.
"Got it all on tape?"
Park Si-hyun asked with a grin after chugging from his water bottle.
"Yeah, it's gold. This is more than enough."
Jang Do-yoon nodded as he turned off the camcorder.
"Time to prep for Germany. Drop out of school, make it official."
Instead of responding, Jang Do-yoon glanced to the side, and Park Si-hyun naturally followed his gaze.
There stood the Hallelujah FC players.
Lee Sung-min, front and center, bowed deeply.
"Park Si-hyun."
His voice carried weight, cautious but sincere.
"We sincerely apologize for our rudeness at the start today. To be honest, we were pissed at first."
"..."
"We're barely hanging on in the semi-pro leagues, barely worthy of being called pros, and here a high school kid is using us to film a 'highlight reel' for Germany... It hurt our pride."
He slowly raised his head.
"But today... we felt it clearly. You more than deserve it, Park Si-hyun. Honestly, we're honored we got to play alongside you."
As he finished, all the players behind him bowed.
"We're sorry."
It wasn't just an apology.
It was respect from one footballer to a superior talent.
In that moment, the emotion surging in Park Si-hyun's chest wasn't joy or it was pure exhilaration.
'This is the right path.'
If he'd stayed quiet and followed the mold like before?
If he'd held back and played it safe?
No matter his skill, would he have earned this recognition?
No.
Skill was the baseline; what moved people was confidence and attitude.
He lifted the corner of his mouth.
"This is just the beginning. Playing with me today? You'll brag about it someday."
The players chuckled softly.
But Park Si-hyun was dead serious.
Later, they'd reminisce about this day for life, boasting about it over drinks.
'Back in spring 2001, I played with Park Si-hyun—when he was still in high school.'
"Even Germany can't stop Park Si-hyun. The only one who can stop me... is Park Si-hyun himself."
With those bold words, Park Si-hyun walked away with Jang Do-yoon. The Hallelujah FC players watched his back in silence.
"How does he have that kind of confidence, hyung?"
Kim Hyung-jun muttered, shaking his head.
"...Beats me. He just shines so bright."
"Weird thing is, normally you'd call someone like that crazy..."
Yoon Jae-hyuk continued.
"But why do I just believe him?"
Right then, no one knew.
That in this small park, the history of the 'Park Si-hyun Cult'—symbol of an era—was quietly beginning.
Located in Düsseldorf, North Rhine-Westphalia, Rot-Weiss Essen sat at 13th in the Regionalliga.
Today's opponent was 16th-place Fortuna Düsseldorf, barely clinging outside the relegation zone.
Most expected a win for Frank Kurt's Rot-Weiss Essen, but the match was unfolding in the exact opposite direction.
"What the hell are you doing?! Move! You can't just stand there!"
Frank Kurt's hoarse screams echoed through the stadium.
16th vs. 17th—relegation zone desperation just a hair's breadth away.
That urgency showed plainly on the pitch.
Fortuna Düsseldorf fought like their lives depended on it, dominating possession 70-30.
Frank Kurt, biting his nails on the bench, grew darker by the minute.
He'd taken over in March after the previous coach was sacked.
He wanted to end the season strong, but reality was brutal.
Since he took the helm: 3 wins, 2 draws, 4 losses. Worse than his predecessor's win rate.
'If we lose this one too...'
Sinister thoughts flashed through his mind.
Fans were at the end of their patience.
As the game wore on, jeers from the Potsipalais Stadium crowd grew louder.
"Frank! Is this soccer?!"
"Go home!"
Frank Kurt felt utterly wronged.
Mid-season takeover meant no time to impose his style or sign his targets.
Worse, the team's biggest issue was a lack of finishing.
No matter the tactics or chances created, no goals meant nothing.
Current striker Werner Klein was a classic German post player fans loved.
Great aerially, good link-up, but useless in front of goal.
Michael Waltz had speed and infiltration, but weak physically—always bullied by defenders.
In short: solid defense, balanced midfield, but no striker to score.
'I need to sign a goalscorer somehow...'
Frank drummed his fingers anxiously on the bench.
But for a mid-table third-division club's budget, proven strikers were pie in the sky.
In the end, Rot-Weiss Essen got dragged around and lost 0-2.
"Boooo! Then why change coaches?!"
"Frank out! Frank out!"
Jeers filled the stadium from the stands.
After screaming himself hoarse at the players in the locker room, a exhausted Frank dragged himself back to the coach's office.
A note from the club owner sat on his desk.
-Frank, I get this season's unavoidable. But if next season's the same... You know.
Frank sighed and slumped into his chair.
"What the hell am I supposed to do..."
Then a staffer knocked and entered.
"Coach, mail for you."
Frank wearily took the envelope.
On the front, in German:
[The Player the Current Coach is Looking For.]
'What is this...'
Frank eyed it suspiciously and tore it open.
Inside: a single videotape. No sender, no contact.
'Some agent's new sales pitch?'
He snorted but popped it into the player anyway, figuring he'd take a peek.
Little did he know if this tape might save him.
The screen lit up with surprisingly clear footage.
And there was a player.
'East Asian?'
A really tall East Asian. Easily over 190cm.
'Even bigger than Klein.'
First up: individual training.
Dribbling, shooting, passing... Solid fundamentals.
Speed impressive for his size—no, even without it. Ball touches smooth.
'He's good. But it's edited highlights, so of course.'
Frank watched skeptically.
Then the scene changed: 1v1 drills.
Against the defender, the East Asian showed stunning skill.
Not the physical bullying expected—instead, flashy samba-like Brazilian flair.
Marseille turn, elastico to shake the marker, step-over, finished with a rabona.
'No way... That physique pulling off those moves?'
Next: heading practice.
Dominating aerial duels with 193cm. Precise headers. Physicality shrugging off pressure.
Frank shot up from his chair.
This player wasn't just physically gifted.
Speed beyond his build, dazzling tricks, overwhelming headers and power. Not third-division material.
'Is this... real?'
Then the screen went black, and provocative text appeared.
[While you hesitate, another team will have already signed him. 010--]
'Cocky little...'
Frank laughed in disbelief.
But his hand was already reaching for the phone.