Chapter 103
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: Park Si-hyun, the Enemy of Baldness
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I wonder when was the last time I was this pissed off?
Before my regression, when I thought he was my mentor and even bought him a Mercedes, only to find out he was just a corrupt coach pocketing bribes?
Or right before retirement, when I saw that interview with the rival team's coach insulting me?
Or maybe...
On that site where all humanity's ugliness congregates, DCInside, when they mocked my looks and snickered that I was ugly?
Yeah. If I had to pick the closest feeling, it was that moment when I wanted to reach into the monitor, grab those bastards by the collar.
The only difference is, back then they were hiding behind keyboards I could never reach, but right now, that asshole is right in front of my eyes.
The red powder from crushing the flare barehanded was still caked on the back of my hand.
I let that hand hang loose, walking silently toward the stands without a word.
Potsipalais Stadium isn't like those big-club arenas where the stands are far from the pitch.
So the cheers, the boos, and whoever did what—you can see it all crystal clear.
Including the bastard who threw the flare at me.
A shirtless uncle with a gorilla-like chest sprouting fur everywhere, his bald head gleaming under the lights.
Just moments ago, he'd been yelling his lungs out with a thrilled face.
"What, you punk! What're you gonna do if you come up here!!"
...But now it was different.
His mouth was still spewing venom, but his face had completely crumbled.
His eyes trembled, his chapped lips quivered, and he looked like even he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth, like they had nothing to do with his will.
'He probably never thought I'd actually come.'
The instinct of a dog that barks louder the more scared it is.
Body shrinking back while the mouth runs wild—the classic coward move.
I walked toward him slowly. Real slow.
"C-come on... what're you gonna do... you, you punk..."
His voice, unlike before, kept trembling at the end.
That's when the Essen players came rushing over, clinging to me desperately.
"Hey! Block him! Block him!! Why's he so damn strong!?"
"No, seriously... stop him somehow!! Grab him!!"
But it was pointless.
Even as they grabbed my arms, waist, shoulders, they just got dragged along by my steps.
Skidding.
Sliding across the ground like ragdolls.
And finally, I was face-to-face with that bald uncle at the edge of the stands.
The uncle was now gaping, barely able to breathe.
His face went ghost white in an instant, eyes darting wildly until they met mine, then flailing like he couldn't even find words.
That's when—
My hand rose slowly.
"Hey hey hey!! Si-hyun! No!! Seriously, no!!! You can't hit him!!!"
"Uncle, get away!! He's gonna kill you!!"
Screams like wails from the players and staff echoed out.
But
My hand didn't smack into the uncle's face with a thud.
Slowly—
Slowly—
Yeah, what do you think I'm doing?
I'm carefully, meticulously rubbing the red flare powder from my hand all over the uncle's face.
Spreading it across his cheeks, nose bridge, forehead, chin.
Turning his whole face into a bloody mess of red.
The uncle was so shocked he couldn't even scream, just gasping for air.
I whispered to him.
"Uncle. If you pull this shit again next time..."
Trailing my finger across his cheek—
"...then it won't be red powder on your face. It'll be 'liquid' coming from inside your own body covering it. Remember that."
The uncle collapsed right there.
Legs giving out.
Mouth flapping like a fish, trying to say something,
but his tongue was frozen, no sound coming out.
That's when—
Whistle!
The ref came sprinting over and thrust out a red card.
I turned my head to look at that red card.
The card pointed at me, the ref's face scolding me.
Seeing that expression, something boiled up inside me again.
No, if they didn't want this situation from the start, regardless of FIFA rules, they should've stopped it early with on-site discretion.
Dangerous objects flying, flares blocking vision, chaos halting the game flow—and they let it slide.
They ignored it, so this bizarre mess happened.
I took a slow step, then another, toward the ref.
"Wh-why are you coming closer?"
The ref flinched, stepping back,
then forced himself to stop.
Eyes wide, holding the red card higher to assert authority.
"...Shiny."
The ref was bald too.
A fight between a soccer player and a fan?
Not unheard of in the past.
Back in the '90s, fans invading the pitch for brawls with players, or bottles, coins, lighters, fireworks raining down and halting games—it was common.
Or players leaping into the stands, emotions exploding, punching fans.
And every time, FIFA's blade was merciless.
Stadium closures, point deductions, heavy suspensions for players and coaches, ref license revocations—always 'harsh and certain' punishment, no exceptions.
So everyone expected the same here.
This incident, Park Si-hyun gets heavy punishment for sure.
But the first to move wasn't FIFA—it was the German Football Association (DFB).
Expectations that the DFB would be colder to Park Si-hyun over the doping controversy flipped completely.
The DFB announced a stance supporting Park Si-hyun with shocking speed and clarity.
The spokesperson's official statement went like this.
"This doesn't mean Park Si-hyun's actions were right. But he was hit in the face with a 'dangerous object.' It was a situation where a slight mishap could've cost his life. What if it hadn't been a flare, but a metal part or hard object? This was something any 'person'—before even being a player—could rightfully be furious about. And he didn't assault anyone. It stopped at lightly stroking with his palm. Therefore, we deem a 3-match suspension a reasonable punishment."
This single announcement split Germany—and the entire global soccer community—in two.
Assaulting a fan and only 3-match ban? Too lenient, right?
No, idiot, that wasn't assault, it was a pat. Did you watch the game?
Ever taken a flare to the face? I'd have half-killed the guy.
News, radio, talk shows, European soccer media, online fandoms—Park Si-hyun's name exploded everywhere at once.
And everyone could feel it.
This wasn't just a 'punishment controversy.' It was a fight shaking soccer's foundations to the core once more.
"Arrrgh!! Park Si-hyun again!!!"
FIFA Chairman Richard Klein slammed the desk, howling in agony.
"No... I ignored U.S. government pressure and even took his side last time! Does this guy get itchy if he doesn't stir up controversy!? Why the hell does he pull this insane crap the moment he gets back to Germany!!"
Klein clutched his head, slumping into his chair.
The last incident was political, so he could decide alone.
It was more politics than soccer, all about where FIFA stood.
But this was totally different.
Pure soccer issue. Player threatening a fan. This needed top FIFA brass debating how harsh the punishment should be.
Punishment was certain. The question was how heavy.
Then the most baffling thing happened.
The German FA backed Park Si-hyun.
"Sigh... So what does the German FA say?"
His aide looked troubled, scanning the report.
"'If Park Si-hyun gets heavy punishment for this, the entire German soccer world will push back hard.'"
Hearing that, Richard Klein's jaw dropped.
Bundesliga.
One of Europe's Big 5 leagues, a massive market FIFA couldn't ignore.
Germany warning they'd clash head-on with FIFA—over one player, Park Si-hyun.
Klein shot up, slamming the desk again, yelling.
"Did I hear that right!? The German FA wasn't on bad terms with Park Si-hyun!? There was that doping mess!!! But why!!! Why back him now!?"
The aide cautiously turned the page.
"And... Park Si-hyun's side has responded too."
"What now, from that walking disaster?"
"His agency officially stated: 'We acknowledge it was wrong. But what if that flare had been a bomb or acid? This was an instinctive reaction to terrorism.'"
"...Hold on."
Richard Klein blinked slowly.
"Terrorism? Bomb? Acid? You mean the bomb and acid I know?"
"Yes, Chairman. That 'bomb' and 'acid.'"
Silence fell.
Then madness slowly spread across Richard Klein's face.
"...Haha..."
He threw his head back, bursting into a scream-like laugh.
"Hahahahaha!! Yeah!! Bombs! Acid! In a soccer stadium! Totally plausible!! Thank God it wasn't a shooting!! How lucky is that!! Right!? Huh!? Isn't it!!!?"
The aide couldn't respond.
No words could be right in this moment.
And quietly, faintly, beneath the madly cackling Richard Klein's chair, a few strands of hair drifted to the floor.