Chapter 111
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 111
Chapter Title: Pity for the Barking Dog
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Park Si-hyun felt sorry for the barking dog.
Bundesliga 2, Round 11.
Rot-Weiss Essen vs. Eintracht Frankfurt.
The points gap was just two.
This match was essentially the true decider for first place in Bundesliga 2.
Even before the players began their warm-ups at Potsipalais Stadium, the jeers were already pouring down.
Wooooooooo!!
"In the end, you're just a big-talking liar~ Rattling like an empty tin can~ All you do when we meet is bark~ We don't know trash like you~ 'Cause your skills are pathetic~!"
The Essen supporters had turned Park Si-hyun's interview from the day before straight into mocking song lyrics, belting it out in unison with arms linked shoulder to shoulder.
And that mockery soon turned toward Marco Ditelman, the Frankfurt player wearing number 4.
A few supporters not singing held up placards.
On them were caricatures of Ditelman drawn in ridiculous style, with words like "Liar" and "Traitor" plastered over his face.
Yet Marco Ditelman didn't flinch a muscle.
His gaze was fixed solely on one person: Park Si-hyun.
'If I smash you... I wonder how the faces of those jeering bastards will change?'
To Marco Ditelman, today's match was far from ordinary.
It was a chance to show the Essen fans calling him a traitor what he was made of—and to throw their mockery right back at them twofold.
And he was a defender.
The one standing right in the path of Essen's ace, Park Si-hyun.
He knew it full well.
That Park Si-hyun was a transcendent striker who had pierced through far stronger world-class defenders than him at the World Cup to claim the top scorer title and Golden Boot.
But even acknowledging that, Marco Ditelman harbored a strange confidence.
He had studied Park Si-hyun's play relentlessly since Round 1.
Waiting for the day they'd face off, preparing so he could stand tall in that moment.
'You don't know me at all. You can tell just from that interview yesterday. But I... I know everything about you.'
Marco Ditelman believed the reason Park Si-hyun had exploded so monstrously at the World Cup was simply that his opponents hadn't had time to study him properly.
A temporary burst against unprepared foes—that's what he thought.
So Ditelman's gaze bored obsessively into Park Si-hyun.
But Park Si-hyun's eyes had never once turned his way.
He didn't even properly know who Marco Ditelman was—and he had zero interest to begin with.
Beep!
The moment the opening whistle blew, the crowd unleashed unbridled jeers and curses every time Marco Ditelman appeared on the cameras.
"Dirty traitor bastard!"
"This is your grave today!"
"Your level's third division! Get lost!"
But amid the boos, Marco Ditelman even smirked.
That provocative expression only fanned the Essen fans' rage into an inferno.
Yet amid the chaos, what truly grabbed the commentators' attention was something else entirely.
Essen's tactical shift.
[Essen comes out with a new formation today. Not their usual 4-4-2, but a 4-3-1-2 shape.]
[And most surprising is putting Charlie Adam, who's been in midfield, up top. Park Si-hyun–Charlie Adam as the two strikers, with Kaká right behind them.]
[Intriguing... but can Charlie Adam really handle the striker role?]
The lineup was as follows:
Charlie Adam – Park Si-hyun
Kaká
Andreas Hermann – Christoph Bauer – Stefan Harter
Philipp Lahm – Daniel Melcher – Marco Schmidt – Peter Holm
Matthias Kühler (GK)
Coach Frank had completely rebuilt the tactics to maximize the strengths of his new signings and existing players alike.
Today marked its debut.
Christoph Bauer especially was the "pretty soccer" type—strong in vision, passing, and forward progression rather than physical battles.
So today, instead of the defensive 8 role of holding the ball and threading killer passes, he was given the regista (deep-lying playmaker) duties to orchestrate the game's flow.
Kaká wasn't just a speedster either; placed as an attacking midfielder to leverage his hidden passing sense and forward runs, feeding off Park Si-hyun and Charlie's movements.
And supporting them was the true "tactical finisher," Park Si-hyun.
He had complete free rein.
Charlie Adam's job was to create space for him.
All these pieces together elevated Essen to a complete system that leaped a full level ahead in both attack and defense.
'Alright, show me what you've got... Use your strengths to the fullest today.'
As Coach Frank muttered from the bench, Bauer could finally unleash his soccer 100% with Andreas Hermann and Stefan Harter shielding him on the sides.
Beautiful passes rained left, right, and forward without end.
Charlie Adam, receiving the ball, shielded it with his body to draw the defenders' eyes, buying Park Si-hyun time to find a good position.
Physical battles were inevitable, of course.
Thud!
But no one could overpower Charlie Adam, tempered daily by clashing bodies with Park Si-hyun.
"What, that all you got? Pathetic."
The problem was, the guy getting shoved around so pathetically happened to be Marco Ditelman—the very one who'd been itching to show Essen's fans his worth today.
Flushed with humiliation, he sprang up and yelled at Charlie Adam.
"You bald bastard!"
"...What?"
Calling an ugly guy ugly is a critical hit.
Calling out a balding man is a dagger to the heart.
Charlie Adam had been stressing hard lately over his increasingly exposed crown.
No way he'd let that slide.
"Hey, asshole. Apologize to my hair."
"Hey, asshole. Apologize to my hair."
The moment I heard that, even in the intense match atmosphere, I couldn't hold back and burst out laughing.
'...Apologize to my hair?'
Charlie Adam had always looked prematurely aged.
And what perfected that look was his head, steadily emptying out.
Lately, it was retreating at double speed.
Every morning, staring in the mirror, he'd sigh heavily.
The opponent had jabbed that exact weak spot.
'Baldness is the last bastion... a man's dignity.'
Even I shut up and nod solemnly whenever Charlie brought up his hair.
And the scene unfolding before me now perfectly illustrated why you never mention baldness to a balding man.
'Feels like I'm watching General Charlie from Soccer 3.'
The nickname "General Charlie" from before his regression—when his fists flew before his feet in soccer brawls—his wild instincts had roared back to life.
"Die, you bastard—!"
He barreled into the big defender, sending him flying and tumbling across the turf.
But the clever part was Charlie's technique: making it look to the ref like they'd both gone down together.
He faked losing balance just enough to muddy the waters.
And as the opponent rolled, I finally spotted the name on his back and realized exactly which dog had been barking.
'Ah... so that's the mutt.'
The problem was, he'd picked the absolute wrong target to bark at.
He'd poked the reverse scale of the hairless dog next door.
"Bye now."
Ditelman must've racked his brain for tactics, spewed provocations from yesterday on—fully prepped.
But seeing him rolling on the ground now, even I felt a twinge of pity.
'...People really need underlings, huh.'
I nodded inwardly.
Without Charlie Adam, a scrub like that would've come yapping straight at me.
If I'd had to deal with him myself?
Pure waste of my time.
Thanks to my solid underling, I didn't waste energy on trash.
I could just score at my leisure.
[Park Si-hyun! He slips into the gap as the defense focuses on Charlie Adam, takes the pass! Park Si-hyun, cool and composed... a light finish! Goal!!!]
Marco Ditelman was piling up layers of grievance and fury with every mishap.
Even before halftime, he'd already hit over ten rolls on the turf.
Each time, Essen's fans' mockery stabbed into his back.
'...Park Si-hyun? Screw him. I'll kill that bald lunatic first.'
"Park Si-hyun" was now fully erased from his brain.
His top revenge target: Charlie Adam, who'd slapped wrestling moves on him.
Charlie had picked the fight first; he'd just clapped back.
Yet now he was being treated like a heinous criminal, as if the dog had provoked first.
So Ditelman resolved himself.
He'd bury Charlie Adam in the pitch.
And the chance came quicker than expected.
A dangerous foul no normal defender would attempt: body-checking an airborne attacker going for a header.
Mess up the landing, and knees blow, ankles snap—worst case, end a career.
But none of that mattered in Ditelman's eyes now.
The instant Charlie leaped for the header, he gritted his teeth and charged at full tilt.
Slamming a brutal body check into the airborne frame.
As expected, Charlie's body wobbled wildly, losing balance.
'Bye, bald bastard—!'
But he overlooked one crucial fact.
When people lose balance midair, instinct grabs the nearest thing.
What Charlie Adam clutched instinctively: Ditelman's crown.
And as both bodies crashed to earth—
Rriiiippp!!!
The sound echoing through the stadium was unmistakable to anyone.
The horrific, vivid rip of hair being torn out.
"Gaaaaaah!!!!!"
As he fell, strands of hair crumbled from between Charlie's fingers—a whole fistful yanked free.