Chapter 112
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: Monkey Park Si-hyun? Then You're Ditlmann
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Monkey Park Si-hyun? Then you're Ditlmann.
The Essen fans who watched the brawl-like scene from the first half were initially stunned into shock.
When Charlie Adam attempted a header in mid-air, Marco Ditlmann charged in and slammed a body check into him. The moment it became clear that the impact had completely thrown Charlie off balance, the pub erupted in curses.
"What the hell did that crazy bastard just do!"
"Hey, you son of a bitch! That was aimed at ending his career!"
But as the next moment played on screen, the fury froze into stunned silence.
As he tumbled off-balance, Charlie instinctively grabbed onto Ditlmann's crown, and the two crashed to the ground together—ripping out a fistful of hair in the process. It was all caught live on broadcast.
People could even vividly hear the sound of the hair tearing from his scalp.
Tzzzzzzt—
A primal terror any man would instinctively recognize.
If a man's most precious pain is in his jewels, the agony that strikes deepest at his pride is his hair.
The fans in the pub shuddered as if it had happened to them. Some reflexively touched their own crowns, checked that their hair was still there, and let out sighs of relief.
But the brief silence shattered quickly.
Upon reflection, the one whose scalp got torn wasn't anyone else—it was the traitor Marco Ditlmann, who started the taunts, went for a dangerous foul targeting a player's career, and got his just desserts.
They burst into roaring laughter.
"Puhaha!! Look at that crown—it's shining like a mirror!"
"Hey, did you see Ditlmann's face at halftime? He looked like he was about to cry, kekeke!"
"How much got ripped out that he had to wrap it like that? And he's refusing substitution out of pride?"
Even as the second half kicked off, Ditlmann's crown was already game over.
The shiny, unavoidable wound and his gritted-teeth grimace were perfectly captured by the Essen camera crew. When it aired on TV, the pub turned into a full-blown festival.
"Hahaha!! Look at that face! Scalp all bald, but too proud to hit the bench!"
"That's the look of a true loser, uhahaha!"
"Matthäus! More beer! No, just keep 'em coming! We're going all night!"
To the Essen fans, the beer tasted sweeter than candy tonight.
As the second half began, Frankfurt tried a small change.
Accepting they had little chance of reclaiming first place even if they won, they abandoned defense altogether and switched to an all-out "direct assault mode."
But the problem was that this season's Essen was incomparably stable in both attack and defense compared to last year—nearing perfection.
Frankfurt's wave-like attacks kept losing momentum without breaching Essen's backline.
Essen's defense has stabilized dramatically this season. Last year in the third division, they fought hard but often conceded cheaply on individual errors. Post-rebuild, that weakness is completely overcome.
Essen's defense had originally centered on Thomas Vöge, but after he left, new signing Philipp Lahm had filled the role perfectly.
Lahm didn't just do his job—he orchestrated Melcher's speed and overlaps, Schmidt's physicality and tackles, and Holm's versatility, turning the backline into a single living organism.
And even without Lahm, veteran Fernando Couto waited on the bench with his experience.
Thanks to that, defense was no longer Essen's weakness—it was a clear strength.
With defense solid, the attack gained wings. Park Si-hyun roamed the pitch far more freely, ignoring any pressure.
Mindful of the first-half brawl, Frankfurt assigned Ditlmann—who was itching for revenge on Charlie Adam—to mark Si-hyun instead, hoping to prevent another incident. But that choice was their worst move.
'I have to stop him somehow.'
Having already endured a lifetime of mockery in the first half, plus his scalp torn open, Ditlmann clung to his last shreds of pride. All that remained was his stubborn will to shut down Park Si-hyun.
Thwack!
From the moment Si-hyun received the ball, Ditlmann shoved, grabbed, pulled—anything to unsettle him. But Si-hyun, as if expecting it, turned his back and held firm perfectly.
Ditlmann didn't give up, stretching a foot between Si-hyun's legs to steal the ball—
Tap.
Si-hyun mocked the attempt, exploiting Ditlmann's lean to heel the ball precisely between his splayed legs.
Park Si-hyun's clever piece of skill! Heels it through Marco Ditlmann's legs and shoots—!
The shot connected cleanly off the instep, but it flew a touch too hot, grazing the crossbar by a whisker.
But that was just the opening act of Si-hyun's attack show.
He continued to toy with Ditlmann, creating chance after chance. Ditlmann's pride crumbled like it had taken a fatal blow.
70 minutes gone.
I scored the first goal in the first half, and added another in the second.
Charlie Adam chipped in one too, making it 3-0.
The match was as good as over.
...But one guy who hadn't given up was still hanging on.
Marco Ditlmann.
He bared his teeth and stuck to me like glue whenever I had the ball.
Grabbing my kit, yanking my collar, hooking my arms, jabbing my ribs... Every dirty trick in the book.
'If I just stop you... Just you...!'
That was his mindset, plain as day.
His obsession to salvage his torn scalp and pride by shutting me down was almost pitiful.
As time ticked by, the fouls got dirtier and more intense.
Marco Ditlmann with a rough tackle! Park Si-hyun dodges... Wait, he's grabbing his leg with his hands!
I'd expected the tackle, but him yanking my leg with his hand? That caught me off guard.
I tumbled forward onto the turf.
Tweet!!!
Clear foul! Ref shows yellow straight away!
Park Si-hyun looks fine, no major injury! Grabbing the ankle is dangerous—could've been a red.
I rose slowly from the ground and sneered at Ditlmann, his pride and face stripped bare, revealing his ugly core.
"Keep flailing. You got wrecked by my subordinate Charlie Adam and ran... You think you can beat me?"
Ditlmann's face twisted, and the slur flew out.
"You monkey bastard, shut up! I'll get you no matter—!"
"...Oh?"
Racism.
Been a while since I heard that one.
Lately, everyone knows my temper too well to say it to my face—they play nice. But every now and then, some brave racist pops up.
Of course, I'll crush that bravery real pretty today.
"Racism, huh... Funny."
I passed to Charlie, got it back, and beckoned Ditlmann.
Come here.
"Come on, one more time."
The Essen stands exploded. Ditlmann charged with a roar.
Pro athlete for you—even in rage, he tried reading my moves coolly.
'Doesn't matter... Second-division level at best.'
I dribbled leisurely: body feint. Then step-over.
Ditlmann?
Clinging desperately—he really wanted to stop me.
Fine. Backheel to unbalance him.
Tap.
Then lightning flip-flap.
Tap, tatat!
And in that instant—
Snap.
A clear tearing sound from Ditlmann's thigh as he lunged desperately.
"Urk!!"
Gotta respect the grit.
Hamstring snapped, yet still trying to chase? Impressive will.
But a guy who couldn't match my speed at full strength sure as hell couldn't now.
I ramped up and rattled the net, then walked over to Ditlmann groaning on the grass.
Stood over him and offered a hand.
"Me, a monkey?"
Ditlmann's eyes trembled with fury.
I smirked, leaned in low, and whispered just for him.
"Then you're Ditlmann. Dumber than a monkey. Suits you perfect."
His face contorted in an instant.
But he couldn't respond.
He was already flat on the stretcher.
The man who betrayed, taunted, and played dirty to mock the opponents met his end: stretchered off, utterly powerless and pathetic.
And the first breaking news after full time.
Marco Ditlmann — Hamstring rupture + scalp detachment. Out minimum 7 months.
A fitting end for him.