Chapter 22
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 22
Chapter Title: No Disbelievers in the Park Si-hyun Kingdom
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Essen's charge was like a storm.
Round 4: 3-0. Park Si-hyun with 2 goals.
Round 5: 5-2. Park Si-hyun with 3 goals.
Round 6: 1-0. Park Si-hyun with 1 goal.
Round 7: 2-1. Park Si-hyun with 2 goals.
Not a single match had ended in defeat for Essen—except the one where Park Si-hyun sat out with a red card. Every game he'd played in, they'd won.
And in the process, he'd exploded for a whopping 14 goals.
An average of 2.3 goals per game. Even in Germany's third division, that was an absurd number.
The fact that second place on the scoring charts had just 5 goals made his record look even more monstrous.
In an instant, the gaze of Germany turned toward Park Si-hyun once more—and flipped completely.
At first, he'd been treated like an arrogant foreigner.
"An Asian from the East playing soccer?"
After his debut, he'd become a warrior fighting against racism.
"He stood alone against prejudice. A true fighter."
And now—
"A top prospect we must sign at all costs."
In just a few weeks, he'd gone from being dismissed to being revered.
Even the few Essen fans who'd preached caution had knelt, turning into devout followers.
[Ah, I who didn't believe in the king am a fool.]
[I lacked intuition. Forgive me.]
[Essen without Park Si-hyun is unimaginable.]
[He is our savior.]
Essen fans' feelings toward Park Si-hyun had evolved into something akin to faith.
"Without Park Si-hyun, we'd still be wandering in the dark."
The 3,000 fans at Potsipalais Stadium went wild at the mere mention of his name.
Even if he was just warming up off the touchline, they'd chant "King! King! King!"
Though it was still early in the season, German media was already pumping out articles claiming "Essen has a 90% chance of winning the league."
Last season's 13th place team, floundering at the bottom, had rocketed to absolute powerhouse status.
Even soccer magazine Kicker ran a massive feature.
A 193cm giant from Korea is devouring Germany's third division. 6 games, 14 goals. He's no mere poacher—he's a game-changer reshaping the entire team.
But unlike the flashy external praise, the mood inside the club was anything but light.
Rot-Weiss Essen conference room.
Coach Frank and assistant coach Stefan stood before the tactics board.
Their expressions were grim—far too serious for the coaches of a league-leading team.
"Coach, things look good now, but... if we keep this up, it'll collapse soon."
Stefan's finger tapped the board sharply.
A red circle labeled 'Park Si-hyun'. A blue one next to it marked 'Michael'. And a thick X slashed between them.
"Si-hyun and Michael are a total mismatch. Every pass leads to clashes. Si-hyun's covering for it now... but this rift will explode eventually."
Frank nodded heavily.
He shared the same worry.
Unexpectedly, Werner—the first to clash with Park Si-hyun—had bowed his head and synced up.
That linkage play had netted him 2 extra goals.
But Michael?
7 games: 0 goals, 2 assists. And those assists? From plays with Werner, not Si-hyun.
He hadn't synced with Park Si-hyun even once.
No, he hadn't even tried.
"Michael's pride is bruised."
Stefan let out a deep sigh.
"He was the team's core until last season. Suddenly, all the attention and expectations shifted to Park Si-hyun. Media, fans—they talk only about him."
Frank's gaze turned icy.
"If he wanted attention, he should've become an idol, not a footballer. I gave him his chance. He threw it away."
Frank stared at the board before speaking.
"Stefan, we need to switch back to 4-4-2. Park Si-hyun up top as striker, Werner as second striker. Michael... bench him."
Stefan looked at the coach in shock.
"You really mean that?"
"Soccer's a team sport—11 players. One man's ego can't drag down the other ten."
Rot-Weiss Essen training ground.
The scrimmage was in full swing, but my neck had been prickling for a while.
'Damn, feels like a knife in my back.'
The guy glaring daggers at me was Rot-Weiss Essen's Michael Waltz.
In 7 games, he'd never once synced with me. If anything, he'd only hindered.
Right now was no different.
A cross came in, and I'd positioned perfectly in the box.
The pass should've gone my way—Michael was marked tight, while I was wide open. Anyone could see it.
But he dribbled extra instead of passing.
Forced a shot from a horrible angle. Naturally, it sailed harmlessly wide.
His mistake, yet he turned and exploded at me.
"What the hell? You standing there threw off my shot!"
'Getting annoying.'
Rot-Weiss Essen, last season's 13th place.
Even early on, we topped the league, so the vibe was great. Even I didn't want to ruin it, so I'd held back—
"Enough."
"Enough what?"
I approached Michael slowly.
Teammates sensed it and rushed over, but too late.
"Michael, you know what you've done so far? 7 games: 0 goals, 2 assists."
His face flushed, but I didn't stop.
"I don't know or care about your grudges. But one thing's clear: dragging personal crap onto the pitch isn't pro behavior."
Unless it was something extreme like racism, I believed pitch issues stayed on the pitch.
No player wanted to lose as a footballer, and that fire could spark petty emotions.
But hauling off-pitch grudges onto the field?
That was straight-up unprofessional.
For example, take Manchester United's Rooney.
He blew about 1.3 billion won gambling at casinos, but it didn't tank his game.
That's how it should be. That's the virtue pros earn love and paychecks for.
This wasn't advice from Essen's top prospect Park Si-hyun. It was from a 38-year-old retiree schooling him.
But Michael sneered back.
"Pro? You've only played 7 games this season, and you're lecturing me? Don't get cocky off a hot streak."
Hot streak...
Did he even realize?
That 'streak' of 7 games had already smashed his full last season's goal tally.
I nodded slowly, chuckling.
"Hot streak? Michael, you really don't get it."
My voice dropped an octave, and the air went still.
"I'm Park Si-hyun. Not a shooting star—a sun. And you're just a bug burrowing into the dark."
Someone muttered, "That's a bit harsh..." but I kept going.
"7 games, 14 goals. How many did you score full-time last season? 8? Wait, 9."
I pointed my index finger at him mockingly.
"Remember this, Michael. What can a candle do before the sun? No matter how big it flames, it flickers out beside it."
Michael clenched his fists.
"Park Si-hyun, you..."
"What? Spit it out. Or shut up and sit on the bench."
He glared silently for a moment, then stormed to the locker room without a word. Werner followed.
'No room for performance-wreckers in Essen.'
"Arrrgh!"
Bang! Bang!
Michael Waltz stormed into the locker room, kicking chairs and punching lockers, but his rage wouldn't subside.
'What? He's the sun and I'm a candle?'
Another chair slammed into the wall.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"
Michael stood before the mirror, staring at his flushed face, trembling hands, and humiliated expression.
'7 games, 14 goals? Big deal!'
Deep down, he knew.
It was a record he'd never touch.
The door opened, and in walked Werner—whose fortunes had diverged sharply from his own.
"Michael."
"What do you want, traitor?"
He spat venom at Werner, who'd sided with Park Si-hyun after the first game.
"Traitor... You know as well as I do. With Park Si-hyun, we can go higher."
"No, we can climb without that bastard!"
"Footballers speak with results. You know it—we had clout because we were the aces. Now, it's him."
Werner sighed, placing a hand on Michael's shoulder.
"Michael, pull yourself together and come out. I'll smooth things over."
Werner paused at the door, glancing back.
"Face reality, Michael!"
Bang!
As the door shut, Michael screamed again.
"Arrrgh!!!"
But this time, no kicked chair.
He slid down against the wall instead.
'Results speak...'
7 games, 14 goals. The number haunted him.
Park Si-hyun had scored more in 7 games than he'd managed all last season—9 goals.
"Ha..."
Even cursing took too much effort now.