Chapter 55
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: O Ye Mortals Who Played Soccer Before Park Si-hyun's Debut
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Scotland national team coach Bertie Vogel finally hung his head low.
An evaluation match was, at its core, nothing more than a 'practice stage'.
A chance to check tactics ahead of the World Cup, refine team organization, and patch up weaknesses.
But that only held true for a moderate defeat.
5-0.
When the score gaped this wide, everything changed.
Any talk of training benefits vanished, leaving only humiliation behind.
Player morale plummeted to rock bottom, and public trust crumbled entirely.
Even the excuse of "it's just an evaluation match" rang hollow against this scoreboard.
Vogel's gaze unwittingly fixed on one player.
80th minute of the second half.
Number 9, Park Si-hyun, still tirelessly dominating the pitch end to end.
'If it weren't for that kid... we wouldn't have collapsed this badly.'
The moment they'd conceded three goals in the first half, Vogel had made up his mind.
Foul if you have to. Overpower him physically.
He believed it was better to play dirty and at least keep up appearances.
But that was a fatal miscalculation.
Park Si-hyun, subbed in for the second half, shattered every assumption Scotland held.
He dominated even in physical battles they thought were their strength, while his speed and skill operated on another plane entirely.
The rougher they got, the starker the gap became.
'...We're not facing Korea right now. That's... Ronaldo.'
The player charging before Vogel's eyes was clearly an 18-year-old Korean boy, but his silhouette overlapped with Brazil's world-class striker.
No, perhaps it surpassed that.
And once more, Korea pressed Scotland relentlessly with tireless momentum.
Left flank.
Lee Young-pyo surged forward, lofting a cross that arced beautifully downward.
The ball headed straight for the 'Korean Ronaldo', Park Si-hyun, whose eyes gleamed with hunger despite already bagging two goals.
"Enough... please, just stop..."
Vogel's insides burned black.
The score was already 5-0.
And Park Si-hyun had two goals to his name.
Wasn't that enough?
Couldn't they call it quits now?
But his desperate wish went unheard.
Park Si-hyun chested the ball up once, waited for the split-second opening, then leaned back and spun in midair.
Bam!
An overhead kick.
That shot, ripping through the net on a dazzling trajectory, wasn't just a goal.
It was utter domination.
A technique even world-class strikers rarely attempted, executed to perfection by an 18-year-old boy.
No soccer fan could witness that and deny Park Si-hyun's brilliance.
Vogel, too, stared in a daze before nodding slowly.
Park Si-hyun.
As long as that boy was around, Korea would never be just another host nation.
Dark horse?
No. Something far greater.
A storm to shake the world.
'...I thought Korea would finish dead last in qualifiers. I was wrong. A new era begins now.'
The match ended, and we stepped into the press conference.
The moment Coach Hiddink and I sat side by side, the air grew heavy.
The reason was simple.
At least 80 percent of the reporters before us had been ripping me apart in articles right up until kickoff.
They'd probably drafted their hit pieces the instant they heard I was subbing on.
But when the lid came off?
Second-half substitute. Hat-trick in a flash.
Goals no one could dismiss as luck—pure, undeniable brilliance.
The press room froze in silence, until Coach Hiddink broke it first.
"No questions?"
His deep, firm voice rippled through, stirring the reporters.
Finally, one reluctantly raised a hand and grabbed the mic.
"Uh... let's proceed with the interview."
Cautious tone.
Anyone could see they were gauging me and the coach.
The coach had taken heat too, just like me.
I didn't care, though. Whatever about the coach.
Trash talk like this? It was nothing.
'Does he deserve to replace Hong Myung-bo?'
'Why pick a third-division German scrub for the national team?'
They weren't digging into my private life or fabricating lies.
Compared to the future 'hack journalists' I remembered, this was adorable.
It was even fun.
Like the whole country was putting on a massive comedy show just for me.
'Honestly, it's hilarious—a nation hating on Park Si-hyun over Hong Myung-bo.'
Then, a reporter seized the mic.
"Question for Park Si-hyun. Controversy's dogged you since joining the national team, and the crowd booed hard when you subbed on today. Yet you notched a hat-trick. No pressure?"
Every eye in the room locked on me.
Pressure?
On Park Si-hyun?
I opened my mouth without hesitation.
"Pressure comes when you doubt your own skill. I was certain. One game, and I'd flip the boos and the public opinion."
The reporters froze solid.
No one could follow up.
"No pressure at all. Why feel it when you're sure you'll win?"
They all gawked at me blankly.
I was loving this.
Their faces mirrored those German reporters from my first interview back there.
It had been the same then.
Korean press would adapt, just like the Germans.
I was toning it down a bit younger than in Germany, even.
Another reporter timidly raised a hand.
"Scotland coach Bertie Vogel called Park Si-hyun the 'Korean Ronaldo'. High praise—your thoughts?"
"Not praise. An insult."
The room buzzed.
"Ins... insult? That's Ronaldo."
I shook my head firmly.
"I'm not Ronaldo. I'm Park Si-hyun."
'Ha... still hearing this crap.'
I'd tried playing nice in Korea, but no more.
I gripped the mic tight and stood.
"I toned it down for Korea, but that's over. Know what I always say in Germany?"
I raised one finger—not on the mic.
"I am the world's best player."
Reporters' eyes widened; flashes erupted.
"First time in Germany, they laughed. But game after game... they stopped. Because I proved it."
I stared down the cameras.
"Why I'm at the World Cup? Simple. To put so-called Ronaldos beneath my feet and prove I'm the best."
The press iced over.
Even after my masterclass today, in 2002...
An era prizing humility, this smacked of arrogance.
"Isn't that... too cocky?"
A reporter muttered.
I smiled slowly.
"I get it. People reject light beyond their norms. But I'll prove it again. This isn't arrogance."
That moment.
Coach Hiddink, who'd just been nodding beside me, widened his eyes.
I'd stepped toward the reporters.
I stopped before the first questioner, shoving my face into his camera lens.
"Ronaldo, listen up. You've held 'world's best player' till now. But that's history—before I arrived."
I paused, like catching breath, then landed the knockout.
"At this World Cup, hand over that 'world's best' title. Why? It was never yours. Just borrowed till Park Si-hyun debuted."
From that day, 'Hong Myung-bo' no longer trailed the national team.
Me, Park Si-hyun.
I'd buried it under bigger controversy, bigger presence.
Smack!
"Ow! Cut it out!"
"You need a good smack to wise up, you punk! What'd you learn in Germany playing soccer that you come back and stir up trouble right away?!"
Park Si-hyun, self-proclaimed 'world's best player' at the heart of Korea's storm.
That Park Si-hyun was now—
Meekly taking his mom's backhand smacks.
"But I just said the truth..."
Even that Park Si-hyun shrank like any 18-year-old before his mom.