Chapter 57
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Park Si-hyun's Perspective
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[Ah... What a shame. The Korean players were holding their own against England—but a split-second mistake slips in.]
[Yes, a tight marking error in defense. Michael Owen pounces on that gap without mercy! True to form, he never misses. Lee Sung-min was the one marking Owen. He hangs his head. It's still the first half... He can't let self-blame take over.]
Teammates' voices crying "It's okay!" and "Block it next time!" reached him from around, but to Lee Sung-min himself, they brushed by faintly.
He stood frozen on the grass.
He forcibly gripped his trembling right hand with his left.
But the shaking wouldn't stop.
Instead, both hands began to tremble together.
'Me... because of me...'
His heart thrashed wildly, his breath caught in his throat and wouldn't come out.
Of course, this couldn't be pinned solely on Lee Sung-min.
The entire defensive line had wavered for that instant, and the other players moving to cover were half a beat late as well.
It was a split-second fissure where everyone lagged at once.
But even so, he had been the one directly marking Owen.
That single fact alone made it impossible for Lee Sung-min to forgive himself.
And what crushed his chest even more was how the crowd was looking at them.
He had seen it, hadn't he?
The jeers and curses poured at Park Si-hyun not long ago.
'Si-hyun endured that... If it were me hearing those jeers...'
Just imagining it sent chills down his spine.
From the moment that thought burrowed into his head, his feet grew heavy.
After that, Lee Sung-min's movements became markedly sluggish.
Normally, he was the first to claim position, reading where the ball would go and cutting it off—
But now, his tackle timing was late, his pressure half a beat behind.
[Lee Sung-min beaten again!]
[Yes, Lee Sung-min's clearly rattled today. His play's shrunk since that early first-half goal conceded.]
[Exactly. Lee Sung-min isn't a physical battler by style. His strengths are vision and judgment—reading the ball's trajectory and opponents' movements ahead, seizing position, and tackling to intercept. But right now, his head's cluttered; he's half a beat late each time.]
[That's fatal. Defenders don't just steal the ball—they read the moment. But today's Lee Sung-min shows none of that edge. If he keeps shaking like this, another goal conceded wouldn't surprise anyone.]
The more mistakes he made, the more his reads faltered.
Faltering reads stiffened his feet.
Stiff feet meant reacting yet another beat late.
A small mistake bred anxiety, and anxiety strangled his body into bigger mistakes.
It was a vicious cycle repeating.
From the bench, watching Lee Sung-min, coach Park Hang-seo approached director Hiddink.
"Director... Letting him play on isn't good for the player anymore. Shouldn't we consider a sub?"
Hiddink, arms crossed, silently gazed at the field.
'Pulling him now... might actually be worse.'
It was plain to see.
The chain of the vicious cycle perpetuated by that mistake.
But yanking him immediately would crush the player's spirit.
That wound would linger into the next match—or maybe a lifetime.
On the flip side, leaving him in was risky too.
Shaken like this, it could spiral into irreparable loss of confidence.
That was when.
Seizing a lull as the ball went out, Park Si-hyun quietly approached Lee Sung-min—that caught his eye.
A light tap on the shoulder, a short exchange.
Hiddink murmured low to the coach.
"Let's watch a bit longer for now. If he can't overcome pressure like this as a player... he doesn't deserve to play in the World Cup."
"Understood."
Hiddink's gaze returned to the field.
'Park Si-hyun, are you just a goal-scorer? Or can you save the whole team?'
To Hiddink, soccer aces fell into two types.
First: Players who solve everything alone and hog the spotlight.
Second: Players who, without doing it all themselves, elevate the entire team's level just by being there.
Two faces overlapped in his mind.
First: Ronaldo.
Second: Zidane.
By playstyle alone, Park Si-hyun was clearly closer to Ronaldo.
The type who proves with goals, shaking the game with overwhelming individual skill.
But if he could harness Ronaldo's talent with Zidane's leadership?
Hiddink slowly smiled.
'If I'm right... Ronaldo's in for real trouble in this World Cup.'
Park Si-hyun just might redefine what an ace is in this tournament.
'What the hell's wrong with him...?'
On the pitch, I furrowed my brow.
Mistakes kept erupting from the defense, and nearly 90% stemmed from Lee Sung-min.
'Nerves?'
That's what I thought at first.
But I soon shook my head.
If it were nerves, he'd have crumbled in the Scotland match already.
Instead, he'd shone.
Claiming position with anticipation, boldly tackling to cut off foes—that was Lee Sung-min's strength.
But now? Different.
'Not just simple errors... His mind's shaken.'
Just then, the ball rolled out of touch, halting play briefly.
I seized the moment and dashed to Lee Sung-min.
"Hyung, what's up all of a sudden?"
"Uh... uh, sorry. It's me..."
Eyeing his state, I narrowed my eyes.
'Not nerves... He's scared.'
I could tell.
Lee Sung-min was trapped in terror that his mistake might unleash something irreversible.
"Sung-min hyung."
No reply.
"Sung-min hyung!!"
Raising my voice a tone, he finally startled and looked up.
"Huh? Uh... yeah."
I slung my arm over his shoulder, pulling close.
"Remember what you said when we first met?"
"...What?"
"If you can't trust yourself, trust me—the world's best. Don't delude yourself that one or two mistakes from you will collapse the game."
Lee Sung-min's eyes wavered.
I smiled, lowering my voice.
"The game's win or loss is decided by Park Si-hyun. So don't shrink—hold your spot. I'll handle the rest."
"But..."
"Everyone slips sometimes. That's being human. So don't worry, just play. Even if you falter, the national team's got Park Si-hyun—and other hyungs too."
Hearing me, Lee Sung-min stared blankly, then nodded with a mumble.
"...Sorry. Because of me."
"Good if you get it."
I turned to head back but paused.
His voice called from behind.
"Si-hyun-ah."
"Yeah?"
"...Then you, being human too, slip up sometimes?"
I turned, flashing a cheeky grin.
"Hyung, Park Si-hyun isn't human—he's a god. What I do isn't mistakes... it's called mercy."
And with that, I walked off.
'If he snaps out of it, great... If not, can't be helped.'
As a player, nothing's a graver sin than losing focus in a match.
If one small slip breaks him and he can't recover—
'That's as far as he goes as a player.'
Lee Sung-min gave a small smile, watching Park Si-hyun's back as he ran ahead.
"...I was mistaken."
He'd thought one mistake from him would doom the team.
And feared the stadium's jeers would bury him at full time.
But no.
The national team brimmed with players better than him.
Them not crumbling with him meant they could shine brighter.
'Was I... a bit arrogant?'
Lately, everyone he met praised his talent—maybe he'd gotten cocky.
Real talent was like that.
[Park Si-hyun's off! No one can stop him!]
[That's no mere dribble! Instant acceleration, direction change, body contact... Insane balance!]
Park Si-hyun sharply stepped past the last defender's toe and whipped out his left foot.
BAM!
[Shot—!! Goal!! It's in, Park Si-hyun!!!]
[Some call him the second Ronaldo, but no. He's not Ronaldo. He's Park Si-hyun! Korea's boy stabs a dagger into England's heart, leveling the score!]
Explosive cheers rocked the stadium.
Instead of flashy ceremony, Park Si-hyun sprinted to the stands, arms flung wide.
And in that instant—
He glanced back at Lee Sung-min with a playful grin.
A strange lump formed in Lee Sung-min's chest.
'Right... No pointless thoughts. The game's win isn't on me. Park Si-hyun decides it.'
He exhaled long.
'And my job... is to hold the line so he can decide easier.'
On the grass, for the first time, Lee Sung-min felt not fear, but relief and resolve.
What he had to do was simple.
Not crumble—but endure to the end.
Then, in that time, the world's best player would surely win the match for them.