Chapter 60
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 60
Chapter Title: France is Easy
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Park Si-hyun thought France was easy.
"What the hell does some country like Korea have to get so pissed about...?"
Trezeguet muttered to himself as he stared indifferently out the bus window at the Korean stadium.
He'd only said one thing in front of the reporters, and he never imagined the coach and captain would step up to chew him out like this.
His mind flashed back to the scene from the team hotel the day before.
"Trezeguet!"
Coach Lemerre's voice sliced through the room like lightning.
The air in the hotel was tense enough to kill, and even the players were holding their breath.
"What the hell was that idiotic statement? The Korean press is already plastering your words all over the front pages!"
The coach's voice trembled roughly, stripped of his usual calm.
Captain Zidane, sitting beside him, glared at Trezeguet with deep furrows etched into his forehead.
Trezeguet spread his arms wide, looking aggrieved.
"What did I do wrong? I was just stating the facts."
"What?"
Lemerre's eyes flashed sharply.
But Trezeguet didn't back down—instead, he raised his voice even louder.
"Honestly, isn't the problem that you scheduled a friendly against a weak team like Korea? Didn't we beat them 5-0 last time? What positive effect could a team like that have on World Cup champions like us?"
In that instant, the room's atmosphere froze solid.
That's when Zidane slowly stood, pushing his chair aside and stepping forward.
"Coach, may I say something?"
Lemerre looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
Zidane's gaze locked straight onto Trezeguet.
"You're right. We are the 1998 World Cup champions. But remember—you were just a bench player back then. The ones who got us to the top weren't you; they were the players sitting quietly here right now. So why are you acting so arrogant, like you were the center of that team?"
Trezeguet opened his mouth, but under Zidane's intense stare, no words came out.
Zidane continued in a low, firm voice.
"The mark of a respected soccer player isn't just skill. It's character and humility that earn true respect. But what you just said... it didn't make us look like World Cup winners. It made us look like a bunch of arrogant pricks."
Coach Lemerre crossed his arms and summed it up coldly.
"Zidane's right. You didn't just embarrass yourself—you tarnished the entire French national team's reputation. No more excuses. If you ever disregard my orders or the team's honor again, I can't guarantee your spot in this World Cup squad."
As that memory replayed, the bus pulled to a slow stop in front of the Korean stadium.
As the French players disembarked one by one, a swarm of Korean reporters rushed them, flashes exploding everywhere.
"Trezeguet! One word on yesterday's comments!"
Mics were thrust right up to his face, but Trezeguet didn't utter a syllable.
If he opened his mouth in this mood, it was obvious Coach Lemerre would boot him from the World Cup roster for real.
But apologizing? No chance.
Some might say, "Just apologize and move on," but Trezeguet's pride wouldn't allow it.
Bowing his head to a weaker opponent was the ultimate humiliation.
So he tilted his chin up and strode silently into the stadium.
'Hmph. I'll make them feel the disgust I felt... right here on the pitch.'
Trezeguet planned to unleash all the discomfort and anger from the hotel on Korea during the match.
Time passed, and as the players gathered in the tunnel for lineup, the eyes of both teams met.
The Korean players' gazes burned sharp and fierce.
Trezeguet smirked even under that heat.
'We'll cross paths here and that's it. Guys I'll never see again outside this stage.'
He shrugged inwardly.
"Pathetic."
Then English came from beside him.
He turned to see a tall East Asian player staring at him with a blank expression.
Cold, gleaming eyes and a solid build. His presence carried an oddly oppressive weight.
Trezeguet scowled and spat curtly.
"Tch, you're the pathetic one, playing soccer in Korea."
But the East Asian—Park Si-hyun—didn't flinch.
He just stared straight back and said in a low, steady voice,
"You'd better be careful in this match... My teammates are pretty pissed."
"...What?"
Trezeguet scoffed in disbelief.
Then, as if it wasn't worth responding, he snapped his head away to stare down the tunnel.
'Be careful? Korea daring to threaten me? Hilarious. You should be the ones worrying. I haven't even decided how many goals to score yet.'
The match kicked off, and just as Trezeguet predicted, France seized early chances, showing off their champions' prowess.
"Trezeguet!"
Henry shook off two defenders in a flash and lofted a long pass from the wing.
The ball traced a perfect arc straight to Trezeguet.
"Perfect...!"
Trezeguet launched himself like lightning, a half-beat ahead.
He could've controlled it calmly and shot, but he deliberately went airborne.
To flaunt the 'level difference' to these clueless Koreans.
'This is champion-level skill!'
But the moment his foot met the ball never came.
Thwack!
"Gah!"
Korea's goalkeeper had charged forward, diving to snatch the ball.
Trezeguet got tangled in the collision, lost his balance, and tumbled onto the grass.
As he flailed to get up, the crowd erupted in laughter and cheers at his undignified sprawl.
"Puhahaha! Look at him rolling like a bug!"
"Level difference? What a joke!"
Trezeguet's face hardened.
Worse than the crowd's mockery—his shot had been read and stopped before he could even attempt it.
Like every move had been seen through.
Then Korea's goalkeeper, clutching the ball firmly, looked down at him and muttered low.
"Easy."
Henry is incredible as always! He takes Zidane's pass, blows past Song Jong-kook with his speed, and even breaks through Choi Jin-cheol!
Trezeguet charging straight at goal! Henry's long pass—dangerous! We have to stop it!
From the early onslaught by France, the Korean broadcast team couldn't hide their worry.
But the next moment brought a collective sigh of relief.
That's Lee Woon-jae for you! Korea's guardian deity, the Spider Hands! He rushes out and claims the ball perfectly!
Lee Woon-jae isn't the type to vacate his goal easily, but today he's different. This shows just how much preparation he's put in for France.
But then an unexpected situation unfolded.
What is this?! Trezeguet... grabs Lee Woon-jae by the collar!
There was a collision while blocking the shot, sure. But that was just legal physical play. To act like this...
The announcers' voices grew stiff.
No matter how much he disrespected Korea, Trezeguet is a world-class striker. But this behavior... it's nothing like the player I know. Deeply disappointing.
"Let go! That guy provoked me first! How dare Korea—!"
Trezeguet thrashed and screamed as his teammates dragged him away by force.
I watched from a distance, slowly curling my lips into a smile.
'He took the bait perfectly.'
Then Lee Chun-soo, running up beside me, nudged my side with his elbow.
"Si-hyun, your plan worked like a charm."
The plan Lee Chun-soo mentioned was simple.
Just like learning German trash talk before Germany, this time we'd prepped a few French jabs.
Whisper them like the wind whenever tailing Trezeguet or body-checking him—no ego that strong could stay unshaken.
Of course, we started with outright curses.
But the good older brothers vetoed them, settling on the safest word.
'Easy.'
Ironically, those two short syllables cut the deepest.
To Trezeguet, who saw Korea as beneath him, 'easy' wasn't mere mockery.
It was a deeper scar on his pride than any swear—a greater insult.
"Chun-soo hyung, Woon-jae hyung started it, so now it's the forwards' turn. Let's score and all go say it together."
"Sounds good. I'll score—you assist."
"No way. I'm scoring."
'Not even for Chun-soo hyung will I give up a goal.'
The briefly halted match resumed with the ref's whistle. Lee Woon-jae booted it long, connecting quickly through the midfield.
'Coach Hiddink's 3-4-3 shines with midfielders pushing the line high for forward pressure.'
Just like I'd seen in pre-regression footage, the players circulated passes, gradually advancing the line.
I waited for the gap, then exploded into the momentary space.
Yoo Sang-chul's pass dropped perfectly to me.
'Sang-chul hyung's timing is flawless as always.'
I cushioned it with my chest, touched once to shake the defender, then unleashed my right foot.
Bam!
The net rippled wildly.
As the French players' faces stiffened, I pretended to jog back but veered toward Trezeguet.
Seol Ki-hyun and Lee Chun-soo joined me.
"Easy."
"Easy."
"Easy."
"Argh! Those bastards again...!"