Chapter 62
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 62
Chapter Title: Park Si-hyun Finds Zidane Easy
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Park Si-hyun found Zidane easy.
At the very moment when Korea was regrouping and boosting their morale, the atmosphere in the French locker room was entirely different.
The score was 1-1.
They had barely managed to equalize thanks to a single brilliant strike from Zidane right before halftime.
In soccer, a goal in the dying moments of the first half is worth its weight in gold.
A team trailing 0-1 that scores just before the whistle often rides that momentum straight into the second half, turning the tide for a comeback.
But right now, the air in the French camp was the complete opposite.
Despite the equalizer, there was no relief or energy on the players' faces.
Instead, the locker room was filled with a bitter silence and an odd discomfort.
The reason was simple.
They were France.
The World Cup champions and the tournament's top favorites had just finished the first half at 1-1 against South Korea—a team whose advancement from the group stage was still up in the air.
And that one goal? It was a super goal, forced out purely by Zidane's individual genius.
The vibe was exactly like when a league powerhouse spends the entire first half being dominated by the bottom-feeders, only scraping one back at the death.
The score said tie.
But the game play screamed defeat.
And the one hit hardest by it all was someone else entirely.
The man who had openly dismissed Korea before the match.
France's striker, David Trezeguet.
'This... can't be real. How could I...'
He knew it deep down.
If he had done his job, the game wouldn't have gotten this messy.
As Trezeguet hung his head heavy, a low voice came from beside him.
"Get it together, Trezeguet."
He looked up to see his same-age teammate and closest friend on the national team, Henry, standing there.
"Korea didn't shut you down. You're doing it to yourself right now."
Trezeguet furrowed his brow and muttered low.
"What the hell does that mean...?"
"You underestimated Korea way too much. Thought you could just waltz in and score. But what's a striker's role? Get stopped ten times, score once—that's the gig. You know that better than anyone."
Trezeguet bit his lip in silence.
It was true.
If being a forward was some overwhelmingly advantageous position, they'd be banging in 10 or 20 goals per game like it was nothing.
But reality didn't work that way.
Breaking through defenders and keepers was brutally tough, which is why every single goal shines so bright.
A striker gets denied nine out of ten tries but owns the spotlight the one time the net ripples.
"That's what we run for—that one moment. You're David Trezeguet. No reason to despair. Show them why you're here."
"...Sorry. Because of me..."
Trezeguet's voice cracked low.
Henry smirked at that, clapping his shoulder.
"There you go—that's the Trezeguet I know. Skip the sorry. Just show it in the second half. Like you said, we're the champions. Time to prove we're not pushovers."
"Mark him! Stick tighter on the right!"
Whatever went down in the locker room, Trezeguet emerged for the second half like a completely different player.
The collapsed figure from the first half was gone, replaced by sharp, reborn movement.
As Zidane and Henry alternated pulling strings to create openings, Trezeguet had already positioned himself menacingly in front of goal.
Every darting run toward the net proved he no longer saw Korea as a joke.
"Trezeguet's on! Don't let him go!"
The defenders' shouts sharpened.
But Korea didn't waver.
Fueled by Hiddink's words, they played like their lives depended on it—as if this were the World Cup final.
When Trezeguet jostled in the box, Lee Sung-min was on him instantly with pressure.
Kim Tae-young and Choi Jin-cheol covered from behind in turns, while Lee Woon-jae directed the line like the human octopus he was, barking at every tiny shift.
"Watch the left!"
"Vieira's pushing up!"
Like a tournament final, Korea's focus never slipped for a second.
France wasn't slacking either.
Zidane wrenched control from midfield, switching tempo; Desailly and Thuram pulled their line higher and tighter.
Lizarazu shuttled up and down, sealing the flank.
And me? I had three glued to my hip.
A center-back blocked straight ahead, Lizarazu shadowed from the side, and Vieira joined from midfield—any whiff of space, and the pressure swarmed.
'Ha... now this is fun.'
Every touch, and three shadows closed in.
But that just proved how threatening I was.
It fired me up even more.
Proof of what I'd always said: I'm the world's best striker.
If the top defenders in the world needed three to contain me, didn't that prove my worth right there?
Early in the second half, Trezeguet's point-blank screamer was tipped away by Lee Woon-jae's fingertips.
Counter straight away. Dragging three defenders, I carved an angle—then Vieira panicked and shoved my shoulder with his hand.
Foot mid-stride, balance gone—I tumbled to the turf.
Peep!
The ref's whistle pierced the stadium.
Free kick.
Vieira just nodded silently and jogged back, no protest.
'Me... getting fouled down.'
As Park Si-hyun, being shoved over by one defender stung.
But game-flow wise? Perfect spot.
Prime distance to threaten goal myself.
Korea's designated free-kick taker is Lee Eul-yong.
Protocol said I step aside.
But Lee signaled right away.
"You take it."
That short gesture.
Honestly, no way was I handing off the chance I'd earned.
That's when it hit.
A familiar voice from the side.
"Ahem, Si-hyun. Mind if I take this one?"
I turned—Lee Chun-soo, sweat-drenched face, right there.
"I made it, I earned it. Where's your conscience, hyung?"
"Aw, just asking. You think I'd really steal it?"
His tone was light, but the regret in his eyes? Crystal clear.
Proof: he'd sprinted full tilt from the opposite flank in seconds to get here.
I shooed him like a fly, and he fake-pouted, rolling his eyes as he trudged off.
"Man... that's cold, ice cold."
Muttering back to position, I refocused on the ball, head down.
'How to hit this.'
Positioned, deep breath—my eyes drifted to Zidane.
Zinedine Zidane.
The world's best midfielder right now.
Game control, leadership, Marseille turn—personal brilliance.
But more.
Zidane was famous for free kicks too.
'Euro 2004 vs. England, late game—that curling free kick... pure art.'
Trajectory untouchable by the keeper.
Silence shattered, net bulging on the curl.
The "Miracle Two Minutes"—
I'd recreate it two years early, right here.
Position even matched.
Left-footer's curl sweet spot.
'This... they call NTR, right?'
Three steps back.
Scan the ball, keeper's spot, wall gaps—breathe steady.
Then charge.
Thwack—!
Not my usual power straight-line shot.
Whiiirl—
Ball bent sharp in front of the keeper, trajectory twisting.
SPLASH!
Sucked into the top left corner.
And the stadium erupted, swallowing everything.
WAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!
What a free kick! Park Si-hyun's left foot pierces the top left corner!
Identical to Zidane's legendary Euro 2004 free kick against England.
'Easy.'
Legends before Park Si-hyun? Just mortals.
Their history? Just another day for me.
In the end, France couldn't overcome the one-goal deficit, exiting with a 2-1 loss.
And the Korean press was waiting, of course.
Especially for the guy who'd trashed Korea pre-game.
France's striker, David Trezeguet.
Time to pay the piper for his words.
Cameras and mics swarmed him.
"Trezeguet, you lost 2-1 to the Korea you mocked. How do you feel?"
"You called playing Korea a 'waste of time' before the game. But you lost. Still think it's a waste?"
Questions laced with mockery rained down like arrows.
Trezeguet's face was ashen.
The reporters figured he'd brush past or snap and storm off.
But what came out of his mouth was something else.
"I'm sorry."
He bowed to the cameras.
Deep—not the casual Western nod, but a full Korean-style waist bow.
"I heard in Korea, you bow like this for mistakes. My airport comments, my pre-game trash talk about Korea... I apologize for all of it."
"...Uh, what..."
The jeering reporters went quiet.
No one saw the arrogant star humbly bowing after one loss.
Trezeguet softened his expression and continued steadily.
"Korea's the biggest wildcard in this World Cup. If they beat the big teams and advance... it won't be luck. It'll be skill, earned. Tonight, I felt their grit firsthand."
Before leaving, one last light bow with a smile.
"Especially Korea's number 9, Si-hyun. Someday... I'd love a rematch in Europe. Next time, I won't lose."
With that, Trezeguet walked off through the flashing cameras.