Chapter 64

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Translator: Silver Dragon

Chapter: 64

Chapter Title: The Goalkeeper Who Studied Park Si-hyun and Got Zero

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Multiple national teams from various countries were arriving in Korea one after another, adjusting to the local conditions with training sessions. Finally, June 4, 2002, dawned.

The day of the first group stage match had arrived.

The Korean national team had arrived early at the Busan Asiad Main Stadium ahead of their D Group opener against Poland, loosening up their bodies.

Bang!

A clear, crisp metallic ring echoed through the entire stadium.

It was the sound from the crossbar challenge that Park Si-hyun and Lee Chun-soo were doing while warming up.

Ten out of ten.

Park Si-hyun hit the crossbar perfectly without a single miss.

On the other hand—

"Argh! No way, why?! The wind! The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wind suddenly blew!"

"We're taking turns kicking, but the wind only blows when you do it?"

"One more time. Next week's dinner's on me this round!"

Park Si-hyun was already smiling.

'Another easy win.'

In truth, Park Si-hyun had far more money than Lee Chun-soo.

He'd barely spent a dime of his salary from Germany.

But there were unchanging truths in the world.

Money was best saved when you didn't need to spend it.

And meals tasted the best when someone else bought or cooked them.

Thanks to Lee Chun-soo, Park Si-hyun was set to enjoy the world's most delicious meals for the next few days.

"Alright. This time, ten in a row, hyung. Right now."

Park Si-hyun kicked the ball hard.

Most people aimed for the crossbar with a light, sensory pass kick. But not Park Si-hyun.

No passes. Just shots.

There was only one reason he kicked so hard.

'If I think of it as a pass, I miss... but if I think of it as a shot and blast it, they all hit.'

It was logic even he couldn't fully understand.

But upon deeper thought, it had a strangely persuasive ring to it.

Like how office workers find 'work' exhausting but efficiency skyrockets when they treat it as 'play'—for Park ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Si-hyun, passes were work, shots were play.

Clang!

The ball hit the crossbar dead-on and bounced back.

Park Si-hyun smoothly chest-trapped it, then immediately volleyed it again.

Clang!

Another hit.

As the ball returned, he didn't pause for a beat.

Chest trap, volley.

Chest trap, volley.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The fans gradually filling the stadium forgot to sit and stared blankly at the scene.

"What... what are they doing right now?"

"Passing the ball back and forth with the crossbar...?"

"Is that even possible?"

"We're watching it happen..."

This wasn't training—it was bordering on the supernatural.

And that absurd miracle left a deep impression on the Polish players who were just entering the stadium.

To some, it was a warning; to others, an art form you couldn't look away from. Park Si-hyun's warmup ended just like that.

A short while later, the players entered the locker room.

Coach Hiddink stood before the tactical board propped against the wall.

'We win today, no question.'

He was already certain. Still, no room for complacency.

Hiddink drew a deep breath, lowering his voice but raising its firmness.

He knew better than anyone that the opening flow dictated the rest.

"I'll say it once more. Some of you might have it memorized by now, but listen up. Poland runs a classic 4-4-2. Strong physicality, long balls. Quick penetration from their two strikers is the key."

The clack of magnets bumping filled the locker room.

The players' eyes followed his fingertips.

"The problem is simple but efficient. Once their midfield line breaks, a long ball goes up immediately, and the strikers rip through the space behind."

He pointed at the center and stopped.

"But that has a clear cost. When Poland attacks, their midfield line doesn't drop back properly. The center opens up. That's the gap we exploit."

Hiddink turned his gaze.

Sitting right in front of him was one player: 17-year-old striker Park Si-hyun.

"Si-hyun."

"Yes."

"That space is your domain. The moment you get the ball, Poland shakes. Their center-backs are strong but slow. Quick decisions beat physicality. You can do it, right?"

A smile tugged at Park Si-hyun's lips.

"Of course."

"Good. Go prove to the world today that our 4-4-2 is stronger than Poland's."

The first five minutes.

Poland came at us with rough, direct play.

Their massive strikers pressed relentlessly, while the central midfielders barreled in with their bodies.

Physical battles, collisions, long balls.

But the harder they pushed, the more gaps appeared.

Exactly the spot Coach Hiddink had mentioned—

'Poland's midfield drops late on attack. The center will open up.'

And that moment came sooner than expected.

As the ball flowed into the center, I instinctively stepped forward.

I pulled it in with my toe, spun my body once, and felt the marker closing in behind me.

But I was already set for the next move.

I twisted away, shredding the pressure.

And without hesitation, swung my left foot.

Bang!

The ball curved toward the upper corner. But Poland's keeper, Jerzy Dudek, just tipped it away with his fingertips.

No net ripple, unfortunately, but that one shot completely shifted the stadium's atmosphere.

After that single shot, the game flowed entirely Korea's way.

Park Ji-sung stole the ball in midfield, and Lee Young-pyo and Song Chong-gug both pushed the line up.

As the Polish midfielders hesitated, I seized the gap.

Their defense was strong, no doubt—but slow.

Overwhelming physicality, but reactions a beat late.

'Compared to French defenders... this is easy.'

Amid the cheers, shouts from the Polish bench reached my ears.

A quick glance back: Coach Jerzy Engel was wildly gesturing and yelling.

"Drop the line! Close the space!"

But it was too late.

'How many times did I say Korea has Park Si-hyun... You just give him that gap?'

Bang!!!

Splash—!

Dudek read the direction perfectly and dove, but the ball was too fast—even his fingertips couldn't reach.

"You fucking coach bastard!!!!!"

Poland's goalkeeper Jerzy Dudek screamed.

Right now, he wanted to grab the coach by the collar and slam him into the wall.

'Memorize it and you'll stop it, my ass! How the hell do you stop something like that?!'

His mind went blank.

Breathing ragged, heart pounding like mad.

He'd been confident.

Or so he believed.

Because Coach Jerzy Engel had said so.

"Dudek, you can do it. Don't just stop it—read it. Memorize Park Si-hyun's habits. Ankle angle, gaze, shoulder twitch—everything. Master it all, and Korea won't score a single goal. I guarantee it."

So he'd barely slept for three days.

Park Si-hyun had ten shots on target against France? He watched each fifty times over.

Eye focus, waist angle, ankle rotation on shot, gaze flicker.

Even the timing of the pre-shot breath.

He'd built a full 'Park Si-hyun Shot Database' in his head.

So he believed.

Clean sheet this match.

Perfectly analyzed.

But—

Bang!

When that shot came,

Dudek realized.

You couldn't stop it just by analyzing.

Like knowing math formulas but not solving every problem—Park Si-hyun's shots were unblockable even if you knew them.

Know the formula? Brain can't keep up. By the time you react and dive, it's already in.

'That's not human—that's a disaster. If that guy hits the Premier League... I'm switching teams immediately.'

He never wanted to face a ball like that again.

But—

Before that thought could cool,

The ball's shadow appeared once more.

'...Fuck.'