Chapter 67
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: Park Si-hyun Makes History Even Cooler
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“Focus.”
Hiddink's voice echoed through the locker room.
“As you all know, the United States has beaten Portugal beyond our expectations. And 3-2 at that.”
The players' faces hardened.
“Portugal couldn't even handle the American counterattacks. The U.S. is going to be a much stronger team than we thought. This match won't be easy at all.”
He walked over to the tactics board and moved the magnets with his fingertips as he spoke.
“But on the flip side, since the U.S. beat Portugal, if they win this one... it means South Korea will secure their first-ever World Cup finals berth.”
Hiddink's voice grew louder.
“No matter how high their morale is, we're more desperate. Countless fans believe in us. Today, put their minds at ease.”
“Yes, sir!!!”
The Taeguk Warriors are emerging from the tunnel! Everyone's got a determined look on their faces!
Yes! June 10th at Daegu World Cup Stadium for Group D's second match! A win today secures their historic finals berth for the first time. They have no choice but to be fired up! Plus, it'd be South Korea's first-ever win against a North/Central American team in World Cup history.
“And Korea's made changes today! They're not going with 4-4-2 but 3-4-3! Park Si-hyun starts on the bench, but the attack line of Seol Ki-hyun—Hwang Sun-hong—Park Ji-sung looks solid.”
“Yes, they're probably managing Park Si-hyun's stamina since he's still just 17. But with Hwang Sun-hong, who bagged two against Poland!”
Everyone trusted their captain, Hwang Sun-hong.
But right from the early going, something that shouldn't have happened did.
The 20th minute.
In a battle for a header with U.S. defender Frank Hejduk, Hwang Sun-hong collided head-on with him.
Oh! Hwang Sun-hong took it to the face! Blood's pouring out!
They clashed during the header! Medical staff rushing in now!
Blood trickled from Hwang Sun-hong's mouth.
The medical team rushed in, trying to staunch the bleeding, and the area around him fell into momentary chaos as they wrapped a bandage.
But the U.S. didn't miss that gap.
John O'Brien grabbed the ball and surged forward, threading a precise through pass down the middle. Clint Mathis slipped between the disorganized defense and smashed a right-footed shot that rocketed straight into the net.
Splash~
Goal! Mathis! 24th minute of the first half! The U.S. strikes first!
They concede with Hwang Sun-hong still off, but it's okay—plenty of time left!
Exactly. If they regroup now and play calmly, they can come back!
A faint tremor crossed Hwang Sun-hong's face as the bandage was applied.
The injury wasn't serious, but conceding while he was off gnawed at him.
Hiddink watched him silently before speaking quietly.
“Sun-hong, even if it's a shallow cut, we should sub you.”
“Coach... I'm fine. Because of me, we...”
“It's not because of you.”
Hiddink shook his head firmly.
“I know how you feel. This is your last World Cup shot, so you want to shine more than anyone. But we can't end your journey here in qualifiers. You've got to play in the finals too.”
He took a breath and smiled softly.
“Leave this match to the youngsters.”
“...Yes. Sorry for being stubborn.”
“That's not stubbornness—it's a player's competitive fire. I don't hate that.”
Hiddink chuckled and patted his shoulder.
“If anything, thanks for accepting the sub at a time like this.”
He turned toward the bench.
Ahn Jung-hwan and Park Si-hyun flashed through Hiddink's mind.
After a moment's deliberation, his gaze hardened.
And his decisive voice rang out over the stadium.
“Si-hyun, get ready.”
I entered the pitch with a wry smile tugging at my lips.
'Guess... that means no ceremony.'
The one scene everyone recalls from the 2002 match against the U.S.
Ahn Jung-hwan's 'Apollo Anton Ohno ceremony.'
Truth be told, this U.S. game wasn't just soccer.
It carried a strange tension beyond chasing a ball.
Anti-American sentiment was at a peak politically, and just four months earlier, Kim Dong-sung had lost the gold medal to Apollo Anton Ohno in short track at the Salt Lake City Olympics.
The atmosphere was so charged they moved the Gwanghwamun street viewing party to Seoul Plaza because the U.S. embassy was near Sejong-daero.
'Jung-hwan hyung and Choon-soo hyung were plotting a ceremony last night...'
The thought made me chuckle despite myself.
But honestly, none of that mattered to a player. Just one thing did.
Coach Hiddink chose me for this match.
And proving why he made that choice.
'If Ahn hyung can't... then I'll do it. He's got the ring ceremony anyway.'
I took a deep breath.
From this moment, it wasn't the '2002' I knew anymore.
My mere presence here meant all those scenes I'd watched before regressing—the moments—were gone.
That was inevitable.
If I regretted each vanished highlight, clung to what was lost, I never should've stepped onto this stage.
'I'll repay it by leaving even cooler scenes than the ones I saw.'
I slowly lifted my head.
Under the red lights, tens of thousands of cheers crashed like waves.
Amid it all, I smiled alone.
'No Ohno ceremony. I'll show them something else.'
‘......’
Ahn Jung-hwan watched the pitch from the bench with a complicated expression.
Honestly, he'd thought today was his turn.
He was sure Hiddink would rest Park Si-hyun and play him.
That's why he'd stayed up late with Choon-soo brainstorming ceremonies...
'Apollo Anton Ohno ceremony.'
The script was perfect in his head.
In 4-4-2, he'd play midfield, but today was 3-4-3.
As a striker, score a banger and flip the stadium with that celebration.
Not because he was close with Kim Dong-sung.
As fellow athletes, he understood the injustice better than anyone.
He wanted payback as a soccer player and a national team member.
'Am I... that unreliable?'
Ahn Jung-hwan swallowed quietly.
He didn't think Hiddink's decision was wrong.
He knew better than anyone there was always reason behind the coach's calls.
But it still stung humanly.
Frankly, he knew Hiddink didn't care for him much.
Constant nagging about his long hair in training, always tagged with 'individualist.'
'I can play striker well too...'
Ahn Jung-hwan's gaze landed on the boy heading onto the pitch from the bench's end.
Park Si-hyun.
The young junior.
But no ordinary one.
Unlike others, he chatted naturally with the hyungs like Choon-soo.
It could've seemed cocky, but oddly, it didn't.
His words were light yet polite, his training attitude and pitch focus dead serious.
And his skill was the real deal.
Even Ahn felt relief thinking, 'With Park Si-hyun out there, the U.S. game's fine.'
'Yeah... this isn't jealousy. Just... a player's instinct.'
Ahn Jung-hwan bowed his head.
Watching a junior chosen over him oddly ached in his chest.
With his fierce competitive spirit, it wasn't jealousy—just pure pride as a player.
I could do well too...
I could prove it too...
I could score too...
That's when it happened.
“Scared?”
Hiddink asked quietly from beside him, arms crossed.
Ahn Jung-hwan startled and looked up.
“Coach?”
Hiddink narrowed his eyes.
“Afraid Park Si-hyun's taking your spot?”
“No, sir. I... know my role.”
“Then?”
A brief silence.
Ahn Jung-hwan answered honestly.
“Honestly, I thought I'd go in as striker today.”
A subtle smile crossed Hiddink's lips.
“You haven't forgotten what I said last time, right?”
“...That my life changes after the World Cup?”
“Yes.”
Hiddink nodded slowly.
“The guy who said that wouldn't underestimate you, Jung-hwan.”
He turned his gaze to the pitch.
“Watch Park Si-hyun's movement closely. His play isn't just talent. It'll be fresh stimulus for you as a midfielder and striker.”
No rebuke, no comfort.
Just sincere advice.
“You'll start striker against Portugal. Get ready.”
“...Yes, sir.”
Ahn Jung-hwan glanced at Hiddink with a complicated look.
Then Hiddink added,
“And Jung-hwan.”
“Yes?”
“I don't dislike you.”
“Huh...?”
Hiddink laughed.
“Your face screamed it, so I said it. Remember—I wouldn't put a player I hate on the World Cup stage. I'm not that nice a coach.”
With that, Hiddink walked back out to the bench line.
Silence fell for a moment.
Ahn Jung-hwan stared at his back for a long while before slowly lowering his head.
“...What a guy.”
At that instant, the stands buzzed.
Murmur—murmur—!
Ahn Jung-hwan looked up to see Park Si-hyun dribbling in the U.S. penalty area.
But it wasn't ordinary dribbling.
He was whipping his arms like a short track skater.
'Ha... that crazy kid.'
Ahn Jung-hwan burst out laughing too.
Pure admiration from a teammate, a fellow soccer player.