Chapter 78
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 78
Chapter Title: Want Park Si-hyun?
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The emotion of advancing to the World Cup quarterfinals will linger in all our hearts for a long time. This triumph transcends soccer—it's a "history of victory." Reporter Choi Chang-gyu reflects on its meaning.
On the morning of June 18, as dawn broke over the Korean Peninsula, the entire nation came together as one. The moment we brought powerhouse Italy to its knees, time stood still—and the streets overflowed with joy and ecstasy. Korea used to shrink against strong teams, but not anymore. We faced them head-on and emerged victorious. The Korean national team has scripted a miracle by reaching the round of eight.
Beating Italy united Korea, no matter what nonsense they spouted.
Age, region, ideology—none of it mattered in that moment.
Everyone embraced, tears mixing with cheers.
The news kept showing happy crowds like the ones I was seeing now, but my mind was already on the next match.
Spain.
I knew it.
The Spain game would be the dirtiest, ugliest fight of them all.
In the original history, Korea went to extra time in a brutal battle and pulled off a dramatic win.
But the process was hellish.
Rough physical battles, deliberate fouls, endless protests.
That match later got branded as the World Cup's worst refereeing scandal, talked about worldwide.
But as a Korean, was it really the "botched calls" people claimed?
No.
If anyone spouts that crap, I'd flip them the bird.
Like Spain and the European media claimed, that Korea bribed the ref?
Total bullshit.
They ignored every foul on us and only whined about Spain's two disallowed goals, screaming conspiracy.
'Soccer experts who are racist with rotten eyes, or just plain stupid.'
Pathetic losers.
That day, Spain didn't play soccer.
They did kung fu, like the Chinese.
Tackling players without the ball, elbowing from behind, tripping, stomping, even kicking the keeper's thigh.
Yeah, it was straight-up violence, not a game.
And for that? Just two cards.
Yellows, at that.
Despite repeating actions that warranted red cards multiple times.
But you could see it another way.
The ref was incompetent.
But fair.
Truly, fairly incompetent.
Not racist enough to disallow two Spanish goals, not lenient enough to ignore their fouls without whistling.
Just plain useless.
Fuck, they're all dead meat.
Everything aggressive I'd done so far, or they'd done, could pass as soccer pressure.
At least it was aimed at guys with the ball.
Spain was different.
They swung violence whenever they felt like it, ball or no ball.
Come on, just touch me once.
I don't know if Spain thinks Korea's physically weaker, or if it's just their tactics, but I'll find out soon.
Strong vs. strong makes both stronger, or strong vs. weak makes strong even stronger.
Either way, if they pull kung fu on the Korean team—even if it's not me—I'll show them the pride of Korea: taekwondo.
That's when it happened.
"Hey, Park Si-hyun!"
The dorm door flew open, and Lee Chun-soo poked his head in.
"Coach wants you. Cause another incident?"
"I'm the clean one here, hyung."
Chun-soo hyung smirked.
"Man, thanks to you, the hyungs treat me like the normal one now."
"Why?"
"I used to be the team psycho. But since you showed up, I'm just average. How do you cause global chaos like that?"
I chuckled.
"So you're the average one now, hyung."
"What the hell, kid? Get out there!"
"Yes, sir~ Got it."
I left the room.
'Why'd he call me suddenly?'
I stood in front of the coach's door.
Knock knock—
"Coach, you called for me."
"Come in."
Opening the door revealed a neatly organized room, just like Coach Hiddink.
Tactics books lined one wall, match analysis papers neatly stacked on the table.
And then, the coach looked at me and spoke.
"Lisa Schmidt. Know the singer?"
I blanked out for a second.
'...Why's Lisa coming up from Coach Hiddink's mouth?'
"Oppa, this time it's for real, right? You didn't mess up again because you got distracted by food?"
"I did it right, I swear. I apologized back then too."
"Hmph, fine, I won't tell the boss then!"
The car carrying Lisa Schmidt headed toward the Gwangju dorm where the Korean national team was staying.
Leaning against the window, Lisa gazed out with excitement.
Naturally, her thoughts drifted to Park Si-hyun.
'From his perspective, this must seem ridiculous...'
For Lisa, it had helped her finish the song, and thinking of him since then had maxed out her inner closeness.
But to Park Si-hyun, it might feel absurd.
A girl suddenly appearing on the school rooftop, asking for his story, giving some half-hearted comfort before vanishing—then showing up months later in his home country, demanding he listen to her song.
'...She must think I'm some crazy bitch.'
The thought made Lisa chuckle and shake her head.
'Where's a crazy bitch as pretty as me?'
Yeah, Park Si-hyun was unusual, but he's still a guy.
A pretty girl flying in from Germany just to see him? No way he'd hate that.
With that thought, Lisa smiled faintly.
The sky outside was turning red.
"So, she flew to Korea mid-World Cup just to play me a song... and now she's here at the dorm?"
"That's right."
Was Lisa Schmidt always like this?
No, absolutely not.
She was scandal-free, always cool and aloof.
That iciness drew everyone in, male or female, exploding her popularity.
And now that woman shows up at an all-male soccer dorm to play a song for a guy?
I glanced sideways.
At the end of the hall, behind a pillar, hyungs were peeking.
The second my eyes hit them, they scrambled to hide.
Chun-soo hyung was shoving his butt in so hard he was practically stuck to the wall.
'Chun-soo hyung, tuck in that ass...'
Ha... seriously.
"Ha..."
A sigh escaped me.
Lisa glanced at me cautiously.
"What, you hate it?"
"This isn't your usual personality."
Lisa paused, then smiled softly.
"...Thanks to you, when I worked on the song and pulled out my own story, it hit me—hiding my real self all this time was stupid. Now I want to be honest."
Right now, I was the chosen one by a current Billboard artist, a pretty girl singer, and the future queen who'd dominate the charts.
The first listener for the song made from her story.
Honestly, even pre-regression, I was a Lisa fan, so this weird situation wasn't bad.
Plus, this song wouldn't exist without me.
It was the first fruit born under Lisa Schmidt's name because of my changes.
Yeah.
If it's a song made because of me, I should hear it first.
"Alright. Let me hear it—the song from your story. Honestly... I'm curious too."
"Okay."
Lisa beamed, pulled out her phone, and played the recording.
Is she this thrilled?
Or...
'Does she like me?'
Makes sense.
How could she not fall for a perfect guy who solved her worries?
'Sigh, I planned to just be a fan.'
Zlatan has this interview—not soccer-related, but pure him.
To "What'd you get your fiancée?" he said:
"Nothing. She already has Zlatan."
Lisa Schmidt who has Park Si-hyun...
One blessed woman.
Lost in dumb thoughts, piano notes slowly flowed from her phone.
Not fast, not passionate.
Yet it strangely tugged at the heart.
Like fingers gently plucking emotions one by one—calm, but deeply resonant.
Soon, Lisa's voice joined in.
No sadness, no joy.
Just plainly telling a story, the song began.
"A story of a girl at sixteen—the world doesn't care to know.
So I
sang of others' love and sorrow."
"My voice, once drifting far away,
is coming back to me now, bit by bit.
Not someone else's tale,
but my true story—I want to share it."
⟨ Her True Voice ⟩
It felt like a confession of her emotions.
The lyrics held a longing to shed the shell the world had built around Lisa Schmidt.
Unlike her flashy Billboard hits, no frills, no tricks here.
Just one girl's real voice.
Three minutes passed, and I just stared at her blankly.
Not powerful like her future "queen" days, not anguished or sad like her "divine" phase.
Yet it moved me.
"You, want Park Si-hyun?"
Yeah, she blurted that out because of her own song.
Her fault.