Chapter 80
Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: What Happens When Park Si-hyun Respects His Opponent Too Much
Carles Puyol, Spain's fullback.
He was warming up and taking his position just like always.
But today felt off. He just couldn't focus.
And the reason was crystal clear.
The tactics laid out by the coach today.
No, calling it tactics was almost embarrassing. It was an order.
'Use violence if you have to stop them...? Since when has Spain played that kind of soccer?'
Puyol clicked his tongue inwardly.
He had learned from a young age.
Soccer wasn't a fight. It was a competition of respect and skill.
To break your opponent, you didn't need fists. You needed ability—and the respect that came with it.
But today's atmosphere was different.
Camacho, the coach, was glaring at Korea like they were some ancient enemy. No one knew why.
His eyes gleamed with murderous intent, and every word from his mouth dripped with venom.
'We have to win. No matter what it takes. Crush them.'
There was no trace of the soccer Puyol had learned in those words.
'Coach... that's not soccer.'
But he couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.
The captain, Fernando Hierro.
He followed Camacho's orders without a shred of doubt.
With him standing silently, how could Puyol possibly speak up?
'If the captain's quiet, what can I do...? Still, this is wrong.'
Puyol muttered bitterly to himself.
A heavy dissatisfaction had already settled in his chest.
He glanced sideways and saw Hierro stretching in silence.
His face was frozen like ice.
Impossible to read what he was thinking.
When Puyol looked up again, the Korean players in red uniforms entered his view from across the pitch.
Blissfully unaware, they prepared for the match carrying their dreams.
Their faces brimmed more with resolve and confidence than fatigue.
The moment he saw them, Puyol couldn't bear to look anymore.
His chest tightened painfully.
'Is this... really the soccer I've played?'
He hated violent play.
Soccer demanded respect for your opponent.
That was the way of the true strong.
As a kid, he had always dreamed.
Of standing at the pinnacle of Spain's defense.
Cleaner and stronger than anyone.
But today, that belief was put to the test.
'When the coach gives an order... a player's duty is to obey.'
He tried to convince himself.
But deep down, those words crumbled silently.
'...No. Not this time.'
Puyol took a slow breath and tightened his wristband firmly.
Then he lifted his head.
His eyes no longer wavered.
Clear, resolute, filled with determination.
"Alright... whatever kind of fight this becomes, I'll defend my way."
He might get chewed out for it.
Blasted for defying the coach.
But he knew.
A loss with was worth more than a win without it.
And years later, in an interview just before retirement,
Puyol would quietly recall that day.
"Sticking to my beliefs back then was the best choice I ever made. The pain those who didn't endure... it's still terrifying to think about."
In the pre-match interview, I said something completely different from my usual Park Si-hyun style.
"I respect Spain. To win this game... even Park Si-hyun might face a tough battle."
People lost their minds hearing it.
Comments like 'Has he finally grown up?' or 'That's not the Park Si-hyun I know' flooded in.
But those words were my genuine respect—and message—to them.
I respect their combative soccer.
So I'll fight you the exact same way.
'Ha... I wanna smack the back of their heads. Trip 'em up. Just punch 'em. Jump-kick their skulls.'
Ah, no one thinks this is me venting because Lisa kicked me, right?
If you do, you really don't know Park Si-hyun.
'Ha, who do you think I am? Would Park Si-hyun vent over something so petty?'
Yeah, this isn't venting.
No, I'm not even mad in the first place. What venting?
I'm just matching their soccer style.
If they play nice, I play nice. If they want war, I give them war.
So this isn't venting. It's righteous combat.
The referee's whistle blew, and Fernando Morientes passed short to Ruben Baraja. Kickoff.
Korea expected Spain's usual quick passes and flair, so we pressed hard from the start.
But Spain didn't back down.
They came at us rough right away.
Not just battling for the ball—they threw themselves at players without it too.
"Argh!"
Lee Chun-soo went down hard from Joaquin Sanchez's shoulder charge.
Lee looked up at the ref with a wronged expression, but the referee either didn't see or ignored it. No call.
And in that moment, Lee Chun-soo's face shifted from wronged to panicked.
Simple reason.
'You just got shoved, huh?'
"Hahaha, now this is fun soccer."
"Hey hey hey, run! Now!!"
I was charging at them with the happiest grin on my face.
He was so flustered he yelled at Sanchez—the guy who shoved him—to run.
But Sanchez didn't speak Korean.
Instead, thinking Lee was picking a fight, he stood there pointing and hurling abuse.
'Told you. Shoulda learned some Korean.'
"What're you yapping about, you Asian mon—Gahk!!"
Before he finished, Sanchez's body flew into the air like he'd been hit by a truck—smashing straight into my shoulder.
"Aaaagh!"
He tumbled across the grass, rolling several times before stopping.
And as expected, no whistle from the ref.
Yeah, just as planned.
Today's ref was perfectly, impartially incompetent.
I took a slow breath.
"Ha... hahaha... yeah, this is it."
It felt good. Really good.
But I wiped the smile away and looked up.
"No, this isn't venting. It's just combat. I respect Spain, after all."
Spain's strong.
So I have to match that strength.
That's how Park Si-hyun shows respect.
[Ah, my predictions were way off! Spain coming in this rough! No, 'rough' is too kind—it's dirty! Now Ruben Baraja just smacked the back of Yoo Sang-chul's head—and he didn't even have the ball!]
[But no whistle from the ref! When does that thing blow—]
[W-Wait a sec?!]
[Huh? Wha— I missed it mid-commentary, but why's Ruben Baraja face-planted in the grass?!]
[...Yeah, Park Si-hyun came out of nowhere and smacked the back of his head.]
[Pardon...? The back of his... head?]
[Better see it in replay. Yep, slow-mo now. Park Si-hyun's sprinting forward full tilt, glances back. That's when Baraja elbows Yoo Sang-chul—no ball. Park sees it... and he's smiling. Big grin. But instead of forward, he turns around—full sprint back at Baraja! Right now—bam! Straight back-of-the-head shot!!]
[Gulp... maybe we missed something. One more look? Gotta be a reason he dropped back like that...]
[Nah... looked like a straight-up hit to me.]
[...Sure, there must be something. No card came out, after all.]
And just like payback, Park Si-hyun mirrored Spain's fouls one after another, all caught on camera.
[Nadal—no, Ahn Jung-hwan! Jumping kick! What the—before he even got the ball! Whoa... no card? W-Wait, Park Si-hyun just returns the jumping kick to Nadal! Yep, no card again!]
[Now Park shoves Ivan Helguera flying!]
[Enrique Romero this time! The guy who just ribbed Song Jong-guk. Spots Park and tries to bolt! But no—Park doesn't let him go! Elbow to the ribs—nailed it!]
Even the commentators were getting flustered.
Soccer match or Park Si-hyun's revenge show? They could only call it as they saw it.
"Wait, that was a real accident! Accident!!!"
"Urgh..."
"Please, sorry! I won't—Gaaah!"
Amid massive jeers from the Spanish stands, I burst out laughing.
'What, throwing punches now?'
Yeah, I respect Spain.
So I gave the same treatment right back to the uncle in the stands.
'Looks like he loves it. Knows what respect feels like. I respect you, Spain.'