Chapter 81
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 81
Chapter Title: Mirror Foul
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"First, become a god like Park Si-hyun. Then, reasons for all your actions will naturally arise."
"What the hell is that lunatic?!"
From the Spanish bench, Jose Antonio Camacho slammed the water bottle he was holding onto the ground.
The bottle rolled across the turf, spraying water everywhere, and his flushed face was a mask of raw fury.
"Don't chicken out! Spain doesn't back down from Korea!!!"
His tactics had been flawless. He'd figured the Korean players would cower under the rough pressing and fail to even play a proper game.
But the scene unfolding before him was the complete opposite of what he'd expected.
It wasn't Korea that was scared—it was Spain.
Every time Park Si-hyun took a single step forward, their shoulders twitched, their eyes wavered. Some even backed away openly.
'It was supposed to be a perfect plan... So why the hell am I watching this shit?'
Camacho gritted his teeth.
This wasn't some emotional tactic.
'No matter how much I hate that Hiddink bastard, there's no way I'd throw together tactics for a World Cup match!'
It was cold calculation and conviction distilled into strategy.
'Roughhousing isn't a tactic... but it can be the key to winning.'
There was one reason he'd made this call.
Gamal Al-Gaddan.
The Egyptian referee.
A name already infamous on the European stage.
Slow, sluggish, and above all, a man who never blew his whistle lightly.
He'd ignore an elbow flying even without the ball nearby.
A referee like a machine that only chased the ball.
Yet somehow, he'd made the World Cup finals officiating list.
'Must have connections... Yeah, that's why he's reffing today.'
Jose Antonio Camacho's tactics were completed by Gamal Al-Gaddan.
'With this ref, we can play as dirty as we want—no cards.'
As Spain's coach, it was the worst choice—and the most realistic one.
"A foul the ref doesn't see isn't a foul."
Refined violence built on that simple logic.
But—
'Why the fuck is that psycho mirroring it exactly?!'
Camacho's gaze shifted to the pitch.
The man in the red uniform, Park Si-hyun.
He was smiling.
Not a happy smile.
A madman's grin laced with insanity.
When Spain shoved Korea, Park Si-hyun shoved Spain harder. When Spain tripped them, he tripped right back.
As more Spanish players hit the deck one by one, the cameras zeroed in on him more and more.
And that became the problem.
With Park Si-hyun at the center of the game, the cameras followed him everywhere.
Meaning Spain's fouls were now broadcast live to the entire world.
"Ha... That bastard planned this?"
Camacho's brow furrowed deeply.
Cameras that once only tracked the ball now moved with Park Si-hyun.
Who fouled first, who played the dirtier game—it was all being recorded crystal clear.
Suddenly, Park Si-hyun's pre-match interview flashed in his mind.
'I respect Spain.'
Back then, he'd thought it was fear of the name "Spain."
But now? It was mockery.
"Fuck, what kind of mindset is that guy playing soccer with...?"
The words slipped out involuntarily.
That was when it happened.
Spain's captain, Fernando Hierro, collided with Park Si-hyun.
A veteran defender, the player Camacho trusted most.
He followed any tactic without question, always steadying the team.
That's why Camacho liked him.
But right now, his face was pale as a ghost.
The man who should have stood tall against Park Si-hyun hesitated—and was easily brushed aside.
The last defender, Fernando Hierro, beaten by Park Si-hyun.
The result? Anyone could guess.
Thud—
Roooooooar!!!!!!!
Camacho slowly turned to look at the Korean bench.
Guus Hiddink, the man he saw as an enemy, was pumping his fists in triumph.
'This... is what they mean by a coach gap?'
Camacho shook his head.
He couldn't accept it. No way this was a coaching difference.
He glared back at Park Si-hyun, teeth clenched.
'Can't be a coach gap.'
No way Hiddink had predicted Spain's fouls and told his team to copy them.
This was just the player's call.
Which meant...
'Not a coach gap—a player gap.'
Even as Spain's coach facing Korea's, that's what he thought.
On the way back after the celebration, I glanced at the Spanish players and bench.
Every single face was the same.
Pale, frozen in shock.
'Ha... Did Park Si-hyun just guide Spain onto the path of righteousness?'
I hoped this would make them drop the dirty tricks for good.
But they hadn't suffered enough adversity or pain to realize it yet.
Enlightenment always comes with suffering.
So I resolved right then.
From now on, no more copying Spain—I'd read their thoughts first and foul preemptively.
That way, they'd figure it out themselves.
How ugly their actions were. I'd be the mirror to show them.
Just fouling, right?
I shook my head and chuckled.
Right now, I'm in God Mode.
A god's actions always have reason—this can never be a foul.
Even if it were, gods get forgiven for everything.
And the Red God Cult followers would never call this a foul.
Even against Germany, they'd cheer me on.
'Faith transcends nationality.'
As soon as play restarted with Spain's kickoff, I charged full tilt at Ruben Baraja with the ball.
The moment he saw me, his face went white.
His eyes were pure panic.
"W-what? I didn't do anything this time! We just restarted!"
"No, you're definitely the type who'd do it."
The instant he passed the ball sideways, I lightly hooked his leg.
"Argh!"
Ruben Baraja rolled on the grass, screaming.
And—
Finally, the whistle blew.
But the ref only gave a warning—no card.
Probably because I'd extended a hand to help him up after falling.
"How about it? Repented yet?"
"...Why are you—why are you doing this to me? To us?"
Eh? Was he crying?
In all my matches, pre- and post-regression, I'd never seen a player cry mid-game.
But I tilted my head slightly.
"No answer? Guess you haven't repented. Your sins... not fully washed away yet."
I smirked and patted his shoulder.
"It's fine. Halftime's not even here yet."
His face was utterly drained.
His eyes held only fear and confusion.
"Let's repent a little more intensely."
"To be honest with you, Spanish fans. Park Si-hyun's play—yes, it's definitely a foul. But... at the same time, it's not."
"What do you mean? Park Si-hyun's fouls have kept us from scoring, and we've conceded instead. It's obvious Korea bribed the ref!"
"Don't look away—face it squarely. Park Si-hyun has never fouled first. He's only mirroring exactly what Spain did. If he'd played normally, could I stay this objective? I'd be raging at the ref. But thanks to him, we're seeing Spain's fouls clear as day. Remember him. Park Si-hyun isn't just any player. He fought the German FA alone, overcame racism, and stands firm against journalists. You think a guy like that is playing out of petty 'you do it, so I will' mentality? No! This is a message."
"A message...? What the hell kind of message is that!!!"
"If Park Si-hyun had just played straight and Spain lost on bad calls, we'd say: 'Korea bribed the ref.' 'The ref ruined the game.' That's our go-to excuse. But now? The world sees who fouled first, who played dirty. Park Si-hyun's sending two messages. First, the flaws in Spain's tactics themselves. Second... the referee's incompetence."
"Referee incompetence?"
"Exactly. Always controversial. 'Ref ruined it.' 'Third team on the pitch.' Today's Gamal Al-Gaddan is infamous in Europe, right? Park knows it. Knows how unfair this game's setup is."
"So he's sending a message? Then explain that last scene! He kicked Ruben Baraja's leg!"
"And then offered a hand to help him up. Even patted his shoulder. Did Spain do that? Probably a mistake."
"..."
"Park Si-hyun is changing the game again. Fans watching worldwide, think about it. Simple foul? Or a young player's message to the world?"