Chapter 83
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 83
Chapter Title: Park Si-hyun, the Nation Takes a Brief Hiatus
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Korea has advanced to the semifinals!!!
Long live the Republic of Korea! Korean soccer has reached the final four! In Gwangju, the sacred land of democratization and City of Light, Korean soccer writes yet another page of history!
The commentators' voices exploded, their cheers echoing beyond the stadium to the entire world.
2002, Korea's semifinal run.
It wasn't just "Asia's first"—it was a new soccer myth witnessed by the world.
Yet, as history is written, controversy always follows.
The Korea-Spain quarterfinal left a massive firestorm the moment the whistle blew.
And the one pouring oil on those flames was none other than
Spain's coach, Jose Antonio Camacho, in his post-match interview.
"This is a truly horrific result. We didn't lose to Korea. Only three cards in such a dirty, despicable game! Park Si-hyun committed fouls right in front of everyone the whole match, yet he wasn't sent off and played until the end of the second half. It's appalling. We didn't lose to Korea—we lost to the referee."
His words instantly headlined media outlets worldwide.
But the arrows of criticism they drew didn't point at Korea—they turned back on Spain itself.
The internet, broadcasts, and fans on the streets all mocked them in unison.
"Spain fouled first, and Park Si-hyun just mirrored it. Why blame the ref?"
"Exactly. Spain had eleven guys fouling, while Park Si-hyun fought alone. Even kids could see who had it worse."
"Funniest part? He did the interview with a ball mark on his face. Talking all serious while reporters were ducking their heads to hide their laughs."
It was all thanks to Park Si-hyun's actions.
The world dubbed it the "Mirror Foul."
Spain's players kicking, punching, and shoving first—broadcast worldwide—made it crystal clear that Spain had actually benefited from the referee.
Of course, the world unanimously agreed on the referee's incompetence.
Egyptian referee Gamal Al-Gaddan, who pulled only three cards from 47 fouls, went down in history as the worst ref ever.
FIFA called an emergency meeting right after the match, and less than five hours later, he was stripped of his refereeing credentials in an unprecedented sanction.
But Spain didn't back down—they fought even harder.
"Fine! The ref's incompetence is acknowledged, so now we need sanctions! We're prepared to face them! But if that's the case, Korea's Park Si-hyun must be sanctioned too!"
"If it was due to referee errors, shouldn't we replay the match?!"
Pure nonsense.
The desperate flailing of those refusing to accept defeat, clinging to face.
But one person shattered that absurdity with a single line.
A popular Spanish broadcaster, speaking from within Spain itself.
That was the knockout blow. Spanish public opinion flipped in an instant. Media tone softened, fans' anger subsided.
'We have to accept the loss.'
'This is just excuses.'
And so, it seemed all controversy had died down.
But—
Within Spain,
A storm far greater than anything before began to brew—one that would swallow every prior debate whole.
A gale fiercer and more lethal than any wind before.
Two days after the Korea-Spain match, Puyol returned to Spain and held an emergency press conference.
The gathered reporters were mostly from the Catalan Journalists' Association.
In other words, they were Barcelona-friendly.
While the world raved about Park Si-hyun, they fixated on something else entirely: the defender who shone brightest in the first half, Barcelona's ace, Carles Puyol.
Why had he been suddenly subbed off in the second?
That question only grew after returning home.
And this lightning-fast presser, just one day after landing.
The reporters sensed it instantly.
'There's something to this substitution.'
Dozens of flashes lit up the room.
The stage curtain parted slowly, revealing a man in a sharp dark suit.
"Barcelona president, Joan Gaspart."
His low, firm voice resonated through the hall.
Behind him, Puyol approached the podium, head bowed.
"Ah... Before explaining why we've called this press conference, as a Spanish national team player, I sincerely apologize to the fans for delivering such a disappointing result."
His voice was calm, but his eyes burned with resolve.
"The reason I've called this press conference is to explain why Spain had no choice but to lose in the World Cup quarterfinal."
"So, you're saying there's a clear reason for the quarterfinal loss?"
One reporter asked cautiously.
Puyol took a breath and nodded.
"Yes. The reason is clear. It was... Spain's national team coach, Jose Antonio Camacho."
Click—click—click!
Flashes erupted instantly.
It was a bombshell statement.
Puyol, the gentleman of the pitch, publicly criticizing the national team coach? It was enough to rock Spanish soccer to its core.
And he wasn't alone.
Right beside him sat Barcelona president Joan Gaspart.
This wasn't just Puyol venting—it was Barcelona officially taking a stand.
Puyol gripped the mic slowly.
"Let me explain why I'm saying this."
His voice was low but unwavering, the room deathly silent.
"The instructions we got from the coach in that World Cup quarterfinal were simple. Kick, shove, and hit Korean players where the cameras can't see—instill fear, and injure them if possible."
The room erupted in murmurs. Pens froze as reporters stared at Puyol in shock.
It was beyond unimaginable.
"You're saying the coach directly, explicitly ordered that?"
A reporter asked incredulously.
Puyol nodded slowly.
"Yes. Coach Jose Antonio Camacho gave those orders. And the Spanish players followed them."
He exhaled deeply and continued.
"I refused that tactic. I played honestly the entire first half, and in the locker room, the coach insulted me as a 'useless player who won't follow orders.' I couldn't take it... I pushed back, and was subbed off immediately."
A coach ordering players to injure opponents? Soccer history had rarely seen such a revelation.
Puyol closed his eyes briefly, enduring the flashes, then spoke again.
"I'm not saying this to claim I was right and the others wrong."
"They had no choice. With the coach throwing things and screaming orders, who could defy him?"
"What I'm saying is, as soccer players, we were given orders we absolutely should never receive."
"I felt the world needed to know."
As he finished, Barcelona president Joan Gaspart quietly took the mic.
"Barcelona officially states its position."
His voice was steady, echoing firmly.
"As long as the coach who subjected our ace Puyol to such abusive language and mental violence remains, Barcelona will not release any players to the national team. He no longer has the right to lead our players."
"So, Barcelona players will boycott the national team until Camacho resigns?"
Joan Gaspart shook his head firmly.
"It's not resignation. He must be sanctioned. If he steps down without discipline, Barcelona will sever ties with the Spanish national team entirely."
That wasn't just a club's statement.
It was a declaration that would shake Spanish soccer to its foundations.
La Liga's twin pillars: Barcelona and Real Madrid.
Every Spanish player dreams of one of those two.
And countless prospects and world-class stars were at Barcelona right now.
Joan Gaspart's words were a direct challenge to the heart of Spanish soccer.
One statement shook the national team's core and sent all of Spanish society into uproar.
In time, this event—alongside Korea's historic semifinal advance—would be etched as the day Spanish soccer split in two, a 'historical fracture point.'
And Joan Gaspart's final words that day would echo through the ages.
"The Spanish Football Federation must choose: the coach who demanded violence against players, or Barcelona."