Chapter 92
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 92
Chapter Title: Park Si-hyun vs Ronaldo (3)
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If you asked players from weaker teams which country they least wanted to face, Brazil would undoubtedly top the list.
The reason was simple.
Brazilian players had a unique tempo that seeped into every match, even when they were just playing ordinary soccer.
Their rhythm felt like soccer from another world—free-flowing, with a beat that was just a little off from everyone else's.
And that tempo wasn't born from tactics; it came from life itself, making it impossible for anyone to imitate.
Brazilian kids grew up with a ball from the moment they were born.
Not on manicured grass fields, but on rough dirt patches; not in tidy stadiums, but in narrow, slanted alleys; barefoot or in tattered sandals instead of cleats.
On dirt, the ball bounces unpredictably.
To adapt, you don't learn to battle with your body first—you develop a feel for riding the rhythm, creating space with tempo.
That's why Brazilian soccer isn't about "calculation"—it's instinct.
No need for tactical breakdowns. No heady decisions. The moment the ball touches your toe, the rhythm flows, the tempo builds, and the pitch gets swept up in it.
They call it samba soccer.
Once you're caught in Brazil's flow, weaker teams can't hold their defensive line.
All their prepared plans, countermeasures, and tactics crumble into nothing.
To weaker teams, Brazil is a disaster.
Facing Brazil isn't a tactical battle—it's survival against getting swept away by their tempo.
Of course, South Korea wasn't a weaker team.
They had reached the final on skill, not luck, and had already proven they were a powerhouse.
But—
South Korea was facing Brazil's tempo for the first time.
And not just any Brazil, but the attack force considered unparalleled in World Cup history.
Ronaldo — 13 goals
Rivaldo — 4 goals
Ronaldinho — 4 goals
Those three alone: 21 goals.
Twenty-one goals scored.
[Cafu! Breaking down the flank! He's fast—insanely fast! Through ball to Rivaldo! Shaking up South Korea's backline again!]
Rivaldo slips between the defensive line like he's gliding.
One breath's tempo. Perfect split-second timing.
Thud—
The lightly nudged ball ripples South Korea's net once more.
[Ah... Another goal! Rivaldo! Brazil's second! The score stretches to 2-0!]
But South Korea wasn't just taking it lying down.
As they kept clashing head-on with Brazil's tempo, the Korean players started adapting bit by bit, possession coming alive like a breath of fresh air.
And at the center of that shift was Park Si-hyun.
[Park Si-hyun, given free rein again today, drops deep into midfield to receive the ball. Gilberto Silva's on him!]
Gilberto Silva. Brazil's No. 6.
The midfielder's shield.
Not flashy, but with impeccable positioning, space denial, and pass interceptions, he quietly orchestrated from the shadows, anchoring Brazil's core.
But he had a weakness.
Poor reactions to the unexpected.
Park Si-hyun exploited it perfectly.
Same speed, just a slight flex of the toes.
Thud.
Nutmeg.
"?!"
The ball slid right through Gilberto Silva's legs.
The momentarily off-balance Gilberto scrambled to recover, legs tangling as he collapsed. Park Si-hyun breezed past, head up.
The goal.
But five Brazilian defenders had snapped back, blocking his path.
'I could break through right now. But... it's 2-0.'
No gambles—certainty.
Park Si-hyun didn't slow, whipping his right foot through mid-stride.
Whoosh—
Crack!
The laser-like shot arrowed into the top left corner—even with two keepers, it would've been unstoppable—shaking the net.
'I knew they were stronger than in the original history... but this much?'
I picked up the ball from the net.
No celebration.
No time for that.
Clutching it, I jogged back to the center, replaying Brazil's movements from moments ago in my head.
Ronaldo.
Rivaldo.
Ronaldinho.
Their interplay echoed the explosive force Barcelona's MSN—Messi, Suárez, Neymar—would unleash on the world in the future.
No, maybe even more potent.
Even from a defender's eyes like mine back then, it was clear: South Korea couldn't stop them—they were just that filthy good.
And Brazil wasn't just attack-heavy. Hidden behind the flair, their defensive organization was top-tier in this World Cup.
Hwang Sun-hong couldn't find gaps or pry open space.
Especially the right center-back, Lucio.
Like Cha Du-ri surging forward as an attacker sometimes, Lucio dropped deep into midfield to harass us.
I took a short breath.
'Alright. I admit it. Brazil, you're strong. Strong enough to make Park Si-hyun tense up.'
But oddly, the feeling that followed wasn't fear.
It was thrill.
'That's why... it's even more exciting.'
This razor-edge tension. The real chance of losing. It only made Park Si-hyun's heart pound harder.
Truth be told.
The life of an overwhelming munchkin?
Some might envy it. But that life gets boring eventually, twists your personality.
'Me, with my current good-guy vibe, turning weird? Nah.'
I could end up like those edgelord characters from my favorite Japanese manga, eyepatch on, brooding over the world like a chuunibyou everyman.
Even behind, I couldn't help but smile.
'Glad I came to the World Cup.'
I entered for the fastest stage to etch my name worldwide.
Sure, wanted to play under Hiddink. But honestly, I didn't have to.
Slow or not, I'd have become the world's best eventually.
Representing South Korea? Just my whim.
Nothing more, nothing less.
But now I was certain.
Stepping onto this stage was the "right answer" for my life.
And above all—
Soccer was too damn fun right now.
Thud!
A defender meeting my physical challenge head-on for the first time.
Thud, thud, thud—
Footsteps doggedly tracking my dribbles.
Every pressure broken, adrenaline rips through my brain, jolting me awake.
Ah... gonna get misunderstood as having weird tastes?
But I laughed.
Had any recent match stimulated me this much?
Sure, I'd enjoyed bits against powerhouses in the World Cup, but never this hyped.
Right now, my soccer lust outstripped any other urges.
I eyed the charging Brazilian defenders.
Yeah. Humans are magnificent creatures.
Millennia ago, Stone Age humans were weak barehanded.
But they moved together.
Groups hunted massive beasts, surpassing stronger foes.
That's how humans survived.
And those survivors built the world.
From hunting to farming, farming to cities, cities to civilization.
This pitch we stand on, this moment watched by the world— all fruits of that magnificent beast.
Humans were weak, but great.
And now, that great beast challenges a god once more.
The challenged god is me.
Park Si-hyun.
Brazil was the magnificent humans.
Defenders charge.
Midfielders press.
The World Cup's finest talents block my path.
Ronaldo.
Rivaldo.
Ronaldinho.
They weren't mere players.
Humanity's pinnacle, masterpieces born of soccer.
Power and skill, instinct and rhythm in perfect harmony.
Right now, those magnificent humans hunt a god.
Park Si-hyun.
Humans approach the god.
Closing the gap.
And right now, they've even taken a slight edge.
Humans are shaking the god.
I drew a long breath.
Pounding heart.
Veins ready to burst.
The battlefield's heat prickling my skin.
And inside me,
The god's voice whispers quietly, but with utter certainty.
'Humans, Brazil. You are magnificent. But in the end, the victor is the god, Park Si-hyun.'
If humans are great, then a god is omnipotent.
The first half ended with South Korea's comeback goal. Ronaldo paused on his way to the locker room.
At the edge of his vision, Park Si-hyun appeared.
His back, heading toward the South Korean locker room.
Ronaldo furrowed his brow ever so slightly.
'...Strange.'
It really was.
Why did Park Si-hyun give off the scent of Brazil's unique soccer, the aroma of samba?