Chapter 93
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 93
Chapter Title: Park Si-hyun vs Ronaldo (4)
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Right after the second half kicked off, Brazil came out pressing South Korea even harder, just as they'd been instructed in the locker room.
Even if their stamina and mobility had dipped compared to the first half, their world-class skill never faded for a second.
Bam!
A sharp through pass slicing through South Korea's defensive line.
Whoosh!
Brazilian players slipping past double-teams with a single touch.
But South Korea's response was different from the first half.
No one knew exactly what had been said in their locker room, but the players weren't panicking at being breached anymore.
Instead, it was a tactic built on the assumption they'd get broken through.
Zonal marking, line switches, and numerical superiority flowed naturally, shutting down Brazil's space creation.
In truth, no matter how brilliant a manager's tactics were, they couldn't come to life if even one player didn't get it.
But South Korea had a player who made the others move.
Ronaldo narrowed his eyes slightly, watching him.
Incredible... Every instruction is spot-on. It's like he knows the flow of the game in advance.
His gaze locked onto one man.
Lee Sung-min.
He was constantly barking orders to the defenders and midfielders.
"Push up the right flank!"
"I'll cover the space behind—go forward!"
"Don't mark Ronaldinho! Leave the space!"
He was like a commander overlooking the pitch from above.
Cold eyes, quick decisions, adjusting his teammates' positions in real time.
It reminded him of Maldini.
People only knew South Korea had reached the final and the name Park Si-hyun.
They didn't care about the other players.
Ronaldo had been the same.
He figured South Korea's run to the final was a miracle driven by a single freak talent named Park Si-hyun.
But now he was seeing it with his own eyes.
Those players weren't just riding Park Si-hyun's coattails.
They had risen together.
If one got cut off, another picked it up right away. Whenever the defensive line buckled, someone else filled the gap. Instead of crumbling under Brazil's pressure, they seized the momentum back.
It wasn't one pair of feet moving.
Eleven pairs were working in sync.
They weren't Park Si-hyun's shadows or sidekicks—they were cogs in the machine, each performing their role to perfection.
And together, they formed one unbreakable team.
A faint smile crept across Ronaldo's lips.
This is fun.
He glanced back. Park Si-hyun.
A kid not even old enough to be a full adult, already saddled with the title of the world's top rival.
He'd thrown down the gauntlet, but never dreamed they'd make it this far.
An Asian team in the final?
Who would've believed that for real?
But now, Park Si-hyun had turned the impossible into reality.
Still, he wasn't planning to end it here, was he?
That familiar samba scent from the dying moments of the first half.
If it wasn't a fluke, it meant Park Si-hyun had grasped Brazil's rhythm in that split second.
The unique beat of Brazilian soccer that no one else could copy.
If he'd truly figured it out—
This match was about to get even more interesting.
But you had to win to make it fun.
And Ronaldo had no intention of letting it end boring.
Ronaldinho shakes off Yoo Sang-chul and skins Ahn Jung-hwan! Lee Sung-min drags the defensive line up to induce offside!
Ronaldo's eyes snapped toward it immediately.
Lee Sung-min did the same. Their gazes clashed for a moment.
A quick pass through would be offside.
But Ronaldo found the one solution in that gap.
Glance back just a bit.
Roberto Carlos was already timing his run, pulling the line up.
When the ball came to Ronaldinho, don't take it—let it run.
No offside that way.
Offside was a tricky rule.
Even if you pass to a player in an offside position, if they don't touch it, no whistle.
And since the ball's heading that way anyway, it freezes the defenders for a split second.
Ronaldo looked at Ronaldinho without a word.
No expression, but years of playing together let Ronaldinho get it instantly. He fired the long through ball.
That was Ronaldinho's class shining through.
It was a hard, fast pass, but with backspin so the speed eased right where Carlos would receive it.
The moment the ball rolled toward Ronaldo, Lee Sung-min pulled up the line and shouted.
"Offside!"
But Ronaldo didn't take it.
That one step's hesitation completely neutralized South Korea's offside trap.
"What...?"
A brief fluster from the South Korean players.
Right on cue, Roberto Carlos exploded forward and took the ball.
It's over.
For that instant, even Ronaldo was certain.
This was going in.
That's what he thought—until Park Si-hyun suddenly appeared beside Carlos.
'...When the hell did he get here?'
After the first half ended, in the locker room, Coach Hiddink had a word first for the defenders.
"Admit it. They're better than you. Don't defend assuming you can stop them—assume you'll get breached and defend from there. Don't try to block straight on. It's okay to get broken. But even in that moment, keep making them uncomfortable. Don't stop their feet—stop their brains. Annoy them. Shake them up. That's your job as defenders."
Then he looked at me—the attacker—and older brother Hwang Sun-hong.
"Same for you. Admit it. Brazil will get more chances. But that doesn't mean we lose. Don't wait. If there's no opening, make one."
That meant even though I'd been given free rein, but tactically dropping only to midfield, I shouldn't worry about those limits—go all the way back to the defensive line if needed.
When Ronaldinho got the ball and Lee Sung-min was marking Rivaldo and Ronaldo, my eyes caught Roberto Carlos surging forward in that instant.
So I bolted there without hesitation.
If the ball went to Ronaldo instead of Carlos against my read, and Sung-min hyung's call let the defense handle it, I'd already be deep at the backline.
That would've left the attackers trailing when it was time to counter.
My movement would've ruined the chance my teammates created—a cardinal sin.
But I trusted my judgment.
'Ronaldo will definitely let it run to Carlos.'
Why so sure?
I'd have played it the same way in that spot.
And sure enough, Ronaldo suddenly slowed and stopped his run.
The ball rolled past his toes untouched, straight to Carlos.
In that moment, one thought filled my head.
'Steal it, no matter what.'
The instant Carlos went for his first touch, I slid my leg in like a snake.
Scraaape!
"What...? Why are you here?"
Carlos's panicked voice.
But I had no time or duty to answer.
I dove for the rolling ball after the tackle, popped up, and lofted it long to Yoo Sang-chul.
And with the pass, I was off sprinting forward.
Like the ball and I were chasing each other.
Yoo Sang-chul took one touch, buying me time to overlap.
As I surged past his vision, the ball lifted off his foot.
Perfectly into my path.
That's when José Kleberson barreled in hard.
I shouldered him off, twisted my upper body to unbalance him, trapped the dropping ball on my shoulder, and let it fall.
Thud.
Then I whipped my foot through the dropping ball, lobbing it over Kleberson's head.
I chased it down.
This move. This rhythm.
It was straight out of the Brazilian playbook.
Shoulder the opponent off and flow past them.
Brazilian samba soccer wasn't hard.
Don't control the game's speed yourself.
Let the ball decide.
That was samba soccer.
Six players swarming Park Si-hyun! South Korea needs to help quick!
Even Park Si-hyun can't escape that! Hwang Sun-hong and Ahn Jung-hwan are running, but... they're too late!
Spotting the charging defender, I chipped the dropping ball up again.
Thud.
Another defender whiffed through empty air.
'Don't let it drop.'
I lofted it on my instep again and turned. Pressure came—I floated it higher.
One more missed.
As I advanced with the ball airborne, three piled in at once.
But I didn't flinch.
I timed the drop perfectly, pulled it to my feet, flowed straight into a Marseille turn, and carved between them.
Drops it straight into a Marseille turn! Insane control! No defenders ahead—just the goal! Park Si-hyun!!!
Park Si-hyun! Charging in with his right foot—— Shwooo!!
Bam!
The shot from my right foot knuckled upward with no spin, then plunged sharply into the far corner of the net.
'Samba soccer? Piece of cake.'