Chapter 95
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 95
Chapter Title: Proof Complete
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Waited, right? Park Si-hyun's heading out.
Time passed, and preparations for the awards ceremony were complete.
The first award was the Golden Ball, given to the single brightest star of the World Cup.
The Golden Ball wasn't just for the player who "performed well."
On the world's grandest stage, watched by hundreds of millions over an entire month, it went only to the one who was strongest, shone brightest, and changed the most moments.
No excuses about the team, tactics, or opponents.
It was an award you could claim only by proving everything with pure skill and presence.
A position every soccer player dreamed of, but almost no one reached. Even players who'd won the Ballon d'Or multiple times sometimes missed out on the Golden Ball at the World Cup—this award embodied the tournament's immense weight.
Before the final kicked off, there were only two candidates for the Golden Ball.
Park Si-hyun. And Ronaldo.
The two had piled up absurd records throughout this World Cup.
Goals, influence on matches, game-changing blows that flipped the flow—every metric pointed solely to them.
So everyone said it.
"Whoever wins this final takes the Golden Ball."
Goals or not, both deserved it.
And the moment Korea claimed victory, Korean fans and commentators were already certain.
The awards ceremony is about to begin! For the first time in history, an Asian nation has won the World Cup, Park Si-hyun is the top Golden Ball candidate, and the Golden Boot is already locked in! Championship, final hat-trick, 15 goals... If not Park Si-hyun, who could take the Golden Ball?!
That's right! Park Si-hyun has basically secured a double crown at this World Cup! He's truly our nation's treasure. And Coach Guus Hiddink, who scouted and convinced him to join the national team, is South Korea's treasure too!!!
But one fact remained.
As unbelievable as it was, without Park Si-hyun, even a Korean victory would've made the Golden Ball unthinkable.
No matter how insanely someone else shone, the world would've mixed in racial bias.
Everyone denies it, but everyone knows.
That gaze still lingers.
But who would dare cast it on Park Si-hyun?
He'd smashed racist thugs in Germany, stood firm against the German FA, elegantly called out referee issues mid-tournament, and forced a public FIFA apology.
Deny him the Golden Ball?
This time, the world wouldn't let FIFA, the press, or the experts off easy.
And finally.
The announcer's voice rang out, holding the Golden Ball.
WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
The stadium shook.
Not just Korean fans—even supporters from other nations cheered.
Park Si-hyun wasn't popular only in Korea.
His fame in Europe was just as fierce. His speech, confidence, boldness—Europeans loved that vibe.
Spotlights poured down as Park Si-hyun slowly ascended the stage. A FIFA official extended a hand, and he took it lightly.
The Golden Ball he received wasn't a trophy so much as a flat golden disc.
Its surface mirrored the light like a mirror, and the inscription in the center caught the eye.
In that instant, camera flashes exploded.
At ceremonies, a brief statement was tradition.
So everyone held their breath.
The player who always called himself the world's best.
What would he say now, holding the Golden Ball?
Park Si-hyun was always fiery in interviews, so people eagerly awaited the bomb he'd drop.
He stepped slowly to the mic.
Waiting for the cheers to fade, he ignored the crowd and cameras.
His gaze fixed solely on the Golden Ball in his hand.
As the roar died down, he spoke.
In that moment, the stadium detonated.
"WAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
No flowery words, no long explanations.
That made it even more Park Si-hyun.
The one goal he'd always proclaimed.
Proof.
Park Si-hyun had proven he was the world's best—not with words, but results.
Of course, some would still say.
"Too early to call him the best. Need more proof."
"One tournament doesn't make you the world's top."
Maybe they're right.
More stages await, bigger battles loom.
But one thing no one could deny.
From now on, when debating the "best," Park Si-hyun's name would naturally top the list.
After the Golden Ball, the Golden Boot ceremony followed.
My name was called, so I went up, gave a quick greeting, and came right down.
Why so short?
It's more powerful that way.
Long words can move people sometimes. But in moments like this, what lingers is a crisp, single line.
The longer the speech, the blurrier the message.
I want the world to remember my results, not my words.
So that one line I shouted during the Golden Ball and Golden Boot awards will forever trigger memories of my feats.
"Proof complete."
That single sentence will etch the image of me not as a "cocky prospect," but a genuine world-class contender gunning for the top.
Next came the Fair Play award, then Brazil's runner-up medals.
Ronaldo ascended the stage, and I watched his face.
Loneliness.
Emptiness.
And the expression of defeat he didn't want to accept but had to.
'That face... I'll never wear it in my life.'
He'd reached the final, set insane records before that.
But what did it matter?
In the end, only first place is remembered—not second.
The world doesn't see second place.
Third?
Sorry, even less interest.
Only the one at the summit is blessed, leaves a name, lives in memory.
No—even standing at the top once doesn't guarantee eternity.
If you don't keep stamping yourself as the peak presence, people forget.
'I'll never look up at someone with that face. I'll spend my life not gazing at the summit, but looking down from it.'
Not once, but always. In every moment I play, I'll remain the pinnacle player.
As I vowed that firmly, our moment finally arrived.
Not my moment, but South Korea's as a whole.
On the world's greatest stage, the announcer's voice boomed.
A hush, like catching breath.
Tens of thousands of eyes locked on one spot.
"The World Cup champions————"
Breath stopped.
Then three syllables split the stadium.
Once the World Cup wrapped, reporters swarmed the moment we exited the stadium.
Hwang Sun-hong's tearful trophy ceremony, Coach Cha Bum-kun and Cha Du-ri's embrace through tears, Ahn Jung-hwan bumping his forehead on the trophy...
Legendary moments flowed nonstop, but every camera chased one thing.
Park Si-hyun.
Lifting the World Cup trophy with one hand, smiling boldly—that was the day's most striking image.
Plus, his ceremony speech was so brief, everyone itched for more words.
"Park Si-hyun! Congratulations on the World Cup win!"
"Thanks."
"At such a young age, you've achieved the monumental feat of a World Cup championship. Could you share your future goals briefly?"
Future goals.
Park Si-hyun lowered his eyes for a moment.
Then a subtle smile curved his lips.
The place he had to return to. Where they called him not a hero, but a god, and people awaited him.
"I'm heading back to my second hometown. And there, I'll recreate this glory just the same. First goal: overwhelming promotion to the Bundesliga."
His words carried ironclad conviction.
The same unshakeable firmness as when shouting "World Cup champions." Eyes fixed steadily on his path.
Park Si-hyun, South Korea's hero, was time to return as Essen's god.