All-Time Legendary Interview
The U-17 World Cup Group C opener pitted South Korea against Argentina.
Everyone had predicted an Argentine victory, but the Koreans pulled off the win.
Surprising, sure—but believable enough.
Giant killings weren't exactly rare in football.
The sport had a way of conjuring impossible miracles now and then: comebacks from three goals down in the second half, teams playing with nine men somehow snatching victory, legendary players tripping over their own feet in must-win finals and blowing the title.
Hard to imagine? Shockingly, every one was a true story.
The world's knack for absurdity outstripped the puny limits of human imagination. Earth's writers never ran out of ways to troll.
A underdog toppling a giant? Hardly shocking—practically routine.
But even the most miracle-hungry fan couldn't have foreseen this outcome.
A 4-0 thrashing.
Not some friendly—this was the World Cup stage, where South Korea demolished Argentina, and not by a whisker, but by four clear goals. Sure, it was an under-17 tournament, but a World Cup was a World Cup. The buzz was inevitable.
And when the star of that demolition was drop-dead handsome? Forget it.
Articles flooded in before the final whistle even blew.
But that was just a butterfly's wingbeat compared to the storm about to hit.
The post-match press conference was, predictably, packed. Jo Se-jin, the hat-trick hero and architect of victory, sat beside manager Jang Gi-tae.
"A 4-0 rout—what a win. Did you predict this even when you expressed confidence before kickoff?"
"Sports Chosun, Kim Sun-mi here! Coach, one word on the match—"
"Such a unique game plan. How much of that was intentional—"
Jang fielded the barrage with safe, steady answers.
Nothing flashy, just bland and by-the-book. Textbook stuff.
The reporters' eyes, hungry as wolves, shifted to the next prey.
But who was Rodrigo? Ex-Football Emperor. Interviews were his playground.
'Nail the line just right. Show confidence without arrogance... cocky rookie vibes should do it.'
Rodrigo unleashed his interview mastery.
"Me? I don't get nervous or feel the pressure. Debut or not, makes no difference."
"Hat-trick? Piece of cake."
"Argentina ain't weak. I am."
Reporters, already swooning over his looks, now gawked for a whole new reason.
'Smells like a scoop. Big time.''This guy's got that psycho flavor. Goldmine for quotes.'
But even legends had limits.
"Who, Messi? Ah, the Football Emperor."
Football Emperor...
Jang Gi-tae's grin froze mid-smile. The room, alive with frantic laptop clacks, fell dead silent.
"...What."
Oblivious to the press room meltdown, the players basked in the afterglow of the Argentina win, still buzzing.
"Dude, insane. My Starsta followers doubled already?"
"Got congrats from some cousin I didn't even know existed."
"Man, what firepower. Jo Se-jin's a beast. Community's all him right now."
"SNS already got GIFs flying. DMs gonna explode."
"My DMs are just hate... jealous."
"Whoa, top scorer after one game? Solo first on the rankings."
"Plays ball like a god, face like a model. Got it all. Should be jealous af..."
"Quit whining. You know his nickname's Black Bro?"
The merry locker room soured subtly when Rodrigo strolled in.
Laughter died; eyes darted in tense silence. He cocked his head.
"What's up? Mood's off."
"Huh? Mood's fine. Always like this."
"......"
Laughter had echoed down the hall moments ago—what BS.
Blinking, Rodrigo got it.
'Ah. That vibe.'
Familiar as breathing, back when he wasn't untouchable yet.
Early European days: the wild black kid crashing the white man's party.
He chuckled.
A ghost from his conquering era, long forgotten.
'Racism from Asian monkeys, though? First time... oh wait, I'm Asian now. Keep forgetting. Wonder how they discriminate same-race.'
Same blood didn't mean no hate.
Prejudice was instinct. In Europe, skin-deep; back home in Brazil, slum rat, orphan—that stung too.
White cliques called him ape; now this? Same deal.
His gaze swept the room.
'Yeah, they do look a different breed.'
Racism, then?
Whatever. Hate needed inferiors. Crush 'em with skill, and petty BS evaporated. Like before.
If some punk held out?
Simple. Dominate. Club or country, didn't matter.
The players' glances quickened at his icy smirk.
'What now?''Shit. Didn't see this coming.''Anyone gonna step up?''Captain!!'
Baek Do-hyeong, eyes squeezed shut, pulled something out and shuffled over.
"What?"
"N-nothing."
"Why hide your hand like a crook...?"
"No, really, it's nothing."
Rodrigo's face hardened.
Assault? Korea safe? Players grabbed him as he dodged.
"Hey! Let go!!"
"Sorry."
"Football Emperor...?"
"Football what?"
...Huh?
Eyes open, he saw the smartphone filming—and sticky goo dripping down his face.
"Semen?"
The locker room erupted in giggles at his mutter, then froze. Chaos exploded.
"Gah! You psycho, it's live!! We're screwed—uh, toast."
"Holy... all-time legend crazy."
"What kinda brain sees whipped cream and thinks... daily life possible?"
"Didn't he just say Football Emperor?"
The community blew up.
That day, South Korea was abuzz for multiple reasons.
First: the infamous interview.
A 4-0 World Cup whitewash over Argentina.
The hero? A debuting rookie—gorgeous, to boot.
Interest was off the charts, and the live broadcast only amplified it.
Korea flipped once over the interview.
"You want Jo Se-jin? Oh yeah, obviously. Interview's wrapping soon—he'll be back. Then we smash this cake—"
Victory-drunk players' live locker room stream flipped it again.
Two wild days later, the Nigeria match loomed.
The second opponent: African powerhouse, the 'Super Eagles' of Nigeria.
Despite losing their opener to Germany, Nigeria proved no pushover. Especially—