Revenge (2)
“Urk!”
Lee Yeongik was shoved back in a ridiculous stagger by my shoulder barge.
Was it anticlimactic? Maybe that’s the word. He’d psyched himself up, but I’d beaten him way too easily. Back in his prospect days, he wouldn’t have folded like this.
Of course, I’d already sensed my physical edge over him in our last matchup. But his positioning and tackle timing were this sloppy? No wonder he’d lost his starting spot and dropped to the second division.
He’s stuck in his prospect days, just in a different way from me.
Doesn’t mean I’m forgiving the bastard.
I left the still-downed Lee Yeongik and slipped a delicious pass through to Paulo, who was making a penetrating run.
Paulo, who was still locked in a golden boot race with Miguel,
Smack!
didn’t miss the dagger-goal chance, proving why he was a top contender.
“Olmunt, next time I’ll show some dribbles too. I’m not Inzaghi. I’m Ronaldinho.”
God, shut up already.
Suwon, already down two goals before the 30-minute mark, threw on players fresh from injury and mounted a desperate total assault.
But momentum doesn’t flip that easily.
“Olmunt!”
Kvirin, sloughing off pressure with a fluid team defense escape—Busquets-lite, at best—poked it forward.
Lee Yeongik came grinding his teeth, but I casually one-touched it back to Yoon Chaewoo and surged upfield.
“Lee Yeongik…”
I could hear his teeth grinding from here, but I swallowed a laugh and pressed on. Block it properly next time, asshole.
Yoon Chaewoo, ever reliable, shook the opposing fullback with a classic move and whipped in a quick cutback.
“Cut it!”
Suwon’s keeper’s shout nearly became reality—but only halfway. Yoon Chaewoo’s cutback ricocheted off a defender’s block, and the ball was dropping right in front of me.
“Ngh!”
The problem was Lee Yeongik. As the ball arced toward my head, he went for a dangerously reckless foot-tackle.
One of the dirty plays I’d templated out. Good thing I pulled away early—otherwise, he’d have studded a hole in my skull.
Given his personality, he probably barreled in without looking back once his cheap shots failed a few times.
But I deliberately didn’t brace—I went down.
Tweeeet!
For this.
No matter how inhuman someone acts, they’re still human. They’ve got a heart. Even Jo Hoyun, the ref, was human.
Meaning, when a blatant head-stomping tackle happens right in front of him, he blows the whistle.
Penalty kick declared. Even that infamous Lee Yeongik looked stunned—he hadn’t expected it.
Suwon players protested like mad, but it was useless. Ignoring the noise, I passed to Paulo.
“Huh?”
Paulo glanced at me in surprise.
“What, don’t want the golden boot?”
“Nah, that’s fine. I’m two ahead of Miguel right now. You earned this—take it.”
“Miguel’s on a hat-trick, you know? Thanks.”
As I moved to take it, Paulo spun away like I was a thief eyeing his treasure.
“You should’ve led with that! This is mine. My treasure. My goal!”
“Did Miguel really get a hat-trick?”
“Fans were screaming it from the stands.”
By the time Yoo Dojin’s question cleared up, Paulo took a deep breath and stepped up.
Suwon’s keeper was Kim Eun-chang, famed for stopping pens. Paulo, no rookie in Korea, looked tense.
With that constipated-dog face, good luck scoring. As we fretted,
Ting!
the ball smacked the post with a clear ring, turning our worries real.
Luckily, it bounced to an awkward clearance spot—and I was closest.
Just before it rolled out, I heeled it barely to Paulo,
who, outmuscled, headed it in off his face.
“Uwaaaaaah!”
Lucky goal, but Paulo laid it on thick, ceremonying toward the Gimpo away fans sprawled on the benches.
Guy’s a straight-up Brazilian Inzaghi.
Tweeeet! Beep! Tweeeet!
Paulo’s lucky face-goal capped the half.
No one said it outright, but instinctively, we all knew: promotion. The title. One step closer.
They just wouldn’t jinx it—didn’t want to ruin the vibe or tempt fate.
Coach Nam Suhyeon felt it too.
“Focus up. No complacency. Suwon’s come back from 3-0 down at half this season. They know it, so they’ll be even more desperate in the second.”
“Yes, sir! We’ll give it everything!”
But we weren’t rolling over easy.
“Incheon’s up 4-0 on Bucheon right now. We can’t lag. Today, we crush Suwon for 45 minutes and grab that trophy. Got it?”
“Yes!”
“Louder!”
“YEEEEEES SIR!”
“Let’s go!”
The second half mirrored the first. If anything differed, Suwon was more frantic.
Didn’t matter. So were we.
“Ngh… urk!”
Kim Donghan twisted his body to feed Yoo Dojin.
“Push forward!”
His quick order was insurance against teammates griping about getting muscled off.
Yoo Dojin found Gu Jinho, who bounced through pressure with his signature pestle-dribble.
“Heemun!”
Thanks to him, the error-free Kim Heemun had space,
and a wide-open lane yawned at my feet.
Crunch!
“Aaaaaagh!”
Something clipped my leg from behind amid a howl, but I figured it was just Lee Yeongik’s usual dirty failure.
One-on-one with the keeper, ceremony in mind, I turned back grinning—
only to face a scene way off script. Not Paulo, Yoon Chaewoo, or Park Jaeyoon.
Suwon players staring like I was a monster. Lee Yeongik on the ground, clutching his leg, screaming. Medical team rushing in.
What the hell? Didn’t he just trip?
**
Tweeeet~ Tweeeet! Beep!
End of the half, and Lee Yeongik slunk into the tunnel with a death glare.
He flicked a glance at Olmunt on the pitch. The guy was laughing, chatting with Paulo, not sparing him a look.
“Miguel really got a hat-trick?”
“Yeah, you’re tied now.”
“Joint golden boot kills the vibe.”
“Where’d you even pick that up?”
Rage boiled as they walked off, ignoring him completely.
Give credit where due—that’s virtue. But Lee Yeongik couldn’t manage it.
Youth national team call-ups. Pro debut and beyond. He’d envied Yoon Jongmun’s talent.
His own wasn’t lacking to reach pro, but he always eyed the top—with negativity over ambition.
“Kaaaaagh!”
Yoon Jongmun was his first victim. Initial regret faded into dark satisfaction as the genius’s career tanked.
Even prodigies crash like me.
Countless other prospects wilted under his bullying—sent to amateurs, injured in training.
He’d king out talents or build cliques for ego boosts.
At youth level, his skill masked it as “immature fire” or “win-at-all-costs.”
Pros didn’t buy it.
“Just a youth flash-in-the-pan.”
“If the skill’s meh, at least be nice. Saw that white tackle in the intrasquad.”
His rough edges capped him below first-division starter. Suwon it was.
Olmunt, whom he’d once crushed, became his ego salve. Beat Gimpo, reclaim first division, starting spot.
Until today’s rematch crushed him.
Olmunt, once helpless against his dirt, had flipped the script.
“Yeongik, that’s not how you defend. How many times has Olmunt skinned you? How many first-half goals because of you?!”
The coach’s scolding gutted him. During Paulo’s pen, he’d glimpsed coach Byeon Jae-hyun’s face. Next season, with injuries healed, bench city.
Then where? Semi-pros? Overseas?
Despair twisted to hate for Olmunt, the architect.
3-0 anyway. No win. Career? Downhill.
Just wreck Olmunt. Trip from behind, he’d go down like Yoon Jongmun.
So he yielded space on the counter. Let Olmunt run. Speed wouldn’t save him from a rear tackle.
He launched.
Right as his foot hooked Olmunt’s leg—
Snap!
A grotesque pop from his own knee. Not Olmunt’s.
“Gaaaaah! Guh…”
Pain blurred the rest. Teammates—rivals off-pitch—asking if okay. Medics, stretcher. Fragments.
One clear memory: Olmunt ignored the tackle and scored.
**
As Lee Yeongik was stretchered off, some Suwon players protested—but he ate a red.
Malicious tackle on me, they said.
“Really didn’t feel it? Leg okay?”
Yoon Chaewoo asking again made sense now.
But yeah, fine. Just staggered. Thought he’d clipped my leg, but he went full wrecking ball.
His karma, I guess. Not that sorry. Looks brutal. Quit soccer, live nice.
Suwon Red Motors deflated post-red. Hope snuffed.
Down a man, they leaked one more each to me and Paulo. Final whistle.
Paulo’s multi-goal high needed reeling in—5-0 on a shorthanded team.
And now.
Finally.
The title.
“Wooooaaah!”
“Olmunt! Olmunt! Olmunt!”
“Viking! Viking! Viking!”
We partied modestly with the frenzied Gimpo away fans until the trophy prep.
Medals on, heading up to lift it, a doubt hit.
“You know how to hold a trophy?”
“Practiced watching YouTube yesterday.”
Yoon Chaewoo nailed it stylishly.
Boom!
Confetti burst in blinding light. Halfway to the goal?
Europe, round two.
Chatter swirled—then,
“Olmunt. Here.”
Yoo Dojin casually passed the trophy, positioned me center.
“Ooooh!”
Should’ve watched vids too.
Screw it. Enjoy.
“Waaaaaah!”