Airport Ambush: Shattering the Victim Facade
A few days after the all-out war that was the China match, the airport felt like a goddamn battlefield. Flashes exploded like muzzle fire from gun barrels, thick with killing intent.
The culprit behind this chaos? A black-and-white photo Mo Chanhee posted on Instagram at dawn, along with the pathetic, self-sacrificing caption beneath it.
A pair of soccer cleats on an empty bench. And under it, those nauseating lines pretending to be pitiful and devoted.
It was fucking infuriating. "Being misunderstood is enough if it's just me"? Like there was some massive scandal inside the team and he was volunteering as the scapegoat to cover it up. With that one short post, Baek Ho-dol became a player-crushing dictator, I was his sleazy lackey sucking up to the regime, and our victorious teammates turned into clueless bystanders.
The guy's a real genius. If his soccer IQ was half his political scheming IQ, we'd have made it to the World Cup semis. Nah, with that rat around, we wouldn't even sniff fourth place. Let's say Ballon d'Or instead. If he'd poured even half the energy into the pitch that he wastes on this victim cosplay, Korea would've had its first-ever winner.
And the creepiest part? Today was my departure day. Coincidence?
The bastard didn't stupidly bash the coach or post a direct shot. How the hell is he this brilliant?
That short post spread like wildfire across every community, pouring fuel on the imaginations of the 50 Million Bandwagon Fans. "Misunderstanding," "enough if it's just me," "worthless hyung." Those words transformed Mo Chanhee into a noble martyr silently enduring injustice for the team.
Mo Chanhee didn't pick a fight. He just huddled up playing pitiful.
Lying outright about the coach verbally abusing him carries big risks if the facts come out later. But hinting at injustice while enduring it? The public fills in the blanks themselves. They project their rage and delusions, conjuring facts out of thin air.
And this was the result. Our hard-fought 4-0 win became the product of Baek Ho-dol's reign of terror.
It's like, if it's on your nose it's a nose ring, on your ear an earring—but this is overkill, right? What was Baek Ho-dol thinking? Dreaming of turning interim into permanent? Or planning to bow out as interim even if offered full-time?
Let's rethink. From my analysis, the football association bastards are pro-Mo Chanhee. So Baek Ho-dol, who decisively cut him, might be under pressure from Kim Myeonggyu. But is that all? The association kisses ass like crazy. No principles, just chasing public opinion—so even if not fully pro-Mo Chanhee, from their view, Baek Ho-dol has to go. He's the one coach who went full war against the 50 Million Bandwagon Fans instead of pandering. Enemy from within.
Everything's pushing him to the edge. Maybe he never wanted the job to begin with. From what I've seen, he's the type to set tactics like planting an apple tree today, whether he gets fired tomorrow or the world ends.
That's why it's even more fucking annoying. Past life or this one, the silent workers get shit on while slick-talking con artists get praised. This goddamn world hasn't changed a bit.
To block the 50 Million Bandwagon Fans' arrows raining on Baek Ho-dol? Timing's now.
I pushed my cart toward the gate, and reporters swarmed like flies.
"Ryu Rion! Seen Mo Chanhee's post?"
"What does 'misunderstanding' mean? Internal conflict real?"
"Public thinks the senior sacrificed himself! One word, please!"
I yanked off my sunglasses and shoved them in my pocket. Dozens of mics jammed in my face. Beyond them, the 50 Million Bandwagon Fans waited to devour me. Consistent bastards... so goddamn consistent. They'd stay the same even if the earth blew up. The one unchanging species.
I stopped, staring them down cold.
"Reporters."
My calm voice cut the clamor.
"Flight's tight, so one question. You just called that a 'sacrifice'?"
The guy who'd asked fired back cockily.
"Mo Chanhee said he'd take all the blame. Fans think he was unfairly dropped from the squad..."
"Unfairly?"
I snorted, cutting him off.
"Reporter, you never did group projects in school?"
"Huh?"
"While the team pulls all-nighters researching and making PPTs, the guy's ghosting the chat. Then shows up on presentation day like, 'Great job team, sorry I sucked,' slapping his name on it. Sacrifice? Or parasite?"
Murmurs rippled. I ignored it, staring straight into the camera lenses.
"'Enough if it's just me'? Fuck, too teary to watch."
"What did you just—"
"Shut it."
I snapped coldly.
"Any of you know how to touch a ball? Or just pen-jockeys yapping?"
The scene froze like I'd dumped ice water. The fallout was obvious: "Personality wreck," "team splitter," "arrogant prick."
Didn't care. That fox bastard's stirring the masses in disguise—if I play nice too, the team's rotten forever. That was past life. This is now.
"Ryu Rion! What the hell? Too harsh!"
"What? Always been like this."
I twisted my lips into my nastiest smirk.
"I'll focus on the soccer the public wants."
Said my piece. I turned to push the cart, then spun back as something hit me.
"Busy crafting headlines? Here's one: 'Ryu Rion Publicly Taunts Nation.' Views will rack up. Good luck."
Flashbulbs exploded like bombs behind me. Auto doors opened to duty-free; my pocket phone buzzed.
Captain Bong Hyeoksu.
This guy's sneakily fun.
I smirked at the text, gripping my boarding pass tight.
Aftermath? Bring it. This life's about being the villain to save the world.
Dogs bark, train rolls on. But this train's plowing through the mutts—and anything else in the way.
Less than six hours after takeoff. Hooked into Wi-Fi on the Europe flight, Korean news headlines flooded in.
All about my airport interview. Peak was this: [Exclusive] Mo Chanhee Speaks on Ryu Rion Jab... "Immature Remarks Worry Me for Team's Future."
Classic rat-fox move. Backed by media, hitting me hardest. Tak Go-gang from past life would've done the same.
"Heard Ryu Rion's comments. Honestly... it hurts a lot." Mo Chanhee started with a deep sigh, they said. "Young players got swept up in the win, lost control of emotions. I get it—I was young once, immature like that."
Immature... That word made me gag. While I'm talking soccer fundamentals, the bastard frames me as some overgrown kid.