Chelsea vs Celta Vigo: Korean Derby
Just last night, the community that had branded me the world's biggest scum was now flooded with praise and self-reflection.
I turned off the screen and got out of bed.
Yesterday I was someone worth killing, today a fun star.
The public's love is this shallow and light. That's why I neither get drunk on their cheers nor hurt by their criticism.
The misunderstanding was cleared up.
The reporters' incitement was closer to a planned incident. Every time I sliced into their rotten sores through interviews, they pretended to be polite on the surface but were surely sharpening their blades in secret. They were just waiting for a slip-up. This incident must have been a feast laid out for them.
The situation at the time was ripe for perfect misunderstanding. The football association had the security team keep the reporters far away in the lobby as a precaution. There was no way they could see my expression or specific actions. All they saw was one thing: the security team's backs as they rushed toward me through the glass window.
Something's gone down. That's where the reporters' brain-fapping fantasies began.
What poured oil on the fire was the snitch hiding inside the football association.
"Ryu Rion was screaming and causing a scene."
The credibility of an insider's tip, plus the circumstantial evidence of the security team's movements seen from afar. Once those two combined, they slapped on a mask of "reasonable speculation" and hammered out their novel. The mindset of pen-pushers is obvious.
You fucked up. I was bored anyway—gonna chew you up good.
That's their real inner voice. The "press freedom" they talk about is nothing but the freedom to murder someone without fact-checking, turning them into an idiot. Parasites who bloat their bellies on clickbait without taking responsibility.
If it weren't for the reversal video that dropped this morning, I'd be trapped in the frame they set up right now, prepping excuses.
As I organized my thoughts and looked up, I saw crowds of spectators. Sangam World Cup Stadium was packed fuller than a K League All-Star game today. Because Chelsea, the big club, had come to Korea.
It was part of preseason tour, but it was a real sword fight with Chelsea's elite squad fully out. And above all, the matchup that had Korean fans hyped was set: the so-called Korean Derby.
I approached a guy warming up in the zone.
"Hyung, you been good?"
The man in the blue Chelsea training kit turned his head. Bong Hyeoksu. Captain of the Korean national team and the indomitable man surviving the Chelsea jungle.
He's not a nailed-on starter in the lineup every week. A big club like Chelsea collects top talents from around the world and pours astronomical money each season into new rivals. In that brutal squad competition, Bong Hyeoksu survived.
Bong Hyeoksu isn't flashy. But when the team loses balance or needs suffocating pressure against strong opponents, the manager always calls on him. A player with a tireless heart. Even at the 80th minute when everyone's gasping and feet stop, Bong Hyeoksu races across the pitch like a madman. When big-name stars sit on the bench, he makes the starting XI for key games. Unsung hero. That dedication and tactical understanding embedded him in the blue heart of London.
Bong Hyeoksu flashed a kind smile and patted my shoulder.
"I've been good. How about you?"
"Me? Always at war with the 50 Million Bandwagon Fans, as usual."
Hyung wiped sweat and laughed heartily. A simple, easygoing laugh. A bulldog on the pitch, but more down-to-earth than anyone off it.
"Go easy today. Our kids came fired up."
"Nah, gotta defend La Liga pride."
But glancing at Chelsea, it seemed like all the starters were there except one.
"Ah. Hyung, what about that guy?"
Name was... I forgot since it's been ages.
"The dog? Puppy?"
"Nah, you know, Chelsea's captain."
"Oh, Reece James? Injured."
"What? Thought he flew with the team?"
Bong Hyeoksu looked awkward too.
"Yeah... he was with us till earlier, but hamstring acted up while walking."
What the fuck. Injury out of nowhere.
"Anyway, hyung, be careful. It's a friendly, friendly, got it?"
After the Mo Chanhee incident, Bong Hyeoksu and I got closer than in my past life. We bumped fists briefly and laughed. National team captain and vice-captain. Two Koreans of similar yet different styles clashing in the heart of Sangam with pride on the line.
The reason this matchup means more than a friendly is it might be my last game for Celta Vigo. So I want to cap it with a win. Gonna play for real.
Beep—!
The ref's whistle blew, and Sangam erupted in massive cheers.
The crowd's heat made the humid summer night air even stickier.
Chelsea FC.
Just them standing on the pitch brought a different intimidation.
Under Enzo Maresca, Chelsea lined up in 4-2-3-1.
Nicolas Jackson up top.
Maduèke, Cole Palmer, João Félix in midfield.
And anchoring it: Moisés Caicedo, the 1.9 trillion won man, and his partner Bong Hyeoksu.
The walls I'd clash with directly.
The commentary booth couldn't hide their excitement.
Early game flow went as expected: Chelsea dominating.
They didn't lose the ball easily.
Tap, tap.
Simple pass work built up, then suddenly tempo up, slicing into our half.
"Block it! Push the line up!"
Our defense yelled urgently, but Chelsea's attack was fluid.
Cole Palmer's movement was snake-like. Slithered into space, then fired a killer pass.
Jackson broke the line and infiltrated.
Whoosh—!
The sharp shot grazed just wide of the post.
Sighs erupted from the stands.
"Whoa… fucking insane."
"Class is different. Celta can't even hold the ball?"
"Yo, look at Bong Hyeoksu. Not losing physicals?"
The crowd was right.
Bong Hyeoksu was strong.
I tried receiving centrally, but the pressure from behind felt different from usual.
This guy's going easy, my ass.
If La Liga pressure is technical and organized, Premier League's is rough, crude, but fast.
"Ryan! Behind!"
Teammate's shout, then rough breathing in my ear.
Bong Hyeoksu channeled spoon murderer vibes, chasing, then shouldered me the moment I got the ball.
Bam!
Impact like hitting a solid rock.
Normal player would've lost balance and gone down, but I braced my lower body and held.
But Bong Hyeoksu's tenacious. Took the gap from my wobble, stretched his long leg, poked the ball away.
Clean tackle.
Bong Hyeoksu instantly lofted a long pass forward after winning it.
Perfect delivery dropping right at Maduèke's feet.
Using me as sacrifice to gain momentum.
I clicked my tongue.
Fuckin' Perisic. Not that Perisic was here, of course.
Till the 20th minute, I was thoroughly isolated. Caicedo erasing space, Bong Hyeoksu shoving with his body—no breathing room.
But can't just take it. Time to deliver the showmanship they expect.
That's my specialty.
Time for gaps to show.
30th minute.
Chelsea attack fizzled, our keeper grabbed it.
I raised my hand for the signal.
Keeper launched it long to midfield.
Drop zone: me, Bong Hyeoksu, Caicedo.
Sandwich mark.
Intent to crush me completely.
I leaped for the aerial duel.
Bong Hyeoksu too.
I headed it to empty space, then ran to claim it.
Thought the ball was mine at my feet—
Bong Hyeoksu's shout, and Caicedo charged like a beast. One thing I'm wondering. Fine for me, but why are these two... it's a friendly, ease up on the running already.