Lion's Roar in the Assembly Hall
The weight of being a National Assemblyman hung heavy in the air, plunging the chamber into silence. My words had been aggressively sharp, but to these politicians, hearing some ball-chasing punk spout off about legislation was a perfect trigger to piss them off. They strut around with their gold badges, bowing and scraping from the public on the streets—telling them to lift their chins high and actually look into people's livelihoods? Hell, it was a miracle they hadn't all jumped up in unison right then.
Truth be told, I saw it the same way. Bunch of no-talent losers who'd never kicked a ball in their lives, slapping on gold badges and yapping about soccer procedures this and that, dragging us into these audits. It wasn't just me as a player; the coaches were fucked too. The crucial Palestine match was right around the corner. This was prime time for the coach to jet off on scouting trips, scrutinizing every player one by one—yet here we were, getting yelled at by politicians and offered up as vote-selling sacrifices.
The outcome of this current affairs questioning was painfully obvious. The coach would stay put, no question. Why? Because it was a corporate entity. The coach picked by the football association managing the sport. So what the fuck were these clowns summoning busy coaches and players for this grilling? Vote-selling, plain and simple.
As I clocked the politicians' inner motives and their vote-grubbing strategies, the chairman seated at the elevated central podium lightly tapped the gavel.
"Witness Ryu Rion."
How long had it been since I'd heard such a calm voice? The chairman stared me down through his glasses and continued.
"This is not a Premier League stadium. This is a sacred chamber where the people's representatives audit the nation's affairs under the Republic of Korea Constitution. No matter how expert you are, remarks ignoring this body's order and the legislature's authority will not be tolerated. Mind your tone and answer only the questions. Understood?"
It was a blatant hierarchy check and a squeeze—don't disrespect the assemblymen. I hadn't even really started yet, so tucking in my claws made sense. I narrowed my eyes for a stare-down, then nodded curtly.
"...Got it. Proceed."
Was proper questioning finally about to begin?
Crash.
My expectations shattered in under a minute. Same old cycle.
Assemblyman Park went after Technical Director Lee Jinhak like he was trying to devour him alive.
"Director Lee Jinhak! The Power Enhancement Committee didn't agree, so why'd you wield full authority on your own?! Huh? Did you or didn't you?!"
"On that point, per regulations, I was delegated the authority..."
"Hey! More excuses! Whatever! You coordinated with Coach Yoon Seungwoo beforehand, right? Called him? Hand over the records!"
"The records were already submitted..."
"Don't interrupt! Answer only what I ask! The people are watching!"
Classic answer-only-what-I-want beatdown. Cut off any explanation as "excuses," scream if they stay quiet like it's an admission. The timer on the assemblyman's desk ticked down from 01:32 fast. Truth didn't matter to him—what counted was wrapping up a juicy yelling clip before the mic died.
Assemblyman Park jabbed a finger at me next.
"Ryu Rion, you too! Don't you think a star player like you turning a blind eye to the association's botched dealings makes you an accomplice? You rake in big bucks in England—Korean fans' tears don't register? Answer me!"
The second his question ended, he rummaged through papers for the next attack. As I opened my mouth, he snatched the mic again without waiting.
"Fine. Whatever, it's all insider..."
"Assemblyman."
I cut him off. All eyes snapped back to me. The chairman's eyebrow twitched, but my mic was still live.
"Didn't you just ask a question? Then hear the answer."
"No, I'm short on time..."
"It's not lack of time—it's you not wanting to hear what you don't like."
I pointed at his desk timer: 00:15 left in red.
"Gotta finish filming your yelling before the mic cuts out, and if my logical answer wrecks your script, you interrupt. Right?"
"Wh-what?! Witness Ryu Rion!"
00:05...
"Soccer's a sport that runs 90 minutes on passing the ball." 00:04...
"But you're hoarding it solo, yelling from behind the goal." 00:03...
"What you're doing isn't questioning—it's a tantrum."
00:00.
Right as my words ended, his mic clicked off. Park's face turned beet red, mouth flapping silently, but the speakers carried only my steady voice.
"Mic's dead. Ready to listen now?"
The chairman slowly tapped the gavel. The heavy thud silenced the chamber instantly.
"Witness Ryu Rion. That remark crossed the line. This is where we convey the people's stern reprimands on their behalf. Your soccer skills don't give you license to insolently challenge legislative authority. One more instance of belittling assemblymen's questions or obfuscating the point, and we'll hold you strictly accountable, including contempt of Congress. Clear?"
The chairman's gaze screamed this is my turf—hierarchy crystal clear. Pressure from a battle-hardened political fox with decades under his belt. I shrugged my shoulders a touch and leaned into the mic.
"...Yes. Understood, Chairman. I'll follow order."
Lips said submission, but my eyes burned with fire. Fine, submit? Nah. Kick me out if you dare. I've got Man City rivalries to chase—summon Korea's next star, grill him a bit, then boot him without real questions? Can you handle the 50 Million Bandwagon Fans backlash? Image matters for me, sure—but for politicians too. This fight was mine from the jump. Let's all wallow in the mud.
That's when the tablet in my peripheral exploded with the National Assembly broadcast's real-time live chat.
Questioning resumed. This time, senior Assemblyman Choi grabbed the mic. Emboldened under the chairman's cover, he glared at me without glancing at papers.
"Witness Ryu Rion! You said it wasn't hiring earlier, right? Is the national team coach gig some neighborhood pickup soccer spot? Isn't this a public system?!"
"Correct. It's a public system. But its core is expertise."
As I started answering, Choi cut in like he'd been waiting.
"Question ain't over! Listen! Director Lee Jinhak claims he got delegated authority from the Power Enhancement Committee, but they say no such thing happened. Isn't this forgery? You claim no involvement, but same agency as Coach Yoon Seungwoo? Connections, right?"
"...Same agency is coincidence. And on delegation..."
"Enough! Coincidence? Think the public are idiots? That's why Korean soccer's in this mess! Chairman! Witness keeps excusing—give a warning!"
The chamber devolved into chaos again. Director Lee Jinhak sweated bullets flipping papers; Coach Yoon Seungwoo eyes shut, lips sealed. Assemblymen bellowed over each other for their turns.
I smirked at the circus. They had zero interest in my answers. Just waiting for me flustered or raging into the "rude star" frame.
I slowly looked up at the chairman. He watched the mess fondly, savoring power. Couldn't stomach more of this shit—I yanked the mic close.