Hell Peninsula: This Place Is Hell

The viewer count on the live stream had already surpassed 100,000. The two men on screen wore grave expressions, as if they were exiled independence fighters who'd lost their homeland.

Park Hamsu glanced at the poll results and spoke up.

"Everyone, I said this during the National Assembly audit too. Soccer is a field of expertise. How many questions did they dodge using that as an excuse? And this is the result of their so-called expertise. Getting bullied and threatened by FEFA."

He paused dramatically, then declared as if he'd reached a momentous decision.

"I say... if it's going to be like this, we might as well seriously consider not going to the World Cup. We're not begging to participate, so why go while getting threatened so dirtily? Have they no pride?"

Mundre slammed his fist on the desk beside him, chiming in.

"Exactly, hyungnim! Honestly, the public doesn't want it anyway! Look at the football association right now—it's not even transparent! There's something called public sentiment law, so what the hell gives FEFA the right to make a fuss?!"

They egged each other on, pounding their drums and clappers in a frenzy. The chat window was flooded with the cries of their fanatical followers agreeing.

A suffocating frustration crushed my chest. Watching Mundre rant on screen, I wondered how a person could be so brazen and arrogant, but it was pointless. These idiots, who couldn't even match an elementary schooler's basics, yapped endlessly about soccer administration and the national team's future. And the masses lapped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it up. Why? Because they trashed the association so satisfyingly. Because they voiced the insults the fans wanted to hurl.

The older Park Hamsu was no different. He'd never played soccer professionally or even casually, and while he didn't post videos of himself kicking a ball, anyone in the know understood he was all mouth. Yet these clowns were posing as soccer experts, stirring up public opinion.

"It's overwhelming! 90% in favor of boycott! This is the will of the people!"

All the statements I'd made during the National ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Assembly audit, all the build-up I'd meticulously planned, felt utterly meaningless. No matter how logically I pointed out the issues or laid the groundwork using Pep, what did it matter? In the end, this stage was ruled by those demagogues and the ignorant masses swept up in their wake.

But what could I do? They didn't play soccer themselves. They would never know the agony of lungs burning to the brink on the pitch. They would never feel the crushing pressure of the World Cup stage. Their lives amounted to nothing more than sitting in their rooms, pounding keyboards, and chewing over others' lives as snacks.

It was the natural outcome. The faces of the two on screen oozed a greasy sense of being the saviors of Korean soccer, chosen ones.

The nonstop donation alerts fanned their arrogance even further.

Mundre scratched the back of his head and scooted his chair back. He didn't even bother hiding the sleazy smirk on his lips.

"Aigoo, JusticeEnforcer-nim, 500k thanks. But folks, no need to thank me. Isn't it obvious? Those FEFA bastards telling us how to run our country's affairs—shut up and take it? Is that soccer? That's just being sheep."

He slammed the desk again, glaring at the camera.

"I don't care if we skip the World Cup! No, we should skip it! Time to wipe the slate clean. You call my voice courageous? Nah, this is just common sense. Common sense."

Park Hamsu, who had been quietly adjusting his glasses, joined in. He spoke slowly, with weighty gravitas, like a sage deciding the fate of the nation.

"Dre's right. The chat's full of thanks for speaking out in these tough times... Honestly, I'm a bit embarrassed. I'm just doing the basics."

Park Hamsu checked the million-won figure without batting an eye. If anything, he tilted his head slightly, as if annoyed.

"Thanks to the million-won donor. But more important than money is your awakened consciousness. Is it impressive that I'm dismantling FEFA's letter point by point? No. A little research reveals it all, but the other so-called experts cowardly stay silent. I'm just doing what they won't."

He took a swig of water and shot an arrogant glare at the camera.

"I'll humbly accept the praise as someone great... but honestly, this is my daily routine. Piercing through what others miss and showing the masses the way. The fate of an expert, you might say?"

Mundre chuckled beside him, clapping along.

"Kya, as expected of Hamsu hyungnim! Expert's fate! Spot on. See, everyone? That's the true posture of someone who loves soccer. Worlds apart from players sucking up to the English or association cronies dragging in foreign powers!"

The two locked eyes and nodded, like conquerors whispering with the world at their feet. To them, the tens of thousands in chat weren't comrades—they were trained spectators justifying their arrogance and showering them with cash.

The YouTube frenzy soon leaped to the massive bonfire of online communities. Park Hamsu and Mundre's words were clipped into one-minute ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Shorts and concept posts, spreading at lightspeed.

The communities already enshrined their logic as sacred public will. But even in that mad festival, fragments of reason began cautiously raising their heads.

A moment later, another post went up. This one carried a more specific warning.

My fingers trembled as I scrolled. Those speaking truth became shills. Those worrying about the future became traitors. Logic drowned in mockery. Common sense was thoroughly trampled under sneers.

I closed my eyes for a moment, staring into pitch-black darkness. I don't believe in heaven or hell. But if hell exists, this is it. Hell Peninsula.

Hell isn't far away.

It's right here—where lies dons truth's garb and ignorance swings justice's blade.