I Can't Hold Back Anymore: The Brawl Erupts in Chaos
The stands erupted with even fiercer curses aimed at Coach Yoon Seungwoo and Association President Kim Myeonggyu.
Halftime. Score: 0-0. We'd squandered the chances handed to us. Tempers were flaring. That's what I called out, but soccer's an 11-man game. Some players shrank back, errors mounted, no goals came, and the play dragged on frustratingly. We don't have a Messi or Ronaldo on our side.
I headed to the locker room without a word. After the halftime whistle blew, Korean soccer fans' fury had crossed the boiling point.
Online communities were exploding, pages refreshing dozens at a time every second.
Second half, 10th minute. The first crisis hit. We'd pushed up the line with high possession when Palestine's Dabbagh stole the ball and bolted forward. Our exposed defense crumbled helplessly, his rocket shot grazing the post.
"Oh, that was close! One counter and the backline's wide open!"
The announcers' panicked cries didn't wake us up. At the 25th minute, a similar scene repeated. Abu Al-Riyashi bulldozed two of our defenders in a physical duel for a one-on-one. Only the keeper's miracle save prevented disaster.
I was just as frustrated. 35th minute. I dragged three defenders into the box, but they clumped like a fortress. Shake one, two more swarm, and even then the ragged grass snagged my ankles.
My shot was ultimately blocked by a Palestinian defender's body shield. Korea's flashes of brilliance kept fizzling out. Palestine threatened only on those two counters; otherwise, we dominated possession but created nothing. Creative plays died on the grass, rare chances met super saves. We couldn't capitalize even when gifted opportunities. If the next game's like this, we're done.
Those thoughts filled my head when—
Preeeep— Pree— Preeeeep—!!
The final whistle blew. The scoreboard read 0-0. Possession 75%, shots 20-5. Overwhelming stats, pathetic draw. We had the chances but couldn't convert; our attacks were as futile as bailing water with a leaky net.
The stadium turned into hell instantly. 60,000 boos shredded the Seoul night air.
"Yoon Seungwoo out!" "This ain't soccer! Waste of money!" "Ryu Rion, you fucking useless prick. You're all the same!"
As players hung their heads exiting, I stopped. Those assholes I'd been eyeing. Korean jerseys, waving Palestine flags, leading the jeers whenever they could. If you're cheering Palestine, don't wear our kit. They were stirring up the gullible bandwagoners. I marched toward the noisiest pot-bangers near the bench, spewing filth.
To me, they weren't passionate Korean fans. Just mobs hunting a punching bag. Thunder roared in my skull. Lightning crashed.
I stared straight at the stands, pressing my right index finger to my lips.
"Shh."
The hush gesture silenced them briefly before explosion.
"That fucker's lost it!" "Hey! Ryu Rion! You did great? Huh?!"
Whish— Thunk!
A water bottle sailed from the stands, landing at my feet. Dozens more bottles and trash rained down like biblical hail. Unprintable abuse stabbed from all sides.
I snatched a bottle off the ground. Without hesitation, hurled it full force at the prick spitting and flipping me off.
Shwoooosh— Thud— Missed. If I'd regressed as Haaland...
Witnessing the throw, fans screamed; stands rose. Excited ones climbed fences, security scrambling to hold them back.
"Grab that dog! Let him come down!" "Ryu Rion you motherfucker, you're dead today!"
But I wasn't standing still. Seeing those self-righteous agitators reminded me of Park Hamsu and Mundre. Adrenaline surged to my scalp. That fucker mocking my parents with finger points? He's mine today.
I shoved off the restraining agents and charged the stands railing.
"Let go! Let him go! Hey, come down! Get down here, you fuck!"
I grabbed the rail, thrashing to climb. My eyes locked on his neck. Three, four security guys latched onto my waist and arms.
"Rion, you can't do this. Please!" "Hey, get down from there."
Coaching staff rushed, hugging me from behind. Dragged down, I still glared at him.
I get cheering Palestine. But wearing Korean jerseys, waving their flags, megaphoning jeers to wreck the vibe? Everyone knows they're not real fans. Just exploiting fragile bandwagoners.
Leaving the chaotic pitch, players lined the mixed zone with varied takes spilling out. My bottle incident had reporters in frenzy, mobbing any player in sight.
First up was Mo Chanhee, face etched with grim defeat. He wore a deeply somber expression, deploying his signature polished bullshit.
"First, I sincerely apologize to the fans for not winning at home."
A reporter asked about my outburst. He sighed dramatically, shaking his head like he'd been waiting.
"Rion's behavior... it's truly regrettable. Even if the result's frustrating, national team players need dignity. We can't have that again. Rion's young, passion overruns restraint sometimes. As his senior and captain, I'll counsel him properly. I'll take responsibility to ensure it doesn't hurt team morale."