People Who Need Korea to Lose
Who gives a damn whether today's win was thanks to the coach's decisions or the players' grit? What matters is that we've confirmed there's no room left on this team for anyone putting on a show.
The mixed zone was buzzing with the heat of victory after the match. The players who secured those three points looked relieved, and a swarm of reporters thrust their mics forward, waiting for the man of the match.
First out was Bong Hyeoksu, the steadfast pillar holding the team together.
"You notched a resounding 3-0 away win today—what's your take?"
Wiping sweat from his brow, Bong Hyeoksu spoke evenly. "Away games are never easy, but we all pulled together and made it happen. Keeping a clean sheet personally satisfies me to no end."
"Tactically, you looked sharp and cohesive today. Did everything go according to plan?"
"Yes. We stuck to what Coach emphasized, and the game flowed just as prepared. Grateful it led to this result."
As Bong Hyeoksu stepped away, Tak Go-gang, who dominated the right flank, entered the interview zone. His face was brighter than usual.
"Tak Go-gang, your overlapping runs and defensive work were outstanding. How do you rate today's tactics?"
"It went exactly as planned. The positioning Coach demanded clicked perfectly, and we walked away with a big win. Thrilled."
"Lately, there's been public criticism of Coach Yoon Seungwoo. What's the mood like inside the team?"
Tak Go-gang's brow furrowed before the question even finished, his response firm. "The team's vibe is genuinely great. No idea who's spreading rumors that we're divided—we're tighter than ever. We trust the Boss. Today's result proves it."
A murmur rippled through the press at his forceful tone. Calling him "the Boss" was a direct slap at the critics.
Next came Mo Chanhee, subbed off early. Unlike the others, his expression was stiff, and he approached with quick steps, dodging questions.
"Mo Chanhee, tough early sub today—your thoughts?"
"Subs happen anytime in a match. I gave my all until then."
"What do you make of Coach Yoon Seungwoo's call?"
Mo Chanhee shrugged nonchalantly, but a subtle edge laced his voice. "It's the coach's decision, so nothing to do about it. Not my call."
As he turned to leave, a sharp follow-up stopped him cold.
"Public opinion on the coach's appointment is pretty sour. You players must be aware—your take?"
The intent was clear: bait a loyalty pledge or fan discontent flames. Mo Chanhee stared into the camera lenses, then replied flatly. "It's done and dusted, so no choice. We're just here to perform on the pitch. Nothing more to say on a settled matter."
His words sounded neutral at first, but they clashed sharply with Tak Go-gang's fiery loyalty. "No choice" painted him as grudgingly compliant, not trusting.
Filling the spot, Gwon Dojin bounded in, grinning ear to ear—the hero with the multi-goal brace.
"Multi-goal star today! That meditation celebration was memorable—what's your feeling?"
"Man, it's electric! Never dreamed of bagging two away, but the lads set the table perfectly. Especially when Rion hyung slipped it through—had to bury it. Celeb? Amman got so quiet, felt like prime meditation vibes, so why not!"
Laughter erupted among the reporters at his cheerful vibe, lightening the heavy air from before.
Finally, I stepped into the zone. Mics and recorders zeroed in on my lips, faces eager for my next bomb.
"Ryu Rion, not just the score but the performance—especially second half, like a different team. As the core, your overall read?"
I gathered my thoughts, then spoke. "Score's secondary. What counts is how much we trusted each other on the pitch. Fixed first-half flaws post-break, and subs went beyond their roles with real commitment. Felt soccer's strongest when 11 heads align—today hammered it home."
"Player trust in the coach seems solid. Tak Go-gang called it 'believing in the Boss' earlier."
I pictured Yoon Seungwoo briefly. "Whatever call the coach makes, we're the ones accountable on the field. We trust it and prove it with results. Hope today's 90 minutes answers that."
Reporters lobbed the bait they'd been itching for: rumors from some cyber Lekka gukppong oil tanker YouTuber about team discord and lax discipline.
"Ryu Rion, a certain YouTuber claims team morale's in the toilet, coach can't enforce discipline—is it true?"
I let out a scoff. "Total bullshit. No clue what deranged oil tankers are spewing this crap, but let me address them directly."
Tension thickened as my tone iced over.
"I know what you want. Korea to crash and burn so you can bash Coach Yoon Seungwoo with 'justification.' Easier to rack views and stir the masses that way. But we're winning big, loud and clear. Did it against Oman, proving it with skill here in Jordan too."
I caught my breath, pressing logically. "Players are grinding for wins right now. Is churning baseless rumors from the sidelines really for Korean soccer? Your logic's paper-thin. How's morale 'trash' with this organized away masterclass? Discipline shot, yet full 90-minute hustle?"
Laptop keys clacked furiously.
"Stop peddling hate off patriotism. While you keyboard warriors incite, our players bleed on the pitch. Quit the cowardly witch hunts using losses as excuses. We'll keep smashing your flawed bullshit with results."
Silence hung after my mic drop. I'd targeted those oil tanker clowns again; reporters, used to it, just stayed mum.
I nodded lightly and exited.
Shutter clicks rained on my back as I walked away.
Sinking deep into the bus seat, I checked my smartphone. Mundre's solo stream filled the screen. Park Hamsu and Mundre ran separate channels alongside their joint one—diversifying revenue like pros. Damn, their brains were wired sharp for the sleaziest shit. Short-term hustle, max cash grab.
Popping in earbuds, victory cheers weren't waiting—instead, a snide sneer hit first.
"Folks, don't get hyped over this 3-0 'win.' Total smokescreen. Saw Jordan's defense off-form? Not tactics—that was pure opponent brain farts. And those interviews? Circus. Players playing politics, propping the coach to cement their power."
I barked a disbelieving laugh. Kinda jealous, honestly. Barking pure nonsense and raking in fat stacks.