Mixed Zone Roars: Bandaged Lion Faces the Press
The mixed zone after the Iraq match—a 3-1 win and unbeaten run—buzzed with the clamor of reporters' laptop keys clacking and excited murmurs, amplified by the dramatic tale of bandaged grit and triumph.
Captain Bong Hyeoksu of the national team stepped up to the press first.
"Hyeoksu! What a grueling game, but you pulled off the win. One word on your thoughts?"
Bong Hyeoksu responded calmly to the reporter's question.
"We scored first early on, but conceding that equalizer in the early second half could've sunk the mood. The players never gave up till the end. I think the home fans' cheers got us over the line."
"Ryu Rion's bandaged heroism is the talk of the town today. As captain, what went through your mind when he came back out with his head split open?"
Bong Hyeoksu paused to choose his words, then spoke in a grave tone.
"Truth be told, when Rion went down, the whole team shook. But when he returned wrapped in bandages, his eyes said it all: It's not over yet. That look united us. Individual stars matter, but today's game exploded with team cohesion from that injury moment. I know there are tactics critiques out there, but please recognize how solidly bonded our squad is right now—more than ever."
Tak Go-gang, who dominated midfield with insane work rate today, took Bong Hyeoksu's spot.
"Tak Go-gang! That second-half tactical shift was impressive. Care to break down your midfield movements?"
Tak Go-gang nodded and delivered a tactical breakdown.
"The coach ordered me and the mids to switch organically to pierce Iraq's thick defensive wall. When their midfielders keyed on Ryu Rion, I'd hit the opposite half-space. Especially when Rion dropped deeper to open passing lanes, it freed up space ahead of me—made threading forward passes way easier."
Questions quickly pivoted to the match's tensest moment.
"Mid-second half, when Ryu Rion went off injured, the team's vibe tanked hard. What was the on-pitch feel?"
Tak Go-gang's face darkened briefly.
"It was a straight-up crisis. He's our engine, and it stalled. We just stared at each other—what now? The anxiety spread like wildfire. Iraq ramped up the pressure, sensing blood. Honestly, those few minutes before Rion returned bandaged felt like the longest of the game. But the second he came back, the momentum flipped. Seeing him shrug off an Iraqi player like it was nothing? I knew right then: We're winning this."
Stoic defensive rock Jang Kangcheol got nabbed exiting the mixed zone. He looked freshly showered, but his eyes still held the game's afterimage.
"Jang Kangcheol! Tough work stonewalling Iraq's onslaught. Overall thoughts on the match?"
He halted at the short question, staring the reporter down. His reply was curt, no fluff.
"We won 3-1, didn't we? Answer done. Over."
Jang Kangcheol strode off toward the locker room without a backward glance. Reporters exchanged baffled looks, then chuckled—Classic Jang—and hustled to file their stories.
Last through the mixed zone: me, white bandage wrapped around my forehead. Flashes erupted nonstop at my sight.
These assholes gonna bark some shit today too?
"Rion! Tough grind out there—congrats on the win. Post-match thoughts?"
I paused, eyeing the mics, and replied flatly.
"Home game, so glad the fans leave smiling. That's a national team player's fate—prove it on the pitch."
"That forehead bandage looks thick. You gutted it out bandaged—what's the injury status?"
I touched my forehead at the concerned question.
"Looks worse than it is. Nothing to worry about. But cut the baseless tactics hate-baiting. Especially you Lekka YouTube clowns churning clickbait thumbnails for views—pipe down today, yeah?"
Reporters, used to my blunt style now, didn't flinch.
"Caught a tense exchange with Coach Yoon Seungwoo mid-game. What was said during the sub call?"
My brow furrowed at the question.
"Not tension—just voicing my sub stance. Coach saw the injury looked bad, wanted to protect me. I said it's no big deal, I'll finish it. Good intentions clashed, not some bullshit 'friction.' We're chasing the same goal."
Seizing the lull, a reporter lobbed a hot one.
"Breaking: Ministry of Culture's football assoc. audit finalized for November. Thoughts as a player?"
I cut it short, turning away mid-question.
"Assoc'll handle their shit now. My job's kicking the ball on the field. No more questions? I'm out."
I left a sharp, punchy retort hanging and bailed the mixed zone.
After a casual post-match hang near the stadium, we rolled into Paju NFC just shy of midnight. The dorm vibe was livelier than usual.
Adrenaline.
This high after 90 minutes of tearing up the pitch—you don't get it till you've lived it. Body weighs a ton, but mind's crystal sharp, almost transparent. Gotta yak with the squad before scattering to clubs to burn it off, or sleep won't come.
Party's nothing fancy: pizza and chicken boxes for late-night grub, sodas. But post-three points? Tastes better than any gourmet spread.
Down in the lounge, some guys were already huddled, chattering loud. Tak Go-gang, Bong Hyeoksu, and Kim Jinu at one table, replaying the game.
Captain Bong Hyeoksu spotted me first, waving big.
"Yo, today's hero arrives! Rion, park it here. Sit."
"Old man's got no shut-eye, huh."
I fiddled with my forehead bandage and flopped onto the sofa beside them.