Locker Room Fury Before the Spain Showdown
The Korean locker room, on the eve of their clash with Spain, was filled not with tension but with the furious shouting of the players.
"Ha, seriously? They lost to Japan of all teams, and they have the nerve to give interviews like that?"
"They say we're not even worth practicing against? That really pisses me off."
Hardly surprising they're angry…
The day before the match, Spain's head coach, Luis de la Fuente, had made some remarkably cutting, aggressive remarks about the match against Korea at a press conference.
"The Korean players? I know Park Seo-joon, of course. But the others... hmm. I hear they have several players who are only seventeen... If your ace is that young, well, you don't need to look to guess what kind of team that is, do you?"
Contempt and confidence dripped from every word, as if the match against Korea were nothing more than a waste of time.
But what made them even angrier was the comment from Spain's ace, Pedri.
"We lost to Japan on purpose so we could face Korea. Now we're preparing for our next opponents, Brazil."
Lee Tae-yang ground his teeth, his face twisted with anger.
"Those bastards think we're a free win. Lost to Japan on purpose? There's a limit to how much bullshit one mouth can hold."
Even Seo-joon, usually the gentlest of them, chimed in with a scowl.
"No matter what, we're both teams that fought our way into the quarterfinals. They couldn't show us a shred of courtesy."
"Calm down. If we get angry and riled up like this, we're playing right into that arrogant Spanish coach's hands."
A coach trash-talking the opposition in an interview like that—it was a tactic meant to provoke the opponent or rally his own team together. But what good did knowing that do? It was just as infuriating either way.
So annoying. It's been a long time since something disgusted me this much…
Memories surfaced from his days as Kim Chan-ki, when he'd first arrived in Europe. The endless scrutinizing stares, the racism, every kind of insult imaginable... In the end, he'd shut their mouths with skill alone. It would be the same this time. When the match was over, the Spanish players would walk off the pitch with nothing left to say.
Coach Cheon Mu-seok looked around at his players, his eyes blazing as he continued.
"We focus only on our own game. The best revenge we can take is to tear Spain apart in their own home and march into the semifinals."
The atmosphere in the locker room shifted at his words. The anger and irritation drained away, replaced by fierce resolve and focus that filled the air.
Looking at their faces, Coach Cheon Mu-seok smiled with satisfaction.
"Yes, that's it. That's the look."
He drove his point home.
"Don't doubt yourselves. Compared to the Spanish players, you don't come up short—not even close. No, you're the players I chose precisely because you're better than they are. When players as complete as you use my perfect tactics, this is a game that cannot be lost. Now get out there and fight without a moment's rest!"
For this match, I'm going to make you piss blood.
World-class—no, the blood of the man once called the God of Strikers, sealed away during the group stage, was beginning to burn hot.
Just as he was about to head out, his bag suddenly began to glow.
What the—light coming from my bag?
Worried someone might see, he hurriedly opened the bag to find the letter that connected him to the Goddess of Soccer glowing brightly.
What now... She's never sent one like this before.
Dear Player Jung Tae-woo, I've finally prepared the gift I've been meaning to give you! ヽ(^o^)ノ
You've been saving your points much more frugally than I expected, so here you go, quick and easy~
And the gift is, drumroll please... TA-DAAA!!! ＼(＾▽＾)／
'Two Hearts'
Don't panic—it doesn't mean you'll actually grow a second heart. (￣ω￣)
I've merged Player Kim Chan-ki's stamina from back in the day with Player Jung Tae-woo's stamina stat, just like I did with your reaction speed.
Run like a dog. Hehehe, just kidding~ ┐(￣ヮ￣)┌
And how do you like this?
[A photo of a golden-glowing bag]
Bought it with Divine Points. Pretty, right? (≧▽≦)
Yes, yes, I know you're going to ask—no, I didn't buy it with the points YOU earned, Player Jung Tae-woo.
Do I really look like the kind of goddess who'd do that? Hmph, I earned these myself, working hard! (￣^￣)ゞ
Anyway, good luck at the Olympics! You'd better rack up those points fast. Win the whole thing and you can look forward to another gift... (^_−)☆
Hah, what kind of goddess designs bags? And since when do goddesses hold down jobs?
More pathetic than he'd expected. A goddess working to earn points—the illusion of an all-powerful, all-knowing deity had shattered the moment he'd met the Goddess of Soccer, a long time ago.
"Still, great timing, Goddess."
Stamina. In football, it was one of the most important factors of all. If the stamina of his Kim Chan-ki days merged with his current body's stamina...
There's no way I lose this one, is there?
Wave Pressing demanded enormous stamina, and that had worried him a little—but if she was going to top up his stamina stat at exactly the right moment like this, losing wasn't even on the table.
The Estadio Metropolitano was awash in the red and yellow of Spain, dyed by the local citizens who had gathered to cheer on their home nation.
Spanish passion for football was famous the world over. From El Clásico between Real Madrid and Barcelona, the pride of La Liga, down to the smallest neighborhood match—football wasn't simply a sport to them. It was a part of life.
And with the Olympics being held on home soil, the attention and expectations of the Spanish public pierced the very sky.
The fans packing the stadium to cheer were absolutely certain that a team called South Korea could not possibly win. The only Korean player any of them knew was Park Seo-joon; everyone else was a name they'd never heard of. Spain's squad, meanwhile, was stacked with stars already playing for storied clubs across Europe.
Spain's goal for this tournament was one and only one: the gold medal. Their confidence soared into the sky, and the stands rang with chants of certain victory.
The Korean supporters, by contrast, looked rather cowed. Rumors of the Spanish team's disrespectful interviews before the match had spread, and the anxiety had only grown.
"Ha... can we actually win this?"
One spectator muttered worriedly.
The fan beside him sighed and added, "Tell me about it. And Spain's got a ton of players from the European leagues."
"Ugh, maybe we shouldn't have come at all..."
"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the Estadio Metropolitano, where South Korea and Spain are about to do battle. I'm caster Lee Seong-jun."
"And I'm commentator Yoo Jung-hwan."
"Today, we have a very special guest joining us before kickoff."
"Oh, now I'm curious. Who is it?"
"Please welcome Lee Chun-soo, former senior teammate of commentator Yoo Jung-hwan and former striker for the Korean national team!"
"Hello, everyone. Lee Chun-soo here."
"Hey, you should've come out sooner. Your sunbae comes out first—is that right?"
"No, I was the guest. And I was standing right there the whole time—you just introduced me late."
"Aigoo, always so quick with the comebacks..."
"You were once called the troublemaker and bad boy of the national team. So, Chun-soo-ssi—what do you make of the comments from Spain's coach Luis de la Fuente and from Pedri yesterday?"
"What do I make of it? They're out of their damn minds."
"I— sorry? Hahaha, as blunt as ever, Lee Chun-soo-ssi."
Caster Lee Seong-jun was briefly flustered by Lee Chun-soo's blunt remark, but after glancing at the viewer comments and catching the PD's OK sign, he carried on.
"So what would you do in this situation, Chun-soo-ssi?"
It wasn't Lee Chun-soo who answered.
"If I know Chun-soo, he'd probably smack Pedri over the back of the head."
Yoo Jung-hwan's half-joking answer sent the studio and the comment section into waves of laughter.
"That's just a fond memory from my youth. The me of today would show them, very gentlemanly, with pure skill. Showing it on the pitch with ability—that's the best revenge there is."
Yoo Jung-hwan gave Lee Chun-soo's arm a playful jab.
"Hey, since when are you doing image management? Just be yourself—the whole concept's already shattered anyway."
"Come on, sunbaenim. I'm old enough to have grown up a little, don't you think?"
"Hmm... you know, I heard something about you, Jung-hwan-ssi... should I say it here or—"
Lee Chun-soo hastily cut him off.
"No, why are we talking about my wife here... If you do that, I can't be on this show anymore."
Caster Lee Seong-jun jumped in, grinning mischievously.
"Commentator-nim, in the interest of the viewers' right to know, I believe disclosure is required."
"No—sunbae, seriously, don't. Jung-hwan hyung! STOP!!!!!!!!!!!"
"HAHAHAHA!"
The cheerful banter among the three sent the studio into fresh waves of laughter, and the viewers too savored a brief moment of levity amid all the tension.
Before long, the stadium announcement echoed through the ground.
"The players are entering the pitch."
"And here we go—the match is finally about to begin. The players of both teams are making their way out one by one."
"That's right. Spain is emerging first. I can see Pedri, Lamine, and the other players hailed as the future of Barcelona."
Lee Chun-soo continued.
"Our players are coming out too. Oh, there's Jung Tae-woo. Look at his eyes—there's something different about them."
The camera caught Jung Tae-woo. Fierce determination blazed in his eyes, and an unmistakable confidence marked his every stride.
"Yes, once again South Korea has lined up in a 4-3-3, while Spain has come out in a 4-3-2-1. The match begins with Korea's kickoff!!"
The moment the whistle blew, the movement of the Korean players changed dramatically.
Lee Chun-soo noticed it first and shouted in astonishment.
"What—what is this? Our players are pushing their line up enormously! This is... this is a tactic we haven't seen from them in any of their previous matches!"
"Exactly! Jung Tae-woo is even positioned outside the penalty box. What on earth is going on here?"