Olympic Final (Part 3)
The first half had ended. As the team filed into the locker room, every player was gasping for breath, drenched in sweat, their jerseys clinging to their bodies. The rough panting, the lingering tension in their eyes, and the way they all looked completely wiped out painted a picture of exhaustion.
“Ha… ha… I’m dead. Too much.”
“Yeah. I didn’t think France would play that aggressively.”
“Whew… France, really. They’re good.”
“At least we got them in the final.”
“Yeah. Even if we lose, we won’t have to go to the army.”
A few of the players let out small laughs at that.
‘This is bad…’
A warning bell rang in my head.
The thought of defeat had already begun to creep into my hyungs’ minds.
They’d come with fire in their eyes at the start, excited to earn their military exemption, but now the weight of facing France’s style was starting to crush them.
‘I can’t win with thoughts like that.’
In the first half we’d stopped their attacks and even thrown a counter, but there’d been little cracks in our tactical movements.
**CRASH!**
While the players were still chuckling, Manager Cheon Moo-seok kicked the locker room door open with his foot.
“Hey, what the hell did you just say?”
Manager Cheon scanned the room with eyes blazing with fury.
“What? It’s lucky we got France in the final? Even if we lose we won’t go to the army? Do you think that’s a sentence that should come out of the mouth of South Korea’s national team players?”
The rage and disappointment in his voice filled the entire locker room.
The players hung their heads in silence.
“You can lose the final, but losing with thoughts like this is unforgivable.”
Manager Cheon slammed his fist on the table in front of them, forcing every head to stay bowed.
“What I always drilled into you during training… what was that, Tae-yang?”
“No defeat until the final whistle.”
“Right. That’s the one thing I’ve hammered into all of you. So why the hell is the word ‘defeat’ coming out of your mouths?!”
The locker room fell into heavy silence.
“Park Seo-joon!”
“Yes!”
“Was your final goal military exemption?”
“No!”
“What was your final goal then?”
“The gold medal!”
That’s my Manager Cheon.
I listened carefully to every word coming from him.
What he was doing right now was exactly what we called ‘seizing the locker room.’
He was pulling every single mind back into one, reminding us of our true goal.
And by having the most senior player in the team—Hyung Seo-joon—say ‘gold medal’ out loud, he was engraving that goal into every one of us once again.
“The first half… you guys played that weak Wave Pressing because you were scared of conceding a goal and just backed up?! What about the defenders?! You pulled players because you were tired!”
Manager Cheon’s roar kept coming.
“Grab on until the end and suffocate them! Line up exactly as the tactic says no matter how many goals you let in! And if you lose, that’s on me.”
From that moment on, something in the players’ eyes began to shift.
“So you make me the excuse for getting mad at you. Execute my tactics 100% perfectly and lose because of you, not me. And when we win? Execute them 200% and win because of you, and I’ll praise you!”
For a second the locker room went quiet.
“…”
“Answer!”
“Yes!!”
“Good. Now listen up. I’m going to tell you the tactic we’ll use in the second half. Focus.”
I really can’t do that. How does he make a man’s heart burn like that?
My personality would never say something like that. I’d just mutter, ‘Let’s give it our best’ at best.
Speaking of which, is Da-min watching the game right now?
No, she’s probably busy with her debut practice… but when the results come out, it’ll be so much cooler if she says ‘We won gold’ while presenting the medal to me… a heartfelt confession with the gold medal.
Suddenly a small voice came from beside me.
“Tae-woo-ya.”
“Hm?”
Tae-yang gave me a troubled look and whispered in my ear.
“I really gotta go right now… this isn’t the time to say this.”
How is he this consistent?
“Just say it and go. Don’t hold it in during the start.”
“But the mood…”
…Yeah, it’s urgent.
Tae-yang’s face turned paler and sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Lee Tae-yang, if you gotta go that bad, go now.”
Tae-yang jumped up in shock.
“Yes, sorry!!”
Manager Cheon chuckled.
“Even during the match you run that fast? No chance of wishing.”
“Hahahaha”
Manager hyungs really know everything.
***
[“In the first half, both goalkeepers played really well. It was strange that neither side scored with so many good shots.”]
[“I’m telling you, if it wasn’t Tae-woo, we would have conceded at least three. Even bringing in a world-class keeper from a big club today probably would have let in two.”]
[“Now the second half has started. I can’t wait to see what South Korea can do.”]
…Long time no see.
This is exactly how it felt the first time I met Manager Cheon and trained under him.
My position had changed slightly in the second half.
Instead of standing in the penalty box, I had pushed the defensive line higher, so the area I now had to cover had become much larger.
What does that mean?
I’m tired.
Tae-woo had always had good stamina, so I’d only struggled physically with Manager Cheon’s hellish training, and after combining his stamina with Kim Chan-ki’s in that Spain match, I’d started thinking ‘Will I really get tired?’
Covering the entire expanded defensive area now left me gasping for air.
At least the French keeper was in the same situation?
[“Hernandez of France blocks another shot from Park Seo-joon.”]
[“They weren’t lacking at all. It was a perfectly curved shot from the right corner, one step faster than usual. But both goalkeepers are going crazy.”]
‘Ah, it’s my turn again.’
[“Uwaaaah! Tae-woo blocks it too! He really is the monster the commentators call him!”]
[“Calling him a monster is too much when he’s so handsome and sexy. And his football skills are sexy too.”]
The attack and defense of both teams was a breathless back-and-forth.
[“Lucas of France breaks through the defensive line quickly!”]
[“Cross is coming! Hea-woon’s header!”]
[“Tae-woo’s super save! I can’t believe it!”]
[“South Korea counter! Yoo Hee-sung gets the ball!”]
[“Yoo Hee-sung passes to Tae-yang! Tae-yang charges!”]
[“Tae-yang shoots! Ah… Hernandez blocks it again.”]
I don’t know how many times this pattern repeated—super saves from both goalkeepers, attackers digging deep. But still no goals.
This time it was France’s attack again, but it felt different from the first half.
It was the same situation as when they scored their opening goal.
Lucas Dubois of France was breaking through the defensive line. But this time he wasn’t alone.
Mathieu Gaulin was also joining the attack.
“I let it in last time…”
I took a deep breath and pushed my focus to the maximum.
It was hard to predict whether Gaulin or Dubois would shoot or if they’d pass to each other.
‘Stay calm, Tae-woo.’
Dubois passed to Gaulin, who dribbled forward.
How far had he come? Gaulin took a shot from a position a little outside the penalty area.
‘Not going in. This is a fake.’
My intuition was right.
He passed back to Dubois at the last second,
and the moment I recognized it, I launched myself forward.
At the same time, Dubois unleashed a powerful shot toward the goal.
‘This time… this time for sure!’
**THUD!**
“Damn, missed it.”
The ball was touched by my hand and bounced out into the open air again.
I quickly rose and launched myself after it.
The French players didn’t miss their chance. Gaulin and Dubois both leaped toward the ball.
[“Tae-woo! Perfectly blocks the ball in a 2-on-1 situation and catches the rebound safely!”]
The moment the ball left my hands, a thrill of relief and exhilaration surged through my entire body. I fell to the ground clutching it tight.
[“Unbelievable super save! Tae-woo’s incredible reflexes and concentration saved South Korea!”]
‘Wait a minute, when I jumped, France’s line…’
I quickly got up and looked forward.
Our defensive line was 2-on-2 in the box, and I could see the French defenders had pushed quite high.
Both conditions I’d thought wouldn’t happen again had been met.
I quickly grabbed the ball, sprinted, and the second I cleared the penalty area I dropped it to the ground.
Then I began rolling it forward with my foot, picking up speed.
French players shouted behind me, but I ignored them.
‘Yeah, they didn’t think I’d come in this situation, did they? Surprise attack.’
With every step I took, the gap between me and our goal widened.
As I charged toward the halfway line, the stadium began to stir and the crowd’s cheers grew louder.
“Tae-woo, you can do it!”
“Oppa, fighting!”
[“82nd minute of the second half. It could be the last chance. Jung Tae-woo is taking the ball himself!”]
I slowed my breathing and focused ahead.
‘As expected, it’s Hyung Seo-joon.’
Hyung Seo-joon immediately adjusted our formation the moment he saw me leaving.
Once I crossed the halfway line, French players rushed toward me, but I didn’t try to break through them. There was a better option.
I sent a sharp pass toward Hyung Seo-joon running from the right,
and when I saw the ball land perfectly in front of his feet, I sprinted into the open space.
Hyung Seo-joon was the Hyung I’d seen all along—if anyone interfered, he’d still deliver a perfect pass.
And my faith was not misplaced.
When a French defender charged at Hyung, he neatly passed the ball back to me at the perfect timing, as if he’d predicted it.
‘Two defenders right in front, and Lee Tae-yang in between.’
I touched the ball inward with my right foot and leaned my upper body to the left. The defender’s body leaned left with it.
I didn’t miss the moment. I twisted my body sharply to the right.
After beating the first defender, the second one came in, but
I passed a sharp ball to Tae-yang without hesitation, and the ball slipped perfectly between the defender’s legs.
“Tae-yang, right now!”
With my shout, Tae-yang moved.
Tae-yang passed the ball to me the moment he received it.
In front of me, after receiving the ball, was Hernandez, who had been playing his best alongside me.
Hernandez came rushing out quickly to cut the angle, just like I’d done earlier.
‘Sorry friend, but I can pass like your team.’
I lifted the ball with my toe.
Hernandez reached out with his hand in a desperate dive, but
Could he really not even touch it that far?
The ball flew over his fingertips and landed right in Yoo Hee-sung’s hands.
“Nice, Tae-woo.”
Yoo Hee-sung received the ball at the perfect timing and unleashed a powerful shot.
**CRACK!**