Korean Derby (2)
The tension in the Chelsea locker room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Every eye was locked on Park Seo-joon.
“Seo-joon-ah, that friend of yours… is he really that good?”
One of the teammates asked, voice low but laced with genuine curiosity.
Park Seo-joon stood tall in the center of the room, arms crossed, his calm face giving nothing away. He had captained South Korea for years now, and the weight of that responsibility had long since burned away any trace of the young kid who once doubted his own limits. The man standing before them was proof that leadership didn’t need to be loud to be absolute.
He had replayed the Olympics in his mind just that morning—every single one of those ridiculous missions they had piled on the goalkeeper, every time the young keeper had delivered 200 percent when the script called for 100. No wonder the man now known as Jung Tae-woo carried the same fire in his veins.
“Honestly,” Park Seo-joon finally answered, voice steady and low, “he’s the best goalkeeper I’ve ever seen.”
“Whoa~ even better than you?”
Chelsea’s first-choice keeper, Kepas, leaned back against the lockers with a playful grin, but the question carried real respect.
“I’m sorry, but if you’re talking about this season’s form… no one matches him.”
Kepas’s grin vanished. The playful glint in his eyes sharpened into something almost reverent.
“If the captain says that…”
“But captain,” Mount cut in from the side, voice teasing, “aren’t you worried about giving away our game plan? Mid-range shots only, remember?”
“Even if you say so, I’ll nail it when the moment comes.”
“Aigoo~ I was hoping he’d actually score today.”
Laughter rippled through the room. Mount shook his head, but the smile never left his face.
“Still…”
Park Seo-joon’s voice dropped even lower, the weight of command settling over every player. The laughter died instantly.
“We’re not giving up. No matter what. We’ve always clawed our way back from one-goal deficits, and we always will.”
“That’s right! Captain!!”
Haust pounded his fist on the bench. Mount rolled his shoulders, eyes blazing.
Let’s see what you’ve got, Tae-woo.
* * *
The Chelsea system was elegant in its simplicity—build-up through short, crisp passes, moving the ball like water until it reached the danger zone. No long balls, no panic, just elegant progression. And within that flow, the sudden thunder of Park Seo-joon’s long-range shots became a nightmare for any keeper.
A hidden blade wrapped in silk.
Only five minutes in, Chelsea created their first clear chance. The team had pulled the Man City defense forward with relentless passes. Then, in a blink, Jung Tae-woo’s shadow darted into the empty space behind the defense—and the defenders simply lost him.
Park Seo-joon’s shot left his foot like a cannon. The ball curved viciously, dipped, and screamed toward the top corner. Tae-woo’s reflexes were legendary, but this was different. This shot was deliberate. He forced it into the ground on purpose—knowing the keeper would have to dive or parry—and still, the ball beat the dive by inches.
He’s not just good… he’s terrifying.
The match flared into chaos. Chelsea’s fans roared like thunder. Every time Park Seo-joon dropped a perfect ball or unleashed another rocket, the Stamford Bridge shook. The Korean Derby wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
[Mount has the ball! Classic Chelsea build-up!]
[Whoa, look at that! Haust and Park Seo-joon are both diving into Man City’s backline at the same time! Timing’s insane!]
[Haust’s on the left, Seo-joon’s cutting into the center—Man City’s defense is completely unraveling!]
[Jung Tae-woo’s reaction time… we need to watch this closely!]
The threat was relentless. Pass and the ball is gone. Shoot and the threat grows. Park Seo-joon’s movements were lighter than air, his shots more precise than ever.
[Park Seo-joon’s movement is strangely light today!]
[Heh! But Tae-woo’s still holding it!]
[That one was close! Jung Tae-woo just punched the shot away with his foot!]
[AHAHA! Jung Tae-woo’s screaming at his defenders!]
“Hey, you idiots! Focus!”
It wasn’t a rout yet. Kepas was playing out of his mind, stopping shot after shot with the same calm intensity he’d shown all season. But the pressure was mounting.
Tae-woo’s eyes scanned the pitch. Chelsea was lining up for a corner. He jerked his chin at Sanchez.
“Sanchez.”
“Huh? What is it, Tae-woo?”
“Let’s try something new.”
“Something? Okay.”
Sanchez didn’t hesitate. He trotted toward Guerrero in the center circle, gave him a quick signal, then slipped toward the edge of the penalty area and settled into position.
[Park Seo-joon taking a corner!]
[Up goes the ball! Heading toward Mount! Mount jumps… wait—Jung Tae-woo! Jung Tae-woo!!]
Tae-woo’s gaze snapped to Mount on the far post. No time to think. He exploded forward, leapt higher than anyone expected, and swung his arm in a perfect volleyball spike—catching the ball high and driving it with explosive power.
THUD!!
The ball rocketed straight toward Sanchez, who had already made his run and was waiting perfectly in the empty space behind the defense. Sanchez controlled it cleanly and sent it spiraling forward.
Guerrero had been waiting for exactly this. He turned and sprinted like a rocket, leaving the Chelsea defenders in the dust.
[What the—Jung Tae-woo just did a spike clearance like he’s a volleyball player! The ball connects perfectly with Sanchez on the edge of the box!]
[This isn’t improvisation! This is pre-planned! A pattern they’ve practiced for weeks! And they just dismantled Chelsea’s defense in one move!]
Guerrero finished the run with a left-footed thunderbolt.
BOOM!!
The ball hammered into the bottom corner and buried itself. The net bulged like it was in pain.
[GOAL!!! Manchester City’s first goal of the match! Tae-woo’s spectacular clearing sparked a counter-attack that Guerrero finished with clinical precision!]
The few Man City fans in the away section were already waving flags. Guerrero tore past the defense and skidded to a halt, chest heaving.
“FUCK! I didn’t miss because I’m shit!”
“Why’d you dive?”
“Because I wanted to see the fans, bro~”
Sanchez patted Guerrero on the back with a bright smile, completely forgetting he’d almost been clobbered.
Tae-woo stood in the center circle and simply shook his head, a small laugh escaping him. The entire thing had been for the fans—and for Guerrero’s fragile ego. He had planned every second of it, even the ridiculous volleyball spike, just to get that smile back on his striker’s face.
I really am too soft.
“You crazy bastard… when did you start practicing volleyball spikes?”
Seo-joon walked up beside him, arms folded, a lazy grin on his face.
“Heh heh. I’ve watched every spike highlight on the internet just to surprise you with it.”
“Of course you have. You’re hopeless.”
“Next time, I’ll use a basketball player’s shooting motion instead?”
“Not a bad idea.”
“Ugh…”
* * *
Back in the commentary box at SBS, the analyst was white-knuckling his desk.
[This… this is incredible… The corner-kick clearance Jung Tae-woo just performed—it’s like he’s taken the entire concept of a goalkeeper and thrown it out the window! A volleyball spike, perfect timing, perfect power… this isn’t football anymore!]
[You can’t just look at the save. He didn’t just parry the ball—he guided it with pinpoint precision so Sanchez could control it and launch the counter! This was calculated, beautiful football!]
[This is our football, right?]
[No way, a soccer player just spiked it like that?!]
[That was higher than anything I’ve seen on the pitch—maybe even higher than Haikyuu!]
[I’m a pro volleyball player! That spike had perfect angle and power. It’s like he’s a real volleyball player!]
[I’m a pro volleyball coach! You’re watching soccer—why are you watching volleyball?!]
[Coach… that was volleyball, right?]
[HAHAHAHAHAHA! What the hell are you guys doing?!]
[After watching this game, I’m convinced—Jung Tae-woo isn’t just the most sensational goalkeeper in the Premier League right now. He’s the most sensational goalkeeper in the entire world.
[Oho… you’re saying…]
[Exactly. From my view, there is no goalkeeper in the Premier League who plays like Jung Tae-woo today.]
[No argument, it’s undeniable!]
[Who would dare call that move anything but genius?]
[That’s why his power is so low—because people like him exist.]
[Yeah, he’s so good there’s nowhere to put the ball anymore…]