Oscar Performance in the Rain, and the True Competitor

The monsoon front that had seemed ready to swallow Gyeongju finally bared its true nature on the day of the quarterfinals. From morning the sky hung low and ash-gray, and the thick sheets of rain had long since overwhelmed the drainage capacity of the pitch. The natural grass of Gyeongju Civic Stadium’s auxiliary field had already lost its green and turned into a dark, churned mire. A swamp that swallowed ankles the moment you stepped in. That was the battlefield Haeseong Elementary would have to fight on today.

Their quarterfinal opponents were Cheonggu Elementary, a powerhouse from Daegu. They were a side that relied less on flashy individual skill or intricate passing and more on overwhelming physique and a crude but powerful kick-and-rush style. On a clear day they would have been toyed with by Haeseong’s precise passing game, but today’s weather was unmistakably on Cheonggu’s side.

Thirty minutes before kickoff.

Haeseong Elementary lodging lobby.

The sound of rain drumming against the windows only amplified the children’s unease. Han Se-hui stood at the lobby entrance with her arms crossed, glaring at Gang-cheol as he came out with his gear. At her feet sat a bag stuffed with a first-aid kit and dry towels.

"Hey! Ma Gang-cheol! Do you really have to play today?"

Se-hui blocked his path without preamble.

"Can’t you see it’s pouring? Out there it’s a swimming pool. How long has it even been since you got out of the hospital? The doctor said absolute rest for a while!"

Her point was fair. Gang-cheol had only recently been discharged after the accident ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that (had triggered his regression). In Se-hui’s eyes he was still a patient—someone she had to protect.

Gang-cheol flashed a grin and casually took the bag from her hands.

"Manager Han. Appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Even the doctor said my recovery speed is shocking. And soccer isn’t an indoor sport."

"That’s exactly the problem! Your bones probably aren’t even fully set yet—what if you slip and get hurt again? What about my milk money? My ten percent?"

"Relax. I’ve got dense bones; they don’t break easy. And rainy days are more fun. More variables."

"Variables, my ass… You get hurt for real and I’m not visiting you in the hospital."

Even as she grumbled, Se-hui straightened his collar. Watching her, Gang-cheol thought to himself,

Same nagging whether it’s this life or the last.

But he didn’t mind. He knew that nagging was the force that held him up.

"I’m off. I’ll win, so have those towels nice and fluffy for me."

Gang-cheol boarded the bus with casual ease, but inside his head the precise calculator was already running. An underwater battle burned twice the usual stamina. The ball ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠soaked up water and turned heavy as a rock; the ground was slick as ice. This was a game ruled by grit, know-how, and pure cunning rather than technique.

Two o’clock in the afternoon. The stadium.

Rain poured as if a hole had been punched in the sky. The moment the players stepped onto the field, their cleats sank deep into the mud.

Peeeeep—!

The referee’s whistle blew and the quarterfinal curtain rose. From the opening whistle the pitch became pure chaos.

"Pass! Min-su, here!"

Gang-cheol surged into open space and called for the ball. Park Min-su spotted him and stabbed a ground pass. On any normal day it would have arrived perfectly at Gang-cheol’s feet.

But—

Splash.

The ball hit a puddle and stopped dead, as if it had lied. Gang-cheol slammed on the brakes and spun back, but Cheonggu’s massive defender had already charged in and cleared it.

Boom!

A spray of water erupted as the ball rocketed skyward. Classic Cheonggu long-ball football—simple and brainless. Yet it dropped deep into Haeseong territory, and their physically gifted forwards charged in like wild boars.

"Stop them! Clear it!"

Haeseong’s back line flung themselves desperately. The mud locked their feet; clean clearances were impossible. The ball pinballed around and the box instantly became a free-for-all.

Bang!

A Cheonggu striker’s shot smashed off the post and bounced out. Screams erupted from the stands. Han Se-hui, wrapped in a raincoat, gripped the fence and stamped her feet.

"Aargh, seriously! Why won’t the ball roll?!"

Just as she said, Haeseong’s strengths—speed and passing—had turned heavy as waterlogged cotton. Cheonggu, meanwhile, were enjoying the weather. They had no intention of using skill. They simply lofted the ball, shoved with their bodies, and knocked people down.

Twentieth minute of the first half.

Gang-cheol was gasping. His kit was already caked in mud, the original color gone, and his waterlogged boots felt like lead weights.

He looked around. The faces of the Haeseong kids were pure despair. Lee Dong-hyeok wore a tearful scowl at the constantly slipping turf; Park Min-su’s shoulders sagged from the brutal physical battles. The satellites were losing orbit and crashing.

"Gang-cheol… huff, huff… It’s no good. The ball won’t go. They’re too strong…"

Lee Dong-hyeok approached, voice thick with tears. At this rate they would lose.

Gang-cheol raked wet hair from his forehead. Cold rainwater ran into his eyes, yet those eyes burned hotter than ever.

"Snap out of it."

He lightly grabbed Dong-hyeok by the collar and shook him.

"Hey, Lee Dong-hyeok. You scared of a little rain? We spilled more sweat in training than this downpour."

"But…"

"No excuses. You think they’re not tired? Look at those giants. Moving in this mud costs them twice as much as us. They’re overpacing—trying to finish it early and running like maniacs."

Gang-cheol pointed to the center circle. Cheonggu players were also bent over, hands on knees, sucking wind.

"Hold on. Just survive the first half. The second they hit the wall in the second half—that’s our world. I’ll create the space. You just run."

His low voice carried an irresistible force.

Trait: Veteran’s Composure. The soul of a regressor who had weathered countless storms dominated the children through the eyes of an eleven-year-old boy.

The first half ended 0–0. The score was level, but in pure content Haeseong had been thoroughly battered.

Halftime locker room.

Gang-cheol stripped off the soaked kit, pulled on a fresh one, and declared,

"Second-half tactics change. No short passes. I’ll drop deep and spray long balls. Dong-hyeok and Min-su—you just run forward. Their back space is wide open right now."

Second half began.

The rain had eased a little, but the pitch was still a disaster.

Cheonggu rode the first-half momentum and pressed even harder. Haeseong, however, had changed. When Gang-cheol dropped deep into the defensive line to receive, the build-up finally found breathing room.

"Get him! Stop Ma Gang-cheol!"

Cheonggu players swarmed him. But Gang-cheol never held the ball. One-touch.

Tok.

The ball left his foot, skipped the puddles, and soared. A perfectly spun long pass that leapt the swamp and landed at Lee Dong-hyeok’s feet up front.

"Counter!"

Dong-hyeok sprinted. Cheonggu defenders gave chase too late; the exhausted giants simply could not generate speed.

But the goalkeeper’s save denied them.

"Aaaah!"

Groans rose from the stands. The back-and-forth continued. Twentieth minute of the second half. Stamina hit the wall. Players began collapsing with cramps.

One chance. Just one.

Fifteenth minute of the second half. The instant Gang-cheol collected the ball near the edge of the penalty arc, a massive Cheonggu defender launched a deliberate, deep tackle. It was not aimed at the ball. It was a clear, emotion-charged murder tackle aimed at the ankle.

"Danger!"

Coach Park Tae-su shot up from the bench; Se-hui in the stands screamed and leapt to her feet.

But Gang-cheol’s eyes were ice-cold.

System slow-motion activated.

He saw the trajectory of the studs racing toward his right ankle. He could dodge. But dodging meant losing the ball, and this grinding stalemate would drag on.

Calculation finished in a heartbeat.

Don’t dodge. Instead, bleed the impact. And… perform.

Crash!

The moment the defender’s toe grazed him, Gang-cheol completely relaxed every muscle, launched himself into an exaggerated aerial arc, and slammed into the mud. Water exploded in every direction.

"Aaaaargh!"

He clutched his ankle, screamed, and rolled across the pitch. Face twisted in agony, fingertips trembling, cold sweat mixing with rain. Academy Award-worthy leading-man acting.

Peeeeep!

The referee sprinted over and produced a yellow card for the Cheonggu defender without mercy. A free kick was awarded right on the edge of the box—prime real estate.

"Gang-cheol!"

"Ma Gang-cheol!"

The Haeseong kids swarmed him. Gang-cheol gasped theatrically, one eye squeezed shut in “pain.”

"You okay? Can you get up? Hey, call a stretcher!"

Park Min-su shouted in panic.

"…No, I’m fine. Just twisted it a little. Ugh…"

At his pained groans the Cheonggu players looked thoroughly rattled. Guilt over burying the ace and fear of a red card shook their mentality. Momentum swung hard toward Haeseong in an instant.

But face-down in the mud, Gang-cheol was laughing inside.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The opponents were cowed. The rain-soaked ball was heavy. The goalkeeper’s vision was ruined by the downpour. This was the moment.

"I’m taking it."

Gang-cheol limped, staggered, and rose.

"What? Dude, you can barely walk! Sub out! How long has it been since the accident—don’t push it!"

Park Min-su tried to stop him, but Gang-cheol shook his head.

"No. I finish this. We miss this chance, we lose."

He hobbled over and set the ball down. The image was that of a tragic hero limping back onto the battlefield, the very embodiment of fighting spirit. Parents in the stands covered their mouths with tears in their eyes; reporters hammered shutters in a frenzy, already crafting the sensational headline “Injured Heroics.”

But in the front row, the girl in the yellow raincoat—Han Se-hui—narrowed her eyes.

"…Is that acting?"

She had seen it. The split-second before he fell, the tiny upward curl at the corner of his mouth. And the way the “injured” leg planted rock-solid whenever he needed balance.

Ever since his discharge she had stuck to him like gum at school, monitoring his gait twenty-four hours a day for any lingering aftereffects. Her eyes missed nothing of those micro-differences.

"You little con artist. Unbelievable."

Se-hui let out a hollow laugh, but her clenched fists were slick with sweat. That cunning bastard was about to pull something again.

Free-kick spot. Twenty-five meters from goal.

Gang-cheol drew a deep breath. The Cheonggu wall stood tense.

System, Knuckle Ball correction.

He began his run-up. The limp vanished without a trace. His plant foot locked into the mud.

Boom!

A heavy impact launched the ball.

It flew like a cannonball with zero spin, then suddenly dipped and swerved right in front of the keeper. The rain-slick ball slipped through the goalkeeper’s hands like a greasy snake.

Splash!

Goal.

Fortieth minute of the second half. A dramatic winner.

"Waaaaaah!"

The Haeseong bench erupted. Teammates charged toward him, but the moment the ball hit the net Gang-cheol collapsed again as if his legs had given out.

"Ah… it hurts… ugh."

Perfect finish.

The referee soon blew for full time. 1–0. Haeseong Elementary confirmed for the semifinals.

After the match Gang-cheol, supported by teammates, exited the mixed zone. Reporters swarmed with microphones like bees.

"Ma Gang-cheol! How’s the injury? Is it aftereffects from the traffic ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠accident?"

"Incredible fighting spirit! Just one word of comment!"

With a grave expression Gang-cheol shook his head and answered briefly.

"For the team I’d stake a leg. We’ll have to see the test results… but I won’t give up."

The reporters, visibly moved, filed their stories.

But the moment they left the chaos behind and entered the empty corridor to the players’ lounge, Gang-cheol slipped free of the supporting arms and stood straight. At the far end of the hallway, arms crossed, waited Han Se-hui.

She scanned his perfectly fine legs with icy eyes.

"…Having fun?"

"Fun with what?"

"Scamming the entire country—fun, right? You’re fine, aren’t you? When you struck that free kick your plant foot looked rock solid."

"Busted. Manager Han’s eyes really can’t be fooled. Hawk eyes, absolute hawk eyes."

Gang-cheol snickered and rotated his ankle in a full circle. Not a hint of swelling. Perfectly fine.

"You lunatic! I thought you were actually hurt—my heart almost stopped! I was debating whether to call an ambulance! How long has it even been since you got out of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the hospital?!"

Se-hui charged and smacked him hard across the back. The sharp crack echoed down the empty corridor.

"Ow! That actually hurts! Your hand hurts worse than the tackle! Are your hands spicy or are your bones spicy?"

"Don’t play the victim! Do you know how much I was shaking in the rain because of you? You con artist!"

The rims of Se-hui’s eyes were red. It wasn’t anger—she had truly been terrified. Gang-cheol dropped the teasing and looked at her rain-soaked shoulders. The hand clutching the towel she had prepared for him was trembling faintly.

"Sorry. But this way the next opponents will let their guard down. Make them think ‘Ma Gang-cheol’s injured,’ ‘He’s not at full strength,’ and the semis get easier. It’s strategy."

"You’re a real… devil. Is that something an eleven-year-old should even think? Where do you learn only the rotten stuff?"

"Winning’s what matters. Come on. Two steps left to the title."

Gang-cheol draped his own towel over Se-hui’s head and strode ahead. Grumbling, she still followed. In her eyes, worry had already given way to trust—and a touch of awe.