The Forest of Giants, and Proof of Strength

Seoul World Cup Stadium, Sangam.

Today, the sacred ground of Korean football burned with a heat unlike any ordinary match day. The stands were packed to capacity, and in the VIP box, scouts in jackets emblazoned with the crests of the world's elite clubs sat with eyes sharp as eagles.

The 1st LK Global Youth Cup, hosted by the LK Group.

Total prize money: one billion won. The winning team would receive a European training camp and priority negotiation rights for professional contracts.

Drawn by those extraordinary terms, the strongest youth sides on the planet had set foot on Korean soil — Real Madrid, Barcelona, Dortmund, Manchester City, names that alone made the chest swell with awe.

And today was the long-awaited opening match.

Inside the stadium tunnel, both teams stood in formation, waiting to take the pitch. The atmosphere could not have been more different.

The Dortmund players, clad in yellow-and-black kits, were enormous to a man. Average height in the high 170s — and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more than a few stood over 180 centimeters. They chewed gum and chatted with easy leisure.

"Hey, Hans. Take a look over there. Are we playing elementary school kids?"

"They're so small I can barely see them. Better watch where we step."

The jokes traded in German carried a deep-rooted contempt for Asians and an unshakable sense of superiority.

By contrast, the Haeseong Middle players in their black kits were frozen stiff, crushed by the sheer physical presence of their opponents.

"Whoa… what are those guys? What do they even eat to get that big?"

"Are they seriously middle schoolers? One of them has a beard!"

Kim Cheol-su swallowed hard and whispered. Park Min-ho's legs were shaking too. They had prided themselves on the bodies they'd built through last winter's hellish training — but the bulk of the Germanic tank division was on another level entirely.

Then the boy standing at the front of the line turned his head. Ma Gang-cheol's gaze was calm to the point of cold.

"Don't choke. If being big meant you were good at soccer, wrestlers would be playing in the World Cup."

At the sound of his voice, the boys snapped back to themselves.

Gang-cheol locked eyes with Dortmund's captain, Johannes — a towering 182-centimeter center back. Blond hair, blue eyes. When their gazes met, Johannes flashed a crooked smile and thumped his own chest muscles. Silent provocation: You're not even worth one punch.

Gang-cheol didn't bother answering. He just smirked and faced forward.

It was a look he had endured to exhaustion in his previous life — the prejudice that physically inferior Asians, no matter how skilled, would eventually be bullied off the ball and weeded out. Unfortunately for them, the Ma Gang-cheol standing here now was no longer that frail technician from his past life.

System. Status check.

As expected. The System knows exactly what I want.

Gang-cheol clenched his fist. The past three months of near-livestock feeding under LK Food and hellish weight training had all been for this day.

Peeeeeep—!

The referee's whistle blew, and the match began.

Dortmund kicked off. The instant play started, they shoved their line terrifyingly high. This wasn't pretty football — it was a tank battalion surging forward in a mass to smash into the opposition.

Bang! Thud!

"Aaaagh!"

Three minutes in, Kim Cheol-su went flying. A shoulder challenge from an opposing midfielder sent him tumbling like a sheet of paper. The referee did not blow the whistle. It was a clean physical duel.

"Get up! Don't freeze — hit back!"

Coach Choi Mu-yeong roared from the bench, but the Haeseong boys were already drowning in fear. The moment anyone touched the ball, giants swarmed within a second. With no time to even scan the field, they could only boot it clear in panic. For the first ten minutes of the half, Haeseong was pinned in a half-court siege and battered without mercy.

"As expected… Asian teams just can't cut it."

"The physical gap is too wide. They don't even get a chance to use their technique."

Scouts in the stands clicked their tongues and shook their heads. They were about to jot down Physical Weakness in their notebooks.

Then it happened.

"Pass! Here!"

Gang-cheol received the ball near the halfway line. As if on cue, Dortmund's defensive midfielder charged in — 178 centimeters of solid muscle. He didn't slow down. He drove straight into Gang-cheol's back. Spectators screamed and squeezed their eyes shut. An impact like that could break bones.

But—

Thud!

A dull sound rang out, yet Gang-cheol did not so much as sway. The one who bounced off was the German who had crashed into him.

"Wh… what?"

The German player staggered backward from the shock of slamming into a wall. Gang-cheol stood rooted to the spot like an ancient tree. The height he had grown to 168 centimeters through the Storm Growth trait last winter, combined with high-density muscle compressed by System correction, was shining in full force.

Gang-cheol turned his back on the reeling opponent and pivoted away with casual ease. The Dortmund players' eyes went wide.

"What the hell is that kid?"

"He's a rock!"

Dortmund was rattled. The Asian kid they had assumed would fold had held his ground, and a crack opened in their pressing system. Gang-cheol did not miss it.

"Min-ho! Run!"

Gang-cheol's right foot carved the earth. A laser pass streaked forward. Park Min-ho surged onto it, but Dortmund defender Johannes stretched out a long leg and cleared it by a hair.

Tch. Fast, I'll give him that.

Gang-cheol clicked his tongue. They weren't just physical — their fundamentals were rock solid. World-class really was different. But that only made it more fun.

"Hey, Number 10! Let's go again!"

Pride wounded, the German midfielder called a teammate over for a double-team. Two giants boxed Gang-cheol in from front and back. Any ordinary player would have passed and fled. Gang-cheol planted the ball at his feet and stopped cold.

System. Activate Shielding. I'll meet the evolution conditions for you.

He dropped his upper body and shoved his hips back. Both defenders crashed into him at once.

Grit.

Gang-cheol's thigh muscles swelled as if they would burst. Over a hundred kilograms of load crushed down on his entire frame, but he clenched his jaw and held. The humiliation from his past life — being shoved off the ball on European pitches and rotting on the bench — became fuel.

I won't budge. Not ever!

As Gang-cheol held firm, every eye in the Dortmund back line locked onto him. And in that instant—

"Now."

He suddenly released his tension and spun. The two Germans, still driving with all their weight, lost their balance and tangled into each other. A Marseille turn? No — this was closer to a judo throw powered by raw strength.

With both men beaten, a vast open space yawned ahead of Gang-cheol.

"Waaaaaaaah!"

"Ma Gang-cheol! Ma Gang-cheol!"

Sangam erupted as if the stands would tear free. Scouts leapt to their feet and adjusted their binoculars.

"What is that balance? How strong is his core?"

"He doesn't go down with two guys hanging off him? Is he really fourteen?"

Gang-cheol sprinted. Dortmund's last defender, Johannes, charged out with panic written across his face. He lunged into a deep tackle — clearly intending to take the legs if he couldn't get the ball.

A red trajectory lit up in Gang-cheol's vision. He could dodge. But dodging would kill the tempo. He chose the frontal breakthrough.

System. Maximum output — Roots of the Lower Body!

The instant Johannes's tackle came in, Gang-cheol flicked the ball up and jumped. But Johannes's foot was high. Collision inevitable. In midair, Gang-cheol twisted his body, planted a foot on Johannes's shoulder, and absorbed the impact like a springboard leap.

Crash!

Johannes rolled across the turf, but Gang-cheol staggered and still stuck the landing. Wobble, tap, touch. On the razor edge of losing his balance, he somehow kept the ball alive. Zombie-like equilibrium.

One-on-one with the keeper. Gang-cheol did not hesitate. The German goalkeeper rushed out to narrow the angle, but Gang-cheol sold the shot with his eyes and smashed it hard toward the near post.

Bang!

The ball skimmed past the keeper's ear and ripped into the net as if it would tear the mesh apart.

The net bulged.

The 35th minute of the first half. A opening goal that punched a hole straight through the pride of the tank division. There was no celebration. Gang-cheol simply wiped his sweat and looked down at Johannes, who stood staring blankly. Then, in fluent German, he said quietly:

Johannes's face went red as a beet. The Asian kid he had assumed would speak English had just spat out a perfect German taunt. In truth, Gang-cheol had studied German thoroughly in his previous life to break into the Bundesliga. The move itself had failed — but the language had stayed with him intact.

"You… you little—"

Johannes scrambled up, seething, but the referee stepped in and held him back. Gang-cheol turned away at his leisure. In the stands, Team Leader Choi Hyeon-seok's jaw hung open.

"Chairman… did you see that? That monster?"

Chairman Lee Dae-su laughed heartily and clapped.

"I saw. He crushed the big ones with pure strength. I thought he'd slip away with technique, but… he's far more of a handful than I expected."

The chairman's eye was sharp. Today Gang-cheol had not simply scored a goal. He had delivered the clearest possible message to every scout on earth: I do not lose on physique. No — I dominate it.

The match ended 2–1. Dortmund clawed back a goal in the second half and pressed hard, but in the dying moments Kim Cheol-su finished a killer pass from Gang-cheol for the winner. Cheol-su, as Gang-cheol's hell-training partner, had bulked up considerably himself.

When the final whistle blew, the Haeseong players threw their arms around each other and roared. Beating the so-called strongest youth side in the world — and doing it strength against strength — planted enormous confidence in the boys.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Gang-cheol declined interviews and headed for the locker room. In the corridor he crossed paths with the Dortmund manager. The mustached German coach called him over.

"Hey, Number 10. A moment."

Gang-cheol stopped. The coach skipped the interpreter and asked directly in English.

"What's your name?"

"Ma Gang-cheol."

"You've got a fine body. That balance is fantastic. Ever thought about playing in Germany? Our youth system is the best in the world."

An on-the-spot scouting offer. Team Leader Choi Hyeon-seok beside them nearly had a heart attack and started forward, but Gang-cheol cut in first.

"I appreciate the offer."

He refused politely, but firmly.

"I still have quests to clear… no, teams I still need to beat. I'll think about it once this tournament is over."

"Hah. Arrogant little brat. Fine — see you in the final… ah, wait. We lost, so I suppose we won't."

The coach gave a bitter smile, clapped Gang-cheol on the shoulder, and walked on. Gang-cheol opened the locker room door. The boys erupted in cheers and doused him with water.

"Captain! That was insane! When did you learn German? That was pure swagger!"

"Dude, the rush when you sent that giant flying was unreal!"

The locker room was pure festival. But Gang-cheol did not get carried away. He pulled up the System window.

A pretty solid haul. But this was only the beginning. Next up were the tacticians of England — Manchester City. And beyond them waited the Spanish sides, the pinnacle of pure technique.

I've proven the strength. Now it's a battle of minds.

Gang-cheol peeled off his soaked kit and looked at himself in the mirror. Across his solid abs, the medals of victory were carved in clear relief — bruises and scrapes. Pain was just another name for growth. Today, once again, he had broken through a shell.

High in the stands, Han Se-hui looked down over the emptying stadium and scribbled something in her notebook.

Se-hui smirked and closed the notebook.

"Nice work, partner. But keeping the German from me too, huh? Next time I'll buy you tteokbokki and make you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠spill everything."

In her eyes, curiosity about Gang-cheol and the certainty of an agent had both grown deeper still. The world might be wide — but for Gang-cheol, she was starting to think it might already feel small.