The Wailing Wall of the Semifinals
La Serena, Chile.
Estadio La Portada.
The U-17 World Cup semifinal.
South Korea's opponent was the "Panzer Division" itself — Germany.
Before kickoff, the locker room was a grim sight.
Nothing like the energy of the previous matches. Groans drifted from every corner.
"Ugh..."
"Tape it tighter. My ankle won't turn."
Captain Lee Jin-yong had ice packs wrapped thick around his thigh, while winger Park Min-su dry-swallowed painkillers without water.
The price of clawing through the Group of Death and then waging a bloodbath against Brazil in the quarterfinals had been brutal.
Half the starting lineup was carrying injuries large and small, and their stamina was already scraped down to nothing.
"......"
Gang-cheol watched his teammates in silence.
Through the system's eyes, their status windows burned red with [WARNING] and [DANGER] markers.
Lee Jin-yong:Stamina 40% (Risk of Muscle Cramp)
Oh Dong-sik:Ankle Ligament Damage (Holding On with Painkillers)
Park Min-su:On the Brink of Exhaustion
The German locker room across the hall was a different world entirely.
They were like robots.
A meticulous rotation system had conserved their stamina, and that trademark Germanic physicality looked untouched — not a scratch on them.
Their eyes were cold. Like machines stripped of emotion, soldiers programmed for a single mission: victory.
Coach Kim Tae-hoon came in and clapped, but the sound rang hollow.
"Alright. This is the last one. The final is right there. Hang on with pure will!"
The players forced out a shout — "Yeah!" — but there was no power in their voices.
Willpower might rule the flesh, but limits were real, and they were staring one in the face.
Gang-cheol stood up.
He didn't crack his usual jokes — no "Don't freeze up" or "I'll handle everything."
Instead, he clamped a firm hand on Captain Lee Jin-yong's shoulder.
"Hyung. Just don't go down."
His eyes were more serious than they had ever been.
"Just stay on your feet out there. I'll figure out the rest somehow."
Resolve.
That was how Gang-cheol walked into the semifinal.
Peeeeeep—!
First half, kickoff.
Germany's football wasn't flashy. They didn't dance like Brazil or sprint like madmen the way France did.
But it was suffocating.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Like a giant industrial press closing in.
The German players held their spacing with mechanical precision and squeezed the Korean side.
"Pass! Faster!"
The moment a Korean defender panicked and tried to circulate the ball, a German attacker was already cutting off the lane.
Organized high pressing. Gegenpressing.
Tenth minute of the first half.
The thing everyone had feared finally broke.
Oh Dong-sik, nursing that bad ankle, slipped as he went to receive the ball.
Germany's defensive midfielder Schneider snapped it up.
"Counter!"
The German break was clean and simple.
Three passes.
No wasted motion. No excess.
Before the Korean back line could even recover, striker Müller unleashed a shot from inside the penalty box.
Bang!
South Korea 0 : 1 Germany
A goal so hollow it barely felt real.
No one had made a mistake. The opponent had simply been too perfect.
Oh Dong-sik couldn't lift his head for the shame.
"I'm sorry... my legs just wouldn't move..."
"It's fine! Don't worry about it!"
Gang-cheol shouted, but the mood had already plummeted.
Germany didn't celebrate after scoring.
They simply walked back to their positions in silence and reset their shape. As if to say, This was the expected result.
That icy composure crushed the Korean players worse than any taunt.
This isn't a wall you can break with individual skill.
Gang-cheol clenched his teeth.
The flip-flap from the Brazil match? These German kids wouldn't bite.
They didn't watch the ball — they watched the torso. And the second you beat one man, another was already standing right behind him.
A true Wailing Wall.
Thirtieth minute of the first half.
Gang-cheol fought like a man possessed.
He took the ball in midfield and tried to wriggle free of the press.
Three German players closed around him.
He slipped out with that trademark flexibility of his — but there was nowhere to go.
His teammates' legs were too heavy. No one was making runs into the open spaces.
"Run! Move, damn it, please!"
Gang-cheol screamed as he threaded a pass, but winger Park Min-su was a step too late.
The ball rolled harmlessly out of play.
Park Min-su dropped to one knee and dry-heaved.
"Hah... hah... sorry... I can't run..."
Isolation.
Gang-cheol was utterly alone.
On the German bench, the manager stood with his arms folded, smiling with quiet satisfaction.
"Isolate Korea's number seven. The other ten are as good as corpses."
The tactic was working to perfection.
Halftime. 0–1.
The locker room felt like a funeral parlor.
The medical staff bustled around with massages and cooling sprays, but it wasn't enough to rekindle a dying flame.
Gang-cheol sat with a towel draped over his head.
He was angry. At his teammates? No. At himself.
If I'd just been a little better. If I could dribble past all eleven like Messi and score...
But reality was merciless. Football was not a one-man game.
No. It's not over yet.
Gang-cheol lifted his head.
The light in his eyes still burned.
"Hyungs. Just once."
He stood.
"Just once — trust me and run yourselves into the ground. I'll make the chance."
Second half.
Gang-cheol started running like a madman.
Pacing himself? He threw that garbage to the dogs.
He dropped all the way into the defensive third to collect the ball, then drove it forward again.
His activity level looked ready to shatter the tracking meter.
Fifteenth minute of the second half.
A miracle happened.
Gang-cheol launched a solo dribble from the halfway line.
He shredded the German midfield line with pure speed.
"Stop him!"
Two German center-backs stepped in to close the gate.
Gang-cheol threw his body between them.
Collision.
Any ordinary player would have gone down — but Gang-cheol held his footing through his [Balance (S)] trait.
Staggering, he never lost the ball.
Then, dead center of the arc.
No shooting angle. Defenders packed tight.
But Gang-cheol's eyes found a gap no wider than a needle's eye.
There.
His right foot cracked through the ball.
Not a curler. A cannonball of a long-range strike.
The ball punched through the defenders' legs, grazed the goalkeeper's fingertips, and buried itself in the far corner.
KWAANG—!
South Korea 1 : 1 Germany
"UAAAAAAAH!!!!"
Gang-cheol roared.
A raw, desperate cry that strained the veins in his neck.
His teammates staggered over and threw their arms around him. It was a hug soaked in tears.
A goal that slapped a defibrillator onto a dying Korean side.
But.
The gods were cruel.
Thirtieth minute of the second half.
Captain Lee Jin-yong went down.
Contesting a header with a German attacker, his muscle seized on the landing.
Hamstring tear.
"No..."
Lee Jin-yong wept as they carried him off on a stretcher.
The heart of the defense was gone.
The first-year defender who came on was far too young, and he froze solid under the German press.
Fortieth minute of the second half.
Germany did not miss the opening. With cold, almost sadistic precision, they hammered Korea's weakened left flank over and over.
A cross.
Then a header.
The net bulged.
South Korea 1 : 2 Germany
The winner, five minutes from the end.
The Korean players collapsed where they stood. They didn't even have the strength to get up.
"Get up! There's still time! Five minutes left!"
Only Gang-cheol was still shouting, alone.
He scooped up the ball and sprinted back to the center circle.
But the light in his teammates' eyes was already dead.
Four minutes of stoppage time.
One last chance.
Right side of the arc. Free kick.
Gang-cheol set the ball down.
Distance: twenty-five meters.
Everyone held their breath. Score, and it was extra time. Miss, and they were out.
Gang-cheol drew a deep breath.
His legs were shaking. Even his [Iron Stamina] had hit its limit.
But he focused.
Every memory from his past life, every sensation from this one — he poured it all into the tip of his foot.
Please... just once.
Thwack!
The ball left his foot.
A beautiful trajectory.
Over the wall, curling toward the far corner of the goal.
The German keeper could only stand and watch.
It's in... — the thought had barely formed when—
CLANG—!
A dull metallic ring.
The ball smashed off the top of the post and bounced cruelly away.
"Aaaaaah......"
A collective groan swallowed the stadium.
And then.
Peeeeeep—!
The referee's final whistle.
That merciless sound rolled across the pitch.
The Korean players crumpled onto the grass. Wails erupted.
"Hic... no..."
Gang-cheol stared blankly at the goalpost.
He could still feel it vibrating.
One centimeter.
That was the difference between winning and losing.
Gang-cheol dropped to his knees.
Tears surged out of him.
It burned. It burned so badly he could barely breathe.
If I'd just been a little stronger. If I'd buried that last free kick...
The arrogance of a regressor shattered into pieces.
He felt it in his bones — football was not something you played alone.
German players came over and patted his shoulder.
"Hey, great game."
"You are the best player I've ever seen."
Even the comfort didn't reach him.
Gang-cheol buried his face in the grass and cried for a long time.
The awards ceremony.
Champions: Germany. Runners-up: Nigeria, who had knocked out Brazil. (The third-place match was skipped.)
Korea finished fourth.
But the real star of the podium was someone else entirely.
The FIFA president took the microphone.
"Although his team did not reach the final, the performance this player delivered was the most shocking of this tournament — no, in the entire history of the U-17 World Cup."
The hall went quiet.
"The adidas Golden Ball. Tournament Most Valuable Player."
"Korea — Ma Gang-cheol!"
"WAAAAAAAH!!!"
The crowd rose in a standing ovation.
Gang-cheol climbed the stage with swollen eyes.
A golden trophy was placed in his hands.
The Golden Ball.
The highest honor, one that legends like Messi and Maradona had once claimed.
But there was no smile on Gang-cheol's face.
He tucked the Golden Ball under his arm and stared at the championship trophy the German players were hoisting high.
That look in his eyes.
It wasn't envy.
It was venom.
Remember this, Ma Gang-cheol.
Never forget this defeat. Never forget this rage.
This wound would not become a scar.
It would harden into callus.
Camera flashes erupted.
The Gang-cheol captured in those photographs left a far more searing impression than any victor.
Gang-cheol clenched his fist tight.
Now it was back to Europe. Back to Ajax.
That was where it would begin again.
And someday, when he returned to the World Cup stage — he would be the one lifting that trophy. Without fail.
U-17 World Cup chapter complete.
Hidden Reward Granted: 'World-Class Potential'
All stat limits UNLOCKED.
Your growth now has no ceiling.
On the plane.
Gang-cheol wiped his tears as he stared out the window.
Boyhood was over.
The real professional world was waiting for him now.