We Came for the Gold (4)
Fortieth minute of the first half.
The electronic scoreboard glowed with a deadlocked scoreline: 1–1.
“It’s a slugfest! First the opener from Lee Han, and now Nauzinho’s equalizer!”
“Both sides are trading blow for blow in relentless waves of attack! Absolute ferocity out there on the pitch!”
Befitting a final with nowhere left to retreat, every man on the pitch ran as if his life depended on it. When Lee Han drove forward on a dribble, Nauzinho answered in turn, displaying dazzling individual skill to carve up the Korean defense. Fullbacks clashed in midfield dogfights, while midfielders shuttled back and forth between penalty boxes again and again within mere minutes.
To an untrained eye, it might have looked like an even contest, but a closer examination revealed Brazil’s distinct superiority. South Korea was withstanding the onslaught purely through attrition—spending their conserved stamina to take one more stride, throwing their bodies on the line to get a head to the ball one more time.
Under normal circumstances, sheer grit and work rate could never contain Brazil’s attack. Yet Brazil had no choice but to keep their defensive line deep, wary of South Korea’s frontline spearhead—Lee Yeon—whose predatory movement threatened to breach their backline at any second.
“Are you going to let the half end like this?! Attack! Move!”
From the Brazilian technical area, Manager Ticello’s furious, screeching voice echoed across the stadium. His players had retreated on their own accord, rattled by the threat of Lee Yeon's off-the-ball runs, but Ticello had never intended for their backline to sink so drastically.
“There’s no one back there who can deliver a pass to him anyway!”
Korea’s midfielders had dropped deep into their own territory, leaving nobody in the middle of the pitch capable of spraying pinpoint long balls forward. Brazil needed to stay on the front foot and secure an advantage—whether on the scoreboard or in momentum—before halftime, so seeing his entire team cowed into dropping deep by a single player infuriated him. Taking his furious orders to heart, Brazil’s backline began nudging their line forward, and tangible results followed in short order.
“Nauzinho! He’s swapped flanks! He’s launching the attack from the right this time!”
Immediately following a Brazilian corner, Korean defensive midfielder Kim Jeong-uk was dispossessed while attempting to break on the counter. Having drifted right for the set piece, Nauzinho found himself wide open; when the ball was turned over, a single crisp touch from his teammate sent him slicing straight into the penalty box completely unchallenged. Despite the frantic lunges of the Korean defenders, Nauzinho navigated the crowded box with effortless grace. Reaching point-blank range, he targeted the narrow corridor between the goalkeeper and the near post and whipped his shot home.
“Ah... right at the death of the first half, Nauzinho secures his brace.”
“South Korea struck first, but now they find themselves trailing!”
“I hope our players don’t lose heart here...”
The moment the ball rippled the net, Lee Yeon bolted into the goal, snatched the ball up, and carried it back.
“There’s still stoppage time! We level this before halftime, you hear me?!”
He dashed to the center circle and slammed the ball onto the spot. Watching him, the rest of the squad shook off their dejection, realizing time was not yet up, and quickly fell back into formation.
As soon as Brazil’s celebrations concluded, Korea took the kickoff without a second's delay. With stoppage time already ticking down to the wire, there was no reason to pass backward.
“Push up! Everyone, push up!”
That single shout freed Lee Taeha, who had been orchestrating play from deep to relieve pressure, as well as the wingers and fullbacks who had been pinned back defending, unleashing them all into the attacking half.
“Jin-ho! Take it and lay it off!”
Lee Taeha uncorked an audacious pass he had held in reserve all half. The ball floated cleanly to left winger Jung Jin-ho's feet. Rather than engaging the converging Brazilian defender, Jin-ho followed Taeha’s instruction and immediately fed the ball to Lee Yeon, who had raced over in support.
How did Nauzinho do it again?
Let's make it flashier than his goal.
Without hesitation, Lee Yeon drove forward with the ball at his feet. Nudging the ball away from the touchline, he left an oncoming Brazilian fullback grasping at shadows with a dazzling phantom dribble.
This was entirely different from being isolated up front as he had been throughout the first half. Having to track multiple Korean runners had stretched Brazil's defensive gaps, and their legs were growing heavy. Having endured suffocating pressure from every angle, this much space was child's play. He carved out shooting lanes with fluid, relentless footwork. As Brazilian midfielder Balançon rushed in to help, Yeon flicked the ball cleanly over his head, swatted away the grasping hand trying to haul him back, and cushioned the falling ball right on his instep.
“A rainbow flick! An immaculate rainbow flick against Brazil of all teams!”
“Balançon is left utterly dumbfounded! He doesn’t even know who to complain to!”
Only the center-backs remained. Having just witnessed Balançon get humiliated, they braced themselves to stop Yeon's penetration at all costs. As if indulging their expectations, Lee Yeon scooped the ball up with his heel once more.
“Block him!”
“Close him down!”
Brazil's center-back and tracking midfielder shouted in unison, but the directions they pointed in were in total conflict: one pointed toward the goalmouth, while the other pointed outside the box.
Lee Yeon did not chase after the ball he had lofted. He merely stood at the edge of the box, calmly watching the ball trace a gentle arc through the air. The center-back stepped up to close Yeon down, falling completely for the feint—and through the resulting breach, a figure in red surged at blistering speed.
“Ahn Jaehyun! He’s breaking through!”
“No offside! Perfectly onside!”
“He’s one-on-one with the keeper!”
Plagued by finishing woes for so long, Ahn Jaehyun met the ball with only a single piece of advice echoing in his mind—the lesson Lee Yeon had hammered into him over and over:
“Softly! Never blast it—scoop it upward!”
“Hey, you make it sound easy! That’s only because it’s you—”
“I fixed a bastard whose touch was way more hopeless than yours. If I could fix him, you’re an easy fix.”
“Who was it?”
“Someone. So shut your mouth and do what I tell you. What, don’t you want a gold medal?”
“...”
He might not execute it with the master’s perfection, but against a scrambling goalkeeper rushing out to narrow the angle, even a crude imitation would be lethal.
—Thwack.
It was the chip shot Lee Yeon loved to deploy. It was undeniably rough around the edges compared to Yeon's, and had the angle been off by a fraction of a degree or struck a touch too hard, it might have sailed harmlessly into the stands. But none of that mattered. Because the ball, traveling just a fraction quicker than Yeon’s trademark floater, dropped cleanly into the back of the net.
At the end of the day, as long as it went in, the aesthetics didn't matter.
“Stoppage time in the first half! We are back on level terms!”
“A sublime chip shot we have never once seen from Ahn Jaehyun! It explodes onto the stage in an Olympic final!”
The second the ball hit the net, Ahn Jaehyun sprinted straight toward Lee Yeon, the man who had beaten the touch into him.
“See? Told you it’d work.”
“You were so damn right, it pisses me off!”
“Be grateful.”
“Thank you sooo very much!”
Yeon had taken Lee Han—a man whose feet had once been an absolute disaster—and drilled him all season until he could handle the ball at an amateur standard. Polishing the finishing of Ahn Jaehyun, who despite his bad reputation still possessed the natural ball-striking feel of a professional winger, had taken hardly any time at all.
“It’s tied!”
“Drag the celebration out as long as possible!”
“Burn clock so the whistle blows the second they kick off! Keep celebrating!”
And just as the Korean players had plotted, the shrill whistle signaling the end of the first half blew the moment Brazil restarted play. As both squads headed down the tunnel at 2–2, their expressions were a study in pure contrast.
“Ah, Brazil... Nauzinho’s shot skies wildly over the crossbar!”
“As we enter the closing stages of the second half, Brazil’s fatigue is glaringly apparent. A wild miss like that happens when the legs are gone and you can’t get proper purchase on the strike.”
Past the 80th minute.
It was only natural that every man on the pitch was running on fumes. Brazil had endured extra time in their semifinal, and having pressed with blistering intensity since the opening whistle, they were now far more depleted than a Korean side that had rationed their energy through deep defending.
“Starting to feel a little easier to breathe out here, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. Tell me about it.”
Brazil’s trademark rhythm had evaporated, dragging the tempo of the entire match down into a quagmire. Having brought on fresh defensive midfielders, South Korea used their high work rate to hound the Brazilians and suffocate the pace of the game. The very fact that Lee Taeha and Choi Seokhyun had the leisure to exchange casual words before a throw-in showed just how much the pace had dropped compared to the first half.
“Substitution!”
At last, Brazil unsheathed their blade. And in rather extreme fashion.
▲ IN: Rex Nelly | ▼ OUT: Balançon
▲ IN: Deran Santos | ▼ OUT: Berto Carlos
▲ IN: Aldemia da Silva | ▼ OUT: Alto Gomez
Save for defensive midfielder Rex Nelly, Manager Ticello’s substitutions were overwhelmingly offensive. And considering that Rex Nelly was practically a box-to-box midfielder in truth, it was tantamount to an all-out declaration of attack. Attacking midfielder Aldemia replaced left midfielder Alto to link up with Cardoso in spearheading attacks, while backup striker Deran was thrown on for central midfield anchor Berto—a brazen gamble that sacrificed midfield balance for pure firepower.
Flooding the box with bodies signaled a tactical pivot: rather than patiently dissecting the defense with intricate passing, Brazil was opting for a direct, physical barrage on Korea’s net.
“Keep it simple!”
“No dribbling! Pump it forward!”
Korea’s backline was already stretched to its limits trying to contain the Brazilian offensive. With fresh, energized attackers buzzing into the final third, shutting down crosses at the source was virtually impossible.
“Defend! Han, get back on defense too!”
Manager Kim Shin-tae had already spent his defensive substitutions early, leaving him with no further cards to play.
...Is this right?
Under ordinary circumstances, dropping Han into the box for crosses and corners would be an invaluable defensive asset. The problem was that the man occupying the body right now wasn't Han.
Hey.
—...
If you want that gold medal, get out here right now for the rest of the game!
—...
The little figure in his mind offered no reply.
Damn it.
While Lee Yeon agonized, Nauzinho deflected the ball off Kim Ilwon’s leg to win a corner. Every single Brazilian substitute possessed considerable height, making this set piece infinitely more perilous than any in the first half. Cardoso, taller even than Lee Han, lurked right behind him, while Nauzinho hovered near the near post, ready to snip the cross before anyone else. To make matters worse, the newly introduced Rex Nelly was taking the kick; for Yeon, whose aerial duels relied heavily on reading a player’s tells and movements, predicting the trajectory of an unfamiliar kicker's delivery was a nightmare.
It was an absolute disaster.
To his dismay, the referee blew his whistle without giving them a moment to get organized. Rex took his run-up and whipped the ball in from the quadrant.
Crap...!
Perhaps energized by fresh legs, the ball curled viciously into the box with a crisp trajectory, leagues ahead of the sloppy deliveries seen earlier in the half. Even if he jumped right now, he wasn't certain his head could reach it.
And right at that moment—
The awkward posture that had been preparing to leap shifted.
A subtle twist of the right ankle; without a shred of hesitation, a cunning nudge pressed down on Nauzinho, simultaneously suppressing his jump and cutting off his path to the ball. Then came the leap—soaring a full head higher than Cardoso rising behind him. The ball that had seemed hopelessly out of reach was met serenely with the center of his forehead.
The trajectory bent precisely as intended.
“Run, everyone!”
At Lee Han’s commanding roar, every red shirt broke into a sprint. Lee Taeha brought down the ball Han had deliberately steered his way with exquisite control.
“Lee Han! A clinical defensive clearance! And South Korea launches a lightning counterattack!”
“Lee Taeha! He controls the clearance and takes off on the drive! Two Brazilian defenders against three Korean attackers!”
“Wait! Lee Han, who was just in his own penalty box, has already crossed the halfway line! Now it's four on two! Korea's entire attacking vanguard has swarmed into the Brazilian half!”
Brazil’s two center-backs fought frantically to position themselves between the runners, desperate to stem the onslaught. As Lee Taeha checked his run near the edge of the area, the defenders managed to track the other forward runs. What they could not stop was Lee Han, bearing down on them at a speed that defied his towering frame.
“Go!”
Taeha struck the ball with the outside of his boot, whipping vicious spin onto it. Travelling at waist height, the cross sliced right past the center-back’s hip and curled into the heart of the box. Reading the trajectory in an instant, Lee Han threw himself forward in a diving plunge.
—BOOM!
The ferocity of the whipped delivery colliding with the sheer momentum of Han’s diving header produced a thunderous crack. Faster than any drilled volley, the header arrowed straight into the top corner of the net.
—Ripppp!
Traveling with such blinding velocity that the goalkeeper only turned his head when the net snapped taut, the ball nearly ripped through the cords, shaking the entire frame of the goal.
“WOOOOAAAAHHH! TURNAROUND! SOUTH KOREA TAKES THE LEAD!”
“Eighty-ninth minute! Right before stoppage time, Lee Han delivers a goal worth pure gold to turn the match on its head!”
“That awkward waist-high delivery proved no obstacle for him! An immaculate curling cross from Lee Taeha capped by an unbelievable diving header!”
Distraught at the precious seconds ticking away, the Brazilian players rushed to protest the prolonged celebration, but the Koreans had no intention of obliging.
“Bawk... bawk-bawk-bawk!”
A celebration mimicking chickens pecking for feed was pure, calculated provocation, grating on Brazilian nerves to no end. Having thoroughly burned the clock into stoppage time, the Korean players finally strolled back into their half, and Brazil hastily restarted the match.
“The gold medal is truly within touching distance for South Korea!”
“Five minutes of stoppage time! Just five minutes to endure, and the color of Korea’s Olympic football medal will be decided!”
Brazil pushed their goalkeeper out of his area and hurled every center-back into the attack. Yet as is always the case, haste only breeds ruin.
“Ah! Cardoso! The header goes wide!”
“Nauzinho retrieves the loose ball and unleashes a shooot—!”
Nauzinho sought his hat trick, but the strike was tame, floating comfortably right into the arms of goalkeeper Jung Won-wook.
“Don’t waste time!”
“Get up!”
Though the shot had drifted in softly, Jung Won-wook collapsed onto the turf as if he had absorbed a cannonball. As an overage wildcard, he knew precisely how to get under the opposition's skin. Brazilian players tugged furiously at his jersey, urging him to get to his feet, but it was entirely in vain.
—Tweet! Tweet-tweet!
Jung Won-wook for time-wasting and Nauzinho for dissent both received yellow cards. It was utter, desperate warfare from both sides. Only after bleeding away another thirty seconds did Jung Won-wook finally take his goal kick.
Slicing through the air across the pitch, the ball met Lee Han’s head and dropped straight to Lee Taeha. Knowing full well why Han had flicked the ball to him, Taeha squeezed out the very last drops of his energy to sprint toward the Brazilian corner flag and trap the ball. The allotted stoppage time on the electronic board had expired long ago, and the Brazilian defenders arriving late could do nothing to wrest the ball from his shielding back.
Taking in the scene, the referee finally raised the whistle to his lips.
—Peeeeeep! Peep! Peeeeeeeep!
The Korean coaching staff and substitutes, who had been poised on the touchline ready to erupt, spilled onto the pitch. A sea of red jerseys flooded the grass.