Chapter 120
Translator 8uhl
Chapter 120
Chapter Title Back Home and Hells Schedule
Two Friendly Wins in a Row, Ibicahos First Generation Disbands.
The Taeguk Warriors Return to Their Posts.
The Future of Korean Soccer in Sight. How Far Will Ibicaho Soar?
Ibicahos Crown Prince, Yoon Taeyang.
Yoon Taeyang Heads Back to Newcastle.
AMatches 2 Games, 3 Goals, 3 AssistsAs Expected of Yoon Taeyang!
The national team wrapped up its firstever friendlies with backtoback wins over Denmark and powerhouse Netherlands, disbanding on a high note with the squad in great spirits.
Not bad at all. Keep getting better, and well see you sharper next time.
I clapped Bae Sanghyun on the shoulderhe was the closest thing I had to a friend on the teamand said my piece.
Im gonna get so good Ill have you calling me hyung instead.
That might be pushing it.
You never even think about losing, do you?
A soccer player who dwells on defeat is in trouble.
I hopped on our club owners plane once more and flew back to Newcastle upon Tyne.
Sigh.
The air felt familiar.
This place was starting to feel like homelike my real hometown.
Ah, craving some Korean food.
The tight schedule meant the national teams dedicated chef couldnt join, so wed subsisted on hotel grub.
Made sense for friendlies, but it also meant zero Korean food.
People are so fickle. In my past life, homecooked meals were a hazy memory at best, and Korean spots or even Korean marts were nowhere to be found wherever I played. Korean food never really crossed my mind.
You just adapted to the local eats. What was an orphan gonna be picky about?
But this life was different.
I had homecooked meals waiting at home, and since they were Korean, I started missing them after just a few days.
Of course, nothing was as missed as my family.
Son!!
The moment I stepped through the door, Mom enveloped me in a hug.
Im home.
Yeah, my boy! You did great!
Mom approached with a proud grin, giving my butt a couple affectionate pats.
Oh? Our eldest grandsons back?
Oh my, the grandkids here!
My two grandfathers shuffled down to the entryway to greet me.
Im home, Grandfather, Maternal Grandfather!
Yeah, yeah. You worked hard. Really worked hard raising the nations prestige.
Raising the nations prestige is a bit...
Huh? No way, thats exactly it! The whole country cheered watching our grandson play. Right, inlaw?
Damn right! Our boys got the whole nation smilingthats the epitome of raising the nations prestige! Absolutely!
Raising the nations prestige.
These days, it was a phrase you didnt hear lightly.
The era of going abroad and tooting your own horn about glory for the country was long gone.
If anything, it got slapped with the mildly derogatory label of national euphoria.
Though people still loved basking in it when things went well.
Id checked the online communities on the way homeeveryone was scrambling for booze to celebrate.
Hey, I was thrilled too.
But what was that amazing smell?
I sniffed the air, and Mom beamed.
Hungry, huh? Knew you would be, so I set the table. Go wash up and dig in.
Yes, Mom.
I hurried to scrub my hands and headed to the dining room, where a feast awaited.
Oxtail soup, spicy soybean paste stew, braised short ribs, assorted fritters, threecolor veggie banchan... and what the hell was that?
Cockle salad?
Not quite cockles, but the UKs got mudflats too, with similar shellfish. Your Maternal Grandfather found em. Tried making a salad out of em.
Whoa, never saw that coming.
Cockle salads toptier for me. No jokeif you made me pick my absolute favorite dish, Id waver between crab sauce and cockle salad.
Come to think of it, Im craving crab sauce now.
But hey, cockle salads a win. Im grateful as hell.
And then...
Oh dear, I forgot one.
Unbelievably, Mom brought out soy crab and seasoned crab.
No way... whys this here?
I gawked, and Mom explained.
Saw it at a Korean place in Londonthey make and ship nationwide. Gave it a shot, and its pretty good. You love cockles and crab with yours, right, son?
Truly...
Thats my mom.
Moms the best.
I stuffed myself silly for once.
Right then, I didnt care if I gained a few poundsI just wanted to eat my fill.
After a day of rest at home, I rejoined the squad.
Oh! Isnt that Yoon Taeyang?
I walked into the locker room, and Silva greeted me.
Matty, slacking on training but first to clock in as always. Some things never change.
Youll get it when youre my agestaying home aint all its cracked up to be.
Whatre you on about?
Youll see. Anyway, how was repping the country? Pretty sweet, right?
What else is there to say?
Silva chuckled.
Yeah, nothing beats representing your nation. Man, I had my days with the national team too.
When did Silva retire from internationals again? Point was, it was ages ago.
The older you get, the tougher it is juggling club and country, so most players bow out around their early thirties.
These days, its practically a virtue.
Gotta make way for the next gen, right?
Step aside at the right time for a smooth transition.
Bet those Dutch bastards gave you some trash talk.
Nah. If anything, they mobbed me for autographs.
No pride left in those guys?
Who knows.
I was bantering with Silva, banana in hand for breakfast, when someone strode in.
Oh, Murishi.
...Its Murishi, not a muri.
Right, Murishi. Long time. You good? Oh yeah, you got called up too, didnt you? Killed it?
Murishi had made the squad like Bae Sanghyun.
A nailedon starter got injured, opening the door for the Premier League standout.
Id been out of the loop on other nations during Amatch window, so I asked. Murishi flashed a toothy white grin.
Stomped all over those Uruguay punks.
Uruguay, huh.
You won?
Course! Illyny bagged a brace!
Right, Illynys on the national team too. Forgot about that neighborhood idiot.
Still, the guys Brazils undisputed striker.
Illynys here!
Speak of the eternal screwup.
Timing like a ghost.
Anyway, speak English, not Korean, you punk.
Oh! Taeyang! Knew youd be back, so I did Korean!
How come his English barely budges, but Korean sticks like glue?
Should hire him a tutor or something?
Good games out there, Taeyang?
Better than you.
Figured.
I was just messing with him, but he agrees so quick? Kills the fun.
Anyway, these familiar mugsseeing them trickle back one by one? Kinda nice.
With everyone assembled, training resumed, and daily life kicked off again.
Cue the league fixture Round 30 against Southampton.
I assisted Illyny and Omar for goals, but Southamptons setpiece prep bit us hardthey scored three in the second half alone, handing us a rare loss.
Thats soccer for youknow it one minute, baffling the next.
Even with rest and prep, most of our guys had jetlagged back from Amatches. Expecting 100 from us was unrealistic.
The real issue? Chelsea gap.
It was four points just a few games back now it was a measly one.
Another loss for us, win for them, and wed cede top spot.
Irony of ironies Round 31 was Chelsea.
God sure has a twisted sense of humor.
Schedules a match where three points mean way more than threeright next up.
At least we could hyperfocus on Chelsea if that was it.
Next was Champions League, not league.
Round 1 vs. PSG done, now Chelsea, then PSG Round 2.
Our doordie triple header.
No slacking on any.
Our squad was in transitiongaps between starters and bench, thin depth in spots.
Not like moneybags PSG with their player warehouse or Chelseas Milan matchup breathing room.
Abandon one comp?
Watch Tooney go full thug hooligan in a heartbeat.
But reality says no.
Gotta grit teeth through hells triple.
Frankly, no player wants to drop UCL semis push or league title.
Semis? Lifting Big Ears is every players dream. League win? Newcastles craved it for 100 years.
I could hear the gaffers hairline screaming.
Gotta grind so he scores that title bonus for a transplant.
We boarded for Paris.
Paris.
City that screams vanity.
Sure, less so now, but someones still dreaming of Eiffel Tower night views with French wine.
Except the Towers a collapse riskdemolished, new ones midconstruction. French wines all name, no gameothers surging past. Worst the citys a shithole.
Slack cops let Muslim immigrants run wild unchecked. Animal rights mean rats roam free.
Walk the streets, piss stench assaults. Subway? Peak olfactory hell.
Londons bad, but Paris takes the cake for worst city.
Why the hate?
Personally despise France.
NoParis.
No!!! PSG.
Fates prank past life, every Champs run hit PSG.
Once, my team shipped 70 in away leg 1. Not aggregatefirst leg alone.
Still pisses me off.
Fuming. Grrr.
But our Newcastle aint pushovers.
This Paris is stronger than the one I faced.
Alright, to Paris! Were conquering like Napoleon!
Plane takes off, Silva yells. Why Napoleon?
Should be Black Prince Edward or someone Newcastley.
How do I even know Edward?
Anyway...
Still reeks as ever.
Maybe imagination, but a faint stink rode the breeze.