U20 World Cup (6)
The U20 World Cup final.
The England U20 players were even bigger than I had imagined. Every last one of them had a frame like Do Woojun, Kim Minjun, or Hong Seoin, and their muscle mass alone set them apart. They looked like combat machines. I was hardly small, yet most of them looked down on me.
I felt it on the pitch, too.
Thud.
"Huh?"
Their strength was so overwhelming that even a routine physical challenge sent me tumbling across the grass. I had never experienced anything like it. Until now I had played football while avoiding physical battles as much as possible, and even when contact came, it had never been stronger than Kim Minjun.
Still, I can handle this.
No matter how much stronger they were than Minjun, physicality wasn't everything. If one approach failed, I just had to find another solution.
Tenth minute of the first half. The opening goal of the final came off Hong Seoin's foot.
When Korea kept losing the ball inside the box, they recycled possession outside it, hunting for a long-range shooting chance. The one that finally sat perfectly was Hong Seoin's strike from distance.
The ball found the one place the keeper's hands couldn't reach. But England refused to sit still. Showing exactly why they had reached the final, they carved out chances with clean, clinical build-up play and hammered long-range shots with absurd ankle power.
It was, honestly, unstoppable. They hit it from well over thirty meters. I could manage the distance myself, but the power and speed flew like a laser. Even as a spectator you had to swallow it—there was nothing to say.
We'll just have to score again.
Football is a battle of momentum. Once it slips away, you take it back.
Yumin floated the cross a half-step behind me. England's defender, clearly aware of what I could do, closed me down immediately so I couldn't receive it. But that was exactly why the ball had been delivered slightly behind.
Of course. The tactics are sharp, and Yumin knows me well.
I timed it perfectly, tapping the ball with the outside of my foot to drop it into the space behind. The other defender, free of any false step, lunged to clear—and in that instant I pulled the ball back toward my body as if lifting it.
One touch and a burst of acceleration left me clean through on the goalkeeper. A half-beat early, I struck with my left foot—outside of the instep. The keeper, expecting a right-footed shot, had no chance of recovering his balance. The ball was in.
But a final is a final. The match had a long way still to run.
When is a football match at its most entertaining?
The final of a world tournament? A dramatic late winner in stoppage time? A historic rivalry like a Korea–Japan match?
All of those can qualify, and it differs from person to person—but for me, the most thrilling moment is when the balance is so perfect that no one knows who will win. A balanced match is one where every time one side scores, the other answers and stays in the chase. You watch on the edge of your seat because either team could take it, and everyone is pouring everything they have into the pitch, so boredom is impossible.
Whenever I watched overseas leagues, the matches where goals kept raining were always the most fun. The process itself was a joy to watch, and goals are the lifeblood of the game.
That was exactly what the Korea–England U20 final had become.
Ninetieth minute of the second half. Score: 4–4. Truly ferocious. The spectators had no idea who would win, and the players on the pitch were running themselves into the ground for victory.
I honestly hadn't expected us to concede this many, but the England U20 players' physiques and ankle power were absurd. Every time they shot it was as if they had cannons strapped to their feet, and Lee Juwon was forced into desperate save after desperate save. Without him, double-digit goals against us would not have been surprising.
That didn't mean our defense had failed. Far from it. The shots from thirty-plus meters and the angles they manufactured—the entire sequence of play—had simply been perfect. The defenders had done nothing wrong.
At this rate we're heading to extra time, maybe even penalties.
No goal came in stoppage time, and the match went to extra time.
First period of extra time. Now it was a battle of will. Even with daily conditioning, running beyond ninety minutes was exhausting by nature. After a brief but heavy exchange of words in the locker room, extra time began.
We were the same species of human. As tired as we were, they were tired too. That seemed to be true—the long-range shots had lost some of their sting. Juwon gathered them comfortably, and my own shots had visibly weakened as well. We weren't missing clear-cut chances, but in a match where every player was locked in, those chances simply never arrived.
In the end, it went to penalties.
…So it really came to this.
I hadn't expected the thought that crossed my mind at the end of the second half to become reality. The flow now was similar to my previous life—a fierce contest, uneventful extra time, then a penalty shootout. If it was this, I could offer some advice.
"Juwon."
"What is it?"
"When you face PKs or free kicks, you watch and dive, right?"
"Of course."
"Good. That's a relief. But if you're not sure—dive right. England players like the right side."
"Hmm. Understood."
A coin toss luckily put the shootout at the end with more of our fans. Penalties are called a skill, but in my view they're just a thirty-three percent roll of the dice. Hit it hard enough and it goes in off a fingertip; sell the fake well enough and even a soft shot finds the net.
Boom—!
Hong Seoin, first up, shattered the crushing pressure and buried his kick. Honestly, unless nerves send the ball into the stands, a PK is brutally hard for a keeper to stop. Even knowing the direction, saves are far from guaranteed.
Boom—!
Which is to say: even when Juwon read it and dived left, there were times he still couldn't keep it out.
…Close.
My turn next. Nothing to be nervous about. I picked my corner without hesitation and rolled it home. The thought of being saved never crossed my mind.
Their next taker converted as well—2–2. Seong Yumin strolled up and finished with total ease. Then England's third kicker stepped forward.
The instant the ball left his foot, Juwon launched himself to the right. The dive looked predetermined, and his fingertips clawed away a shot aimed deep into the corner.
Not yet.
Too early to celebrate. They might still save ours. But Han Seonwoo slotted his with pure confidence, and when England's fourth kicker struck, Juwon dived right again and kept it out.
"Wooooaaaaahhhhh!!!!"
"Lee Juwon!! Lee Juwon!!"
"Guys!!! You did it!!!!"
"…"
The roar erupted once more. Players broke into joyful smiles and sprinted together toward the goal.
"…"
I stood there blankly for a long moment before it finally sank in.
We had won. Korea had beaten England.
We won.
The future had changed. In the original timeline, Korea had lost this very shootout and settled for runners-up. Now they had beaten England. Not silver—gold. At a world tournament. The U20 World Cup.
Hong Seoin, still on the pitch, threw an arm around my shoulders and ran with me toward the stands.
"Ddolgaeng-a, we won this thing."
"…Yeah. We won."
In that moment, the smile that spread across my face was brighter than any I usually wore.