Chapter 109
Chapter 109
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 109
Chapter Title: vs Hoffenheim -2
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Hoffenheim was currently charging toward second place in the league, powered by Vedad Ibisevic's scoring prowess.
This stood in stark contrast to Union Berlin, where goals were distributed evenly across the team.
‘Well. Union Berlin’s setup is a bit more ideal for a team, but it’s not bad having one player go absolutely berserk like Vedad Ibisevic either.’
Vedad Ibisevic currently had 14 league goals and 4 assists—good for second in the league—after just 11 matches.
It was safe to say his form had reached its peak.
But Hoffenheim’s surge would come to an end after Ibisevic suffered an injury. In a preseason friendly during the winter break, he tore his ACL in his knee. Not only did it wipe out his second-half season, but his form dipped afterward, affecting the next season too.
In any case, once Ibisevic was out, Hoffenheim’s standings began to plummet.
It was fair to call this the limitation of a team overly reliant on a single player rather than the manager.
No matter how good a player’s condition, injuries happen naturally and tank it. Maintaining form through an injury was something only absolute monsters like Lionel Messi or Cristiano Ronaldo could pull off.
‘...Come to think of it, Messi never had a major ACL tear, huh?’
Even after eating killer tackles like they were breakfast, he stayed unscathed. Looked like Lionel Messi had a body of steel after all.
‘Short legs for the win?’
Whatever.
A star player’s injury carried the risk of results tanking, just like it had for Hoffenheim.
It was the same with Bolton after Lee Chung-ryong got hurt—their performance nosedived.
And that was exactly why Union Berlin had overinvested in their medical center.
Even with all that, they couldn’t completely prevent injuries, but it was still necessary preparation at minimum.
“Boss? What’s up today?”
“Practicing celebrations for the next match, and I pulled my hamstring.”
Might as well get some treatment while I was at it.
***
Luka Modric was satisfied with life at Union Berlin.
The Asian players here meant he was accepted without much discrimination.
Less so than for East Asians or Black players, sure.
Even among Europeans, his Eastern European roots alone made him a target for mockery sometimes.
Modric, who’d lived through war as a kid, wasn’t shaken by that crap, but it still grated on him.
‘...It’s peaceful here. Nice.’
Modric found life at Union Berlin more to his liking than expected.
And with a global megacorp moving into the Kopenick area, the city was developing fast—population influx and all.
But what Modric liked most about Union Berlin was the quality of the players he ran out with.
It was hard to believe they were a team that had just been promoted to the top flight.
Every player had outstanding stats.
In fact, before the season started, Modric had been worried.
If a promoted side like Union Berlin had players this good, how insane would the rest of the Bundesliga be? That’s what had crossed his mind.
But once the league kicked off and he checked the results, it was the opposite.
Union Berlin—the supposed prey—turned out to be the predators.
In other words, Union Berlin was a destructive force wrecking the Bundesliga ecosystem.
Modric glanced around the training pitch. Most of the guys were around his age.
Playing matches with them, he had plenty to observe and learn from his Union Berlin teammates.
Thomas Meyer always put the team first. The players from Asia stayed humble no matter what.
From Capue, he’d picked up defensive posture and the right mentality for games.
From Yanick Peitz, he’d learned how to connect with and respect the fans.
“Yanick!”
“Luka...?”
And among them, Modric was closest to Yanick Peitz.
Modric had a straight-talking personality that belied his looks.
After ripping into Peitz for slacking on defensive duties, the two had actually bonded.
But even Modric couldn’t figure out one guy.
“Why’s the boss on crutches?”
“Said he blew his hamstring practicing celebrations.”
None other than Union Berlin’s boss, Park Chan-hyuk.
‘His skills are legit, but he seems half a screw loose in the head.’
And that Park Chan-hyuk launched into a speech with his signature ‘subtle accent.’
“Everyone, do you know what ‘do’ means?”
***
A manager’s instructions need to be clear and straightforward.
Athletes aren’t exactly big on schooling, as a rule.
Use fancy words, and they might not get it.
Sure, they’re smart on average, but they probably hated hitting the books in school.
‘If they loved studying that much, they wouldn’t be pro soccer players.’
Every now and then, you get a weirdo like Kevin De Bruyne, but those are rarer than you’d think.
And that’s why great players often flop as managers.
The job demands way more studying than people realize.
Anyway.
A few days later.
Union Berlin vs. Hoffenheim kicked off.
And the team that conceded first...
“Boooooooooo─!”
Shockingly, it was Union Berlin.
***
[GOOOOOOAL! Hoffenheim slots home the opener!]
[That’s right. It’s been a while since Union Berlin conceded first.]
[Yeah. In that challenge just now, didn’t he grab the jersey? Feels like a foul to me.]
[Union Berlin center-back Dante is marching up to the ref for a heated protest.]
[Dante, protesting’s fine, but watch out for cards.]
[Oh, right as you say that! Park Chan-hyuk is protesting hard from the touchline!]
[Ah, there it is. Referee pulls out a yellow for Park Chan-hyuk.]
[Wait, what’s this? Ref looks flustered and yanks out a red card all of a sudden!?]
And at the same time.
└ Wtf, red for protesting?
└ Ref’s a racist prick?
└ Racism OUT!!
The comments section on Naver’s overseas soccer article started exploding in real time.
***
The moment we conceded, I went berserk on the touchline.
“‘Sibal!’ That’s a foul!”
One perk of time travel: I could yell “sibal” and no one clocked it as swearing.
Decades later, exploding Korean culture would sadly rob Koreans of their “sibal” and samgyeopsal.
Yeah. The world would soon cheer “sibal” in unison.
‘Kim Gu’s watching fro... Nah, not the time.’
That challenge was a foul, no question.
Ibisevic grabbed Dante’s jersey right as he jumped.
VAR would’ve called it blatant for Hoffenheim in a heartbeat.
Dante rushed the ref just like me, protesting hard.
But the ref shook his head firmly, even at Dante’s complaints.
‘Fuck, I’m seriously pushing for VAR.’
Unable to hold back, Dante kept at the ref.
“Ah! Foul!!”
Spotting the ref reaching for a card toward Dante, I amped it up louder.
Pulling the aggro my way.
“Protest more and you’re getting a yellow.”
The ref, hooked by my ‘taunt,’ stormed over to me.
“Wow! Folks!! Ref’s pulling a yellow ‘cause my skin’s yellow!!”
Seeing the ref threaten with a card, I yelled like I was wronged.
The flustered ref fumbled for a red from his pocket. I played it off as a joke to smooth things over.
Came this close to an ejection out of nowhere.
***
Same time.
‘...What the hell is that idiot doing?’
Park Jung-ah instinctively knew this mess was Park Chan-hyuk’s fault. When something bizarre went down, blaming him hit 90% accuracy.
Lately, she’d been showing up to Union Berlin matches in person more often.
Turns out, a soccer stadium was the perfect spot in Europe for business talks.
Union Berlin’s rising status helped too.
Partners who used to grimace at lower-league games now grinned and chatted eagerly about the club.
—Oh, business talk at Union Berlin’s home ground? Sounds good. Hottest club around these days.
Seeing that, Park Jung-ah naturally poured extra funds into VIP suites and lodging at the stadium.
As she clutched her head, a flushed middle-aged man approached her.
“Ahem. Any chance I could get a photo with Manager Park Chan-hyuk after the match?”
Park Jung-ah sighed inwardly at the guy.
‘...Why’s my brother more popular with men?’
Looked like marrying him off meant finding a woman into soccer.
‘...Any political families big on soccer?’
She hadn’t given up on a strategic marriage yet.
Her goal was to elevate their family to German nobility, after all.