Crossing the Line
The moment the Southampton–Liverpool match ended, Korea erupted.
Article after article poured out, heaping praise on Jung Hyuk and Oh Jung-hoon.
Korean soccer fans were pouring attention onto Jung Hyuk and Oh Jung-hoon.
And yet the man receiving all that attention was training exactly as he always did.
Hoo…
Jung Hyuk finished the morning session and let out a long breath. Online and offline he was drowning in attention, but his daily life hadn’t changed at all—dorm to training ground and back, nothing but relentless focus. He barely registered the noise. In his previous life he had already lived as a World Class star; the current frenzy was just another familiar routine.
Oh Jung-hoon was a different story. He had spent the entire morning reading every article and every comment, and throughout training his face stayed flushed with excitement.
…Kid’s flying high.
Jung Hyuk let out a quiet snort. It wasn’t a real problem. Oh Jung-hoon had genuinely performed against Liverpool and deserved the praise. At only eighteen, that kind of confidence could only help—so long as it didn’t tip into arrogance.
“Hahahaha! My shots are just sinking today, huh? What’s going on? Ah! What if I score again? Oof~ I don’t think I could handle the popularity!”
…Maybe a little over the top. Still, Oh Jung-hoon’s sky-high energy kept the whole Southampton squad laughing. Watching the youngest player on the team—who also happened to be the biggest—bounce around like a kid on Christmas made everyone crack up.
Not everyone was smiling, though.
…Osvaldo.
The player staring at Oh Jung-hoon with open disgust was Pablo Osvaldo, the same striker who had been sent off against Liverpool. An Italian forward who had played in both Serie A and La Liga, he had even earned caps for the Italian national team. Talent wasn’t the issue. Mentality was.
He’s going to cause trouble soon…
Jung Hyuk’s expression hardened. In his previous life he had read the articles. Pablo Osvaldo had become public enemy number one among Southampton fans after assaulting José Fonte—the defender the supporters adored. Teammate assault. Pure insanity. And the man who had done it was standing right here. Pochettino himself had taken heat simply for signing him.
That was the old timeline. The future was already shifting; maybe it would never happen. Jung Hyuk had tried not to prejudge a man he only knew from headlines. Training side-by-side, however, had made the truth obvious: Pablo Osvaldo was a walking problem. Arguments with teammates were daily, near-fights were common, and chaos followed him everywhere. Today was no different.
“For fuck’s sake! Stop showing off, you little brat!”
Osvaldo’s snarl cut across the pitch. The atmosphere iced over instantly.
“What’s that guy saying?”
Oh Jung-hoon hadn’t caught a word—his English still wasn’t there yet. Osvaldo stomped straight up to him, jabbed a hard finger into the big striker’s chest, and growled.
“You got lucky with a couple goals and now you’re cocky, you little punk.”
Oh Jung-hoon’s face went rigid. He couldn’t parse every word, but the tone was unmistakable. He glanced over at Jung Hyuk.
“Hyuk, this guy’s picking a fight, right?”
Jung Hyuk had already closed the distance. He nodded, then looked Osvaldo dead in the eye.
“Pablo, I don’t know what your problem is, but Oh Jung-hoon’s English isn’t good enough to catch everything you’re saying.”
“And why the hell are you sticking your nose in?”
Osvaldo swung that same murderous glare onto Jung Hyuk. Jung Hyuk didn’t flinch. He just gave a small, cold smile.
“When teammates are about to scrap, stepping in is the normal thing to do, isn’t it?”
“If you don’t want to die, stay out of it and mind your own business.”
“My friend’s getting baited. I’m not standing around.”
“You little—!”
Osvaldo lunged to shove Jung Hyuk’s chest. Jung Hyuk slipped the hand like it was nothing. The rest of the squad swarmed in.
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Hey! What are you doing to your own teammates?”
Victor Wanyama and Dejan Lovren arrived first, quiet Adam Lallana right behind them. Within seconds every Southampton player on the pitch had formed a ring, trying to cool things down.
Then José Fonte’s deep voice cracked like a whip.
“Pablo Osvaldo! Enough. Why do you keep picking fights with your own teammates? You know this isn’t the first time.”
The tall Portuguese defender looked imposing. Osvaldo only smirked.
“Careful, José. One of these days I’m going to shatter that jaw of yours.”
He wasn’t finished. He turned back to Jung Hyuk with a slimy grin.
“Hey, kid. Enjoying the game lately? Feel like you’re the best player in the world already? Don’t make me laugh. Push yourself that hard at your age and you’ll be wrecked by injuries in a few years. Once the injuries start, you’ll never get your form back. Then the Premier League will forget you ever existed. Ahh~ wouldn’t that be perfect?”
He even flicked his tongue out while spitting the curse. Creepy. Infuriating. Mostly just insane.
Jung Hyuk burst out laughing.
“Injuries? Sure. I’ll be careful.”
Osvaldo’s wish was wasted breath. Jung Hyuk had zero fear of injury—he carried the trait One Who Never Gets Injured. Nothing could break him.
The coaches finally stepped in and broke it up. Osvaldo’s temper, however, stayed white-hot. Throughout the rest of the practice match he needled Jung Hyuk, Oh Jung-hoon, and anyone else within earshot.
“If you’d passed faster that would’ve been a goal! Do your job properly! And you call yourself a Premier League midfielder?”
He barked at Victor Wanyama for a slightly late pass.
“Oh Jung-hoon, you greedy little punk! You should’ve given me the ball instead of hogging it!”
He barked at Oh Jung-hoon.
“Jung Hyuk! Pass it to me! Is that the best decision you can make?”
He barked at Jung Hyuk too. And it wasn’t just words. Osvaldo played like he was facing a hated rival—no teammate awareness, pure violence.
“Pablo! That’s way too rough! Ease up!”
The coaches snapped at him.
“Yeees~ yeees~ I heeeear you~!”
Osvaldo flashed that same greasy smile and ignored every word.
A short while later the next practice match kicked off. As usual the coaches mixed the sides. And once again Pablo Osvaldo launched a brutal tackle at a teammate on the opposite team.
Thud!
“Argh!”
The victim was Oh Jung-hoon. Strikers almost never fly into each other with that kind of force. Accidents happen, sure—but this was no accident. Osvaldo had come in from behind with a full sliding tackle while Oh Jung-hoon was receiving the ball, studs high, pure intent.
“Aaaargh!”
Oh Jung-hoon couldn’t get up. He writhed on the grass. Jung Hyuk’s face turned to stone.
He’s lost his mind.
Jung Hyuk had been the one who played the pass. He had seen Osvaldo’s face—teeth clenched, eyes locked, deliberately lifting his foot high enough to maim.
Oh Jung-hoon’s scream tore across the training ground. Coaches helped him off and straight to the hospital. Jung Hyuk watched his friend’s back disappear and forced a long, slow breath. Without it he would have walked over and broken Osvaldo’s face right then.
Things were going so well… and now this bastard has to piss me off.
He already knew. Oh Jung-hoon’s condition was bad. The exact nightmare he had hoped to avoid had just come true.
Please don’t let it be serious…
He kept breathing, fighting to stay in control. He wasn’t the only one furious.
“You fucking lunatic! Pablo, have you lost it? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Mauricio Pochettino—normally so composed—was roaring.
“Do you have zero sense of teammates? How can you put in a tackle like that in training? I cannot understand this garbage behavior of yours. Explain yourself!”
In front of the raging manager, the usual mad dog Pablo Osvaldo turned into a meek little lamb. Or at least pretended to. The second Pochettino turned away, Osvaldo looked straight at Jung Hyuk… and winked. That same greasy smile sat on his face like a second skin.
Jung Hyuk’s own smile turned razor-thin. He murmured under his breath.
“That guy… just crossed the line.”