Treble -5
With the referee's whistle, the first half came to an end. The Copa del Rey final between Real Madrid and Mallorca was now down to just 45 minutes of regular time.
A man watching the match on his smartphone shouted out.
"Whoa, fuck, that's insane. Is Rangeleluja's form for real?"
In the past, inspired by Yoo Youngbeom's story, he'd decided to become a soccer player. Calling his professor a "bald eagle" to burn his bridges, he'd quit grad school.
Even after his parents beat him senseless upon hearing he'd dropped out, he never gave up on his dream of becoming a pro. He begged his old high school coach and managed to train alongside his alma mater's soccer team members.
"If you'd trained like this back in high school, you wouldn't be in the Gundesliga—you'd be in the Bundesliga, you little shit."
"...Ahahaha. Gundesliga and Bundesliga, haha!"
After shitting his pants from the effort, he finally made it into a mid-to-lower-tier K3 League semi-pro team thanks to his mentor's recommendation and a tryout.
He was still just a rotation player, not a starter, but he kept grinding with dreams of one day making the World Cup roster and playing alongside Jesus.
"Damn, it's lit."
Logging into the community forum for the first time in ages—since he'd been too busy training—it was buzzing with hype for the upcoming World Cup in China.
Current South Korea NT overseas players:
FC Porto's Baek Dongsu. SL Benfica's Kim Dongjun. Dortmund's Go Seokjun. Celtic (not confirmed) Hong Doyun. Real Madrid's Jesus. Mallorca's Yoo Youngbeom.
Kim Jinsu's got transfer rumors to Olympique Lyon this time. Hong Doyun looks promising after K League. Go Seokjun and Kim Dongjun have basically locked down their spots at club level. Oh, Kim Dongjun's got a ton of transfer buzz. The only bummer is Baek Dongsu's position overlapping with Jesus bro. Anyway, with Rangeleluja and Jesus, semifinals possible?
Seeing the forum on fire, Choi Chang-sik decided to post a survival update after ages.
The second half kicked off, and Mallorca immediately ramped up the pressure. Seeing them desperately flailing to score, Yoo Youngbeom paused his training and decided to get a bit serious.
"This isn't about stealing the spotlight that should go to Youngbeom."
He recalled the standing ovation for Youngbeom at the end of the first half. Yeah, this wasn't ugly male jealousy.
"Jesus! Get open!"
As he steeled himself, Vladimir Rajovic's voice rang out, punishing Mallorca's striker Diego Silva who was trying to advance.
"Block him—!"
As soon as I took possession, Mallorca players swarmed with pressure. I did my best to evade.
"Agh—!" "Puta Madre!!"
Out of the ref's sight, I pinched inner thighs, lightly scraped ribs with elbows. Two down in a flash, space opened up.
Mallorca players suddenly screaming and collapsing drew a suspicious glance from the ref, but no whistle.
Guess playing nice so far lowered their guard. Back in the day, whistle first, ask later.
"Block him!!"
Three Mallorca players rushed me; I dodged tackles and broke through. Their line cracked, I slipped in. Penalty area—Felix blocked with a stiff face.
Already crushed in momentum, he fell for a simple feint.
One-on-one with the keeper. Yoo Youngbeom calmly narrowed the angle. Felt bad for skimping on training, but time to end it.
Real Madrid had the Champions League final in four days. Extension from a tying goal would bleed us dry.
Yeah, not ugly jealousy or craving attention. Purely for the team's win.
Rationalized, I faked a low hard shot through his legs, wrecked his balance, then chipped the ball's underside.
Off-balance, Youngbeom could only watch it sail over his head into the net.
"Oh my—!"
I yelled the second it passed him, bolting to the corner flag. Madridistas already celebrating like we'd won the Copa del Rey.
"Madrid, Madrid, Madrid ¡Hala Madrid!" "Y nada más, Y nada más ¡Hala Madrid!"
Glancing back, Youngbeom's icy glare hit me. Neck prickling—gonna be tense rest of the match.
Desperate after the extra goal, Mallorca pushed their line higher.
Real Madrid calmly exploited it. Mallorca rushed an attack, Antoni intercepted.
Seeing the intercept, Real Madrid countered instantly. Jesus Gonzalez cut back from Antoni to me.
I endured Mallorca players yanking jerseys, pinching, kicking—changed direction, scored.
Net rippling, despairing Mallorca players filled my view.
Dejected foes, cameras on me, Madridistas chanting my name.
Feeling great, I flashed an innocent smile, lifted an imaginary trophy in front of Mallorca fans—earned a yellow from the ref.
Three-goal lead sapped Mallorca's fight, but Youngbeom's gritted-teeth saves inspired them to rally—too late.
Beep—! Beep beep! Time up, Real Madrid wins. I approached Youngbeom collapsed on the pitch, tears streaming.
"Came to share some good words."
"...Scram." Ignoring his puffy-eyed glare, I offered heartfelt comfort from deep down.
"Your goal was fire~~"
Youngbeom foamed at the mouth and lunged.