Chapter 74
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 74
Chapter Title: Korean Derby - 2
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The match continued to flow in one overwhelmingly lopsided direction.
Real Madrid attacked, and Mallorca defended.
Thwack!
Real Madrid unleashed shot after shot at Mallorca's goal, as if they were just running shooting drills.
When Yoo Young-beom barely deflected Luis García's sneaky mid-range shot, Jesus Joo's clapping echoed out.
Clap clap!
"Nice save! Young-beom! You're the pride of Joseon!"
Jesus Joo patted his shoulder with a beaming grin before wandering off.
A flash of murderous intent flickered in Yoo Young-beom's eyes as he watched him go, but he shook his head and barely pulled himself together.
'Am I just that exhausted? What the hell was I even thinking...'
Real Madrid earned a corner kick next.
Luka Savić whipped in the ball, but Felix cleared it far away. The referee then blew a long whistle signaling the end of the first half.
Tweet!
At the sound of the halftime whistle, Yoo Young-beom collapsed onto the pitch, gasping for air.
'Ha... insane. Is that what serious-mode Jesus Joo looks like?'
He could hardly believe it was the same guy.
The second half kicked off.
Mallorca seemed to have reset their mindset during halftime.
Fighting spirit burned fiercely in every one of their players.
But if life always went according to plan...
...would I still be out here playing soccer at my age?
I'd have ditched the regression nonsense and hopped straight into a coffin ages ago.
"Mark number 18!!!"
We pinned Mallorca back in their own half just like the first half and hammered away.
Roberto Fabianski played decoy, drawing the defenders in. With the path clear, Luis García fed me the ball.
"Jesus!"
Thwack!
I took the ball and unleashed.
If it went in, I'd snag a goal bonus—great. If not, it'd rack up some training XP for Young-beom.
Win-win, right?
The ball sat perfectly on my instep but shaved past the post by the width of a cabbage leaf.
As the ball sailed wide, Yoo Young-beom let out a sigh of relief.
I waved at him.
He looked pretty down. Good medicine's always bitter, though.
I'm prescribing this for his own good.
Here's hoping he soaks up that XP and grows strong.
Thwack!
[Luka Savić lofts it up. Now a header from Roberto Fabianski!]
[It floats just over. Yoo takes a moment to catch his breath.]
[Yoo's goal kick—clash between Diego Silva and Antonio Rodríguez. Ball falls to José Gayà. Mallorca's first real attack in ages!]
[José Gayà shrugs off Alejandro Jiménez! Diego Silva signals for offside! Gayà's cross!]
[Diego Silva! Silva! Silva! Aaaaaah! Gooooaaaal! Gooooaaaal! Diego Silva scores with a simple redirection header!!]
[This changes everything! This shifts the momentum!]
"Vaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamos!"
[The somber Estadi de Son Moix erupts into a cauldron of frenzy! Can you hear that roaring cheer?! When everyone else had given up, Mallorca refuses to quit!!!]
With the goal, Mallorca's players started surging with momentum. Around the 70th minute of the second half, they forgot their fatigue and charged at the ball like madmen.
"Luka!"
I slipped Mallorca's aggressive press and fed it to Luka Savić.
Luka immediately spread it wide to Iker Bravo.
With gritted teeth, Mallorca's defense swarmed Iker Bravo and stripped the ball. They fired a quick long pass forward.
Diego Silva nodded it toward the onrushing José Gayà. Mallorca's golden chance.
Gayà targeted the gap between the charging Ter Stegen's legs and let fly.
The ball threaded through Ter Stegen's legs, but Sergio Pepe had sprinted back to the goal line and cleared it away.
As the ball sailed out over the touchline, Real Madrid reset their defense. Mallorca pushed their line up slightly to maintain the flow.
I nodded as I watched.
Soccer's definitely a game of momentum.
And the way to break it is crystal clear.
Alejandro Jiménez intercepted the pass meant for José Gayà.
Alejandro then charged forward on the overlap.
I jogged slowly to avoid offside, biding my time. The moment Alejandro looked up, I raised my hand high and exploded into a sprint.
The ball's landing spot lit up in my vision. With a first-touch flick past Mallorca's center back, I feinted a shot and cut into the penalty area.
Yoo Young-beom rushed out desperately. I stayed cool, rounded him, and rolled it toward the empty net.
The ball trickled lazily toward the vacant goal. The instant it crossed the line, a guy named Felix charged in and hooked it out.
Mallorca's players pleaded desperately with the ref after Felix's clearance, but the iron-hearted official pointed to the center circle and awarded the goal.
I'd just doused Mallorca's rising fire with a bucket of ice water. Dodging my onrushing Real Madrid teammates, I snatched the ball from the net and bolted to the center circle.
On the way, I winked at big bro Young-beom and called out.
"Bro Young-beom! I'll be right back!"
Grind!
Somewhere, teeth gnashed fiercely.
That habit's no good for your health, you know...