Free Web NovelWhen I returned to the stands, the scoreboard showing 1:0 caught my eye.
It was South Korea’s opening goal.
I widened my eyes, unable to look away from the scoreboard as I walked.
“How did this happen?”
I hurried back to my seat and asked Roman.
“Oh, Charlie! Where did you go? Ahn Junghoon scored a goal. I can’t believe there’s a player like that in Korea...”
There was a gleam of desire in Roman’s eyes, the kind he always showed when he discovered a talented player worth collecting.
I smiled faintly at him.
“Are you enjoying yourself? Even though Russia was eliminated a while ago?”
“That was expected. But I didn’t think Korea would play this well. I have my eye on Coach Hiddink now... but since he’s already teamed up with you, I suppose I’ll settle for scouting a few players.”
I didn’t respond and simply smiled softly as I took my seat.
Then I turned to Song Chanhyuk, who was talking with a member of the Football Association.
“Are you pleased, Representative Song?”
The discomfort he had shown earlier was gone, replaced by a broad smile.
“Of course I am. I didn’t know Ahn Junghoon’s skills were this good.”
“He’s always been a good player. He just lost focus for a bit because of complicated contract issues.”
“Ah, yes, I heard about that. The Joongwoo Royals stepped in to resolve it.”
It wasn’t the Joongwoo Royals—it was me. There was no way Song Chanhyuk didn’t know that. Unless someone had deliberately covered his ears.
“Isn’t that something the Football Association should have handled in the first place? You call players up to the national team but pay no attention to them otherwise. Managing their mental health should also be part of the Association’s job.”
“That’s true, but Association affairs don’t move so freely. We have to consider relations with UEFA, FIFA, and so on—there’s a lot to take into account.”
“Even so, this is a player who received death threats after scoring the Golden Ball in the World Cup.”
Song Chanhyuk listened seriously, but the faces of the Association executives beside him were twisting.
So they were the ones. I looked at them and continued.
“Politics aside, protecting players is one of the Association’s key responsibilities, isn’t it? If even such simple duties aren’t fulfilled, more people will start questioning the Association’s purpose. Of course, I know you’re not that kind of person, Representative Song, since you’ve worked hard for Korean football—but others...”
I deliberately trailed off and gave the executives a sharp look.
They kept their mouths shut, and I let out a mocking smile, showing them exactly what I thought of their silence.
By praising Song Chanhyuk while pressing down the executives, I made my point clear. Sensing my intent, he cleared his throat.
“President Kim, I understand your point well. Let’s stop here—it’s a good day, after all. This could be a historic day when South Korea wins the World Cup.”
At his deliberate attempt to change the subject, I glanced at the Association officials one more time before turning my head away.
Korea had scored first.
But against a powerhouse like Brazil, one goal wasn’t exactly a safe lead.
With their overwhelming offensive strength, Brazil could easily score two or more goals in just five minutes, so Hiddink didn’t lower the defensive line.
He raised it instead, pressing from midfield, but Brazil’s attacks were difficult to contain.
They say persistence breaks walls. In the end, Brazil scored the equalizer with twenty minutes left on the clock.
“This is closer than I expected. Honestly, I thought Korea would lose by a large margin.”
Just as Roman said, no one had expected Korea to win.
Even after their miraculous run, no one thought the Korean team would perform well in a final held in Japan, away from their home ground.
As proof, major British betting companies had set Korea’s odds extremely low.
1.1:12. Bet one million won, win twelve million—an absurd payout.
That’s how few people believed in Korea’s victory.
If that was how it was in the majors, the minors would be even worse. I wasn’t much for gambling, but seeing how little faith people had in Korea made me feel spiteful.
“Well, nobody could have predicted this. It’s a strange game—it makes you want to hope. And it’s entertaining too.”
“You never know how a football match will end. That’s why I love the game, Charlie. It’s thrilling.”
With Roman’s excited words, the conversation ended, and we focused back on the match. freewёbnoνel.com
Brazil, having gained momentum, scored another goal—2:1.
But Korea didn’t give up.
With one counterattack, they managed to tie the game again.
Ahn Junghoon, receiving a pass from another player, sprinted straight down the center.
In that simple act of running toward the goal, I could see an unshakable will to win.
The Red Devils roared in response to the players’ fierce determination, their voices echoing through the stadium.
Brazil kept launching relentless attacks. At first, the Japanese crowd—who made up most of the spectators—cheered for Brazil.
But as the game went on, more and more of them started cheering for Korea.
Near the end of the second half, the cheers for Korea, joined by the Red Devils, far outmatched those for Brazil.
Even the Japanese, who didn’t hold warm feelings toward Korea, couldn’t help but cheer for them. The team was giving everything they had.
One player was taken down by a surprise tackle and split his head open. Even as blood streamed down his face, he wrapped it in a bandage and kept playing.
Another player collapsed on the field, but soon forced himself up, running on injured legs.
Hiddink tried to substitute them, but they waved him off, showing their determination to keep going.
They fought valiantly—but unfortunately, victory smiled on Brazil.
Just before the final whistle, Ronaldo slipped past three defenders, rounded the goalkeeper, and lightly tapped the ball into the net.
The whistle blew. The Korean players collapsed where they stood and burst into tears.
Not just one or two—all eleven of them.
Even my dulled emotions stirred so deeply that I felt something rising from my chest—others must have felt it even more.
The Red Devils cried. No, the entire stadium cried with them.
It was a match that showed the world the strength of Korean football, long dismissed as a backwater.
They didn’t lift the trophy, but they were victors all the same.
Consolation and applause rained down on the Korean players. Covered in tears, they stood up and clapped.
The Brazilian players, instead of celebrating their own win, went to comfort the sobbing Koreans.
The awards ceremony ended, and the crowd gradually emptied out, leaving the stadium quiet and cold.
I stood alone on one side, gazing down at the darkened field, lost in thought.
“Muhyuk, let’s go. It’ll take a while to get to the place where we’re supposed to meet Ronaldo.”
Sensing the heavy air, Han Kyungyeong patted my shoulder lightly and spoke.
“Yeah, let’s go. I have to meet him—he’s our player, after all.”
Together with Han Kyungyeong, I left the Yokohama stadium.
Outside, the Red Devils were still there in their red shirts, refusing to go home, waiting for the national team.
I watched them for a while before walking on.
The midsummer night’s dream had ended.
We arrived at the hotel where the Brazilian team was staying.
They hadn’t returned yet.
While waiting, Han Kyungyeong and I passed the time talking about football.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder to be Korean than I am today. In New York, when I say I’m Korean, people barely know what that means.”
Han Kyungyeong smiled proudly. He might claim to be American for business, but he was still a Korean who loved his country.
“Japanese? Chinese? That’s what most people ask when they first meet me. Some don’t even know what Korea is, or they confuse it with North Korea.”
I smiled faintly. I knew exactly how he felt.
It’s irritating enough being underestimated as an Asian, but being mistaken for another nationality is infuriating.
“There’s nothing we can do. That’s just the reality.”
“Still, America’s not so bad. In Europe, most people don’t know Korea at all. Eventually, I got so tired of explaining that I just told everyone I was American.”
Watching him grumble, I couldn’t help but laugh aloud.
“Well, now there won’t be anyone in Europe who doesn’t know Korea. Football is their life there.”
I nodded slightly. No one could possibly ignore a country that had finished as World Cup runner-up.
That kind of recognition was something no amount of money could buy.
Then the door opened, and Ronaldo entered with his agent, Santana.
Han Kyungyeong stood up cheerfully and greeted them in Spanish.
“Ronaldo, Santana! Congratulations on Brazil’s victory.”
The three of them, having met before, greeted each other warmly.
Afterward, Han Kyungyeong turned to introduce me.
“This is my boss and the real owner of Leeds United, Charlie Kim. He’s the one who personally insisted we sign you.”
Ronaldo looked at me with a curious expression.
I smiled gently and extended my hand first.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ronaldo. I’m a fan.”
Ronaldo clasped my hand firmly, flashing his trademark grin.
“Nice to meet you too, Charlie.”
After the brief greeting, we sat down.
“Do you drink? How about some wine?”
“Sure. I can’t drink much because of conditioning, but one glass is fine. Thank you.”
Ronaldo accepted the wine I poured for him.
“But may I ask you something?”
He set his glass down, his tone filled with curiosity. I nodded silently.
“Ask me anything.”
“I heard you gave the order to sign me no matter what. Back when I was undergoing rehabilitation from my major injury. My performance might have declined—so I was wondering why you spent that much money to sign me.”
Ronaldo had suffered his first knee injury in 1999.
After half a year of excruciating rehabilitation, he returned—only for the injury to relapse in his comeback match. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom
It was a devastating injury that cast doubt on his entire career.
At the peak of his prime, it was catastrophic.
Every media outlet in the world broadcast the sight of Ronaldo clutching his knee and sobbing without censorship.
Headlines screamed: “The King of Football Is Finished.”
Paparazzi photos of him after surgery were equally shocking—overweight, limping, unrecognizable.
People stopped believing he would ever come back.
That was when we approached Inter Milan with our offer.
When his recovery was still uncertain.
“I was your fan, Ronaldo. And I never once doubted your comeback. If we had waited until after your recovery, Inter Milan would never have let you go easily.”
“...I see. Thank you.”
“Just as I expected, you made a spectacular return. As soon as the World Cup began and the preliminaries ended, inquiries started flooding in from clubs wanting you.”
Ronaldo nodded slightly, smiling—of course he knew.
It would be strange if the club had received calls and his agent hadn’t.
“I’m glad my decision wasn’t wrong. But if you want to transfer, I’ll let you.”
Our club still lacked prestige. So if Ronaldo wanted to move, I was prepared to allow it.
But he shook his head firmly.
“No. I’m not thinking of leaving right now. I’ve already told my agent Santana that I have no intention of transferring.”
I turned toward Santana.
His expression revealed regret—understandable, since agents earned their commissions from transfer fees.
He forced a smile.
“Ronaldo insists on staying.”
Before he could say more, Ronaldo continued.
“I don’t want to betray the person who reached out to me when I was down. I’ll bring a championship trophy to this club before I leave.”
Now that was the kind of statement worth hearing.
Silently, I raised my glass toward him.
Ronaldo lifted his as well. We clinked glasses and smiled.
This time it was a wine glass—but next time, it would be the championship trophy.
