Free Web NovelThere were quite a lot of people in Korea watching today’s match.
Since a major cable sports channel had exclusive broadcast rights, plenty of viewers were stumbling across it while flipping channels.
And because the place Guus Hiddink chose to coach after leaving the Korean national team was Leeds United, the number of Leeds fans in Korea had grown significantly.
― Isn’t that guy next to the Chelsea owner an East Asian? Why are Leeds fans screaming for him? Anyone know??
⤷ The owner of Leeds United is this guy called James Han from American Dreamhigh Investment, and he’s Korean-American. So that guy next to Roman is probably Korean too.
⤷ What? The Leeds owner is Korean?
⤷⤷ No, no. To be exact, Korean-American. Ever heard of “foreigners with black hair”?
― Whatever, that still means he’s Korean, right? Hah! Bartender! Then that guy is James Han?
⤷ I don’t think so? James Han shows his face in the media a lot. That guy’s way more handsome.
Football communities went up in flames. Heated discussions erupted about the identity of Kim Muhyuk, who had been caught on camera sitting next to Roman.
― Then who the hell is he? Since he’s involved in running the club, isn’t that why Leeds fans are cheering for him? What is this? Seriously what is this? No one knows??
⤷ Nobody knows. Ah, the broadcast moved on. Who is he.
⤷⤷ Could he actually be the real owner? Dreamhigh is an investment firm, so maybe he’s just using the Dreamhigh name... no, wait. Isn’t it related to Joongwoo Group? Since Joongwoo is the main sponsor?
The broadcast shifted the camera back to the stands.
But of course the internet wasn’t going to drop such a massive bomb.
― Times like this are exactly when someone who “knows” should show up. No one?
Until kickoff, wild speculation and rumors about Kim Muhyuk ran rampant.
But no one actually knew anything.
Everyone was just guessing among themselves.
― Agh! Come on, someone say something that actually explains it!!
All of this vanished the moment the match began.
They forgot all about Kim Muhyuk and started focusing on ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) the game, shouting and cheering.
* * *
Finally, the whistle rang.
Roman and I stopped talking and focused on the match.
We placed a laptop on the table to monitor other matches in real time while watching.
As expected, the match was full of fouls.
Because of the newly adjusted rules, the refereeing was strict enough that seven yellow cards came out in the first half alone.
But still—no goals.
A nerve-wracking first half ended, and halftime arrived, giving everyone a moment to breathe.
“Wow... seeing this in person, it’s insane. The tension is unreal. And the fan chants? Holy shit.”
Myeongsu, hyped up, spoke with a clenched fist. Sweat trickled down his forehead.
I called for Manager Ma and asked for cold beer.
“Can we even drink here?”
Myeongsu looked around cautiously. I chuckled quietly and pointed at the stands.
“You can here. The seats themselves are dry zones, but drinking in the aisles is allowed. And even then—who the hell enforces that? Look over there. Plenty of people drink secretly anyway.”
Following my finger, he looked toward the crowd. Sure enough, a few fans were sneaking drinks between chants.
The security staff saw it but pretended not to.
“As long as there’s no trouble, they don’t crack down too hard.”
Manager Ma returned with cold beer. I handed one to Myeongsu.
“Drink.”
He took the cup and downed half in one go. His throat bobbed repeatedly—he must’ve been really thirsty. fгeewebnovёl.com
“Ahh, that’s it! This is fun.”
“As long as you’re enjoying it.”
“How are the other matches? Especially the Man U vs. Liverpool one.”
He wiped his lips and asked.
I angled the laptop and showed him the score.
“They exchanged a goal each. But that one’s no joke either. It’s basically MMA out there.”
“The rivalry between Man U and Liverpool is famous. Decades of history. You know I used to be a Liverpool fan. But I switched to Leeds because of you. How could I support another team when my friend owns one?”
The Man U vs. Liverpool match was just as intense. Rivalry aside, both were desperate for the title.
For Man U to win the trophy, they had to win. A draw or loss meant goodbye to the trophy.
If our match ended in a draw and Man U lost, we would lift the trophy thanks to goal difference.
But if Man U drew, we had to win no matter what.
And Liverpool? They were just as desperate.
Liverpool was currently fifth. This match determined whether they got into the Champions League.
Winning was best, but a draw was the minimum—they needed at least that to keep their CL chances alive depending on other results.
“I kinda want to watch that match in person someday. Man U vs. Liverpool...”
With great interest, Myeongsu checked their score.
He was greedy, sure, but seeing him this happy made me smile.
Leaving him to watch both the laptop and the match, I asked Roman:
“Do you think the game’s getting too heated?”
Roman, who had been talking with executives, turned toward me.
“It’s within what we expected. Thankfully, no major injuries yet.”
I nodded. It was intense, but no serious injury so far.
Even the managers were saving substitution cards in expectation of injuries mid-match.
“That makes it more fun, doesn’t it? This is what I’ve dreamed of. For a very long time. And that’s why I told Charlie we should buy a football club.”
It was fun—much more than hearing about it secondhand.
“Thanks to you, I’m having a great experience.”
“Haha, but Charlie doesn’t directly participate in club management, right? I personally get involved. That makes it a different kind of fun.”
“He doesn’t. I think it’s better to leave management to specialists. Support without interfering. That’s how I’ve always managed people, and I apply it here as well. I give authority and trust—but betray it, and I cut clean without hesitation.”
“I respect Charlie’s method. It’s refreshing to leave things to professionals. But for me, managing the club is more fun than running companies in Russia.”
Roman looked genuinely happy.
In Russia he always walked on thin ice, but here he could do whatever he pleased without fear—no wonder he enjoyed it.
“Oh. The players are coming back out.”
Roman looked toward the field, and I turned as well.
Both teams were returning and taking their positions.
“Our bet will be decided in this second half.”
“But what if it ends in a draw?”
Roman asked. I shrugged.
“Then the bet’s off. Anyway, here we go.”
The second half began, and Roman and I both cheered for our respective teams.
The match restarted more quietly than the first half.
Probably because of all those cards earlier, there was less reckless physical contact.
Still, fouls—big and small—continued, and Chelsea earned a free kick just outside our penalty line.
“Oh! That’s a good spot.”
Roman’s face brightened. Of course—this was a big chance for Chelsea. I simply nodded.
It was directly in front of the goal, not far from the penalty line.
Myeongsu smacked my arm.
“Thank god it’s not a penalty kick, but this is too dangerous. This is shooting distance.”
“Can’t help it. It was a foul.”
When I answered calmly, Myeongsu snapped irritably:
“You’re like the club owner, not me. Are you a robot? This is when you should be panicking and cheering, not reacting like that.”
“There’s nothing I can personally do. All I can do is trust the players.”
“Damn, you’re no fun.”
While we talked, the two free-kick takers stepped up—Zola and Lampard.
“Who do you think shoots?”
“Lampard, maybe? His kicks are more precise than Zola’s. Myeongsu, what do you think?”
“I think Zola. At this distance, speed matters more than precision.”
The wall was set. Players jostled fiercely to hold their ground.
A moment later, the referee signaled for the kick.
The taker was Lampard.
His shot curved toward the corner of the goal—and went straight in.
― WAAAAAAAH!!
Chelsea’s away fans erupted.
Roman clapped hands with the executives beside him, delighted.
“Hey, are we losing!?”
Myeongsu grabbed his head anxiously.
This match was a future I had created myself—one I didn’t know beforehand.
I couldn’t give him an answer, but somehow... I didn’t feel like we were going to lose.
“We might lose, we might win. But I don’t know why, I just don’t feel like we’ll lose.”
“What? What the hell is that vague bullshit?”
“Just a feeling. I think we’ll win today. And there’s still plenty of time left.”
There were still about 30 minutes left—plenty of time for a comeback.
“Haha! We’re winning now.”
Roman beamed at me.
“The match isn’t over yet.”
The game resumed. Both sides traded blows fiercely.
But things took a bad turn.
A rash back-tackle caused one of our midfielders to be sent off with a second yellow.
The fouled player couldn’t get up and was subbed off with an injury.
A 10 vs. 11 situation.
Normally we would strengthen the defense, but Hiddink made a different choice.
He removed a defender and added another attacker.
And that choice paid off. Ronaldo fired a long 30m shot and scored the equalizer.
The home crowd exploded with cheering.
Ronaldo’s chant filled the stadium, and he tied for the top scorer position.
“We’re tied now.”
I told Roman, and he nodded with a tense expression.
“We still have the advantage.”
“True. You’re a man up.”
I glanced at the laptop. The Liverpool vs. Man U match was still intense.
Seeing that, Myeongsu pointed at me accusingly again.
“You’re still a robot. Zero emotion.”
“Still no goals. Both sides.”
The match continued. Pure offense from both teams.
But the goal wouldn’t open.
Full time ended, and six minutes of extra time were added.
At the same time, the Liverpool vs. Man U match ended in a draw.
“Liverpool drew, Arsenal lost.”
I relayed the final results to Roman. He calculated the possibilities, then brightened visibly.
“Regardless of our result, we secured a Champions League ticket.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I’ll strengthen the squad in the transfer market and aim even higher next season.”
Time continued to tick while Roman and I talked.
Then, one minute before the end, a harsh back-tackle came flying at Ronaldo near Chelsea’s goal.
The offender was sent off with a straight red, and Ronaldo couldn’t get up.
“Hey, is Ronaldo injured!?”
“No idea.”
“He’s surprisingly fragile.”
“Let’s wait.”
If he got seriously hurt again, could he even come back this season?
The medical team rushed in, waved their hands, signaling he couldn’t play further. Ronaldo was carried out on a stretcher.
Hiddink sent on Allan Smith—who wasn’t in great condition—and ordered him to take the penalty.
This would likely be the decisive kick. Whether it went in or not.
Both teams were tense until the end.
Hiddink even pushed the goalkeeper into the opponent’s half, leaving the goal empty, just in case a big ball came out.
The entire stadium grew silent.
In that huge arena, it felt like only Allan Smith and the two keepers existed, staring each other down.
Smith inhaled deeply, took his run-up, and sprinted.
The result: a goal.
― WAAAAAAAAAH!!!
The home fans erupted.
Players on the field and the substitutes praying on the sidelines all stormed the pitch.
Their faces gleamed as they piled onto Allan Smith.
The final whistle blew.
The match was over.
“I won, Roman.”
My lips lifted naturally.
