I pushed the ball forward with my right foot, and then set off, sprinting alongside it. The Thai defenders scrambled to get back. One of them, Number 2, a tall, lanky fullback, tried to intercept, but I feinted to the left, then jinked right, leaving him flat-footed. Another defender, Number 5, a burly center back, came across, arms outstretched, looking to dispossess me.
Number 5 lunged in heavily. I killed my pace, slid the ball under my sole, and whipped it past him with a sharp elástico. His feet tangled, his body twisting awkwardly as I slipped through.
Two more defenders swarmed, blocking the path to goal. I feinted wide, then rolled my hips and cut back inside, leaving them colliding into each other like drunks at closing time. Space opened. I surveyed the path in front of me.
Space opened. The box was chaos. The keeper squared up, crouched low, waiting for me to pull the trigger.
I scanned. Jun-hwan? No, double-marked. Dae-hyun? Sprinting in, but too far out; he wouldn't get to it in time. Sung-tae? Not free—yet. His defender was glued to him, tight as a shadow. If I forced it now, it'd be suicide.
But the Thai line… greedy. All four sucked into me, leaving the far side naked. One late run, one perfectly timed ball, and they'd be shredded.
Don't shoot. Don't rush. Bend them. Break them.
I kept running, kept pushing, kept feinting, until finally, the Thai wall was out of shape.
I dragged the ball with my left, slowing just enough to bait another lunge. Number 4 bit, stepping out of line. That was it—the crack. Sung-tae's marker moved to fill the space Number 4 had left.
But he was too slow.
A split second of indecision, a half-step in the wrong direction.
I pounced. With my body still squared to goal, I disguised the pass. An angled slice with my instep, threading the needle between the two center-backs. The ball bent wickedly, curling away from the collapsing defense and into the exact pocket I'd just created.
Sung-tae slipped free at the perfect moment, my pass curling into his path like fate itself. For a heartbeat, the stadium seemed to hold its breath. His eyes went wide—too wide. He hadn't expected it.
The ball kissed his boot, but the touch was heavy, betraying nerves he'd never admit. He stabbed at it, hurried, desperate. The strike lacked venom, rolling meekly into the keeper's arms.
I was already surging forward, ready to bury the rebound, but there was none. Only the Thai goalkeeper clutching the ball to his chest, grinning at fortune's cruelty.
The chance had died the moment it was born.
Sung-tae stood frozen, hands on his knees, head bowed as if the grass itself had accused him. The Thai fans howled their relief, their drums pounding like mockery. Our own supporters groaned, a ripple of disbelief echoing around.
I jogged over, chest still heaving. For a second, frustration clawed at my throat. Wasted perfection. Squandered brilliance. But I swallowed it down.
He didn't need anger. Not now.
I clapped his shoulder.
"Forget it." I said, firmly. "Next one's yours. Trust me."
He looked up, eyes clouded, lips pressed thin. He wanted to argue, to drown in the mistake, but the whistle blew for the keeper's clearance, and the game dragged us back into its current.
"Sorry..." Sung-tae muttered as he made his way past, but I shook my head.
"......"
No one in the team held it against him; we had developed quite a strong relationship after all, but it would've been a lie to say that we had been in need of a goal. A one goal lead could be easily overturned, and Sung-tae's miss had been an opportunity to take the wind out of their sails.
Sung-tae himself knew this very well, and as such, the rest of his game was affected. He was more reckless than usual, more desperate to make amends, which only served to disrupt the team's rhythm even more. To make matters worse, Dae-hyun was also struggling. He was being muscled off the ball too easily, unable to assert himself in the air.
We needed to do something about it, but we had to do it right.
I stole the ball from an overeager Thai midfielder and took off. Sung-tae and Dae-hyun both made overlapping runs, while Jun-hwan held his position, drawing two defenders with him. The Thais were starting to get stretched out.
I feinted, then switched the ball to my left foot. The defender in front of me was expecting the right foot, and so, when I did so, he lost his footing.
But he was persistent. He kept hounding me, trying to get a foot in.
Jun-hwan freed himself as I lured the defender away from him. He waved his hands at me and I nodded. I turned, and sent the ball in a high, lofted pass towards that cut through the midfield, and would have landed perfectly on Jun-hwan's feet.
And then the whistle shrieked, disrupting the play.
Halftime.
The chance evaporated into the roar of the crowd, the Thai players pumping fists as if the whistle had been their savior.
"Fuck..." I cursed, shaking my head as I made my way to the halfway line, ready to go back to the locker rooms.
The coach was already waiting for us. He looked at the score on the scoreboard, his face unreadable. We trudged past him, the roar of the crowd fading behind us. The Thai players followed behind, heads held high despite the deficit. It was as if the whistle was a God-sent reprieve, a second lease on life. They still believed they were in this.
Their captain, a tall, well-built fellow with a buzz cut, patted some shoulders and offered words of encouragement. His team seemed buoyed by his leadership.
As we filed into the tunnel, I could feel their eyes on me. Quick glances, sharp and lingering, stealing cuts of me whenever they thought I wasn't looking, nudging each other as if to say that's the one.
I heard their murmured conversations, too soft to be heard but loud enough to register that I was the subject. Some of their faces turned away quickly as they realized I was observing them, as they thought me an anomaly. The rarest of beasts.
This, of course, was hardly something that hadn't occurred in the past, but here, in Thailand, I suppose it was the first time they'd laid their eyes on a Korean that played like a Brazilian.
We reached the locker rooms, and Coach Ahn Ki-seok waited for us to enter, then closed the door. We all took a seat on a bench. A bottle was handed over, water trickling down our throats. The rest of us were in various stages of cooling down, some sitting on the floor with legs outstretched or against a wall, their muscles aching from fatigue.
Coach Ki-seok cleared his throat, drawing all our attention to him. He let the silence hang for a few seconds, only the sound of water bottles being set down breaking it.
"Two-one." He said finally. His voice was steady, measured. "We are ahead. But right now, it doesn't feel like it, does it?"
No one spoke. A few heads lowered. To be honest, if we had a little more during back there, we could've likely created a critical opportunity.
"They are pressing harder every minute. They have confidence now. You gave them that with the mistake, but it happens. Sung-tae—" He fixed his gaze on our winger, who sat hunched forward, dripping sweat, eyes on the floor. "—you missed a big chance. Yes. But this is football. You don't stop running. You don't stop asking for the ball. You don't disappear. You keep going. Do you understand?"
Sung-tae lifted his chin, his lips pressed tight, and nodded.
"Good. Because if you start hiding, you are already finished. And I'm not taking you off. I want to see you fight for your next chance. That's how you learn. That's how you grow."
Coach paced slowly, eyes moving over each of us. "Dae-hyun. You are losing too many duels. Don't wrestle with their center-back, you won't win. Pull him wide. Run at him. Make him move his feet. He does not like that. Understand?"
I noticed that too. Dae-hyun probably saw me turning their defenders into slightly less polite traffic cones and thought, "Hey, I can do that too." Bless him, but that's not really his superpower. It was like asking a cat to bark—entertaining, but doomed from the start.
"Yes, Coach." Dae-hyun muttered.
"Jun-hwan, keep dictating the rhythm. Don't get sucked into their pace. You and him—" He pointed at me "—must control when we breathe and when we strike. Right now, they are dictating too much of the tempo."
I nodded, meeting his eyes.
"Naturally, their coach will start waking up to you. Expect tighter marking. They'll send one of their best onto you, maybe even double up. Maybe they will mark both of you at the same time, even. Make Sung-tae and Dae-hyun have more freedom on the outside. Pass it off. Don't force it unless it's an obvious play. Move. Find the space."
He then addressed the team as a whole: "Defenders: keep tight. Stay compact. I've seen too much distance between the lines. This is what they are looking for—space in front of your midfield. Close it off."
Our defenders, led by Jong-su, straightened, determination setting their faces.
Coach stopped pacing. His arms dropped to his sides. His voice sharpened. "We are not here for a holiday. This is the World Cup camp. Every match is your test. They are smaller than what is coming, but if you look at them and think 'easy,' then you will drown when the real sharks arrive. We can't rely only on two players. The whole team needs to play better."
"......"
A sigh left his lips as he surveyed us all, his eyes softening slightly. "But you've given us the lead. That's not half-bad, I suppose." A few smiles peeked through the seriousness. "Now, hold that lead. Protect it. Then extend it. Let's remind everyone who's really in charge of this game. Go warm up. The second half is ours for the taking."