As Korea's place in the quarterfinals drew one step closer, the two thousand Red Devils in the stands raised their voices.
Among them was a woman with tears in her eyes.
It was Kim Hee-sun, her face painted with "No.10 Ho-young."
"Mom, why are you crying?"
Ho-il could not understand.
His brother had just scored and even pulled off a brilliant celebration, so why was she crying?
Beside them, Woo Hwang-sun, beating a small drum, spoke up.
"She's crying because she's happy."
"She's happy, but she's crying?"
"When adults are too happy, tears come out."
Not only Kim Hee-sun, but Woo Hwang-sun also felt his eyes sting.
The more he thought about how his son had come up with that celebration, the more proud and moved he felt.
His blood seemed to boil with emotion.
The more emotional he became, the harder he beat the drum, drawing the big screen's attention.
[Haha. Is that Ho-young's father? You must be very proud.]
[Heh heh. Of course. Even I feel like jumping for joy.]
[As his mentor, you must feel deeply satisfied. Commentator Cha Bum-kun, you played an important role in Ho-young's growth into such an outstanding player, did you not?]
[Heh heh heh. I do not want to say that I was the one who helped him. A player destined to grow will grow. Of course, with a good mentor, he may develop even further, but all I did was exchange a few words with him.]
It was a subtle jab at the Korean Football Association, which had been carrying itself with inflated pride lately.
Caster Bae Sung-jae picked up on it and smoothly changed the subject.
[Today, I learn humility once again. Meanwhile, the match is approaching the 40th minute of the first half. Since conceding, Mexico have been playing cautiously.]
[That's right. Javier Aguirre looks extremely serious. It seems they intend to hold on like this until they find a solution.]
Mexico circulated the ball until the halftime whistle.
They did not care about the boos or criticism.
[Ho-young presses deep into the second line.]
[Torrado passes back to the goalkeeper.]
[Ah, Torrado is down on the ground, holding his leg in pain.]
There had been slight contact during the press, but not enough to warrant collapsing.
Mexico were simply using every possible method to waste time.
[You would think Mexico were leading. Let me remind you, the scoreboard is not broken. Korea are ahead 1-0.]
[Mexico have completely lost their confidence. It feels like if they push forward recklessly, they will concede again, so they are taking a breather.]
From their perspective, they could not afford to rush.
If they lost possession, there was no telling what might happen.
Right now, the priority was to disrupt the flow.
And the first half ended 1-0, just as Mexico had hoped.
But the real problem was what came next.
There is no solution.
Inside the locker room, Aguirre clenched his teeth, his face pale.
Ho-young.
How could a player like that even exist?
An attacking midfielder who contributes defensively is not uncommon.
But someone with defensive ability to that extent is rare.
At that level, he could switch to defender and still excel.
In fact, Aguirre felt he was better than most defenders.
Whenever Mexico attacked, Ho-young was always positioned along the key passing lanes.
It felt as if a massive wall was constantly moving across the pitch.
He sees through our build-up and takes up perfect defensive positions.
"Damn it."
The curse slipped out.
Though it was only a one-goal deficit, their morale was already wavering.
This feels just like before.
He had felt this way once during a Madrid derby.
Helplessness.
As expected, the locker room was no different.
If anything, the players looked worse than their manager.
They resembled a defeated army.
No matter how positively they tried to think, there seemed little chance of turning the game around.
They needed to change the mood.
"As long as Ho-young controls the midfield, we cannot take the initiative."
"The game is too suffocating. At this rate, we cannot play our football. We will just be dragged around by Ho-young and it will be over. We need something decisive."
It felt like their chests were clogged.
In the first half alone, Ho-young had covered 7.5 kilometers.
The number proved he had dominated both attack and defense.
"Ordinary pressing will not work. If we sit back, we lose more than we gain. It is better to charge in head-on, whether it works or not. That is the only answer."
It was the opinion of Rafael Márquez, Barcelona's centre-back and Mexico's captain.
Aguirre nodded.
"The second half is all-out attack. I do not care how many we concede. From the kickoff, we push hard. When we get the ball, we create chances at all costs. No more retreating like cowards. Whatever it takes, try. Fight, clash, battle."
It was their best option.
Even if they were battered, they had to rise and counter.
That was the only solution.
Whistle.
As the second half began, Mexico involved even their centre-backs in the build-up and played more aggressively than before.
Andrés Guardado took charge, orchestrating the attack, while Vela and Dos Santos stretched the pitch and used their pace down the flanks.
Mexico's momentum seemed to return.
Most crucially, Hernández made relentless runs inside the penalty area, tearing at Korea's defensive line.
A fierce storm was brewing.
Good. Just keep going like this. We score as many as we concede.
As Aguirre had hoped, Mexico's attacks intensified with time.
And eventually.
Thud.
Hernández slipped through the defensive gap and scored.
It was the result of focusing heavily on attack, even at the cost of defensive balance.
But Aguirre's expression grew darker as time passed.
Around the 58th minute.
Thud.
[Goal. Gooooal. It's in. Ho-young scores with a header for Korea's second.]
In the 60th minute.
Ho-young had targeted Mexico's vulnerable defense and struck with a header.
But it did not end there.
In the 80th minute.
[Ki Sung-yueng wins it back. He sends it forward immediately. Ho-young drops to receive.]
[The defenders who had joined the attack are scrambling back, but they cannot catch him.]
The stands erupted as if they had been waiting for this moment.
The sounds of vuvuzelas and Korean gongs blended together, filling the stadium.
Ho-young's heartbeat pounded louder.
This is it.
The heat of the World Cup.
Playing under the spotlight on that dream stage felt like taking an ice-cold shower in the middle of winter.
Even while dribbling, goosebumps ran across his body.
His condition felt as though it was breaking through the sky.
When Torrado tried to clip him from behind, he slipped past with ease.
When centre-back Rodríguez stepped up, he executed a Marseille turn and burst into the opposite space.
And just as he prepared to shoot.
Thud.
"Ugh."
Rafael Márquez attempted a tackle and caught Ho-young's right ankle.
There was a slight impact, but Ho-young twisted his lower body and wriggled free.
As soon as the shooting angle opened, he struck decisively.
An 18-meter low drive that made Óscar Pérez's heart drop.
And then.
Thud.
The net shook again.
[Hat-trick. It's a hat-trick. Ho-young records his second hat-trick of the tournament.]
[Wonderful. That is his ninth goal of the World Cup. It has been 30 years since Gerd Müller of West Germany scored more than nine in a single tournament at the 1970 Mexico World Cup. An incredible record. Ho-young has done it.]
"Ho."
After the celebration ended and play resumed, it was the 82nd minute.
It was also the moment Javier Aguirre's face collapsed completely.
The score was 3-1.
There was no longer any sign of a comeback.
And exactly 13 minutes later, Mexico fell.
Korea had reached the quarterfinals away from home for the first time in World Cup history.
After the match, an interview followed.
"Congratulations on reaching the quarterfinals and being named Man of the Match."
"Thank you."
"You will remember the first goal. A sharp attack after rock-solid defending. Personally, I feel that was the highlight. Could you say a few words about it?"
"There is a saying that the best attack comes from strong defense. I believe that is why we were able to score."
"Then."
Most of the questions focused on his performance.
As the interview neared its end, another question came.
"There was a collision with Rafael Márquez late in the match. The cameras caught you grimacing. Are you alright?"
"Yes, it is nothing serious."
"That is a relief. Tonight, the United States face Ghana in the Round of 16. Korea will meet the winner. Personally, which team would you prefer?"
"Whoever advances, we are confident. As always, we will simply give our best."
A textbook answer.
It carried a firm determination to reach the semifinals no matter the opponent.
Bang.
In Seoul, around the Sejongno intersection in Jongno District, fireworks exploded, painting the night sky in brilliant colors.
Six hundred thousand citizens in red filled the streets, roaring in celebration.
"Woah. Woah."
"Dae-han Min-guk."
Though it was well past midnight, Korea's night burned hot.
A true cauldron of ecstasy.
People reacted in three ways.
Some cried. Some laughed.
Others embraced strangers and celebrated together.
"Come here."
"Woah."
"Dae-han Min-guk."
Whenever people gathered, they formed circles, bouncing their shoulders and shouting in unison.
When Ho-young's interview aired, applause erupted everywhere.
"Ho-young is unbelievable."
"Now it is certain."
"What is?"
"That he is not just shining because of Real Madrid."
"You only realized that now? He is the first in World Cup history to win Man of the Match in four matches in a single tournament."
"Goosebumps. We might actually reach the semifinals."
"Of course. It is either the United States or Ghana."
The semifinals.
It was no longer a vague hope.
It was becoming reality.
And.
The quarterfinal match was scheduled for Friday, July 2.
(To be continued.)
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