Football is that kind of game.
No matter how low your pass accuracy is, how little possession you have, or how many players are sent off, as long as you score more goals, you win.
Even if there's only one minute left on the clock, it's the goal that decides the match.
In the 79th minute of the second half, São Paulo FC finally regained possession.
They intercepted Marcelo's pass and linked the ball forward to Santoro.
"Here!"
Ho-young, positioned as the left midfielder, started making a run along the left touchline.
As if it were pre-arranged, Santoro played a through ball into his path.
Thud!
The tempo was explosive.
A highlight moment was unfolding, one you'd regret blinking during.
The away team's counterattack had finally begun.
Tap.
As soon as the ball stuck to Ho-young's foot, he launched it forward with a long touch, charging diagonally toward the center.
The ball was rolling at a blistering pace, but Ho-young's top-end speed covered the distance with ease.
A strictly controlled dribble.
Even though his legs had grown heavy from running tirelessly all game like a workhorse, he still had just enough in the tank to ignite one last surge.
His legs were trembling, but Ho-young charged forward with eyes fixed ahead.
Fluminense FC's resistance wasn't lacking either.
"Woooooohhhh!"
Fweeeeeet!
Fweeeeeeeeeet!
The home crowd erupted in jeers.
Fall backward, trip forward. They hurled abuse, trying to disrupt Ho-young's concentration.
But the player himself didn't seem to care in the slightest.
Jeers?
They didn't even register.
All Ho-young could hear was the pounding of his heartbeat.
"Hu, hu, huuuu…"
His heart felt like it was about to explode.
His breathing was ragged, and his legs felt like they could snap at any moment.
If someone had to be named the most active player today, it would probably be Ho-young.
That's how insanely hard he had run.
And it wasn't just him.
Casemiro, Breno, Rafinha, Santoro, Fernando…
All of them had endured relentlessly.
All for this one final counterattack.
"Guh…"
A sharp pain stabbed through his chest and up into his head.
It was even more exhausting than the match against Bayern Munich that had gone into extra time.
This was the true meaning of extreme suffering.
His body had already reached its physical limit. Now it was running purely on mental strength.
Fighting spirit.
That alone kept his mind focused.
A pure heart, but fierce legs.
Whoosh!
He charged forward without hesitation.
With every burst, defenders were forced to fall back.
Then it happened.
Swoosh.
Cutting in from the wing toward the center, he faced forward.
No defenders were left in front of him.
To his right, Santoro was making a run into the box.
Two choices.
He could fake a shot and play a grounded pass, or do the opposite.
Ho-young chose the latter.
'I'll take it myself.'
Just outside the box.
Ho-young looked toward the far post.
A diagonal shot would be standard here, but the angle was slightly tight.
If he misjudged the power, the ball could hit the post.
So Ho-young instinctively chose a different method.
He lowered his upper body and shifted his weight onto the ball.
A final shot without even glancing back.
"!"
Tap!
The ball slipped between the goalkeeper's legs.
It happened in an instant.
A classic nutmeg finish.
The ball slid across the grass, right between the legs and into the back of the net.
It was São Paulo FC's first goal, scored with just 30 seconds left on the clock.
"Waaaaaaaahhhhhh!!"
The game wasn't even over yet, but the stadium felt like it would explode from the roar.
Anyone watching might have thought they'd just won a championship.
But the goal was that valuable, and São Paulo's players going wild was only natural.
That one goal was essentially the ticket to the quarterfinals.
Like a horde of zombies, they swarmed Ho-young.
"You crazy bastard! You actually scored that!"
"You monster!"
And Ho-young...
"WRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!"
Roared as he ran across the pitch.
Amazingly, even though he had looked like he might collapse just moments ago, he still had the energy to make half a lap around the stands, soaking in the joy.
The broadcast camera captured a full shot of his celebration.
A bright smile was plastered across Ho-young's face.
With that one goal, they were practically in the quarterfinals.
There was nothing that could match the joy of this moment.
At least, that's how it felt… until the moment the celebration ended.
Because the joy didn't stop there.
[Burning Fighting Spirit (A-)]
"…!!"
A spark of life returned to his eyes.
It was something Ho-young had never experienced before, and something he hadn't dared to expect.
'I finally…'
Talent manifestation.
He had thought he was born talentless. But apparently, that wasn't the case.
Ho-young, through a year of careful observation, had learned just how difficult it was for talents to awaken through hard work.
Talent, after all, was about drawing out something already dormant inside. And doing that could take months or even years.
But now, he had done it.
The result of his efforts.
And right off the bat, it was A-.
'Well, some people start with Football Prodigy, and others with Football Genius.'
Apparently, not all awakened talents started at C-grade.
But more than that, Ho-young was filled with another question.
'Did I earn this talent through effort? Or did I simply awaken one that was already buried within me?'
He wasn't sure, but one thing was clear.
This wasn't the end.
A limitless future had opened up before him.
Like discovering a pearl buried in a pile of dirt.
He now had a powerful new mindset to rely on.
Fueled by his Burning Fighting Spirit.
The 80th minute.
Fweeeet!
The whistle blew, and the kickoff was taken from the center mark.
The match wasn't over yet.
The current aggregate score, including the first leg, was 3-2 in favor of São Paulo FC. But the game isn't over until the final whistle.
Three minutes of added time remained.
Plenty of time to score another goal.
However, even if Fluminense scored one more and tied it at 3-3, they wouldn't go through.
Because of the away goals rule, São Paulo FC would advance to the quarterfinals, having scored an away goal today.
No need for extra time.
In other words, for Fluminense FC to advance, they needed two more goals. But their players showed neither motivation nor hope.
In the 83rd minute.
Fluminense even pushed their goalkeeper forward to join the attack, but the tide had already turned.
No matter how hard they knocked, São Paulo's goal didn't budge.
The away side's defense held firm, like an immovable rock, delivering one great clearance after another.
And finally—
Fweeeeeet!
The final whistle blew, confirming São Paulo FC's advancement to the quarterfinals of the Super Championship.
And something else happened.
[Select the talent you wish to obtain.]
- Active Overlapping (A-)
- Excellent Ball Control (B+2)
- Smooth Dribbling (B)
- Sharp Crossing (B)
- Solid Ball Interceptions (C+3)
- Organized Link-up Play (C+2)
- Rhythmic Agility (C+2)
- Clean Marseille Turn (C+)
He had successfully copied Marcelo's talent.
Without hesitation, Ho-young selected Excellent Ball Control (B+2).
'I'll take Smooth Dribbling the next time we meet in the league.'
They would clash at least twice more this season.
In that sense, Marcelo was a very useful opponent.
"Sniff… huff… sniff…"
Even after the match had ended, Marcelo stood on the pitch, unable to leave.
Despite his cute appearance, he had an intense desire to win. And with today's match so close to victory, he couldn't accept the result.
"Sniff… sniff… sob…"
He buried his face in his jersey and cried, tears streaming down like raindrops.
He couldn't stop crying.
He had worked so hard to get here. And having never suffered this kind of humiliation before, the result felt especially bitter.
'Damn it. The scouts must've been watching today too… ughhhh!'
Just as his insides were burning with frustration.
Swoosh.
A hand reached out in front of his face.
It was Ho-young.
"You…"
Silently, Ho-young took off his jersey and handed it to Marcelo.
"Guh…"
Marcelo wiped away his tears and shot up to his feet.
To lose completely to an Asian kid he had underestimated, and then to be comforted by him?
It was perhaps the greatest humiliation of his life.
But just like a field becomes firmer after the rain, maybe today's experience would help him grow.
Whether this would become a turning point or just a nightmare would be up to him.
The same was true for Ho-young.
It had been a valuable experience.
The most intense match he'd played so far, and one he wouldn't forget anytime soon.
"Here…"
Marcelo, eyes red and puffy, took off his sweat-soaked jersey.
A true sportsman must also learn how to lose.
And Marcelo accepted defeat.
It stung, but this wasn't the end. He reached out to shake Ho-young's hand.
To cry and laugh over a single goal. That was what it meant to be a footballer.
After the match, in the away team's locker room, Carlos's commanding voice echoed.
"Well played."
He said nothing more about the match itself.
There were things to fix and improve, of course. But on a day like this, he wasn't the type of coach to nitpick right away.
He praised every single one of his players without exception.
But he also made sure to keep their heads grounded.
"You've only just made it to the quarterfinals. You can't relax now. There are still many important matches ahead. The national league, the state league in June, and from December, the South American Champions League kicks off. This is only the beginning, so be ready."
There was still a long road ahead.
Just thinking about it made their shoulders droop, but it also meant plenty of opportunities for growth.
'South American Champions League… I'll get to face promising players from other countries too.'
If there was such a thing as a luxury buffet, that would be it.
Before leaving Brazil next year, it would be the perfect chance to gather more top-class talents.
"And Ho-young."
Just then, after the team talk, Carlos called him over.
"Yes, Coach?"
"Go up to the stands."
"The stands? Why?"
"I didn't mention it before the match because I didn't want it to distract you, but someone came from Korea to see you. Go on. There's still time before the bus leaves."
"From Korea?"
There was no one he could think of.
Who had come?
Ho-young stepped out toward the stands.
(To be continued.)