As Ho-young began to warm up, the stadium stirred.
No matter which team they supported, everyone was shouting at the top of their lungs.
The reactions were split into exactly two kinds.
"Let's win!"
"Rip them apart!"
"Viva Young!"
These were the Manchester City fans cheering for Ho-young.
And on the opposite side were the Stoke City fans, waving red flags and screaming abuse.
"He finally open the hell gate!"
(Ho-young has opened the gates of hell!)
"We want teach him!"
(Teach him a lesson!)
"We want kick his dick!"
(Kick him in the crotch!)
"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"
The stadium filled with cries telling them to kill Ho-young.
Hooligans.
These were Stoke City supporters, famous for being extremely violent by nature.
Back in 1998, they had even caused a riot during a match against Manchester City, and compared to that, they had actually become much calmer these days.
For them, there was only one result.
Kill or be killed.
[Carlos Tevez comes off, and Ho-young comes on. The atmosphere is far from normal.]
[Ryan Shawcross already has a dangerous look in his eyes. Did he not say something like that publicly on social media? Of course, it was not aimed directly at Ho-young, but he still needs to be especially careful. Tevez was taken out in an instant, after all.]
Stoke City captain.
Ryan Shawcross narrowed his eyes sharply.
Then he silently walked over and took up a position near Ho-young.
That was it.
There was none of that childish trash talk like, "Today is your funeral."
He was not the type to pick a fight with words.
If he was going to do something, he would show it with actions. He was not the type who preferred arguments on the pitch.
'Let's see what you've got first.'
A probing battle.
He deliberately stayed a slight distance from Ho-young instead of sticking tightly to him.
It was to stay out of the referee's line of sight.
Then he watched for his chance like a beast stalking prey.
From the start, Ho-young had been his target.
Even if he got sent off and faced an additional suspension, he intended to take Ho-young out.
That was the only hope Stoke City had of beating Manchester City.
But that chance would not come easily.
'This bastard is something else.'
From the moment he came onto the pitch, Ho-young had been running wild everywhere, and his movement was so complex that marking him in itself was difficult.
And naturally, the flow of the match tilted toward Manchester City.
[Manchester City are moving the ball around, using the full width of the pitch as they calmly build possession. The match is becoming more and more settled.]
[That's right. This is the Ho-young effect. He is not just acting as a forward, he is also dropping into the second line at times to help beat the press and keep the game flowing smoothly. It is movement designed to prevent Stoke City's physical challenges before they even happen. The pass comes before they can get close, so there is nothing Stoke City can do.]
With James Milner and David Silva stretching the shape and working tirelessly, Stoke City's tactics were not functioning properly.
But they also did not have the freedom to focus on interceptions.
That was because Ronaldinho, standing at the center of it all, was calmly dictating the attack and distributing accurate passes in every direction.
Thanks to that, the link-up play between the first and second lines came alive, and Ho-young began getting on the ball more often.
[David Silva threads it forward!]
[Ho-young receives it in the central channel of the second line, with his back to goal.]
"Here he comes!"
"Kill him!"
Abdoulaye Faye, who was nearby, drove his shoulder in.
He was a 33-year-old veteran, but with the agility typical of a black player and monstrous physical strength, it looked like a duel worth taking.
But that hulking body became useless in front of Ho-young.
Whirl!
"Ugh!"
[Ah, he's turned him! A full 360-degree spin!!]
The La Pelopina Turn.
It did not look flashy on the surface, but the timing and speed were absurd.
Over the past few days, Ho-young had absorbed the talent he had coveted from David Silva and made it his own.
No, he had taken it beyond the original.
Using his outstanding flexibility and ball sense as well, the move had become something that could not be followed even if you saw it happen.
Abdoulaye Faye turned quickly to recover, but Ho-young had already left that spot.
And that was not the end of it.
Tap, tap.
Right after the 360-degree spin, he immediately used a phantom dribble to find the gap and drive through it.
Then came the push-and-run.
Tak!
Three touches.
All of it happened in a flash, as if it were a single movement.
It had entered the realm of the absurd.
At that incredible performance, a thunderous roar burst from the stands.
"Viva!"
"Young!"
"Viva!"
"Young!!"
Riding that momentum, Ho-young charged forward.
Two defenders remained.
[Ho-young! He goes straight at them!!]
[He has to be careful! Huth is coming in!]
Robert Huth.
'He's coming.'
Huth intended to show exactly why Stoke City were called a men's team.
An ordinary tackle would never be enough to stop him anyway.
And if he let Ho-young break through here, the chances of conceding were high.
Then there was only one way.
The moment Ho-young entered his range.
Whirl!
Huth launched a forward tackle with both legs raised high.
It was not just any tackle.
His left foot aimed at Ho-young's groin, and his right foot targeted the opposite side of his pelvis.
It was a tackle prepared in advance for Ho-young's possible change of direction.
At that point, there should have been no escape.
But.
Slide!
"...?!"
That was only what Robert Huth thought.
Ho-young was never caught by the tackle.
Amazingly, Ho-young's legs stopped just before they touched Huth's boots.
A sudden stop.
Ho-young came to a dead halt at a speed that was dizzying just to watch.
It was the sort of move where it would be stranger for his knees not to give out, but at that moment, his monstrous lower body endured it.
Huth realized too late what had happened and stretched out a leg, but Ho-young had already moved out of range.
Whirl!
[He spins again!]
Another La Pelopina Turn.
Ho-young rotated his body the other way and neutralized Huth's second tackle.
Then he drove forward.
Tak!
And now the last man, Ryan Shawcross.
As expected from a master of dirty play, even the way he forced a physical battle was on another level.
Whirl!
He came charging in hard with a frame that was 190 centimeters tall and 80 kilograms, and the timing was so quick that there was no way to avoid it.
There was no time to pass, and no time to turn.
So.
"Hup."
Ho-young did not avoid it.
Remembering what Tevez had said, he lowered his center of gravity into his legs.
He pulled his head forward and bent his waist backward to balance his entire body, then pushed his hips back and used both legs as supports.
And he held firm.
Bang!
"Urgh."
Shawcross's face was filled with shock.
The impact was enough to make the goal shake, but Ho-young was still standing perfectly fine.
Even when his shirt was tugged, he refused to go down.
Normally, at this point, even a player with a strong body should have staggered, but there was barely any sign of that from Ho-young.
'Crazy.'
He was as sturdy as a tree rooted deep into the earth, and as hard on the surface as a rock.
There was no sign of him going down at all.
It was a truly insane situation.
And even more than that.
Whip!
"...!!"
Ho-young suddenly drove his hips in and twisted his waist, and Shawcross, who had been grabbing his shirt, went tumbling flat onto the ground.
The goal shook right after that.
It was a heavy long-range strike that looked like it might rip through the net.
The keeper could not react at all to the half-beat quicker timing.
Thud!
"Hooo!"
[Goooooooooal! The equalizer! Ho-young creates it!]
[He shrugs off the brutal physical challenge and hits it immediately. That is satisfying. That is manly football!]
"How?!"
Shawcross slammed the ground in frustration.
Up to that point, he thought it had just been luck.
But once, twice, and then again after that, the same thing kept happening.
"You fucking bastard."
Cursing changed nothing.
Ho-young was still rock solid, and no physical challenge could shake him.
And if Shawcross tried to target his knees with a sliding tackle, Ho-young would not allow the distance.
There was nothing more he could do.
[It's Ho-young again. This time he drops deep to receive.]
[Shawcross comes flying in right from behind him!]
It was the same again.
Shawcross reacted like an animal and hurled himself into another sliding tackle, but he could not even touch the tip of Ho-young's boot.
[Ho-young's no-touch receive! He lets it run without touching it and slips away!]
A feint.
Ho-young shaped as if to receive the ball, then suddenly turned away and nullified Shawcross's tackle.
That was one of the reasons it was so difficult to deal with Ho-young.
There were simply too many things he could do.
And Ho-young was not the kind of player who would be easily beaten in the psychological battle either, so for Shawcross, who had to mark him, it was becoming unbearable.
"That fucking son of a bitch!"
After launching a tackle onto empty ground, Shawcross desperately stretched out a hand like a drowning man clutching at straws.
But Ho-young avoided even that and...
"Ghk!"
No, he lightly stepped on it and drove forward.
The shot came soon after.
[He strikes from distanceeeeeee!]
Thud!
"Hooo!"
Manchester City's third goal.
The go-ahead goal that turned the match around came at around the 58th minute of the second half.
And Shawcross, who had done nothing, was substituted 5 minutes later.
As the match became more and more unfavorable, manager Tony Pulis ordered his side to strengthen both flanks and force throw-ins.
But the ball was not even going out that often, so that was not easy either.
And just like that, the so-called men's team collapsed without much resistance.
Peeeeep!
Full-time.
The score was 4-2.
An easy comeback win for Manchester City.
[Manchester City reach the FA Cup final for the first time in 32 years, since 1969!]
[What a match that was. Even mighty Stoke City could not lay a finger on Ho-young in the end. Shawcross looked completely determined too. At this rate, it seems the only way to stop him would be to bring a gun.]
[Ha ha. For Liverpool fans, who reached the final two days ago, this must be painful to watch.]
Meanwhile, thanks to completing a hat-trick, Ho-young was able to covet Rory Delap's Human Catapult Throw-in (U).
Right after the match, he was named Man of the Match and headed to the press conference room.
And when asked how he felt about reaching the final, he answered without hesitation.
"There is nothing that can stop us now."
That night, the streets of Manchester turned into a festival ground.
But what was even more surprising came the next day, when Lucci said something to Ho-young while he was having lunch.
"We have another attractive advertisement offer this time. It looks like the aggressive and rough play you showed in the last match appealed to them. It is a very attractive campaign, like Nike last time."
"It's during the season, though?"
"The filming time is short, just like last time. If you do not feel like doing it right away, we can move it to June."
"Can I at least hear what it is first?"
"It's a car commercial."
"!"
A car.
It was the kind of advertisement any man would want to do at least once.
Ho-young had wanted to do one for a long time already.
And since he had recently gotten his driver's license, there was no need to hesitate.
"Then do I have a partner this time too?"
"Of course."
'A partner.'
After Rafael Nadal, he could not help but wonder who it would be this time.
(To be continued.)