Riccardo Montolivo.
With his striking blue eyes, he earned recognition for his ability at the young age of twenty three and made it to Beijing.
He was good enough to secure a starting position at ACF Fiorentina in Serie A.
However, because his style did not suit the football Casiraghi pursued, starting matches was out of the question for him.
But an opportunity appeared.
A chance to take Ho-young out and earn the coach's trust.
Moreover, with Casiraghi being the leading candidate for the next national team head coach, making the most of this chance would clearly help Montolivo's future call ups.
That single action would make him an enemy of South Korea for life, but that was a price he felt he could accept.
He could become a hero for his country.
At this free kick situation, Montolivo had to make it count no matter what.
[Ki Sung-yong's free kick. It heads toward the outside post.]
[Ho-young. Ho-young is there. Ho-young jumps.]
Having secured a favorable position in advance, Ho-young pushed off the ground and leapt.
He angled his head toward the incoming ball.
But Montolivo had no intention of allowing that header.
In an extremely brief instant.
Montolivo jumped almost simultaneously and contested the header with Ho-young.
At that moment, referee Franco's eyes locked onto Montolivo.
He had already sensed something suspicious about him and was watching closely in case anything happened.
If a player intends to harm an opponent, they instinctively clench their fist during an aerial duel, and their gaze shifts from the ball to the opponent.
That is human instinct.
Those were exactly the signs Franco was looking for.
However.
Montolivo's eyes were fixed solely on the ball, and he did not use his forearms or elbows at all.
He attempted only a clean aerial challenge, without any foul.
It was fair play.
Still, Montolivo was not strong in the air, so he had to concede the header to Ho-young.
Defeat.
'I lost.'
Montolivo ended the duel there.
He did nothing further.
No pulling, no pushing, no elbow to the face.
He did none of what Casiraghi had ordered.
He simply accepted the loss.
He could only watch Ho-young's header smash into the post.
Clang.
"Ah."
As the header struck the post and went out, Ho-young let out a cry of frustration.
Watching him, Montolivo quietly exhaled.
It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
He had failed his task, but at least he had upheld sportsmanship.
There was no romance, but there was conscience.
Just five minutes earlier, Ho-young had given him first aid.
He could not bring himself to do something like that to him.
As a human being, as a sportsman sharing the same pitch.
When Ho-young's header hit the post, the Chinese fans who had been jeering as if dumping cold water fell silent.
Some even began muttering curses at Italy.
"Stupid Italians. Struggling against Korea of all teams. If it were China, they would already be one goal up."
"I'm not joking, our Dong Fangzhou looks better than Giovinco. What is that little guy even doing. He keeps breaking through but never scores."
Some spectators openly compared their own ace with Italy's and voiced their dissatisfaction.
Judging by the atmosphere, it felt as if Italy had already lost.
But the match was far from over.
The first half had not even ended, and the score was still 1-1.
Italy did not give up.
They had the strength to overturn even a two or three goal deficit.
'If only Ho-young weren't there.'
Casiraghi seethed internally.
Ho-young.
The influence of a single player was enormous.
That one young boy was even boosting the morale of the Korean players, driving Casiraghi nearly insane.
'How did he turn a match we had completely under control into this. Montolivo, you useless fool.'
His head felt like it would explode.
Even after the free kick, there were several good chances, yet Montolivo failed to do his job.
It was not hesitation, he simply showed no intention of doing it at all.
When the first half ended 1-1, Casiraghi stormed straight into the locker room and vented his anger.
Bang.
He kicked a metal box filled with football equipment and loosened his tie, glaring at Montolivo.
"You spineless bastard. After being humiliated like that, you couldn't even do that one thing."
He was so furious that he harshly berated Montolivo in front of the entire team.
But Montolivo did not stay silent.
"Are you even human. Ho-young helped me. And you tell me to do that to him. Is that something a human being does."
"You idiot. You know nothing about football. Do you think this is kids kicking a ball around. This is professional sport. Wealth, honor, national pride are on the line. Do not take it lightly. This is war. War."
Casiraghi.
Despite his refined looks, he had always had a ruthless side as a player, but he was never this extreme.
He became this way after becoming a coach.
Leading Italy was a heavy burden.
Winning was expected, losing meant abuse, and mental collapse was only a matter of time.
Especially if they failed to win this match, extremist Italian fans had even issued death threats, telling him not to expect to return home safely.
Any coach gets criticized, but the stronger and more expected the team, the worse it becomes.
The real problem was Casiraghi's weak mentality.
That was why he had nowhere left to retreat.
"This is your last chance. Ten minutes, just ten minutes. A chance to make up for your mistake. The rest of you, get your heads straight. If we do not finish first in the group, Brazil will be waiting. Ronaldinho, Robinho, Ronaldo. If you think you can handle them, then go ahead and act tough, captain."
"Yes."
"Reorganize the team."
"Then please leave."
"I will be watching in the second half."
With that, Casiraghi left the locker room.
There was still plenty of halftime left, but the locker room was no longer a place to rest.
The atmosphere was suffocating.
Montolivo fell into thought once again.
Seeing this, Marchisio approached him quietly.
"Montolivo."
"Yes."
"Listen carefully. This match is only ninety minutes, but ninety percent of your career still lies ahead. I hope you do not throw away your future just to be a hero for ninety minutes. Everyone thinks that way. No one will blame you."
It was heartfelt advice.
Then he added one more thing.
"Ho-young has already noticed."
"What."
"That you are targeting him. At least that's how it feels to me."
Known for his sharp awareness, Marchisio had sensed it earlier.
"From the moment you started initiating contact with Ho-young. Ho-young kept his distance to avoid injury. Same when you fell earlier. He has been maintaining distance from you all along. When bodies got close, he aligned his legs to make tackle angles awkward. When separated, he widened the distance to stay out of tackling range."
"Is that true. I did not feel it."
"You were too focused on tackling to notice. But I was nearby the whole time. I saw it again and again."
"So that kid has injury prevention down to that level."
"He has faced intense marking even in the second division. Real Madrid must have trained him carefully. They said Ho-young was the reserve team's ace."
"Ah."
Montolivo finally understood and nodded.
Taking someone out while disguising it as an accident was not something you could do just by deciding to.
It required a certain balance of level between the two players.
It felt as if Ho-young was standing above him.
A chill ran through Montolivo's body.
The second half began.
Ho-young remained in the attacking midfielder role and immediately took control of the flow.
At the same time, his gaze turned to the midfield.
He constantly observed Montolivo's movements.
'I need to be careful until the end. I never know when a tackle might come.'
Ho-young had already sensed it.
That Montolivo had been intentionally trying to tackle him.
Ho-young was already sharp, and after gaining Ki Sung-yong's vision talent, he began seeing even more.
On top of that, Montolivo, who was not physically strong, suddenly started initiating contact. There was no way Ho-young would miss that.
From then on, he watched him closely.
Whether contesting the ball or receiving a pass, he instinctively protected his body.
'No matter what, protect your own body.'
He recalled Ronaldo's valuable advice and applied the injury prevention methods he had learned from him, neutralizing Montolivo's attempts.
It was possible only because Montolivo was weak in physical duels.
If it had been someone like Gattuso charging in with full intent, Ho-young's leg might already have been broken.
Montolivo was still a young player just establishing himself in Serie A.
Ho-young had even considered turning the tables on him, like he did with Kovacevic.
But now.
'Did he give up.'
Montolivo no longer initiated physical contact.
Still, Ho-young stayed cautious.
'That apology could have been a trap.'
Just thinking about Kim Tae-young, whose nose was broken against Italy in the 2002 World Cup, still sent chills down his spine. Italian players always required caution.
Then it happened.
Whistle.
As the ball went out of play, Montolivo was called off the pitch.
Eleventh minute of the second half.
Italy made a substitution.
[Montolivo is coming off. Cigarini comes on in his place. Coach Casiraghi looks very displeased. It seems things are not going well.]
[They are also changing their shape. They are no longer fixated on Ho-young and are focusing on attack. Our players must hold firm.]
Italy reduced defenders and increased attacking numbers.
Casiraghi's final weapon.
An all out attack.
A draw was not enough.
But at the same time.
South Korea was not standing idle.
Coach Park Sung-ho adjusted the defense into a five back line through substitutions and had all attackers, including Ho-young, drop back to defend.
They shut the door.
Ho-young positioned himself centrally and actively supported the flanks.
Whenever that happened, there was one player who could not hide his frustration.
Giovinco.
He always seemed to shrink whenever he faced Ho-young.
To be fair, he had looked decent in the first half.
He created danger whenever he had the ball, even if his finishing was lacking.
But now things were completely different.
His play gradually died under the coordinated defense of Ho-young and Ki Dong-jin.
'It's over.'
Before the tournament, he had even shaved his head to steel his resolve, but it was useless.
Resolve meant little against superior ability.
"Ahhh."
Giovinco screamed in frustration.
He felt like running up and headbutting Ho-young.
Still, Korea was not in a comfortable position.
Italy remained strong and maintained control until the end.
As time passed, their focus sharpened, and their attacks stayed relentless.
[As expected of Italy. They are formidable. Our players must not lose concentration until the end.]
[That's right. Even if it's tough, they have to hold on just a little longer. They can do it.]
[Five minutes, just five minutes left. Cameroon defeated Honduras earlier, so if we draw, our place in the quarterfinals is almost guaranteed.]
As stamina drained, the players weakened, but the same was true for Italy.
And finally.
Whistle.
[Full time. South Korea holds Italy, one of the tournament favorites, to a 1-1 draw and earns a valuable point.]
[Yes, we are proud. If we draw against Honduras in the third match, we will advance to the quarterfinals.]
Just a draw against the weakest team, Honduras, in three days would secure first place in the group.
It was a precious result, and especially meaningful for Ho-young.
He had acquired that talent again after four years.
[The talent vessel is currently full. Elastic Muscles of the Black Panther (22 days) is pending.]
[Select the talent you wish to pre acquire after 22 days.]
-Sculpted Looks (A+2)
-Precise and Quick Kick (A+2)
-Threatening Sliding Tackle (A+)
-(More)
Ho-young chose the first.
[Sculpted Looks (A+3) increased.]
'One more step to S.'
He let out a small smile.
Who would not be happy about becoming more handsome.
Just then, someone approached.
"Marchisio."
"That was a good experience. Can we swap jerseys."
Rustle.
Ho-young took off his jersey and handed it over.
Marchisio extended his hand.
"Good luck in the remaining matches."
The sight of two handsome players exchanging jerseys was heartwarming.
And it did not end there.
"Woo."
Montolivo.
He approached silently and offered a handshake.
He was not crying, but his face clearly carried sorrow and guilt.
Sensing that, Ho-young pulled him into a brief hug instead of just shaking hands.
It was ironic that he ended up comforting someone he had almost planned to punish.
Pat pat.
After the hug, Montolivo spoke while shaking hands.
"The match was a draw, but we lost. And once again, thank you."
His English was limited, so he kept it short.
Click click click.
They returned to the tunnel amid flashing cameras.
It looked like a fitting, emotional end to a fierce match.
But shortly after.
The press conference room erupted.
That South Korea had drawn Italy was the first reason.
But the real shock came from elsewhere.
Casiraghi's interview held underground.
And Montolivo's interview in the player tunnel above ground.
In both, Ho-young's name was mentioned repeatedly.
And then came Ho-young's interview, delivering the final blow.
(To be continued.)
◇◇◇
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