Chapter 118. Ability vs. Ability (1)
“Good job, Yul.”
“Really? Did I do really really well?” Yul asked, her eyes wide with anticipation.
“Yeah, you were amazing. You were the MVP of this match,” Eun-Ho said with a smile.
“MVP? What’s that?”
“Hmm... It means something really good,” he replied, laughing softly.
Yul giggled and Eun-Ho reached out to ruffle her hair affectionately, his smile lingering.
Puff!
Just then, a rectangular box appeared in front of everyone, floating gently in midair. It was wrapped in a green ribbon that fluttered like butterfly wings over its pristine white surface.
“What is that? It’s huge!” someone said.
“Yeah, even Yul could fit in there!” another joked.
“Wait! Don’t tell me this is a Mystery Box?!” someone else shouted ecstatically.
However, what came out of it wasn’t treasure or weapons. It was something quite different.
[Snack has been delivered!]
Training Camp Special Healthy Meal
- A premium lunchbox packed with stir-fried Golden-Horn beef and grilled Giant Eel, excellent for restoring Stamina.
- Increases Stamina by two when completely consumed.
It was a top-grade, S-rank meal that boosted stats just by eating it. By contrast, other teams’ meals dropped in quality depending on their performance.
“What kind of meat is this? It’s not regular beef, is it?”
“Damn it! That’s way better than ours!”
When the flying carpet guy opened his lunchbox, he only found a few slices of tough bread and some sad-looking meat. “At this point, isn’t this practically a vegetarian meal?”
“Just eat it. It’s still better than nothing,” his teammate muttered.
The massive American bruisers who had been enlarging themselves had nothing but noodles drowned in sauce.
“Seriously?!”
As for the flame user who had lost his medal to Eun-Ho the moment the cavalry match began, his meal was two slices of bread with jam.
“That’s brutal,” Eun-Ho muttered.
“Right? I wonder what the teams that got eliminated before the cavalry match are eating,” Ji-Eun replied.
“Plain bread without jam, maybe?”
Ji-Eun stopped shaking her head midway and let out a wry laugh. “Huh? That’s a joke, right?”
I’m not joking, Eun-Ho thought.
Back when he had quit sports and drifted between part-time jobs that suited his condition, his financial situation had been bleak. Living off thirty thousand won a month including transportation meant eating three proper meals a day was a fantasy.
Therefore, he had come up with one solution: white bread. A bag of bread usually contained ten slices. Two slices per meal meant five meals were solved. It was cheap, filling, and dependable.
Compared to those days, I’m living the good life now, he mused.
[You have consumed the Training Camp Special Healthy Meal.]
[Your Stamina has increased by two.]
And now I’m eating healthy meals that boost stats, he thought with a bitter chuckle.
It was funny how in this absurd, game-like reality, he did not have to worry about hunger. Funnier still was the warmth that bloomed in his chest despite it all.
“Thanks to you, Young Man, we won’t be going hungry today,” said the security guard with a hearty grin.
“It’s all thanks to you, sir. Your shield was incredible,” Eun-Ho replied sincerely.
“Haha! Really?” the guard laughed, scratching his head in embarrassment.
“Me too! It’s all thanks to you that we got nice food!” said Bo-Ra, raising her empty lunchbox proudly, her face bright with color.
Eun-Ho glanced at her as her Stamina had been running dangerously low. He felt genuinely relieved because the plus two bonus from the meal probably helped a lot.
Just as he exhaled in quiet contentment, a shadow loomed over him, blocking the light. Seung-Tae’s former henchmen were surrounding him.
“Got a minute to talk?” one of them asked coldly.
Broad-shouldered and rough-faced, the men closing in on Eun-Ho, all muscle and menace. One of them kept rubbing the very same forearm Eun-Ho had slashed the day before. Even though Sol-Ah had treated the wound, the man’s twitching hand betrayed lingering fear, almost like a trauma.
“You got something to say?” Eun-Ho asked coolly.
There were six of them in total. He didn’t exactly have fond memories of them, either. Expecting trouble, he glanced at them briefly. In the next moment, he froze when all six suddenly bowed.
“We’re sorry!” they shouted in unison.
“... What?”
Before Eun-Ho could respond, the men began spilling their words like a flood of excuses.
“We know it’s shameless to apologize now, but still... We're sorry. We weren’t in our right minds.”
“You probably think we can’t be trusted. Honestly, if I were you, I’d think the same.”
“Someday... If you could give us a chance to make it right, we’ll prove we can be useful.”
Heads nearly touching the ground, backs bent tight and voices trembling, it wasn’t hard to see the sincerity beneath their awkwardness.
A chance to make it right, huh?
Eun-Ho doubted this was pure remorse. They probably realized it would be unwise to make enemies of him before the next trial. Still, their tone carried something genuine, and that was enough for Eun-Ho.
“There’ll be plenty of chances to put your strength to use,” Eun-Ho said at last.
The men looked up, startled, but he had agreed. After all, their only real mistake was falling under Myung Seung-Tae’s mind control. They had just followed orders and gotten beaten up for it. If they’d tried to protest their innocence, things would’ve gotten messy. However, it seemed they knew better than to dig their own graves.
“And thanks,” one of them said quietly.
“Huh?” Eun-Ho raised an eyebrow.
“We know our team’s been staying in first place because of you.”
Eun-Ho hummed thoughtfully. It was not entirely true, but he didn’t bother correcting them. If earning their trust meant accepting a little praise, he was willing to take it.
It was 12:30 PM and the bonus lunch break ended peacefully, the atmosphere light and content.
Bzzzt!
“There’s the announcement!” someone shouted.
The announcement crackled through the speakers, signaling the start of the afternoon schedule.
Bzzt!
[Attention, all new recruits of Sector 13.]
[Round three will begin at 1:00 PM sharp.]
[The event is...]
“Whew... What do you think it’ll be this time?” Ji-Eun asked nervously.
“Hopefully it’s something that’s not too exhausting,” another replied.
The announcement continued, echoing across the field.
[Soccer!]
“Soccer?!”
Every head turned toward one man, Park Gong-Chan, the Hero of Wembley.
Gong-Chan half sighed, half laughed. “Ha.”
What should have been exasperation sounded more like excitement to Eun-Ho’s ears. The way Gong-Chan’s eyes gleamed brightly and vividly, proved it.
“Looks like it’s your specialty,” Eun-Ho said.
“I guess so,” Gong-Chan replied with a faint smile.
Gong-Chan’s expression lit up even more. His face burned with the competitive fire of someone born for the game. Besides being eager to win, he seemed to genuinely love soccer. That much was obvious, and his teammates, the other national players, were no different.
“Is it real soccer? Like, with the actual rules?”
“I can’t believe we’re playing again!”
“I saw a lot of players earlier. I guess they’ll all join in?”
Their faces glowed with nostalgia and excitement, voices rising like fans before a big match.
Eun-Ho decided then. “You’re in charge.”
Gong-Chan blinked. “... What?”
“This match, everything from the lineup to the tactics, I’m leaving it to you. Just make sure we win. You think you can do that?”
“Huh?”
“You’re the expert, aren’t you?”
There was no reason for Eun-Ho to lead every battle. Sometimes, the best move was to step back and let the right person take command. Besides, it seemed better that way.
“But,” Eun-Ho added with a faint grin, “I do have one idea you might like...”
A brief conversation followed, low and quick. Then, Gong-Chan’s eyebrows rose sharply, his expression shifting from surprise to intrigue. Rather than disliking Eun-Ho's strategy, the look on his face suggested excitement, like a spark of anticipation lighting behind his eyes.
Gong-Chan paused for a moment, thinking, then said with an easy grin, “I don’t think I can lose.”
Then he gave a rare, bright smile, one that didn’t suit his usual calm expression. However, it somehow felt perfectly natural on him.
***
“Luiz! Did you hear that?”
“My God... Soccer?! Seriously?!”
The one who shouted was Luiz, the captain of Brazil’s national team, known across the world as the Golden Legs of the Canary Legion.
Now, he was also the representative of the Brazilian recruits in this bizarre survival program. His dark brown curls shook as he lowered his head, clasped his hands together, and murmured a joyful prayer.
“Soccer. Soccer!” he said, voice trembling. “This is a gift from heaven.”
Most of the survivors around Luiz were members of Brazil’s national football team. The apocalypse had struck right in the middle of their training camp, leaving almost the entire starting lineup alive. Their collective strength, both physical and tactical, was unmatched.
“Who do you think we’ll be facing?”
“I saw that France and Germany both survived.”
“England and Spain survived too... Oh, and Italy.”
Their chatter buzzed with energy, but Luiz didn’t care who the opponent was. He never did, especially not now.
None of the other zones had managed to preserve their entire first-string lineup like Brazil had. He felt it in his bones that they were going to win no matter who stood in their way.
“We’re taking the championship,” Luiz declared. “It doesn’t matter who we face.”
He meant it. Then, as soon as the system’s voice echoed, Luiz’s confident premonition hardened into certainty.
[The BR district is against the ROK district!]
“ROK... That’s Korea, right?”
“Yeah, that’s Park Gong-Chan’s country,” someone replied.
“Gong-Chan’s tough. That guy never gets tired,” said another.
“But Korea...” murmured Sergio, trailing off before smirking. “They’ll be easy.”
Korea would occasionally produce players so brilliant they turned heads around the world, but no one had ever mistaken them for a true powerhouse. Their FIFA ranking barely cracked the top thirty. Meanwhile, Brazil, the nation with the most World Cup titles, stood proudly in third place. The difference was like heaven and earth.
“They were the top team yesterday, right?”
“I guess we’ll be the ones to take them down.”
“Hah! For Korea, this must feel like a nightmare, having to play us of all teams.”
Laughter rippled through the players, smug and confident. Almost every single one of them believed victory was already theirs. One man raised his hand, frowning.
“Aren’t we underestimating them?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, they did take first place yesterday. We should at least be prepared. They came out of nowhere and won, right?”
Luiz tilted his head, nodding slowly.
“A reasonable point,” he admitted.
“Right? I just think we should be careful—”
“But also,” Luiz cut him off, smiling thinly as he added, “a bit insulting to us.”
The man stiffened, stammering, “I-I didn’t mean it like that...”
“Hah. Don’t be too upset, Captain,” another teammate said. “He’s talking like that because he doesn’t know what you’re capable of.”
“Exactly. If you’d seen him play even once, you wouldn’t say something so foolish.”
This is soccer, not combat nor survival.
Even if Korea had some ability, say invisibility, it wouldn’t matter on the field as the ball couldn’t be hidden. Besides, the ability to destroy weapons was equally useless as tearing the ball apart would only get one disqualified.
The national team, on the other hand, was a weapon—honed, disciplined, born for the game. They were players who had been kicking a ball since they could walk. Eleven men chosen from among millions, refined to perfection, born to win on the field.
“We’ll win even without abilities,” Luiz said firmly.
“Exactly!” one of them shouted. “We don’t need special powers! Besides, our captain’s got one anyway!”
“This match is ours. There’s no chance of losing!” another added.
Luiz met the eyes of his teammates. There was Paulo, the legendary sweeper-keeper, José, the Ballon d’Or winner from Real Madrid and Filipe, Barcelona’s brilliant pass master.
Victory was already written in their faces. The match felt almost boring in its inevitability until the system chimed again.
[You will receive Training Points equal to ten times the goal difference.]
“What?! So if we win by ten goals, that’s a hundred points?”
“How many points did Korea earn from the cavalry match earlier?”
“Umm... About seventy, I think.”
Then, it was clear that they could overtake them. Brazil finished ninth yesterday, which was not bad, but not near the top either. Still, aside from the top three, the score gaps weren’t huge. If they dominated this round, they could rise all the way to first.
We could take the top spot, Luiz realized.
“And to make that happen, we’ll win by a landslide,” he said, eyes blazing.
***
[All players, please gather on the field!]
Thud!
Luiz’s cleats pressed into the turf with a sharp sound. The feel of grass beneath his feet was so familiar and so right, that for a brief moment he almost forgot this wasn’t the world he once knew.
However, even as nostalgia tugged at him, his eyes never stopped scanning the field, assessing every opponent.
“Ha. Park Gong-Chan’s out there just as expected,” one teammate muttered.
“As long as we watch him, we’ll be fine,” another said confidently.
Park Gong-Chan was Korea’s ace forward. He was a striker built for goals with powerful shooting, clean ball control, sharp dribbles, and deadly accuracy. He was a complete attacker in every sense.
However, Luiz thought that was only true when he actually had the ball.
“If we never let him touch it, he won’t even get a glimpse of it,” Luiz said with a smirk.
“With your ability, Captain, he won’t see the ball again until the game’s over.”
It was true, as Luiz’s ability was strong enough to end the match before Gong-Chan could even act.
“Hmm?” Paulo, Brazil’s keeper, squinted suddenly. “Wait... What’s up with their goalie?”
He rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“Who the hell is that?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Am I hallucinating right now?!”
Even Luiz, who was normally calm and composed, felt his jaw tighten.
“They put a civilian in goal?” he asked, stunned.
“No, Captain! That guy’s worse than a civilian!” Paulo exclaimed.
Goalkeeping required quick judgment above all else. Besides, in a match where the score difference determined the points, a skilled keeper could be the deciding factor between victory and humiliation.
What are you thinking, Gong-Chan? Luiz’s brows knit in confusion.
“Are they mocking us?” one teammate growled.
“Let’s teach them a lesson,” another hissed.
“Fine. We’ll make sure the ball never even crosses the half line.”
Their words dripped with venom, a collective curse that would soon turn real.
Fweeeet!
[The match begins!]
[Invade the opponent’s territory and score goals!]
With that, the curse did become reality.
“Luiz!” someone called out as the ball dropped from the sky.
“Dribble!” Luiz shouted back.
Fwhoosh!
A streak of blue light flared beneath his feet, linking his shoes to the ball, visible only to him. It was his unique ability, where once connected, the ball would never leave him.
Tap!
Park Gong-Chan lunged in, sliding hard for a tackle. The moment his foot reached in, the ball darted away. No one else could touch it. It followed him alone, loyal and unyielding, like a puppy chasing its master.
Swoosh–!
In seconds, Luiz had broken through Gong-Chan’s defense, weaving past him and the others as though mocking their every move. Soon, he stood face-to-face with the goal. Luiz had never faced this kind of goalkeeper his entire life.
“Ha!”
A tiny part of him wondered if something unexpected would happen. However, the instant he faced that so-called goalkeeper, even that faint thread of tension snapped clean away.
How pathetic.
Any real goalkeeper would adjust their position when confronted with an incoming ball. They'd narrow the angle and read the striker’s intent. The most basic of basics.
Yet, the woman standing in goal did not budge an inch. She lowered her stance awkwardly. It was obvious that her legs weren’t tensed and her balance was all wrong.
Man. Who is she, Park Gong-Chan’s mother or something?
It was the only explanation that made sense. Maybe she was just there for appearance’s sake, figuring the defenders would do all the work. Maybe she’d stepped onto the field just to earn participation points without actually playing.
Luiz clicked his tongue, sneering.
Poor Gong-Chan. Well then, I’ll make sure this mistake costs them dearly. Ten goals should be enough to knock some sense into them, or maybe twenty.
I’m going to look right, he thought, fixing his gaze on the far corner of the net.
He inhaled deeply and swung his leg down, feeling the ball meet the top of his right foot with perfect, practiced precision.
But I’m going to shoot left.
Swoosh—!
A clean, powerful no-spin kick was made. He kept his eyes right but shot left. It was a simple feint, but enough to fool any amateur. Naturally, the clueless goalkeeper would throw herself in the direction he’d guided her to. Except she didn’t move.
What?
Luiz almost laughed aloud. The absurd calmness of her stance made anger rise in his chest. Then, just as he was about to curse, the woman moved.
“One two!” she barked, swinging her shoulders in big circles, as if warming up for aerobics. Then, she raised both hands high and shouted, “Cleaning!”
The word rang out across the field, and as she thrust her hands toward the ball, the air around her seemed to twist. The ball suddenly veered off course.
“What the hell?!”
It wasn’t curving. Instead, it was being pulled and dragged straight toward her outstretched palms, as if sucked in by a vacuum cleaner.
Pop!
She folded her hands together, and the ball lost all momentum, dropping gently into her arms. It settled against her chest like an obedient pet.
“Oh my goodness! It actually worked?” the woman exclaimed, eyes wide with surprise.
Then, she began clapping for herself with a big smile. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry! You kicked that so hard!”
Luiz stood frozen, one golden leg still hanging in midair utterly dumbfounded.
What the hell was that?!