Chapter 802: OFF!

But the television cameras could not see what was happening beneath that expression of calm.

Diego’s fingers were trembling.

Only slightly.

Barely enough for anyone to notice.

He curled his hands into fists and forced himself to keep them still.

His eyes never left the pitch.

The medical staff had surrounded Hiro.

One medic was supporting his injured leg while another spoke rapidly into his headset.

Every few seconds, Hiro’s body tensed.

Even from the sideline, Diego could see it.

The movement was small. But he knew Hiro well enough. He knew what it meant.

He’s suffering...

Diego swallowed.

For one brief moment, the thought of the worst possible outcome—a career-ending injury seeped into his head. But he thwarted the thought as soon as it appeared.

He didn’t want to think about it.

He couldn’t bear to see Hiro crumbling here.

This kid, the talent he possessed. He didn’t want to part from it so soon. He wanted to see him soar, climb the highest summit.

Don’t assume anything. Until the reports come out, don’t even think about it...

He consoled himself.

"Guiliano."

The experienced midfielder looked toward him.

"Listen carefully."

"Yes, Coach."

"You aren’t replacing Hiro."

Guiliano’s eyes widened slightly.

Diego pointed toward the pitch.

"You’re replacing the position. That’s all."

He nodded.

"And don’t try to imitate him." Diego’s voice hardened. "Hiro has his way of playing, and you have yours."

Though he knew he didn’t need to remind him of the obvious, he still said it nonetheless.

Unlike Hiro, Guiliano wasn’t a creative player. Instead, he relied more on his explosive acceleration and straightforward approach. He couldn’t dribble past three or four opponents at the same time.

However, when it came to threatening the offense, he was even more lethal.

The years of experience under his wing helped him become a player who understood the game like the back of his hand.

He might not have an excellent knack for reading the game like Hiro; he has his own arsenal he could use to terrorize the opposing defense.

"Yes, coach." He responded with conviction, determination flashing in his eyes.

Diego liked his response and the vigor in his voice. Hence, he felt a little assured when he heard him.

"Good." Diego nodded before turning toward the pitch.

Just as Guiliano walked to the sideline, the fourth official raised the substitution board, the screen flashing with the numbers.

The audience gasped upon seeing the board.

Then, as the medics carried Hiro off the pitch on a stretcher, the crowd responded with a deafening roar.

However, this time, the cheering carried a strange undertone.

Their cheers lacked the soul like it did before. Their voices were filled with concern and grief instead of excitement.

The stadium had lost its star.

The realization settled over them like a tidal wave clashing on them, and their heart sank.

The grief over the loss of their star performer made some of the fans of the red and white rather frantic.

Though their eyes moistened, their expression revealed extreme anger.

Clutching their hands, these people directed their anger at the man responsible for this tragedy—Yang Min-hyeok.

One moment, the stadium was grieving over the loss of their star performer, and the next, the stadium was exploding with curses.

Yang, now motionless, stood at his spot.

The hatred directed at him, he couldn’t feel it. Even the curses and jeers circulating him fell on deaf ears.

His teammates were consoling him.

But even their voices felt like distant chatter, as they failed to reach his eardrums.

The guilt of committing something so heinous was eating him from the inside, hollowing him out.

He had lost his previous obsession.

Even the spark of determination had dimmed, and his gaze looked rather listless, as if he were a person without a soul.

The referee walked to him before reaching into his pocket.

However, even in the presence of the referee, he failed to register it.

He continued to blame himself.

Then the referee raised a red card.

The opposing coach grunted in frustration upon seeing the card. He had seen it coming. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to keep his composure when it came.

This card would change the fate of the entire game.

The team was suffering hard enough even with all the players on the field. But now with one man down, the team would suffer even more.

The game was as good as over for them.

On the pitch, Yang still stood motionless, frozen in time.

"Yang—" one of his teammates grabbed his shoulder.

He felt the touch. But even so, he didn’t move.

"Come on..." he urged as he shook him.

"I..." His voice came out weak. Then he swallowed and tried again. "I didn’t mean to—"

His teammate froze for a moment upon seeing his expression. Then his expression softened.

"I know."

"I didn’t mean to hurt him." Yang continued with his frantic cries.

"I know."

His teammate didn’t say much. Instead, he acknowledged his concern for what it was.

He didn’t rush to console him. He just stood there and heard him out.

Yang’s gaze swept over the pitch before landing on the distant figure of Hiro, who was being carried out of the field.

"But I did."

Those three words silenced his teammate.

The stadium was still roaring.

For a moment, he stood there, dazed.

"Yang—"

He snapped as his teammate’s voice reached his ear this time.

"You have to leave."

Hearing him, he felt confused. He hadn’t seen the red card. Then he saw the marching figure of the referee.

He understood what his teammate was trying to convey.

He understood it without needing much explanation.

However, he didn’t protest the decision. He didn’t argue or raise his voice. He didn’t even apologize.

Instead, he accepted his fate with his head lowered.

Nonetheless, the referee walked to him and shouted, "OFF!"

"Understood," he whispered with his head lowered in shame and guilt.

Then he began walking out of the pitch. The stadium was still roaring with curses aimed at him.

He didn’t raise his head to look at the spectators roaring in anger.