Chapter 808: Yang’s Inner Struggle

Even so, a part of him thought he deserved it.

The hate comments, the death threats—for some reason, a part of him accepted them without struggle. Without resistance. As if he had been expecting this all along.

There were instances where he even thought of ending his life.

His desperation and his desire for revenge had pushed him to do something he hadn’t even imagined before—something that went against everything he believed in.

But where did that desperation come from?

Growing up, he had witnessed the abuse his mother suffered at the hands of his father. The man would come home drunk, his face flushed red with alcohol and rage. Then he would vent his frustration on his mother, beating her to a pulp while Yang watched from the corner of the room, hidden by his mother’s desperate attempts to keep him safe.

Helpless. Powerless.

He would sob as the abuse unfolded before his own eyes, too afraid to step out of his hiding place. There were instances when he had been found and beaten alongside her.

Home was a terrible place to live. So he spent most of his time outside, from dusk till dawn, while his mother scraped the scales of fish at the local market.

It was during this time, outside the suffocating walls of his house, that he stumbled upon football.

That one sport filled the hole carved inside his heart.

Football helped him make friends. It helped him escape the loneliness that gnawed at him. Being one of the fastest kids, he was often picked for games. And the better he got, the more he was praised and chosen.

Perhaps it was this feeling of being chosen that pushed him to strive for improvement. Before long, his obsession had grown so intense that people were chasing after him, instead of him chasing others.

At just ten years old, he was selected for a youth trial. Once again relying on his speed, he aced the trials and secured a spot in one of the youth clubs.

Because he excelled in sports, people began to take notice of him. They praised him and even his father for raising such a brilliant kid.

The more his father heard those praises, the less aggressive he became. Before, he used to come home drunk in an ill mood. But after Yang’s talent was discovered, though he still came home drunk, he smiled often, and he was in a rather good mood.

This led to less aggression against his mother.

For once, home didn’t feel like a suffocating place. It just felt like home.

For once, it seemed as though things were going well.

But it all came crumbling down.

One of the friends who had helped him in his earlier days, the one who had been there when no one else was, became a victim of a rough tackle.

Though he hated to admit it before, this friend of his was an even better player than he was. He didn’t lack talent, and he had a rather cheerful personality, the kind of person who could light up a room with his smile.

He would often say that the two of them would represent Korea one day.

Yang believed those words. So he worked even harder to fulfill that promise.

But after that tackle, things didn’t look the same for him anymore. The life that had been almost dream-like came crumbling down like a castle of cards. He watched his friend suffer—the cries, the frustration, the slow erosion of a once-bright spirit.

He witnessed it firsthand.

That was the moment when he realized how fragile human beings truly were. Even after the injury, his friend struggled to play like before. And before long, the spark in his eyes was gone.

Just one injury.

One moment.

Enough to decide a person’s fate.

Though Yang did make it to the national squad, his friend couldn’t. But he couldn’t bring himself to rejoice in this achievement. It just felt hollow without the person with whom he had dreamt of playing alongside.

However, things didn’t remain the same forever. Upon joining the national team, he met new friends. These people helped him cheer up and revitalize his love for the sport. Even if some of them were nothing but scumbags in the eyes of the world, these people were his friends.

So when he saw them get demolished—when he witnessed Hiro dismantle everything they had built—he couldn’t help but feel the need to avenge them.

That was where his obsession to trample Hiro had stemmed from.

But he didn’t mean to trample him like this. Though he wanted to defeat him, he never intended to injure him.

Just like how that single tackle had ruined his childhood friend’s career, he might have also ruined Hiro’s.

The thought of being the perpetrator—the one who had crushed someone else’s cherished dream—haunted him.

He couldn’t bring himself to shake this feeling off.

Even when he tried to distract his mind, the images of his friend’s suffering flashed before him, preventing him from escaping the relentless grip of guilt.

Though he hadn’t forgotten about him, he had buried those memories in some forgotten corner of his mind. It had been years since he last thought of him.

But recently, he often dreamed of him.

In his dreams, he would see himself standing on the pitch—while his friend lay before him, clutching his legs, writhing in pain. Just like how Hiro had been when he executed that tackle.

Then a phantom would appear, a shadowy figure wearing his friend’s face.

"Just like your father, you’re a selfish being."

The words would echo through the void, cold and accusatory.

"You don’t care about anything or anyone as long as you achieve your goals."

He would wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, as if someone had been suffocating him to death.

While his friend suffered and struggled to adapt, Yang couldn’t even provide words of consolation. And when he found himself a new set of friends, he simply forgot about him.

Like a selfish being who only cared about themselves.

Had it been him in that spot, had he been the one lying on the ground, his dreams shattered—his friend would have done almost everything to cheer him up.

But Yang couldn’t even provide words of reassurance.

I abandoned him.

I buried him.

And now, I’ve become the same monster that broke him.