129 — Semi finals – South Korea vs Saudi Arabia III (Conclusion)

Eun Ha's POV:

She didn't know how much of a good idea it was to watch her son's game, not in her current state.

But Eun Ha didn't think she'd ever miss a single one of Jae-il's matches, regardless of the situation. Her children were her pride and joy, after all. So she'd always done her best to support them and their passions.

Which is why she sat, quietly, in front of the television in her room.

With her legs pulled close to her chest and a blanket around her shoulders, Eun Ha watched the live broadcast, all by herself. She preferred it this way. It was her way of coping, of avoiding her family as much as possible.

Her daughters were too perceptive.

They always had been.

If she was around them, they'd notice. Mia had already caught sight of her earlier, so now Eun Ha had to make sure she avoided everyone else. It was a simple, yet effective method. Perhaps not the best method, but it was… something, wasn't it?

Just until she pulled herself together. Eun Ha just needed a little bit of time.

And, well, her son especially, was the one she didn't want to see the most right now.

Because every time she looked at him, she couldn't help but feel disgusted and dirty. She'd done her best to hide the signs and make herself presentable. Each day was a new challenge, but she couldn't afford for anyone to see her like this.

"......"

She watched the match. And why would she put herself through this kind of torture knowing very well what the sight of her only son could do to her? Eun Ha didn't really know. Perhaps because she was a masochist, and this was her punishment.

She was a horrible, terrible person, and this was her way of punishing herself.

Or maybe she didn't have enough courage to actually follow through with any real form of self-punishment.

So she watched, not missing a single moment.

She frowned when he was fouled.

Laughed when he celebrated with his teammates.

And cheered when Jae-il scored the fourth goal for South Korea.

Eun Ha was proud.

She was so proud.

And she didn't think she could ever not be proud.

But the happiness was marred.

And the disgust was stronger. The guilt was so strong she felt like vomiting. But it's been better these days; she no longer had to keep an empty bucket by the bed.

Perhaps she really was recovering?

"Ah." Eun Ha buried her face into the softness of her knees, hiding her eyes.

The camera had lingered on her son for too long. Sweat that glistened in the lights of the stadium, the sharp angles of his jawline, the strong line of his shoulders, and his lean, powerful legs. His smile was enough to melt a woman twice his age.

Eun Ha swallowed the lump in her throat and looked up.

She stared.

There he was, her Jae-il.

The son she'd raised. The baby boy that had all the women at the park marveling at him.

Her blessing and curse—though the latter was a self-inflicted one.

Eun Ha's eyes burned.

Her heart clenched, and she struggled to breathe. She was being consumed, and the longer this went on, the more painful it would become. She was trying, and that was what mattered. She had to try.

But was just 'trying' going to be enough?

The tears wouldn't stop.

She cried and cried.

And when she ran out of tears, she forced herself to calm down.

Breathing slowly, deeply, steadily, in and out.

Eun Ha was trying.

That was enough. It had to be.

"......"

The camera was on him again. It was clear that they were playing favorites. It didn't help that Jae-il was easy on the eyes.

The game was approaching its last minutes. The Saudi Arabian team had only managed to score once, which was a miracle considering how one-sided the match had been so far.

"Mhm." Eun Ha hummed softly.

Jae-il had the ball. He was running fast, dodging players, his dribbling was phenomenal. He had slithered past lunges that would've ended up in a foul had he let them hit.

Eun Ha had seen his speed before. And she knew just how good her son was at handling the ball, but she was still impressed, like every other time.

As the camera zoomed in, it was clear he was having fun.

He was enjoying himself.

It was the look he always had when he played.

He dribbled past yet another defender, whose hand lashed out instinctively. Jae-il's jersey was tugged, his balance compromised for a heartbeat, yet he recovered with impossible grace, leaving grasping fingers clutching only air.

Jun-hwan made a diagonal run, opening a channel like Moses parting the sea. Jae-il's pass was laser-guided, slicing between two outstretched legs. The return came just as precise—a one-touch give-and-go that left defenders turning in circles. Jae-il received it moving, never breaking stride, the ball rolling ahead just enough to catch up.

Now only the keeper remained. A hulking figure spreading wide to cover the angle, knees bent in a crouch of intense concentration.

Jae-il's leg drew back as if to unleash thunder. The keeper committed, dropping low in anticipation. But it was just a feint, and the ball rolled harmlessly away. His touch was feather-light, chipping the ball delicately over the diving goalkeeper's outstretched fingers.

And there it was.

6-1.

She watched Jae-il and the rest of his teammates pile together, their excitement and happiness palpable.

Even though they were miles apart, Eun Ha's cheeks hurt from smiling so hard.

"Number 9, Cha Jae-il! This young man showed us yet again why he's the main star of South Korea's youth team. Truly an impressive player, ladies and gentlemen!"

"Indeed, and what's more impressive is that he has scored in every single one of South Korea's matches! Can you believe it?"

"Truly a phenomenon!"

"Cha Jae-il will have to prove himself in the finals if he wishes to keep his consecutive goals streak intact!"

"I have no doubt he will, hyung."

"Right? He's truly one of the best prospects out there, and it's only a matter of time until we'll get to see him compete against the older division. He'll certainly shake the football world up when he does, and I can't wait for it to happen."

That last goal from Jae-il deeply entrenched the result; 6–1 with three minutes of stoppage time left was no longer a scoreline, it was a middle finger. Saudi Arabia's coach had already turned to his bench, arms folded tight, looking more resigned than anything else.

On the pitch, South Korea switched to pure possession mode: sideways, backwards, little triangles in their own half, letting the clock bleed. Jae-il dropped deep to collect, rolled the ball under his sole, then pinged a forty-yard diagonal with the outside of his right that landed perfectly on the left touchline for the overlapping full-back.

Saudi Arabia was going through the motions now.

Added time ticked: 90+2, 90+3…

The referee glanced at his watch, raised the whistle to lips. One short peep, then the long, final blast.

It was over.

South Korea's players lifted arms in quiet salute to the traveling fans, polite bows toward every stand.

Jae-il stayed on the pitch longest, walking slowly, clapping above his head in steady rhythm.

The Saudi players trudged past, heads low, shirts swapped half-heartedly.

A couple approached Jae-il—he hugged them without hesitation, quick pats on the back, the universal language of respect between teenagers who'd just spent ninety minutes trying to kick each other into next week.

Eun Ha's television showed the wide shot now: both teams forming the FIFA's fair-play line, handshakes, embraces, the obligatory group photo with the mascot in the middle. Then the slow walk off. Floodlights caught the sweat still dripping from Jae-il's jaw as he disappeared down the tunnel steps.

Then the screen cut to the studio desk, and the commentator was already mid-sentence.

"—what an amazing game we have witnessed today, folks. A dominating performance from South Korea's youth team—"

Eun Ha turned off the TV.

The screen went black, vaguely reflecting her silhouette. "Good job." Eun Ha muttered softly. "Well done, sweetheart."

Then the woman dragged herself back to her bed, wrapped the blankets around her, and closed her eyes.

"......"

Of course, closing her eyes and imitating sleep wouldn't really make her fall asleep. If anything, it was the complete opposite.

She tossed and turned, until, with a defeated sigh, the woman sat up and reached for the sleeping pills in her drawer. It wasn't something she wanted to get used to, but since it had been helping, she had no other choice.

Without any hesitation, Eun Ha pressed out one tablet. She hesitated, then pressed out a second one 'just in case.' Two small white tablets in her palm. She swallowed them dry, lay back on the pillow, and waited, patiently.

Fifteen minutes had barely gone by, but she was finally growing sleepy.

So Eun Ha allowed her mind to wander back to the past.

Memories. They were warm, gentle.

A baby was being put in her arms. Eun Ha hadn't been prepared. She didn't expect a baby that small, a little more than two kilos, so pale and cute. Little tiny fingers and big eyes, curious. And soft. Very, very, soft. Her Jae-il. Her sweet, sweet angel. So little and tiny, and frail-looking, yet, healthy and big enough to fit her arms. She didn't dare move. She didn't want to drop him by accident.

What a tiny little human being. Of course, she had given birth twice before him, but the overwhelming sensation had remained. Every time, without fail.

All these memories that were so dear and treasured to Eun Ha.

Then, they changed.

Much darker, twisted.

He grew older, as the rest of the time passed by.

So tall and big.

And Eun Ha's smile widened. A beautiful man. Beautiful son, even as his eyes took a darker shade than hers.

And he grew older still.

Much bigger, almost an adult.

Until—

It happened.

The bad dreams. The nightmares. Eun Ha turned her body to the side, curling up, sobbing quietly.

The pills were doing their work now.

A slow, syrupy warmth spread from her chest, dragging her eyelids down like soft weights. The room blurred at the edges. The ceiling fan became a lazy white bird circling above her.

She opened her eyes, not even realizing that she had actually shut them.

Only to realize she was exactly where she didn't want to be—trapped in an illusion that couldn't even be called a nightmare.

If only things were as simple as that.

Just a dream.

All of them just stupid dreams.

But the door was already there.

Not in the room.

In her.

It stood at the far end of her mind, black paint glossy as spilled ink, the red light seeping from its seams.

She didn't even have to walk toward it anymore. The hallway simply shortened, the other doors folding away like paper, until there was nothing left except that final threshold and the boy—no, the young man—waiting on the other side.

Jae-il leaned against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, the red glow catching on the sharp line of his collarbone, the damp hair stuck to his forehead the way it had been after tonight's match. His jersey was gone; he wore only a thin white undershirt that clung to the breadth of his chest.

"Hello again." He smiled softly. "Mom."

"......"

'Oh no...' Eun Ha inwardly lamented. 'I need to go see a psychiatrist…'