The stadium lights gleamed against the Seoul night sky as Moon-hwan Kim tightened the laces on his boots, the distant hum of the crowd building like a wave. He stood just off the sideline, eyes focused, heart steady.

Coach Lee leaned in. “They’ll press hard on the left. You’ll need to cover ground. A lot of it.”

Moon-hwan gave a short nod, a grin tugging at his lips. “Good. Let them. I like it when they run out of breath first.”

When the match kicked off, Kim was everywhere—tracking back to block a dangerous cross, then moments later racing up the flank to deliver a curling ball into the box. In the 64th minute, with South Korea up by one, he cut off a counterattack with a perfectly timed slide, popping back up to launch a quick transition play.

His teammates slapped his back as the ball found the net at the other end.

“You never stop running, do you?” one of them laughed.

Breathing heavy but smiling, Moon-hwan shrugged. “If I stop, we stop. I’d rather keep going.”