"Deputy Head."

Jeong-cheol Choi, at the wheel, glanced at Seong-ho Kim in the rearview mirror.

"The calls have gone dead — flat dead."

Eyes closed against the rising warmth of alcohol, Seong-ho Kim let out a small laugh.

"The Round of 16 draw is Italy, and everyone's suddenly lost interest?"

"That does seem to be it."

The Mexico–Italy match had ended 1:1, and Korea's next opponent was now decided: Italy.

"If it had been Mexico, you could hope for the quarters. But because it's Italy, nobody wants in anymore."

"Even though Italy's coming through as the group runner-up, edged out by Mexico?"

"Italy is still Italy. How would our team ever beat Italy?"

"You don't know the long and short of a stick until you measure it."

Jeong-cheol Choi took that for Seong-ho Kim's Korean patriotic instinct talking.

Objectively speaking, Korea beating Italy was plainly a tall order.

Up until the Round of 16 opponent had been settled, a great many companies had been calling in about joining the street-cheering event.

But the moment the final whistle blew and Italy was locked in as the Round of 16 opponent, the phones — which had been ringing off the hook — had fallen dead silent in an instant.

"Deputy Head. It looks like nobody wants to burn money and manpower on just one more event."

"That's about it."

Seong-ho Kim, who had been leaning back, straightened up and opened his eyes.

He looked out the window and spoke.

"They're figuring that if we lose, the heat of the past few weeks will cool right off. Which makes them all the more reluctant to spend…"

He kept his gaze out the window.

"The vendors making the shirts and cheering supplies and giveaways — they're still running the lines, aren't they?"

"Yes. They're still running. Until when should we keep them going?"

"Keep them going."

"Keep them going?"

"That's right. Until I say stop."

The car pulled up at a red light. Unable to hold it in, Jeong-cheol Choi twisted around in the driver's seat to look at Seong-ho Kim.

His eyes were…