Summary: The last match of Group F for the preliminaries of World Cup 2018 has barely even started, but England and everyone knows that Germany's already won this one. Except...
"He's going to be pummeled," muttered England. He clutched a bottle of ale in his hand and blinked up at the television, where two teams in two differently colored uniforms were walking out onto the field. Next to him, Germany smirked.
South Korea huffed. "Will not," he stated indignantly. "I'll have you know that my goalkeeper's the best that the world has to offer. Won't let a single shot through!"
"That's what you said when you played against me," said Mexico, grinning from ear to ear. England thought that he looked like the Cheshire Cat.
"And when you played against me," added Sweden. His low voice and thick English accent made it rather difficult for England to make out his words amongst the consonants, but none of the others seemed to have the same problem. If anything, Germany's smile grew wider. England had never seen Germany smile that wide before. Oh heavens, was the world coming to an end?
"Germany is happy," chirped Italy Veneziano from Germany's other side, where he was ready to cheer for his friend. England had previously seen him with Germany's flag on his headdress and shirt and in his hands, before Germany flushed red with embarrassment and told Italy that he was flattered by his offer, but would rather not see his flag be waved in such a public place. "Is it because he knows he'll win?"
They were all situated in a bar tonight, and the television that hung on the wall was their source of amusement. At the moment, the last match for Group F of the 2018 World Cup was being played live; it was Germany against South Korea, and many of the other nations had opted out of watching the night's match, claiming the same thing that England had said only minutes before. There weren't many of them who were interested in the World Cup to begin with anyways, so the crowd was even smaller than what it might have been. England himself wondered what he was doing here, but decided to stay for the benefit of watching football and having some light drinks - those were some of his best joys in life, so there was no way that he could ever resist that.
"This match is already over," Spain stated, watching the ball get placed in the middle of the field. A murmur of agreement went through the crowd.
"South Korea's going to get owned," grinned America. "Man, that happens when you're playing some flimsy sport like soccer. You should've learned some real football, South K! I would've taught you everything!"
"Don't listen to him," England said gently, laying a hand on the Asian nation's right shoulder. "I'm doing you a favor by scouting some of your people into my league teams. So learn from the best, and you might actually have a chance in the future."
"I hope you know," Germany spoke up for the first time since the television flickered on. "That they do have a point. I am after all, the first place in Men's FIFA Ranking."
"And what's South Korea," laughed France. "Hundred and two?"
"It's fifty-seven, damn it!"
"What a challenge that is," purred Russia. "Let's give a round of applause to our awesome friend here. He shall be eliminated quickly and effortlessly by my Germany."
"For god's sake," South Korea cried out, exasperation apparent in his features as he slammed his hands down onto the table. The wooden furniture rattled at the impact of the nation's anger. "They haven't even started playing yet, so can we all just watch and see what happens? I have complete faith in my team!"
"Complete faith in what," snorted Prussia. "In their loss?"
South Korea narrowed his eyes. A calculating look that people rarely saw in the cheerful, air-headed nation settled into his eyes, and England felt himself flinch. "All of you," he muttered darkly. "Are going to be banned from buying my butane gas canisters for the next four years until the next World Cup, if you don't shut up right now."
A gasp went around the bar. "You can't! You're literally the only country that produces them!"
America scoffed. "Wow, and what do I make, methane cans?"
His comment was ignored by most. "Which is why," said South Korea slowly. "I'm going to convince America to raise his butane canister prices ridiculously high so that none of you – I repeat, none of you – get away with this."
"That's hardly fair. I'm complaining to the World Trade Organization about this," protested Spain.
"Suit yourself," the Asian country huffed. "But until they get to my case, I have a very good window from which I can cause a multitude of harm for you all."
"We'll be quiet," England apologized hastily. "I'm sorry for those remarks I made. Please let me buy your butane cans, I do need them a lot."
"Same," said Prussia. "Sorry for that, kid. I need them to cook my wursts, please don't cut West off from them."
"Good," South Korea stated flatly. "Now let's watch the game."
What a strange thing it was, watching the game. England watched as Germany grew more and more frustrated as his team kept either missing the goal, or was blocked by the South Korean goalie. The German team had the possession of the ball at least three fourths of the time, and yet it seemd they couldn't score a single shot. The frustrated German nation continued to order more and more beer; next to him, Italy Veneziano eyed the amount of alcohol that his friend kept consuming as his eyes flickered back and forth the television and the South Korean nation, and England knew that the Italian nation was thinking the same thing.
South Korea's team was a force to be reckoned with.
But they couldn't have been, because they lost to Mexico and Sweden, right? Germany was at the top of the game, and South Korea lingered somewhere in the rankings that was so low that England didn't even care to find out beforehand. And yet, as more and more shots were fired and more and more of those shots were blocked, England had to agree that at least the goalkeeper that South Korea had on his team had to be one of the Seven Miracles of the World to pull off such a feat.
The match drew to an end; the score was still 0 to 0. The match continued for ten more minutes, and the bar watched with bated breath as the ball moved back and forth the field, until –
"No!"
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes! It's a motherfucking goal! He scored! My baby scored! Yes!"
South Korea jumped out of his seat and danced. England and the rest of the bar stared in shock as Germany placed his head into his hands. Prussia stared in dismay at his brother, before patting him on the back.
"Hey, it's okay, we still have a few minutes left! They'll catch up in no time, they're that awesome, just like me! Right?"
Wrong. Barely four minutes after the first goal of the game, the ball shot in the goal the second time. It was a bad mistake on the German team's part – the German team's goalkeeper had left his post to chase after the ball in hopes for his team in making a comeback, and had left the goal empty. South Korea screamed praises to his player. Germany cursed his own.
And before they knew it, the match was truly over. Germany, for the first time since 1938, was eliminated from the first round at the World Cup, and South Korea, whose failure was already secured from the beginning of the match, had dragged Germany down to hell with him. Behind them, Mexico made mariachi noises the nation jumped and bounced. Germany was gone from Group F, which meant that Mexico's team was free to move onto the next round. Sweden stayed silent, but his face glowed with all the sunshine that the Scandinavian nation could possibly get.
The rest of the bar erupted in chaos as money flew left and right as bets were cracked and moola was lost; nobody had even expected South Korea to win, let alone win by scoring two goals by himself. South Korea proceeded to shower himself with dollar bills as cash flew into his hands.
"Why?" Germany croaked finally, raising his head from his hands, looking like he was ready to burst into tears. "Why?"
South Korea turned and grinned. "Because, my dear German friend," he cackled. "We South Koreans perform best when we have somebody's dream to fuck up."
Oh, what a night this had been, England thought, as he watched the proceeding news play clips of the German team losing over and over again. "Listen chap," said England. He dumbly handed his money to the Asian nation; the South Korean smirked as stowed it safely in his square backpack. "You have to let me have your goalkeeper. Can you maybe convince him to change his nationality to mine? I want him, how much do you want for him?"
"Oh hell no," cried South Korea. He pushed his newly gained cash into his bag which was now filled to the brim with the dough, and slung it over his back. "You're not getting him from me. He's mine to keep, mine to nurture."
And with that, he swept out of the bar, leaving England with the rest of the bar to deal with a very emotional Germany, who poured the rest of his drink down his throat in one big gulp and proceeded to burst into tears.