Chapter 102
Chapter 102
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 102
Chapter Title: Must Grow (2)
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Even when a team is racking up great results, shadows often cloud the faces of certain players.
And those players were usually the reserves who hadn't contributed much to the team's success.
The so-called backup members.
But this season, Ma Jeong-woo had rotated more players into the lineup via the platoon system than any other team.
‘I thought I’d distributed stamina as evenly as possible, kept performance levels steady, and ramped up the competition.’
Yet it seemed impossible to satisfy everyone.
Take Quick Floyd, for example.
Floyd had already been under Jeong-woo’s personal tutoring for three straight days.
Today was no different—Jeong-woo stood off to one side of the training pitch in his black tracksuit.
The pale blue sky had dipped low into early evening.
Thwack—!
“Again!”
Thwack—!
At Jeong-woo’s shout, Floyd relied on the glow of the floodlights to smash the ball he’d placed nearby.
It was a home run shot.
Every miss made him dig his heels in harder, focusing even more.
But as time wore on, Floyd’s confidence only plummeted further.
Thwack—!
Because every strike sent the ball veering off in the wrong direction.
Splash! The net rippled, but his expression didn’t brighten.
Jeong-woo had been drilling him on hitting the crossbar and posts for the past three days.
“Next.”
Even so, Jeong-woo shifted position and rolled another ball to Floyd’s feet.
They were at the edge of the penalty arc now.
“Hit it.”
Jeong-woo nodded toward the right post.
Floyd swung with all his might at the empty goal.
Thud—!
Splash!
The net rippled again.
Hitting the crossbar or post proved harder than expected.
Floyd’s shoulders had slumped.
Jeong-woo eyed him sideways, arms crossed.
“No pressure, and you’re still scoring plenty. But flip it—if a few defenders line up, you can’t get a shot off properly.”
“...”
“Right?”
“Yes...”
Floyd mumbled weakly.
Clap!
“Eek!”
Floyd jolted, startled.
Jeong-woo had smacked his back with an open palm.
Looking up in surprise, Floyd saw Jeong-woo grinning.
“Honestly, it’s the same for everyone else. Not just from this distance, but even closer up. When they narrow your angle, your shot options get restricted.”
“I-is that so?”
“You know it is. Why ask?”
Thud.
Unlike before, Jeong-woo rolled the ball closer.
They’d stopped in the right side of the penalty area.
Jeong-woo tilted his head slightly.
“They call Park a shooting machine, but you? Pigeon-chested. Though nobody says that anymore.”
At this point, Jeong-woo figured boosting Floyd’s confidence came first.
“Truth is, your shooting accuracy blows Park out of the water. No comparison.”
Floyd blinked in disbelief. *Me?*
He’d spent nearly three days hammering at the crossbar and posts, lucky to hit one or two out of ten.
He’d assumed it was just to sharpen his finishing.
“But when you aim for the goal... every shot turns to shit. That’s the problem.”
Floyd’s face, briefly lit up by the surprise praise, clouded over again.
Jeong-woo’s next words made realization dawn on him.
“I’ve told you a million times: you can’t score when you try to. Got it? It’s psychological. Like a pitcher with the yips in baseball, missing strikes.”
“...Yes.”
Jeong-woo smiled at Floyd’s deflated response, nodding firmly.
“That’s why I’m not asking you to score. Just make the keeper sweat. Step by step. There’s a reason I’m telling you not to aim for goal right now.”
Exactly.
Jeong-woo had dropped similar hints before.
Floyd had forgotten them amid recent matches.
Jeong-woo tilted his head again, adding,
“Look at your recent games. Every time you take the ball and drive forward, the pressure piles on you. Right?”
Jeong-woo explained.
Pulling off a shot under that kind of pressure was impressive in itself.
And it opened up space for his teammates.
“So from the start, the goal isn’t your target.”
Without hesitation, Jeong-woo jabbed his index finger at the post.
“Here. And there—the crossbar. Bend it so we can clean up the rebound.”
Suddenly, Jeong-woo chuckled, wrinkling his nose playfully.
“Harder than scoring? Yeah, way harder. But what can you do? You’re already drawing all the heat with your dribbling, then forcing tough shots. So just aim for the post. That alone’s a threat. Trust me.”
Out of nowhere, Quick Floyd felt something stir.
Jeong-woo’s gaze held an inexplicable sense of expectation.
Jeong-woo spread his arms wide, launching into a speech.
“No goal? Who cares. If it hits the bar and bounces? Our guys know—they’re primed for seconds. They’ll mop it up.”
Jeong-woo arched one eyebrow, countering.
“No angle at all? Hit the defender’s torso then. It’ll deflect—we grab seconds again, or if we’re unlucky, they counter. If we’re lucky? It might even go in off them.”
He kept going.
With every word, Floyd felt his confidence swell, knowingly or not.
The coach was telling him:
Keep doing what you’ve been doing—just get a bit more aggressive, a bit more selfish.
“You know Ronaldo? That guy fires off shots like crazy—one match, he takes almost every shot the team gets. Do that. Scared of missing? Fuck the pressure. You’re not aiming to score anyway. It’s an assist, a threat in itself.”
Now Floyd got it—the source of that expectation.
*Me...?*
Yes.
Jeong-woo was showing pure faith in him.
Trust.
And with a relaxed smile, as if he knew Floyd’s worries inside out, he said,
“In my Bolton, no one’s ahead or behind.”
“...”
Floyd’s eyes widened.
Jeong-woo’s sharpened.
“I’m a stubborn bastard... I want to develop everyone if I can. Not just League One level—Championship, or higher.”
Floyd’s heart raced for the first time in ages.
Jeong-woo didn’t forget the empty promise either.
“Who says you can’t? Especially since... I don’t waste time on lost causes. I’d sell ’em off cheap. Like when I first took over as owner.”
Floyd’s eyes welled up.
Jeong-woo gave him his softest smile yet.
“Bolton needs you. Do what I say, and your value skyrockets.”
*Of course, deep down he thought:*
*‘Damn right you’ll get expensive.’*
He wasn’t letting his guard down like with Park back in the day.
* *
Ahead of the FA Cup clash with Bolton, reactions on the Gunners community were mixed with confusion.
- : FA Cup 4th round opponent is Bolton. Who ya got?
: Arsenal, obviously.
: As a Gunner, I wanna back Arsenal... but man, Bolton’s form lately is no joke.
: Shouldn’t we focus on the league over the FA Cup right now...?
Like one fan said, Arsenal were in dismal shape in the league.
They’d started with three straight losses, no goals in those games, sparking controversy.
They’d bounced back with a 4th-round win, but that was it.
Past round 20, they had just two victories.
A few draws, sure—but meaningless now.
A team once battling for Champions League spots was suddenly fretting relegation.
Ahead of the FA Cup 4th round, some Gunners vented fury.
- : When’s the last time we worried this much about a 3rd-division side? Huh?
- : Fuck! I’m pissed! Who saw us sinking this low?
- : Might as well lose this one too—get Arteta sacked. He’s ruining Arsenal!
- : True Gunners, have faith! League slump or not, we ain’t losing to 3rd-tier scrubs, right?
Most fans wanted Arsenal to go all-out in the FA Cup.
Simple reason.
Win it, and they snag Europa League regardless of league form.
League results made Europe a pipe dream.
“The issue is... after the FA Cup, we’ve got Tottenham.”
Manchester. Manchester.
Mikel Arteta nodded faintly at the man across from him.
“And that’s an away game four days after the Cup.”
“Hmm, that’s... tricky.”
The man was none other than Manchester City’s boss, Pep Guardiola.
Arteta was sipping tea in his office.
Their bond was tight.
Arteta had once been Pep’s assistant.
“This season’s had its share of bad luck.”
Pep offered some comfort.
“Thomas Partey, Gabriel Martinelli, Dani Ceballos, Ben White—all key players sidelined by injuries. Messed up stamina rotation big time.”
It hadn’t changed.
Some players’ heads were elsewhere too.
Arteta had grown detached.
On the flip side, he felt lucky the FA Cup opponent was Bolton.
‘Was worried it’d be an EPL side.’
Among 4th-round qualifiers: eight from the EPL.
Then Championship teams.
League Two: Hull City, Plymouth Argyle, Bolton.
League One: just one.
On paper, a good draw.
Excluding that League One side, Bolton seemed the easiest by reputation and size.
‘Maybe rotate here...’
Arteta’s brow furrowed briefly.
Against Hull or Plymouth, he’d have thrown in the reserves no question.
But Bolton ranked lower yet dominated headlines.
‘They’ve beaten top dogs left and right.’
Reason they were called goblin squad.
Especially friendlies—taking down Manchester United.
FA Cup 3rd round: smashed Championship high-flyers Sunderland 4-1.
Club brass pressure didn’t help.
Lose this, and he’s gone.
‘Not a team to rest starters against. Need to play some big names.’
Even accounting for the slump, no room for complacency.
That’s when it hit.
Pep savored a sip, then murmured low.
“If I may advise... go full strength.”