Chapter 103
Chapter 103
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: uly
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: Must Grow (3)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 103 Must Grow (3)
Thud, thud, thud.
Mikel Arteta wandered the corridor with a somewhat dazed expression.
‘It would be better to go all out.’
Pep Guardiola’s advice from moments ago lingered in his mind, refusing to fade.
It was almost shocking to Arteta.
From that simple statement alone, he could tell.
That Pep Guardiola acknowledged Bolton in League One—and its leader.
“What the hell...”
Even after stepping into his office in North London, Arteta remained deep in thought.
He flopped onto the sofa and furrowed his brow intensely.
Just earlier, Pep had added meaningfully.
‘Bolton is definitely the underdog... but sometimes they have the ability to go toe-to-toe with the top dogs.’
Mikel Arteta hadn’t been underestimating Bolton either.
That’s why he’d planned to mix starters and rotation players appropriately.
But Pep had seen right through his thinking and said it anyway.
‘For Pep to acknowledge him...’
Suddenly, Arteta looked up.
Directly in front of the sofa, the TV was playing soccer news.
Arteta usually kept it tuned to Arsenal-focused channels.
Curiosity flickered in Arteta’s eyes.
[League One! Bolton Wanderers’ manager, who clinched victory in Round 24, dropped this mention about Arsenal!]
A familiar-faced panelist brought it up with a look of disbelief.
With the upcoming match against Bolton, it was natural for the broadcasters to focus on the team.
A mention, though?
“Do I really need to keep track of other managers’ mentions?”
Arteta let out an incredulous smile himself.
He knew it, though.
That Bolton’s manager was a master at provoking opponents before games.
On the other hand, he wondered.
“He doesn’t seem like the type to provoke indiscriminately.”
Most teams he provoked had underestimated Bolton first.
Take the Sunderland match—even when they tried to flex their capital by signing Owen Precise, he countered with a provocative mention.
Soon, the screen showed the mention Bolton’s manager had posted on SNS.
[September 12, 2009.]
“...”
Arteta, seeing it for the first time, didn’t get it.
“What is this...?”
It didn’t even seem provocative.
But a few seconds later... Arteta felt like he’d been smashed in the back of the head with a hammer and growled.
“Reverse sprint...!”
* * *
A sunny afternoon.
“What are you doing?”
Jeong-woo asked Park Hee-won, who had been glued to his phone search on the sofa for a while.
Hee-won glanced at Jeong-woo with beady eyes, then clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“Nah, this won’t do. This one... looks too flimsy? Like it’d puncture with a finger.”
“Hey, what are you doing?”
Jeong-woo asked again, slouched crookedly in his executive chair.
Only then did Hee-won mutter with a face full of worry.
“I’m trying to save your ass, man.”
“...?”
Jeong-woo made a baffled face.
Wondering if something was wrong with his body, he even patted down his upper body with both hands.
Thankfully, nothing hurt when he touched it, and no wounds.
“Save me?”
When Jeong-woo voiced his confusion again, Hee-won sighed deeply.
“You idiot, I’m looking for a bulletproof vest in case you get shot on the street. Happy?”
With that, Hee-won sprang up from the sofa and strode over to Jeong-woo, shoving his phone forward.
“Anyway, what about this one? It’s a tactical vest made in the US, and it’s the most expensive one I found.”
“Tactical vest?”
“Yeah, expensive means tougher, right?”
Jeong-woo stared at the phone screen before retorting.
“Dude, it says made in the US, so why does the origin say China?”
“Where? Oh? It really does. These bastards are total scammers? Wait, how about this one? This says made in Korea...!”
Snatch!
Before Hee-won could finish, Jeong-woo snatched the phone.
He had a pretty good idea why Hee-won was acting like this.
‘I must’ve gone too far.’
Just seeing Hee-won’s genuinely worried face confirmed it.
‘It’s the exact same look he had when I was a kid, got nabbed by some thugs on the street, picked a fight for no reason, and got my ass kicked.’
Hee-won was still grumbling like he was pleading.
“Ugh! That’s why I told you to tone it down.”
The reason was simple.
After provoking even Arsenal, the verbal abuse and backlash against him had skyrocketed beyond imagination.
[September 12, 2009.]
Just that year, nothing more.
But Jeong-woo knew.
How painful that date was for Arsenal.
His lips twitched upward.
“Huh? This guy’s smiling?”
Hee-won muttered in bewilderment.
Ignoring it, Jeong-woo shot back smugly.
“They’re enemies we have to crush anyway.”
For Arsenal, September 12, 2009, was the absolute worst day.
The day Emmanuel Adebayor, playing for Manchester City, did the reverse sprint celebration.
Jeong-woo cocked his head smugly and added.
“I told you. The bigger the stage, the better.”
“Even so...!”
Before Hee-won could finish, Jeong-woo cut in.
“We’re on good terms with Manchester City right now. And because of that, we’ve completely burned bridges with their rivals, United.”
Jeong-woo kept going.
Relations with United had soured, but for a League One team like Bolton, that connection itself was a gain.
“Plus, the win boosted our recognition big time. Ma merch sold pretty well too.”
Lately, Bolton Wanderers fans were snapping up Ma merch with joy, while Red Devils did the opposite.
They were posting videos burning it in DuckTok challenges—like it was torture, a curse itself.
“People always react bigger to provocative stuff. Take MMA—even before fights, at weigh-ins or interviews, they throw punches and cause all kinds of chaos.”
Jeong-woo paused thoughtfully, then snapped his thumb and index finger.
“Why do you think Conor McGregor’s called a superstar in MMA? Sure, his in-ring performance is great, but it’s more about how insanely well he pulls aggro outside the ring. He plays the total asshole character and hams it up.”
“He hammed it up so much he broke his leg. Looks like he’s retiring now.”
“Ahem, anyway. Think of it like that. Yeah, buzz!”
Jeong-woo grinned slyly.
“This whole process is just business.”
Jeong-woo thought.
Arsenal might not match their old glory in results, but their fame was still sky-high.
‘We’re already drawing negative aggro, and now we’re hot on an upswing, facing them.’
Bolton was called the goblin team among goblin teams.
Whenever facing strong sides, Jeong-woo deliberately stirred up buzz.
Some media outlets were hyped for the Arsenal clash.
[Bolton Wanderers! Will the underdog rebellion happen against Arsenal too?]
[Mikel Arteta’s Arsenal! Will they go full starters against the United-slayers Bolton...?]
Others were outright declaring Arsenal would handle current Bolton easily.
Jeong-woo had just added the spice of a broad provocation.
Thanks to that, from the day he posted the mention, Arsenal’s infamous hooligans had swarmed Bolton.
Some drove up and chucked a severed pig’s head at the club entrance before fleeing.
It had ‘Ma! We’ll kill you!’ written on it.
‘This isn’t the Luis Figo era.’
Back when Luis Figo moved from Barcelona to Real Madrid, an angry fan had once thrown a pig’s head at a match.
Anyway, with his friend this worried, Jeong-woo figured he should reassure him.
“It’s fine, man. Brits have tons of crazy soccer fans. Lots of them are all talk.”
“Still, you idiot! I saw on the news—back in the day, a ref got shot for a bad call...!”
“Hey, that’s not gonna happen.”
“There was even a ref who got beaten to death by players...!”
“No way that happens.”
Seeing Hee-won still not reassured, Jeong-woo sighed and, after a pause, said.
“Bulletproof vest... I already ordered one, man.”
He’d meant to keep it secret.
Of course, he’d never admit he was wearing it now, like ninja running gear.
* * *
A sunset afternoon.
“Huff, huff, huuuuff—!”
Days before the FA Cup Round 4 against Arsenal.
A lone player was lapping the empty training ground.
It was none other than Adebayor.
Drenched in sweat like he’d showered in it, he ran relentlessly.
After a long while.
“Heok, heok, heok!”
Adebayor stopped jogging and gasped for air.
He shuffled to the bench, grabbed a water bottle from the side, and chugged it.
Gulp, gulp, gulp—!
Without even breathing, Adebayor slumped onto the bench.
With one arm draped over the backrest, his expression was noticeably brighter than before.
Simple reason.
‘My condition’s definitely up...!’
Adebayor looked down at his legs.
Over the past two years, living almost like an unemployed bum, they’d lost all muscle definition, just blobs.
But not anymore.
In just half a season, his legs were chiseled and rock-solid.
He’d dropped nearly 7kg too.
On Jeong-woo’s orders.
‘The EPL plays fast-tempo soccer. A slowpoke like you’ll never adapt. So lose the fat first, man. Can’t have you looking like a dugong, tsk!’
Jeong-woo had added.
If you want to run, that is.
From then on, Adebayor gritted his teeth through dieting and interval training to reshape his body.
Not because dugong stung.
He just wanted to run.
‘I thought I was done.’
He’d joined Bolton thinking it was the last stage of his soccer career.
But someone stopped him.
Ma Jeong-woo.
He said.
Retire in the EPL.
“Not dead yet.”
A chuckle escaped him.
Adebayor was a journeyman through and through.
Since his senior debut at FC Metz, he’d passed through 11 clubs total.
He’d been coached by countless managers.
“And fought like hell with most.”
Not just clashes with coaches, but fistfights with teammates too.
Recalling the past, it all felt like fond memories now.
One thing clear: no manager as eccentric as Bolton’s current one.
Above all, in that short time, he felt needed more than ever.
Unlike others who used him thinking, “Form’s down, but usable enough.”
He wanted the world-class version of him.
Ma demanded he become world-class even in 15 minutes, that he could do it—relentlessly.
Anyone hearing that would scoff.
Adebayor hadn’t played a single league minute in half a season meeting that demand.
But he shook his head firmly.
“Soon.”
He had conviction.
Ma had focused on drawing out his remaining talent.
And now, that conviction grew stronger.
His eyes now gleamed with desire.
In his mind replayed his recent meeting with Jeong-woo in the office.
He’d stated flatly.
‘I’m starting you against Arsenal. Be prepared, though. If I don’t like it, I’ll sub you even after 10 minutes.’
Clench—!
Adebayor’s fists tightened on his knees.
Moments ago, Jeong-woo had breathed life into a dying ember after so long.
‘Whether you’re a side character, a supporting one... or the star at the center like in 2009... it’s up to your performance.’
At the end, Jeong-woo tied it off decisively.
‘So fire the signal flare of your perfect comeback. Let the world know your name again.’