Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: Our Goal is Staying Up (3)
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The commentary team shouted.
[The 27th round of the league between MK Dons and Bolton at the University of Bolton Stadium...!]
[If MK Dons win this one, they'll climb to 23rd!]
[Meanwhile, Bolton's dropped to 22nd, and a loss here sends them to 24th—dead last!]
[Both teams desperately need the points!]
The in-stadium announcer bellowed, cheeks puffing out.
[Booolton Wanderers—!]
Normally, the crowd would roar back in unison: Wanderers!
But today's attendance was a pathetic 3,000.
A thousand of those were away fans from MK Dons' neck of the woods, Milton Keynes.
The mere 2,000 home supporters were fed up with the string of snoozefests.
No response.
The announcer, now numb to the silence, shook his body like he was dancing, piling on the hype.
[Bolton will smash MK Dons!]
[Rise up, Wanderers!]
...
Still nothing.
Meanwhile, the Dons fans from Milton Keynes clapped and chanted for victory.
From the VIP box, Jeong-woo frowned at the mute home crowd.
*What a mess.*
It wasn't the crowd reaction that was the issue.
Richard Geers had said Bolton's average attendance hovered around 7,000.
But this bottom-of-the-table clash left huge swaths of the stands empty.
*They didn't show up at all.*
Some had even hung banners.
[MA! OUT!]
Fans who'd heard he was in the house and decided to make a statement.
Security could've handled it.
But Jeong-woo let it slide.
*Control that, and we'd have a full-on riot.*
Better they vent like this.
Jeong-woo crossed his arms, unfazed.
He even spotted one in Korean.
[Go back to Korea! Dongbang Jeongwoo?!]
*Dongbang Jeongwoo?*
That one stung a bit—his face twitched.
*Remember that seat. Row A, 14. Blacklisted.*
With so few fans, it was easy to spot.
Next to him sat Executive Director Richard Geers.
Hee-won was absent, tied up with youth team duties.
Geers flashed his usual kindly smile.
"Score a goal, and the fans will come alive."
Jeong-woo gave a wry smile.
"We'd better score first."
* * *
They did score.
Splash—!
On the relay screen mounted on the VIP box wall, the commentators exploded.
[Goooaal! MK Dons' striker! Richard Fire blasts home the opener!]
[The guy with more shots than anyone in League Two!]
[Even after moving up to League One, he's proving his worth!]
[For Bolton, it's practically an own goal!]
"Goddamn it."
Jeong-woo clutched his throbbing forehead, watching from his seat.
Not just any goal conceded.
Their keeper had made a brilliant save on a long-range rocket, followed by a quick throw-in to launch a counter...
*But to the opponent's striker?*
Clear keeper blunder.
The long throw sailed straight to Richard Fire, lurking on the edge of the defensive line.
"That bastard tanked it or something."
Suspiciously egregious error.
Fire then slipped in undetected and slotted it home past the panicking keeper's side.
Jeong-woo glanced over.
The screen showed the camera panning the Bolton crowd.
"Talk about deflated."
Every face sagged—eyes drooping, mouths agape.
As if saying, with detached calm: *Of course.*
But one kid, innocent and unscarred, puffed his cotton-candy cheeks and yelled with pure eyes.
Boooolton! Win it!
Hoping for a comeback.
Even into the second half, the score held at 1-0.
Jeong-woo clung to a sliver of hope.
Boooolton! Fiiiight!
He didn't want that kid's pure gaze to cloud with despair.
Let him stay in a simple world where heroes always beat the villains.
At least to Bolton, that cotton-candy kid, they were heroes.
Thwack—!
[Nooo, another blow!]
Screw that.
Jeong-woo twitched like he was having seizures all match.
"What the hell...!"
Thud—!
[It's in!]
"You playing baseball?!"
He was about to pop a vein.
Splash—!
[Goooaal! MK Dons! That's the dagger!]
"..."
No miracles.
Bolton lost 2-0 to bottom feeders, inheriting 24th place.
And Jeong-woo saw it clear as day.
That pure kid on camera, face twisted in betrayal, flipping the bird.
*Fast learner.*
Yeah... the world's all about results.
* * *
He'd watched some soccer documentary.
New owner comes in, rolls out plans, wins the opener.
Stayed top half all season.
Failed promotion, but still.
"Huuuuh—!"
Jeong-woo puffed out smoke from his sixth cig, deep from his lungs, through mouth and nose.
Reality was harsher.
"Nah, Bolton's just shit."
The doc's club had solid players compared to league rivals.
Filtered down, still gems.
Bolton? Nothing.
Even through an analyst's eyes...
"Total overhaul."
No one in the first team could match Wayne Rooney's League One peaks.
Not even Erik Lamela at Tottenham's level, League One limited.
Worse, too used to losing.
He'd seen it mid-game.
"One goal down, and they crumbled like dominoes."
Jeong-woo slammed back a shot of cheap soju from the table.
He'd sworn off booze and smokes as owner...
Bullshit.
"No fight in 'em. What's the point of rare chances if they all shank it!"
Hee-won, gnawing dried squid on his right, nodded furiously.
"Saw the local broadcast—brutal. Honestly... they'd scrap with our Jinju CF."
"Nah."
"Yeah, nah."
Hee-won chewed thoughtfully, conceding.
Jeong-woo sighed shortly.
"No wonder. That's why the release list got no bites."
Counteroffers instead.
He'd priced low, but they lowballed half that.
Turned 'em down then, but post-match regret hit.
"Should've snatched 'em."
Plan was simple: Sell high-wage duds, buy new blood.
Cheap and efficient if possible.
Jeong-woo chuckled bitterly.
"Not even Football 4."
In his fave game, Football 4, low-cost high-upside picks were everywhere.
He stubbed his dying cig in the ashtray, muttering.
"Not just players."
"Staff too? Our U-21 boss is gold. LA ribs yesterday."
Hee-won pitied him, then bragged.
"..."
Explains the no-show.
Jeong-woo eyed him enviously, then pressed on.
"Scott, that prick."
Decision made mid-game yesterday. No, halftime, minute 23.
"Stack some transfer cash, first axe him."
One match told all.
Tactical dud of a manager.
*Player selection's off too.*
Starting XI mired in slump.
Yet unchanged for seven games.
*What, the starters got blackmail vids or something?*
He pondered dumping personal cash into ops budget.
Plan Z.
Bigger issue loomed.
"Attendance is trash."
Geers had warned yesterday.
Fewer fans each game.
Ticket revenue covered debt interest—dropping crowds? Fatal.
Jeong-woo reached for cigs habitually, crushed the empty pack.
"24 teams, now dead last... fans'll bail harder."
Shitty play might sicken 'em off live games.
Even he nearly rage-quit life watching.
*Owner or not... my lifespan's tanking.*
But crowds were vital.
Can't draw with results yet? Next best thing.
"So, here's the thing..."
Jeong-woo leaned in, eyes intense, grin sly.
"What's my nickname?"
Out of left field.
Hee-won paused mid-squid chew, brow furrowed.
"Why?"
Plenty nicknames.
Jeong-woo pressed, dead serious.
"Tell me."
Hee-won met his gaze, relented.
"Dog... bastard?"
"...No, not that."
"Mad dog...?"
Jeong-woo shook his head.
No sting.
Old news.
"Heron...?"
New one.
Jeong-woo scowled.
"Heron? What's that?"
Hee-won eyes flicked left, voice sly.
"Y'know... bird that pecks anything, size be damned."
"...Who came up with that crap?"
Jeong-woo sighed it off, shook his head.
"Nope."
Better say it himself.
"Gam...!"
"Office psycho junior you never cross?"
"Who the hell's that?"
Jeong-woo glared at the interruption.
Hee-won eyes rolled opposite.
"Eh... exists~"
Jeong-woo went from mad to baffled.
"My nicknames that stacked?"
"Didn't know?"
"..."
Hee-won looked incredulous; Jeong-woo speechless.
He downed the last soju instead.
"Gambler. Kim Seok-tae, that asshole scout's tag on me."
"Ohhh! That one~!"
Finally clicked; Hee-won clapped.
Then puzzled.
"Why bring it up?"
Jeong-woo cleared throat, voice low despite sour face.
"Ahem! Not full gambler... but for boosting crowds, nothing beats sports betting."
Hee-won still baffled.