Chapter 112
Chapter 112
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: FA Cup Quarterfinals (2)
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Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 112: FA Cup Quarterfinals (2)
Sunlight filtered through the glass wall of the training center in a hazy glow.
It was 8 a.m.
Legs stretched straight out, he bent his upper body forward sharply before sitting back up.
“Hoo!”
Owen exhaled shortly at the same time.
Drip, drip!
Thick beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
Grip!
Owen gripped the 15kg dumbbells in both hands.
“Hoo!”
He bent his upper body halfway forward again before straightening up, exhaling sharply once more.
This hamstring strengthening drill, known as the back line, was already into its fifth set of fifteen reps each.
On top of that, Owen had been repeating roll-outs, single-leg windmills, and other exercises for an hour and a half straight.
Another thirty minutes passed, and he threw himself into isometric knee flexion contractions.
This, too, was one of the drills to prevent and strengthen against hamstring injuries.
All the while, a thought kept replaying in his mind.
‘You’re still young and have tons of room to grow. So don’t stop. Keep running.’
It was something Jeong-woo had casually mentioned.
And he had instructed him.
To gradually improve muscle activation and boost stamina with training like this.
“Haa...!”
Thud!
It was only around 9 a.m. when the session finally wrapped.
Even so, the training center was empty aside from him.
Today was an off day from team training.
Normally, Jeong-woo would have been there for one-on-one tutoring, but he was out on other business.
Flop.
Owen soon lay flat on the bare floor.
Even through his sweat-soaked face, a faint smile crept onto his lips.
Simple reason.
‘I’m growing...!’
He could feel his body improving through Jeong-woo’s one-on-one sessions.
The stats proved it.
The more games he played, the more his distance covered ticked up, bit by bit.
From the mid-5.5km range to the mid-6km range now.
Sure, it was still an activity level that deserved criticism.
‘Lionel Messi’s around 6km too...’
Even thinking it himself was so absurd he let out a chuckle.
Truth be told, there was guilt over it too.
The less he ran, the more the others had to cover for him.
Take David Dignity and Frank Gerrard—averaging 13km per game.
‘That’s why... I’ve been picking up the tab more at team dinners.’
Especially toward the younger Frank Gerrard, whom he showed extra affection.
Not wanting to squander his teammates’ dedication like that was why he poured so much into improving his output and growth.
On top of that, hadn’t Jeong-woo said it before?
‘You’re already worth at least seven million pounds—at least 112 billion won. And that value’s only going to skyrocket from here.’
Just recalling that moment made goosebumps prickle across Owen’s skin.
Jeong-woo’s gaze from then was impossible to forget.
‘I felt his belief in me...’
Even compared to his pre-injury days starring in the Championship, Jeong-woo looked at him with fiercer, more valuable eyes.
That gaze was why he’d turned down Sunderland’s offer flat-out.
‘No one had ever backed me like that before.’
And because of it, he was growing by leaps and bounds.
Owen wanted to repay that faith and bold investment.
His eyes hardened with resolve.
Like that, the half-slumped Owen suddenly shot his upper body halfway up.
Clap, clap!
He slapped his cheeks loudly and shouted.
“Argh! Let’s train!”
Outside the training center.
Flinch!
Pak shuddered, having shown up late morning for personal training before freezing.
Peeking through the entrance beside the window, he saw Owen unexpectedly slapping his cheeks and jumping to his feet.
“Arrrgh! Ughhh!”
Owen let out a bizarre yell as he dove into burpee tests.
Looking closer, the area around him was drenched like it was under a shadow.
Realizing it was Owen’s sweat, the ace gripped the door handle before slowly letting go.
“...He’s really going at it.”
He considered heading back in, but Owen seemed too intense, so Pak turned on his heel.
‘Yeah, I’ll just do some laps on the training pitch for now.’
* * *
Passing the training center and walking down the hall, Pak came to a sudden stop.
Creak!
The owner’s office door swung open, and a familiar man stepped out.
Pak narrowed his eyes.
‘Adebayor...?’
Dressed in gray sweats, Adebayor had a backpack slung over one shoulder and held something in his hand.
A closer look: instant ramen cup.
“Urgh. This stuff’s seriously good.”
Unaware of Pak, Adebayor smirked slyly as he stuffed the pilfered cup ramen from the owner’s office into his backpack.
Then, with a faintly impressed expression, he muttered.
“The boss even set up special tutoring just for me...!”
His lips curled up for a moment.
“Now I can crank my game up to world-class level as fast as possible, urgh!”
With that, Adebayor trudged off down the opposite hall with a fairly determined look.
“...”
Watching Adebayor go, Pak thought.
‘Special tutoring...? World-class...?’
Step!
Naturally, Pak trailed him stealthily.
Pak pedaled hard.
“Huff, huff!”
Rough breaths poured from his mouth nonstop.
His eyes stayed fixed ahead.
On Adebayor’s sizable rear shaking as he pedaled his bike.
For the past few days, Adebayor had been biking to and from work instead of driving.
Pak, Sensuous, and Shearer had followed suit and bought bikes too.
‘But where the hell is he going?’
His heart started pounding inside.
‘The manager said he prepared special tutoring for Adebayor...!’
And Adebayor had said it himself.
That he could raise his skills to world-class as quickly as possible.
Pak couldn’t help but feel envious.
Special tutoring from Ma Jeong-woo himself, of all people.
Especially since Pak had experienced it firsthand through one-on-one sessions.
‘The manager... he’s a genius!’
Not only did he awaken strengths Pak hadn’t even known about, but he excelled at turning those strengths into even greater ones.
It was thanks to Manager Ma that Pak was up in the scoring charts this season alongside Owen Precis.
‘And Adebayor’s form has shot up too...!’
Just look at his four-game scoring streak lately.
It had to be down to the manager’s special tutoring.
‘Come to think of it, the manager wasn’t at the construction site earlier...!’
He’d been there inspecting with a hard hat when Pak arrived, but gone when he left.
Probably headed to some special spot first.
His mind raced with possibilities.
‘What kind of training is it...?’
‘It can’t be ordinary tutoring...!’
‘Maybe insane high-intensity stuff that’ll rip your lungs out...!’
The recipient was Adebayor, after all.
The world-class striker who’d graced Arsenal, Tottenham, Real Madrid, Man City, and more!
So probably training tailored differently from his own.
Pak just wanted to catch a glimpse, even from afar.
* * *
“...”
Ace Pak stared blankly at one lane, clad in a rented swimsuit.
“What... the hell...”
Shock lingered on his face, refusing to fade.
He’d been excited stepping into the pool.
Expecting some insane aquatic workout.
But no.
The Adebayor in lane one was definitely not the charismatic Adebayor he knew.
“Now, hands on the wall~!”
“Ugh, damn it...! My body’s not cooperating like a damn cripple...!”
“Excuse me, there are kids here.”
“Oh, sorry.”
Adebayor awkwardly shuffled in the water with a flustered face.
“Phew-!”
He soon steadied himself against the wall, barely keeping his body from floating up.
That’s when it happened.
“Mister swims worse than me!”
A boy who looked about seven pointed and laughed from the next lane.
The kids behind him burst into ha-ha-hat laughter too.
Adebayor bristled for a second, starting to retort before catching himself.
“Now, let’s review what we just learned. Hum-wave, got it? Hum, wave!”
The cool-looking female instructor emphasized with intense eyes.
Adebayor sucked in a deep breath! and dunked his head underwater.
Then, as taught, he hummed ~~~ while exhaling slowly through his nose.
Just as he tried to surface.
Press!
The instructor pressed down on his head with her hand and warned softly.
“Not wave yet. Not even a second.”
“Dummy, dummy!”
The kid next door mocked Adebayor again.
* * *
A bright afternoon.
“Did you get Adebayor Bro a pool membership?”
Park Hee-won flopped onto the guest sofa and asked.
Jeong-woo, who’d returned from the construction site and dozed off briefly in his executive chair, nodded.
“Swimming’s the best for health. Builds strength, cardio, endurance—all of it.”
Plus, Adebayor was nearing forty soon.
Pushing reckless workouts like the younger guys risked injury.
“So it recovers his worn-out body and relieves stress too.”
Then, suddenly, Jeong-woo furrowed his brow.
“Wait, did you just call Adebayor ‘bro’?”
“He is my bro?”
“Yeah, fair enough.”
Jeong-woo accepted it quickly.
He knew Hee-won wouldn’t use “bro” for Adebayor around the players.
Then Hee-won’s brow creased.
“That Solskjaer guy... doesn’t seem just pissed. More than that.”
“Why?”
“Every interview, he mentions you and smirks all obnoxious-like. Says we should brace for the quarterfinals.”
Jeong-woo had seen it too.
Just two days ago, in a solo interview, Solskjaer had openly provoked.
‘Bolton got relegated from the EPL like they were chased out, then fell all the way to League Two. Their boss Ma must’ve felt like he owned the world after beating us in that friendly.’
Solskjaer then made excuses that weren’t excuses—claiming he’d been complacent and the Manchester side had only played at 10% capacity.
He added.
‘Now the Red Devils hate Bolton. They acted arrogant beyond their level. And insulted us.’
As he said, when Bolton drew Manchester in the quarters, the Red Devils had been thrilled.
Ecstatic, even.
Some said they had to go all-out against Bolton.
To crush them completely on the pitch and send them to the netherworld—that was the reason.
Seeing those articles and comments, Hee-won scrunched his already worried face further and muttered.
“What if... Cristiano Ronaldo actually shows up?”
At the anxious mumble, Jeong-woo just smirked instead.
“I’m hoping he does.”