Chapter 115
Chapter 115
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 115
Chapter Title: FA Cup Quarterfinals (5)
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27th minute of the first half.
Donny van de Beek dribbled forward with the ball.
But he couldn't advance even five steps.
"Fuck...!"
Van de Beek stopped just below the arc, grumbling with a frustrated look on his face.
The penalty box was swarming with Bolton players.
In that gap, prodigy Park burst in from the left flank.
"Where do you think you're going!"
Van de Beek immediately turned his back and stuck out his hips to block him.
Thud, thud, thud-!
But Park pressed right up against him, rubbing his body while alternating right and left feet, stabbing down relentlessly.
Inside, he recalled Adebayor's advice.
'Forget shooting—just swing wildly. Make him look like an idiot. Like a total moron. Swung like crazy back when I played for Tottenham. Had to press forward sometimes.'
Park immediately countered in his mind.
'My feet aren't moronic!'
Thwack, thwack, thwack-!
At the same time, he stomped the turf with all his might, trying to snatch the ball without mercy.
"You moron!"
Van de Beek cursed as he protected the ball with drag-backs, insteps, and outsteps, making it hard to steal.
The opponent was swinging his feet so recklessly.
Like swatting at bugs crawling underfoot.
Even so, he quickly scanned the surroundings.
Cristiano Ronaldo was waving his arms from the left penalty area.
His expression was one of utter dissatisfaction.
He'd only managed one touch in over 20 minutes of the first half.
'I need to connect with Cristiano...!'
This was one of Solskjær's top priorities in their tactics.
Give Ronaldo more space to penetrate and make his own decisions.
Thud-!
But soon enough, he had no choice but to play a back pass.
The opponent's pressure was too fierce and fast.
Meanwhile, Bolton's defense had grown even tighter.
Van de Beek quickly thought of the next move.
'After the pass, dive between the center-backs...!'
He figured that play alone would disrupt Bolton's defensive shape.
In those gaps, Ronaldo and the other attackers would look for line-breaking runs.
Wobble-!
"Uhk?!"
Suddenly, Donny van de Beek staggered backward.
Park had chased the ball past him, yanking his jersey collar in the process.
"You bastard...!"
Donny van de Beek seethed with irritation.
That slight tug had thrown off his balance, ruining the next phase.
"The ball just isn't reaching Cristiano easily."
Assistant coach Mike Phelan muttered, furrowing his brow slightly.
Solskjær uncomfortably scanned the pitch.
Just as Phelan said, the ball wasn't connecting to Ronaldo.
They'd started with a 4-3-3, positioning Ronaldo as the central striker.
Marcus Rashford's direct runs from left wing were meant to drag out the defenders.
Jesse Lingard on the right wing mixed underlaps and straight runs to sow confusion.
But it wasn't working.
"Why not commit the two center-backs to even the numbers?"
Mike Phelan observed the flow and offered advice.
But Solskjær shook his head firmly.
"No. They're waiting for a counter."
The memory of getting burned by Park in the friendly was still fresh.
Phelan narrowed his eyes and countered.
"Their forward is loitering inside our defensive line. Positioning center-backs near their center circle for the attack phase doesn't seem like much risk."
But Solskjær shook his head again.
"Let's watch a bit longer."
Even so, he felt uneasy about Phelan inside.
'How long are you going to try teaching me...!'
Solskjær's thinking was completely different from Phelan's.
'Park's speed is downright terrifying. Even before, one counter ruined everything!'
He was convinced.
'We're massively outmatched individually too...! Just dropping two center-backs back won't stop them from scoring!'
He saw it as a matter of time.
Eventually, Bolton's goal would burst open like a time bomb, shattering spectacularly.
In his mind, Solskjær justified his decisions with these lengthy excuses.
Phelan quietly thought to himself.
'Coward.'
* * *
31st minute of the first half.
Thud, thud, thud-!
Rashford nudged the ball along the left sideline.
But it didn't pick up speed.
His brow furrowed slightly.
'What is this... a wall?'
He'd only advanced a couple slow touches with possession, yet Bolton had already surrounded the box.
Just ahead, fullback Delicate stamped his feet, holding position.
On the flank, Sensuous Rough narrowed the gap, cutting off passing lanes.
'Want me to play it wide?'
Just as he thought, Bolton was only offering non-threatening wide passes.
That's when it happened.
Ronaldo, tussling with Frank Gerrard outside the left box, shoved him away with both hands.
Thwump-!
He immediately burst into the box.
Thwoomp-!
Rashford lofted a chip pass from the spot right then.
"Yes! That's it!"
Solskjær, watching from the technical area, jumped up shouting.
"Huh!"
Sensuous Rough jolted upright, startled by the pass soaring over his head.
Twaaang-!
"Fuck!"
Ronaldo, just stepping into the box, spat a short curse.
He'd timed his run for the landing spot, but Dominic Shields leaped in beside him, deflecting it with a header.
"Damn it...!"
Solskjær stomped the pitch, cursing as the chance fizzled.
Heat was rising in his face now.
Impatience too.
'Still no goals...!'
It had been the same in the friendly.
But there was a difference this time.
'The shot count is low too...!'
For this match, Solskjær had gone with a one-man show around Ronaldo.
With his natural finishing, just get him the ball and goals would follow—no doubt.
But over 30 minutes in, Ronaldo hadn't even had a proper touch.
Just one shot.
Even now, Frank Gerrard shadowed his every move.
Ronaldo flashed an incredulous smile, then shouted seriously.
"Kid, get off my back!"
With no passes coming, Ronaldo spent more time wandering in their half.
"Just thread it forward!"
Fed up, he yelled at teammates with an irritated glare.
"Come on, pass it for once!"
When Dominic Shields or defenders closed tight, he'd stop and protest to the ref.
"See that! He just tugged my collar! Isn't that a yellow at least? Huh?"
Of course, the ref claimed he hadn't seen and chased the ball.
* * *
42nd minute of the first half.
Ma Jeong-woo, who had been watching silently, suddenly stood and turned around.
"Club owner hyung-!"
Right then, Cyrus Muamba from the nearest fan section greeted him with a joyful grin.
Jeong-woo smiled at the kid and extended a hand.
As if waiting, Muamba and kids his age hoisted up cards from the ground.
The broadcast camera caught them perfectly, and the commentators seized the moment.
[It's the card section from the friendly!]
[They used it for tactical instructions against United last time too!]
[Deer this time... Wonder what tactical shift it'll bring!]
Solskjær, meanwhile, didn't panic.
He smirked instead.
'Card section, huh...!'
He'd learned about it late, but now he knew.
The organic tactical shifts in the friendly had thrown him off.
Bolton's manager Ma hadn't given overt orders, yet the players adjusted formations mid-game.
'It stumped me then.'
Not anymore.
He'd been caught once and studied the video, figuring out what each animal card meant tactically.
Not exactly the same, but Solskjær was confident now.
The flow screamed it.
'Counter...!'
No time for long thought.
Having been hit by an unexpected counter before, Solskjær barked orders.
"Drop the line and mark!"
Inside, he thought darkly.
'I've been waiting, you sly fox...!'
From the start, when Bolton countered, United planned a counter-counter.
'Think I'd fall for it twice...!'
As thought, Fred and Nemanja Matić took forward stances.
Ready to charge at prodigy Park and Sensuous Rough lurking on the flanks.
Other United players, who had pushed high, flinched and dropped back.
Solskjær had instructed pre-match.
'The end point of Bolton's counters is those two. Just mark them...!'
Thwoomp-!
Just as predicted.
[Oh! Bolton! Keeper Screech launches a long kick-!]
First long kick from Bolton at the 43rd minute.
No Owen, so their keeper punted long forward.
Prodigy Park and Sensuous Rough exploded off the line.
Solskjær's lips curled up.
He shook his head pityingly.
'Low-class to the bone...!'
43rd minute—perfect timing for lapses in focus, and they counter.
'But that's it.'
He envisioned the sequence fast.
Park or Sensuous losing the ball miserably midway.
Then a counter-counter evoking Ferguson's prime triple-threat, ending with Ronaldo rippling the net!
Thud, thud, thwump-!
"...?"
But his rising smirk twisted midway.
"...What?"
Solskjær muttered in disbelief.
The high ball bounced once in United's arc and nestled cleanly in Dean Henderson's arms.
Blink.
Even Henderson looked dazed, like it was a pass.
Swish.
Solskjær's eyes flicked to the flanks.
"...."
Soon, his eyelids twitched.
Prodigy Park and Sensuous Rough, who had taken sprint stances, stood frozen in place.
"Oh, my laces came undone."
Park casually knelt on one knee and tied his shoe.
"..."
He'd been baited.
Four minutes of stoppage time followed.
Including remaining time, from then on Jeong-woo pulled the counter fake several more times.
Each time, United players flinched and retreated.
With seconds left till end of stoppage.
"Bastards still remember that one hit."
Jeong-woo chuckled dryly.
Park Hee-won beside him gave a weary look at the childishly gleeful Jeong-woo.
"Ugh, you trauma-inducer—you're trauma incarnate, man."
Jeong-woo whistled innocently, denying it.
"Nah, that guy's just a coward."
The difference from last card section was clear.
Last was tactical orders; this was pure fun.
When Muamba asked if they weren't doing it like before, Jeong-woo grinned and greenlit it.
Told them to enjoy.
So the kids eagerly set it up. Jeong-woo just exploited it.
Faking a tactical shift.
That was plenty.
Solskjær freaked like a dog desperate to poop—or 'knew it'—scrambling and yelling every time.
Bought time, drained United's energy.
Soon Jeong-woo alternated grins at Ronaldo and Solskjær.
"Well, what now? Send 'em out second half too?"
As if answering, the whistle blew.
Tweet, tweet, tweeeeeet-!
First half ended, and Solskjær stormed to the locker room, face bursting red.
Commentators watched the dejected United players trudge across the pitch.
[Manchester United! They end the first half goalless against Bolton...!]
[Not a good scenario for United, is it?]
[Right! Press and fans expected at least one, probably more, by halftime. They were sure of it!]