Chapter 116
Chapter 116
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 116
Chapter Title: FA Cup Quarterfinals (6)
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[Manchester United! 0-0 against Bolton Wanderers at halftime!]
[Cristiano Ronaldo only managed one shot...!]
[Fewer shots than in the friendly—Manchester United struggling!]
Articles poured in relentlessly right after the halftime instructions were given.
Overseas fans watching the live match unleashed a torrent of abuse at Ole Gunnar Solskjaer.
- : What the hell is this? Huh?
- : 0-0 at halftime against Bolton with that lineup...? Unbelievable!
- : They should be dominating Bolton in individual quality... Isn't Solskjaer the problem here?
The vitriol aimed at Ronaldo was nonstop too.
They called him out for strolling around up front.
"You fucking mutt!"
Back in the locker room, Ronaldo checked the articles and public reactions on his phone, then exploded in curses.
He couldn't help but feel pissed off.
"Fucking Bolton!"
Thwack—!
Along with the profanity, he kicked a sports backpack that had been carelessly left on the floor.
Amad Diallo, the owner of the bag, looked a bit wronged.
But he didn't dare make a peep.
Even after returning to United this season, Ronaldo's status in the squad was top-tier.
He'd even traded barbs with manager Solskjaer at times.
Yet he kept starting every game.
Soon, Ronaldo vented his frustration at Donny van de Beek, Marcus Rashford, and Jesse Lingard.
"Just play it to me. Is that so fucking hard?"
To Ronaldo, it was infuriating.
By his judgment, there had been several clear direct pass lanes to him.
"Please, stop holding onto it."
Rashford and van de Beek couldn't even protest at Ronaldo's griping.
Only Lingard shot hiMad Dogissatisfied look as he brushed past and sat on a locker room bench.
"You right now...!"
Ronaldo, who'd been stewing in stress all game, wasn't about to let that slide.
But he didn't finish his sentence.
Solskjaer burst through the door after a quick bathroom break.
For a while, Solskjaer unleashed a barrage of abuse and half-baked speeches.
He tore into individual players too.
"Most of you put on a performance that deserves to be laughed at by the Red Devils!"
Even so, Solskjaer spared Ronaldo.
Truth be told, he'd been dissatisfied with Ronaldo's movement throughout the match.
He'd hovered only around the box.
*I did tell him to...!*
He'd hoped for some off-the-ball runs to drag defenders out depending on the situation, but there was none of that.
Purely hunting for goals.
But it was all just building frustration with no easy way to call it out.
Ronaldo would obviously push back and argue.
On top of that, Solskjaer secretly hoped for it.
Hoped Ronaldo would play the second half too.
Simple reason.
Despite just one shot, he had overwhelming talent as a clutch player.
And once a goal went in, that would be it.
*Like unclogging a backed-up sewer—Bolton would collapse...!*
Fortunately, Ronaldo brought it up first with a sour face.
"I'll play the second half too."
* * *
Second half, 6th minute.
"Hoo—!"
Ronaldo exhaled sharply.
Then, from the left edge of the penalty area, he burst into a sudden sprint.
The distance was barely five meters.
He quickly slowed and stopped.
"Just pass it already."
His crumpled expression showed no sign of easing.
He'd dashed when he saw Rashford get the ball on the left flank, but now it was a back pass.
"Fuck!"
Profanity spilled out as naturally as breathing now.
He needed a goal right now.
No, one goal wouldn't even satisfy him anymore.
*What? I'm not on Messi's level?*
The words from Bolton manager Ma's interview swam endlessly in his mind.
In short, Ma had insulted him.
And that Ma manager was now slouched in a folding chair on one side of the technical area, eyeing the pitch.
Twitch.
Their eyes met, and Ma smirked.
It felt like blatant mockery.
Clench—!
His fist tightened involuntarily.
Then Ma exaggerated his mouth movements.
*'You. Can't. Fucking. Play.'*
Crack!
A vein bulged on his forehead.
It really felt like he'd heard it.
*That bastard...! He looked right at me and said it!*
Part of him had wanted to play just the first half for stamina management.
Just days before this match, he'd even planned a yacht trip with family.
But Ma's sharp tongue had shattered that.
Ronaldo had wanted to dazzle with his class in just the first half.
But the situation was nearly disastrous.
Bolton's defense was stickier than expected.
Glance—
Suddenly, Ronaldo looked left.
Frank Gerrard, with his big eyes, was stamping his feet right beside him.
"Hey, kid."
"Y-Yes?"
Gerrard startled at the sudden call and replied.
When Ronaldo glared down at him with narrowed eyes, his heart pounded.
Gerrard hadn't dreamed he'd be marking Ronaldo directly.
Yet he secretly hoped.
*Pr-Praise maybe?*
He was embarrassed to say it himself, but he'd shut Ronaldo down all first half.
But Ronaldo just spat it out.
"Get lost, you stink of sweat."
Ronaldo's face twisted subtly too.
*This guy...?*
For some reason, Frank Gerrard beamed with a touched expression.
And from then on.
Gerrard started marking Ronaldo even more tenaciously.
Second half, 10th minute.
[Cristiano Ronaldo has Frank Gerrard glued to his side as they run!]
[Ahh! He won't shake him off!]
[Is there a tougher shadow than that?]
[Gerrard's face is practically stuck to Ronaldo's jersey! Did he glue it on?]
"You fucking—!"
From then, Ronaldo hurled every curse under the sun at Frank Gerrard.
As naturally as breathing.
Gerrard chased him relentlessly, mindset of *wherever you go, I'm coming too!*
Second half, 11th minute.
Ronaldo chest-trapped Fred's lofted pass with his back to the corner flag.
Thud—!
But before he could control the dropping ball, it rolled out over the touchline.
Frank Gerrard had body-checked him clean off it.
Of course, Gerrard's shoulder barge wasn't that hard.
Gritting his teeth, Ronaldo lunged his right foot for the knee-high bouncing ball.
Blocking Gerrard's intruding torso with his arm as he shoved forward.
Thud—!
The moment Ronaldo's arm touched Gerrard's chest, Gerrard crumpled to the turf like a felled tree, face contorted in agony.
Tweeeeeet—!
The ref blew for a foul immediately.
"What the fuck! How is that a foul?!"
Ronaldo regained the ball but swung his fist at the air in rage.
Second half, 13th minute saw a rare through ball from Donny van de Beek.
"Gah—!"
David de Gea at the penalty arc gasped and whipped his head as the ball zipped past.
*Got it!*
Ronaldo, loitering in the left penalty area, sprinted into the box right then.
The ball rolled perfectly under his outstretched foot.
Shwooooosh—!
Thud—!
Frank Gerrard appeared out of nowhere with a sliding tackle from the side, nicking it clean.
"You fucking piece of—!"
Ronaldo slashed his hand out and spat something unintelligible.
To Gerrard, it sounded Portuguese.
"Heh heh."
Obviously a curse, but Gerrard grinned innocently.
Best compliment ever.
Then, a prior training chat with Ma Jeong-woo flashed in his mind.
*Frank.*
*Yeah?*
*Wanna be a Ji-Song Park?*
*J-Ji-Song Park?*
He hadn't gotten it then, but repeated drills made it clear.
Become the Ji-Song Park who'd blanked Andrea Pirlo against AC Milan.
And the target was none other than Cristiano Ronaldo.
Intimidating opponent for Gerrard.
He was too damn young.
Even with improved stamina and vision, he was scared.
But Ma was confident.
*Don't worry. I'll set up an environment that favors you.*
Swipe.
The ball from his tackle sailed out over the dead ball line.
[Manchester United corner kick!]
Ronaldo, after cursing, slinked to the far post.
Gerrard stood and saw tall center-backs Dominic Shields and Joel Bix around him in a radius.
Blocking his path forward, another center-back, Dennis Slip.
It was the formation they'd drilled the past few days.
Ma had said then, back to the sun.
*I'll station a few around Ronaldo. For set pieces, tall center-backs beside him to wear him down.*
*Even when you're on him, I'll position players at key intervals depending on the situation. Make it hard for him to decide.*
Ma added.
That way, not just Ronaldo, but his suppliers would hesitate.
Bolton could solidify in the meantime.
He was confident.
*Even if it's not Ronaldo, no one else gets close easily?*
Simple reason.
Bolton's backline had double pivot fullbacks.
So Gerrard felt less burdened.
Ronaldo confined to limited space made prediction easier.
At the same time, Ma demanded.
*Harass him however you can. Irritate him, drain his stamina.*
Then assured.
*Even if his athleticism is 20s-level... he's 38 already. Joints creaking. You'll lose physical duels, but nonstop stickiness is different.*
And now, Gerrard's lips twitched upward.
"Huff, huff—!"
Through the tall center-backs' gap, Ronaldo shoved with a grimace, his ragged breaths spilling from bared teeth.
* * *
Second half, 20th minute passed in a flash.
"Drop the line...!"
Solskjaer bellowed, face flushed red-hot.
Just a second ago, Ma had turned and signaled the kids for another card section.
Sweeping his arms like a conductor.
Right on cue, a long kick from the keeper.
Pak blew past Diogo Dalot on the flank with pure speed.
Thud, thud, thuuud—!
But the ball bounced straight into United keeper Dean Henderson's arms cleanly.
No Bolton player crossed the halfway line.
Star kid halted just before, huffing shortly.
Second half, 22nd minute, Ma swept his arms like a conductor again.
This time, the kids made a lion card section.
Burned by fakes before, United players hesitated forward without dropping back easily.
In that gap, star kid Pak crossed halfway.
Solskjaer, veins bulging in his neck, yelled.
"Drop the line, I said!"
But star kid took three steps over, then spun wide and trudged back.
Second half 24th, 27th—card sections nonstop.
Each time, Solskjaer glowered and immediately ordered his players to drop.
Mike Phelan beside him looked uncomfortable.
*Ridiculous.*
Obvious fakes.
Solskjaer had fallen for them multiple times.
He'd mentioned it several times, but Solskjaer ignored him now.
Of course, Solskjaer had his reasons.
*Isn't it all strategy to bait one big chance...!*
He firmly believed they'd exploit a lapse after these fakes.
He dismissed Bolton's manager but acknowledged his cunning.
He'd seen it clearly in matches against United and others.
Ma snatching absurd wins with that trickery!
Right then.
Snap—!
Ma grinned at the kids and flashed three fingers.
This time, a never-before-seen figure formed in the card section.
Solskjaer's eyes bulged.
*...Adebayor?*
Just as he thought—the kids formed Adebayor.
Sticking out his tongue cheekily.
A few seconds later...,
Tweeeeeet—!
Ball out over touchline, ref pointed to the bench.
Solskjaer's eyes twitched.
Oooooh—!
Clap clap clap—!
Wanderers in University Stadium erupted in cheers and applause.
Adebayor really approached the bench for sub prep.
Adebayor grinned.
"You shitheads."
Ma fixed Adebayor up top.
Rest held double pivot backline in defense.
"..."
Solskjaer's mind turned to mush.
Face muscles twitched on their own.
*What the hell now...*
For a moment, he felt tossed into crashing waves, barely afloat.
Glanced at the scoreboard: second half past 30th minute.
Score still 0-0.
Adebayor's entry muddled his head even more.