Chapter 121
Chapter 121
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 121
Chapter Title: Uphill (1)
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Bolton, fresh off their victory over Manchester United, unleashed their ferocious momentum in the league match five days later.
The broadcast team covering the away game against Doncaster made it official.
[Bolton! It's no exaggeration to say they've completely dominated this match already!]
The reason was straightforward.
With the clock at 77 minutes in the second half, the score stood at 4-1.
Shearer Kane's hat-trick, combined with Sensuous Ruff's goal, had all but sealed the deal long ago.
Just as they predicted, Doncaster's players grew sluggish as the minutes ticked by.
[Ooooh!]
Suddenly, the caster leaped from his seat with an exclamation of awe.
The commentator widened his eyes, veins bulging in his neck.
[Thwack! Thwaaack! Thwaaaaack!]
Park, lounging near the left halfway line, exploded into a sprint.
"Gah!"
The mere sight of him bursting forward froze Doncaster's fullback, mouth agape.
Even though Park had been a step behind, in the blink of an eye, he'd overtaken him along the touchline.
Thwoomp!
Right on cue, Owen lofted a diagonal pass from the opposite flank.
[Doncaster center-back Bill Sweater charges out to clear the ball!]
Position-wise, Sweater should clear it comfortably.
He'd been holding the line inside the penalty area from the start.
Park, meanwhile, was at least five paces farther from the dropping ball near the edge of the box than Sweater.
'I can't let in another goal!'
Sweater summoned every ounce of pride and lunged toward the descending ball.
Thud!
But his eyes bulged in shock.
"What the...!"
His reflexive shout trembled.
Park had clearly been farther away.
Yet in an instant, he was right there.
"This crazy...!"
Panicking, Sweater swung his right foot to clear it.
Swoosh!
An air shot.
As the ball dropped to knee height, thwoomp! Park whipped his outside foot, curling it into an arc.
Swoosh!
Without breaking stride, he planted that foot and twisted his body, slipping past Sweater.
And that was that.
Thwang!
Clang!
[Gooooaaal! Paaaark!]
[He draws out the keeper and slots it into the far right post for another!]
[Bolton! They're insane! A team that beat Manchester United—it's a shame to waste this form in League One, right? Huh?]
* * *
While Bolton rode their post-Man United high, United went the opposite way.
Pwaaang!
Clang!
[Gooooaaaal! Mohamed Sala-aaah!]
[Sala curls a left-footed shot from the right side of the box for the opener!]
After a tense battle, Liverpool struck first in the Northwest Derby at the 49th minute.
By the 55th, Cristiano Ronaldo headed home a set-piece goal, ramping up the drama.
But what came next was the problem.
Thud!
[Oh! Jesse Lingard! Back pass... What the hell?!]
The broadcast team gawked in horror.
Lingard had dropped deep to help defend.
But his back pass? It threaded right to Sadio Mané sneaking between the center-backs.
Thwoomp!
Mané finished it clinically, rifling it into the corner.
Liverpool didn't stop there.
Pwaaang!
[Gooooaaaal!]
[Jordan Hendooo! He exploits loose pressure with a sneaky mid-range rocket from just outside the arc to stretch the lead!]
[Score now 3-1!]
At the 87th minute, Aaron Wan-Bissaka's reckless sliding tackle in the box gifted a penalty.
He picked up a second yellow for his troubles and walked.
Thwang!
Clang!
Sala converted effortlessly, making it 4-1.
They straight-up demolished United.
* * *
Bolton Wanderers kept their unbeaten run alive in the games that followed.
They drew once with a bottom-feeder, but piled up points without a loss.
United, meanwhile, lost to Liverpool after Bolton, then suffered a humiliating 2-0 defeat to Crystal Palace.
They scraped a draw against Leeds United.
But days later, in the UEFA Champions League Round of 16 second leg, they fell 4-1 to Paris Saint-Germain and crashed out...
One outlet ran this headline:
[Manchester United... 1 draw, 3 losses since Bolton! Bolton's curse?]
Simple reason why Bolton got name-dropped.
The loss didn't just dent their psyche—it wrecked their fitness.
Look at the Liverpool game: in the second half, United's legs visibly gave out, dragged along by Liverpool's tempo.
Pre-Bolton, they'd held second place. Now? They'd tumbled to fifth.
* * *
April.
Bolton's FA Cup semifinal opponent? Manchester City.
No University Stadium advantage here—it was at the Etihad.
Jeong-woo threw everything at City.
But Pep Guardiola operated on a different plane from Solskjær.
Beep, beep, beeeeeep!
When the final whistle blew, Jeong-woo glanced at the scoreboard and gave a wry smile.
'3-1.'
Shearer Kane's fluke header opened the scoring, but they conceded three in a row after.
Pep didn't slack off either.
Aggressive setup, sure—but first- and second-wave pressing shut down Bolton's prized build-up play from the source.
'They didn't force gaps either.'
Jeong-woo was stunned by their sheer quality.
The moment one City player got the ball, four or five moved in sync, conjuring pocket zones out of thin air.
Bolton's defensive shape crumbled every time.
'The guy you were marking? Vanished into the ether.'
Even with the scoreline, they stuck to the plan, never ceding space.
But soon, a faint smile tugged at Jeong-woo's lips.
Clap clap clap clap clap!
Out of 55,000 fans, 8,000 Wanderers rose as one, applauding thunderously.
8,000 seats? A courtesy from City.
And they weren't alone.
The broadcast team marveled as they called it.
[Even Cityzens in Manchester City's home ground stand and applaud Bolton!]
Spot on.
Scoreline be damned—Bolton had fought tooth and nail all match.
Touched Cityzens rose in solidarity.
"You did great, Wanderers!"
"Beating Manchester United? That's a win already!"
"Hey! Bolton! We're family! You're our cool little brothers!"
Those near the fences shouted warmly.
That's when it happened.
"Ma!"
Flash!
"Ooh...!"
Jeong-woo turned toward the voice, then shielded his eyes from the glow.
Pep Guardiola strode over, beaming light from his head to toe, and pulled him into a bear hug.
'Oh, big bro Pep...!'
Loss or not, it felt like an honor.
Made him think a loan next season might pan out nicely.
* * *
Time flew by, impossible to grasp.
Bolton Wanderers racked up back-to-back wins against Rounds 43 and 44 opponents, surging to second place.
Current standings:
[[1st] Hull City: 44 played, 34W-5D-5L, 107 pts]
[[2nd] Bolton Wanderers: 44 played, 33W-6D-5L, 105 pts]
[[3rd] Plymouth Argyle: 44 played, 33W-5D-6L, 104 pts]
[[4th] Gillingham: 44 played, 31W-5D-8L, 98 pts]
[[5th] Wigan Athletic: 44 played, 30W-6D-8L, 96 pts]
[[6th] Fleetwood: 44 played, 28W-7D-9L, 91 pts]
[[7th] Blackpool: 44 played, 26W-8D-10L, 86 pts]
[League One totals 46 matches!
Top two auto-promote. 3rd to 6th battle in playoffs!]
Horwich DJ Aaron Bench explained excitedly.
[And Bolton Wanderers overtook Plymouth Argyle by a single point with yesterday's win!]
That's when—
[Hull City leads by two points.]
Someone chimed in from beside him.
Bench chuckled.
[Yes, exactly. And right here next to me is none other than Bolton's owner-manager, Jeong-woo Ma!]
Right then—
"Whoa, this is huge?"
Bench muted his mic, gasping.
Listener count spiked live.
Comments flooded in.
- : Whoa! Jeong-woo Ma! Radio appearance after forever!
- : Epic! Knew that voice had gravitas!
- : Real talk? Manager Ma seeing this? Got 100 Ma plushies! Scored a signed ball from you at Round 40! Remember me? Finn James...!
Jeong-woo, in a rumpled shirt, smirked smugly and shrugged.
Bench eyed him with admiration, then unmuted.
"Manager Ma has a packed schedule after this, so we won't chat long."
"But no long talk needed."
Jeong-woo cut in.
Bench stepped aside smoothly.
Jeong-woo pulled up a chair, leaned into the mic.
[You all know just two games left.]
"Huff, huff, huff!"
Owen Pressais pounded the treadmill at the training center.
Earphones in, hanging on Manager Ma's every word.
[The clashes with Plymouth Argyle and Hull City.]
Exactly—third and first place.
Jeong-woo's tone sobered.
[Lose even one..., we might face a brutal promotion fight. Hell, we could drop both if luck sours.]
Simple math.
Hull's finale? A relegated team, basically a rest game.
Plymouth's? Historically owned them 10 straight.
[Us? Just toughies left. Trailing by 2 and 1 point... A knife-edge tug-of-war.]
Owen's brow furrowed deeply.
David Dignity paused mid-grill of samgyeopsal at a Bolton Korean spot with Delicate, ears perked.
Manager Ma's voice spilled from the restaurant speakers.
[But here's the thing. I'm not settling for Plan B or C.]
Thwaaang!
Under a sapphire evening sky, Adebayor sat on the bench, chuckling as Park shanked a shot on the training pitch.
Phone in hand.
[Wanderers have always chased the absolute best.]
No clue how many hung on his words.
But Jeong-woo had to say it today.
He pursed his lips briefly, then spoke.
"No long speeches needed. So, boldly speaking for the Wanderers: A famous scholar once said great achievements come from embracing great risks. Thus, we run for nothing less than the title. As always."
A rallying cry. A manifesto.
Jeong-woo craved it now too.