Chapter 128
Chapter 128
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 128
Chapter Title: Uphill (8)
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Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 128: Uphill (8)
At the early stage where they'd already netted two goals, Jeong-woo issued instructions for a tactical shift.
He reduced the attacking numbers by one, switching the formation to a 4-3-3 plan.
And he didn't forget one more thing.
Snap—!
As Jeong-woo held up two fingers, the defensive line visibly pushed up, with center-back Dominic Shield as the anchor.
The gaps between attack, midfield, and defense were minimized.
"What the...!"
Ryan Bowan panicked at the sudden formation change.
Senior coach Chris Hunter, on the other hand, saw it as an opportunity.
"Now's our chance! They've pushed the line up, so increase our attacking numbers and go for the goal!"
Ryan Bowan thought the same if he only considered the opponent's strategy.
With the defensive line higher, Plymouth Argyle's strength in penetration runs became even easier.
That was the basic counter to this tactic, after all.
But for some inexplicable reason, a corner of his mind felt uneasy.
Even so, he soon fiddled with his substitution cards following Hunter's advice.
With the score at 2:0, Jeong-woo said, his eyes gleaming.
"See that, Hee-won? They'll definitely drop a midfielder and bring on another forward."
And sure enough, that's exactly what happened.
In the 9th minute of the second half,
[Plymouth Argyle! In response to Bolton's substitution, they're taking off midfielder Ed Axey and bringing on speedy winger Jermain Daxson!]
"Pfft."
Seeing this, Jeong-woo couldn't help but burst out laughing.
The opponents would see this moment as their opportunity.
And they had every reason to.
They'd pushed the defensive line all the way up.
But in reality, it was the exact opposite.
"Too hasty."
Hee-won murmured, narrowing his eyes.
"They could've waited to see how we attack before making the sub."
"Exactly."
Jeong-woo agreed with a wry chuckle.
"That's how desperate they are. If they lose this one, they're basically headed to the playoffs."
If Bolton won, they'd be four points ahead of Plymouth.
Even if Bolton lost their final match and Plymouth won theirs, the standings wouldn't change.
That psychological pressure often played a huge role in games like this.
And Jeong-woo was exploiting it without fail.
Meanwhile, Hee-won stared at Jeong-woo like he was some kind of monster.
'This guy's... why does he read people so well?'
His analysis of game flow was one thing, but his ability to anticipate the opposing manager's moves was beyond imagination.
'Even when he got hit with that 1.5 trillion won bomb, he'd be like this...'
"You bastard, what were you just thinking?"
Hee-won flinched.
He turned his head away, pretending nothing happened, as Jeong-woo glared at him.
'Anyway, the guy's sharp as hell once he's on the touchline.'
Jeong-woo shot Hee-won one more glare before turning his eyes back to the pitch.
"Heh heh heh."
A laugh leaked out through his grin.
The opponents were now in a position where they had no choice but to push their line up.
That meant Bolton would get even more attacking chances.
That's why he abandoned the ant hell tactic and raised the line instead.
'It was pointless anyway.'
Sensuous Ruff and Tong-ah Park were exceptional assets for runs in behind.
'And on top of that... by dropping one from midfield, we gain the upper hand in the battle there.'
All built on a foundation of high pressing.
'No wonder Hoseb hyung emphasizes line spacing so much.'
Thud—!
Butlerland circled the opponent's center-back in a half-moon arc before stopping abruptly.
A short straight pass landed at Dominic Shield's feet right in the center of the halfway line.
17th minute of the second half.
[Jermain Daaxooxon—!]
The commentators shouted.
The freshly subbed-in Daxson charged down the right flank with power.
Just then, as their own defensive midfielder received a back pass, center-back Joe Harlet lofted a long ball forward.
'Yes, perfect!'
Harlet's eyes lit up as he spotted Daxson breaking between the center-back and full-back.
But not even a second later, his brows furrowed in shock.
Thwack—!
[Human shield! Frank Gerard! Throws his body in, blocking Harlet's lofted pass with his butt!]
The ball, struck with the instep, ricocheted before it could travel even a meter.
"[email protected]#$!"
Harlet spewed bizarre curses as he dashed rightward.
The deflected ball had gone straight to Tong-ah Park, who was poised to pounce.
But he was a step too late.
Tap—!
Instead of penetrating, Park nudged the ball centrally while the center-back and full-back were drawn to him.
Whoooosh—!
Owen swung his left leg like it was ripping through the air, connecting with a one-touch mid-range shot.
Goalkeeper Asmail shrank back, then lunged desperately toward the ball flying just a meter away...
Clang—!
But he failed.
* * *
20th minute of the second half.
The commentators said,
[Burton vs Plymouth Argyle...! Heading into this match, many experts predicted a tight contest...!]
[Well, the current game flow has blown those predictions out of the water!]
[Burton is pouring on the pressure unilaterally!]
[Especially... in the second half, Burton has raised their entire line while closing the gaps between positions, squeezing Plymouth even more!]
Just as they said, Bolton was cutting off every passing lane for Plymouth.
Whenever a lofted pass barely cleared the defensive wall, the ref immediately called offside.
The Wanderers were now celebrating victory in advance.
They even belted out the chant they'd created over the course of the season.
'Bolton is Man United's king!
Bolton is Man United's king!
We've already beaten Manchester United!
They're total shit!
Bolton is Man United's king!'
In the 23rd minute of the second half, Jeong-woo pulled another card.
[Owen Fresais Out, David Dignity In]
He took off Owen, who'd been key to the three-goal lead, and slotted Dignity into midfield to bolster the central battle.
It was also to preserve Frank Gerard's stamina.
Clap clap clap clap—!
The Wanderers rose as one, applauding Owen as he slowly crossed the pitch.
Owen flashed a bright smile and returned the applause to the fans.
41st minute of the second half.
Score: 3:0.
Not a single fan remained seated.
Arm in arm, they chanted.
'Promotion! Promotion! Promotion!
Championship! Championship! Championship!'
With the big lead in the second half, Bolton's players moved with much lighter steps.
Their cheeks flushed not from fatigue, but excitement.
Already, under executive director Richard Geers' orders, extra security had been deployed to line the perimeter fences.
In preparation for anyone who might jump the barriers.
"Huff! Huff!"
Frank Gerard, who'd run tirelessly up and down the pitch all game, was spent physically, but his eyes burned with life.
'Promotion! It's promotion!'
Sensuous Ruff and Shearer Kane were no different.
They kept moving forward to receive the ball, hearts pounding harder.
'We're there! Win this, and it's Championship promotion!'
'Is this a dream?'
The bench was in chaos too.
Adebayor, in the 43rd minute of the second half, sidled up to Jeong-woo and started acting like the manager.
"You idiots! Keep running! Crush 'em till the end!"
Adebayor's mouth was grinning ear to ear as he yelled.
Meanwhile, Tong-ah Park was thrilled, but as time ticked on, greed crept in.
He hadn't scored a single goal yet.
Plymouth's defense had grown sloppy.
No, it was fair to say they'd given up on the match.
Tap—!
Just then, Quick Floyd drove forward and passed to Frank Gerard.
Gerard immediately lofted a low-trajectory roving pass to the left.
Thud—!
Park exploded forward, studs tearing into the turf.
And he saw it.
'He's rattled.'
The opposing full-back, already two steps behind, lost composure upon being overtaken again.
Even chasing with all his might, the gap widened, despair etching his face.
Thud—!
Park, just before the corner flag, used the outside of his right foot to push the ball from the sideline into the half-space.
Ooooooh—!
The Wanderers surged to their feet, roaring.
"Huff—!"
Park took a quick breath and screamed inside.
'I can do this!'
Emmanuel Adebayor thought the same.
'Multi-goal games are perfect for honing your scoring touch. In real matches, strike when you can, as much as you want. It's ideal for sharpening those not-so-shitty feet of yours.'
He suddenly recalled what Jeong-woo had told him before.
'Your strengths are speed and line-breaking. To maximize those two... it's all about goals.'
Jeong-woo had said.
You're one of the top strikers in League One right now.
Ranking in the scoring charts proves it.
And he'd added.
'You said it yourself. You want to improve further. Then don't settle. Even if everyone applauds you, keep running. And at the end, when you reach the endpoint without stopping, see where you've gotten.'
Thud—!
Instead of a diagonal shot, Park laid it off with a backheel while in mid-stride.
Morten Pedersen arrived right behind the area to collect it.
His eyes blazed.
Above all, Park currently sat second in League One scoring with 24 goals.
First was Wigan's Rahim Strong with 26.
So personally, he couldn't help but crave more.
Thwack—!
Right after the back pass, Park reversed course, heading not toward goal but outside the arc.
No one followed him out there.
Yet Park recalled Jeong-woo's advice.
'Run to the end. Our road ahead is still long.'
Bang—!
Just as he reached the edge of the arc, Pedersen whipped in a low side pass.
Park controlled it with a turn outside the arc, then instead of advancing, stepped back with his right foot.
Swoosh—!
At the same time, he dragged the ball back with his right foot.
In that instant, Tong-ah Park's eyes widened.
'I see it...!'
With two steps of shooting angle open, he truly saw it.
Angles to strike left, right, and center.
Just by pulling the ball back one step, space had opened up.
"Fuck...!"
Joe Harlet, expecting Park to fake back and burst forward, cursed.
He crouched in horror, backpedaling before belatedly charging.
Bang—!
That was the moment Park unleashed an instep shot with his right.
"Oh, you bastard...!"
Adebayor yelled from afar at Park's unexpected shot.
Jeong-woo grinned, flashing white teeth.
Screee—!
A fierce wind whistled over Harlet's left shoulder.
Flinch!
Harlet froze mid-stride.
In less than a second, an unpleasant sound rang in his ears.
Clang—!