Chapter 147
Translator: uly
Chapter: 147
Chapter Title: Start (10)
“Phew~!”
After Ethan Roberie’s tutoring session wrapped up, Jeong-woo returned to his office and immediately lit a cigarette.
Park Hee-won clicked his tongue at the sight of the super smoker and flopped down onto the sofa.
“Ugh~ I’m beat. Hey, wanna help me find a gift for my little girl?”
Jeong-woo glanced at Hee-won and smirked.
Even a quick peek at Hee-won’s phone screen showed he was on Bolton’s official homepage.
More precisely, in the fan store section, browsing Gary Todd’s headgear.
“Our girl’s really gotten into riding her bike lately. So I figured I’d get her some headgear to keep her safe. Heh heh.”
Even without being asked, Hee-won started rambling on.
It was a simple reason.
Jeong-woo narrowed his eyes slightly and asked,
“Why, did you strike out on tickets too?”
“Huh?”
As if he’d been waiting, Hee-won whipped around with a comeback.
But his eyes were brimming with eager anticipation.
It was obvious—he was begging for just one.
Gary Todd’s headgear was insanely popular with kids right now.
Not just as merch, but because it doubled as protection for bikes and scooters.
‘Of course, his Yayatura-like second coming on the pitch is the real driver. Heh heh heh.’
That led to instant sell-outs every time they restocked.
“Our Gary...!”
Just picturing Gary Todd roaring “Uoooooh~!” from inside that headgear made Jeong-woo’s mouth stretch into a grin.
But only for a moment. Jeong-woo suddenly remembered something and leaned down under his desk.
Thud-!
He straightened up quickly, tossing a box in one hand.
“Huh, what’s this?”
Hee-won caught it reflexively against his chest, looking puzzled.
Yet his lips twitched—he had a pretty good idea.
Seeing that, Jeong-woo shrugged smugly and said,
“Headgear. I stocked up for our niece already.”
“You little punk...!”
Hee-won’s face lit up with emotion mid-sentence, then shifted to hopeful expectation as he shot back,
“What about mine?”
Jeong-woo flashed the cheeky grin he’d picked up from Geers, replying with his middle finger.
Some time passed.
Jeong-woo had buried his face in the tactics board on his desk.
It had been an hour already.
‘Starting Ethan Roberie, huh...’
His earlier decision wasn’t impulsive.
Jeong-woo had seen it.
Ethan’s playstyle improving with every passing day.
Sure, his physical strength hadn’t budged an inch.
And Jeong-woo had ruled definitively:
‘Building muscle would just ruin him.’
Plenty of technical players who dominated Spain and Italy had crashed and burned in the EPL’s rough-and-tumble.
Many got criticized for weak physiques, overtrained, and watched their strengths fade.
‘Classic case: Eric Lamela at Tottenham.’
Eric Lamela.
Once Rome’s supernova.
Deadly finishing, flashy footwork, blistering speed—a unique style.
But after crossing to the EPL, he went downhill.
Jeong-woo moved Roberie’s magnet on the tactics board, sketching plays with solid and dotted lines as he thought.
‘Couldn’t adapt to the EPL’s pace and physical battles.’
So Lamela bulked up.
It killed his prized speed, wrecked his balance, and turned him injury-prone.
‘You could say it changed his style entirely.’
Lost his edge, went defensive.
Jeong-woo pegged Ethan Roberie as the same type.
Not the Tottenham version, but Rome’s supernova Lamela.
And he was convinced:
‘If he can’t win duels..., just don’t put him in them.’
He had the speed, elite dribbling.
From opening day tutoring, he’d focused on ball retention and breakthrough dribbles—his strengths.
Above all, Jeong-woo trusted himself.
To make Ethan shine uniquely within his tactics.
That’s why he’d emphasized core and strength training lately.
That’s when it happened.
“Other guys are getting free rein these days?”
Hee-won, sprawled on the sofa using the armrest as a pillow while fiddling with his phone, asked.
“Other guys?”
At Jeong-woo’s question, Hee-won replied,
“Our brother, Park, Sensuous, and Kane.”
He’d somehow ended up wearing the headgear meant for his daughter.
Jeong-woo almost tsked at the pathetic dad but trailed off, then muttered a sinister “Heh heh heh” as some idea struck him.
“Well, Adebayor’s roasting them good enough without me.”
* * *
Same time, at Adebayor’s mansion.
Late afternoon with the sunset settling in, but the futsal pitch in one corner buzzed more than ever.
Thud, thud, thwack-!
At the center was none other than the prodigy Park.
He charged down the left flank, advancing the ball with instep and outstep touches.
But when he nudged it with his left, it veered way too far right.
“What the hell, why are you kicking it like an idiot!”
Adebayor bellowed from the penalty area.
Startled, prodigy Park lost his balance and whipped in a sloppy cross.
Swoosh-!
Adebayor tsked at the ball floating three heads above hiMad Dog dropping to the opposite flank.
“That was straight-up idiotic. Nah, not calling you an idiot, obviously.”
“...”
Prodigy Park had no comeback.
Even he knew that one was embarrassingly dumb.
The ball had sailed far off, after all.
Shearer Kane and Sensuous Ruff, waiting on the bench, were chuckling hard enough to draw attention.
After that, prodigy Park kept practicing left-flank runs and crosses.
Of course...,
“You idiot...!” “No, like an idiot...!”
“Phew, you fucking idiot! Shit!#!”
He took shit beyond “idiot” from Adebayor.
But prodigy Park didn’t stop.
“Huff, huff, huff-!”
He burned with grit, facing Adebayor’s barrage head-on.
‘It’s not like he’s calling me an idiot!’
It stung sometimes.
But he recalled Jeong-woo’s advice.
‘If you want higher than League One or Championship limits, overcome it yourself. Even your weaknesses.’
Jeong-woo had said his strengths were line-breaking and speed.
Just those two.
Master them, and you’d hit solid goals.
But bigger dreams needed more, he’d warned coldly.
Prodigy Park felt it too, round after round.
What he needed most to level up.
Running, cutback crosses.
‘I’ve never even tried...!’
Park usually sprinted the flank then underlapped central.
Then side-passed into the box or shot himself.
But Jeong-woo had warned:
‘Repeated patterns get read eventually. Right now, they can’t stop it even knowing..., but no guarantee forever.’
True enough.
When opponents dropped the line deep, he often went quiet.
Straight facts: In the EPL, it’d work once or twice, then total shutdown.
That’s when it started.
Park turning to veteran Adebayor to turn weaknesses to strengths.
Clashing endlessly, he realized:
‘It’s different...!’
Even now.
Adebayor was versatile beyond just striker skills—humbling.
‘Link-up play, passing sense, all elite...!’
Vision on another level.
‘Eyes in the back of his head.’
Age made it tough in games, but training? Possible.
Park was sure: This was his wall.
Surpass current Adebayor to advance.
So he ran and ran.
“Huff, huuuff-!”
Lungs bursting or not.
Reaching the left box, Park’s eyes flashed.
His right leg jabbed out, twisting the turf deep.
Torso twisting right, left leg whipped freely.
An inside cross toward the stunned Adebayor at the goalmouth.
‘Got it...!’
Left inside touch felt perfect from contact.
Clean sensation.
Like knowing it’s in before it hits net...!
Swoosh-!
“You idiot.”
Just the feel was off, though.
* * *
October.
Bolton’s league round 9 opponent: none other than Burnley FC.
Burnley harbored deep ill will toward Bolton.
A derby rivalry, distinct from Wigan.
Plus bad history between them.
One: the manager betrayal.
Bolton’s famed Owen Coyle.
Burnley’s Zen Daichi mentioned it in the pre-match interview a day before.
“Long ago, Owen Coyle led Burnley’s promotion and success. But Bolton snatched him with money right before the season.”
Burnley’s Zen Daichi, relegated to Championship this season, stressed it to rally spirits.
Post-Coyle, they’d floundered without proper rebuild, sinking to relegation hell.
Burnley’s Clarets screamed “Coyle bastard! Bolton bastards!” every matchup.
As Daichi said, they’d wallowed post-departure.
Daichi aimed to harness that rage.
“Bolton’s still cunning. Mocking Man United and countless clubs proves it...!”
Round 9 was at Burnley’s home, Turf Moor.
Daichi smirked thinking of tomorrow.
Clarets would rain abuse and debris, killing Bolton’s momentum.
He downplayed their feats too.
“They’re unbeaten in 8 league games, but... only two against top sides, right?”
No reporter could deny.
The other six: mid or relegation fodder.
So Daichi and some still doubted Bolton’s true strength.
Impressive clean sheets, but real power?
Then.
“Uh,”
A reporter glanced at his phone, raising a hand hesitantly, face flustered.
“What?”
Daichi asked with a smile.
Spotlight on him, the reporter blushed and held up his phone.
“Ma coach just posted a mention on SNS. Mind if I ask about it...!”
“What’d he say?”
Daichi frowned, cutting in.
He knew.
Ma played mind games via media or mentions in derbies and big games.
But he wouldn’t shake.
The reporter, still red under stares, read it aloud.
“Wanderers fans, we’ll check Ethan Roberie’s skills against Burnley today. Watch our young youth star! Oh, and online, new Ma merch dolls and Gary Todd headgear drop 10 mins before kickoff. Join in~ Ends with a heart. Bolton official YouTube sub..., like and.”
“...”
Daichi lost his words.
Finally, he snapped, erupting.
“Is this derby a joke...! [email protected]$!”