Chapter 154
Translator: uly
Chapter: 154
Chapter Title: I Want to Become a Rival (2)
Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 154: I Want to Become a Rival (2)
Screeech—!
The door leading to the mixed zone groaned in protest.
“This damn door’s always whining like it’s dying.”
Ma Jeong-woo, fresh out of his pre-match interview, grumbled with a sour look on his face.
The club had run through several rounds of repairs, but there were still plenty of spots that needed work.
“Hell, maybe I should just tear the whole thing down.”
At this point, it felt like building a brand-new stadium from scratch might be cheaper than another patch job.
Bolton’s home ground was that rundown.
‘Not that we have the money, though...’
They were already drowning in debt, so taking on more wasn’t an option.
One more loan, and Bolton would probably go bankrupt on the spot.
“Tch.”
That was when it happened.
“Why’d you flip off the camera?”
Charlotte Emma, who’d been waiting for the interview to wrap, asked casually.
Jeong-woo tried dodging the question by fiddling with the door.
“Needs more lubricant or something. Hey, Team Leader, doesn’t the whole frame feel off to you?”
Emma just stared at him blankly, like always, saying nothing.
Shrugging, Jeong-woo flashed an awkward smile.
“What? It’s not a big deal.”
“I’ve told you a hundred times to cut back on that stuff. You don’t gain anything from making more enemies. Just recently, some reporters with grudges against Bolton—or more precisely, against the chairman—wrote pieces trashing the club.”
“I’m already cutting back.”
“You need to cut back more.”
It was the usual scolding, so it didn’t sting.
If anything, he snuck a glance at Emma, and the corners of his mouth twitched.
‘She’s cuter the more I look at her. Ahem.’
Even the way her thin eyebrows arched in disapproval was adorable.
Then Jeong-woo swallowed dryly and asked.
At the same time, he steeled his expression and lowered his voice.
“Alright, you’ve got a point, Team Leader. So, as a gesture of goodwill... mind showing me that cat necklace for old times’ sake...!”
That was the exact moment.
Whoosh!
Emma’s head snapped around.
Thud, thud, thud!
Someone was approaching from down the hall, right on cue.
A man with neatly combed-back brown hair and rimless glasses—Lowell Gardner.
‘Son of a bitch.’
Jeong-woo’s brows furrowed at missing his shot at the necklace.
‘This guy’s an enemy off the pitch too.’
Lowell Gardner had come to Bolton’s home stadium ahead of the FA Cup third round.
Now it was his turn for an interview, so he was strolling down the corridor toward the room.
That’s when he ran into Jeong-woo, slouched in his rumpled suit.
‘Manager Ma...!’
He kept a straight face, but Gardner was more tense than ever.
Memories flooded his mind like a tidal wave.
‘Who are you?’
The humiliating moment when Manager Ma had looked right at him like he was a stranger and walked past without a word.
‘No way he’ll blank me again this time...?’
Back then, he’d been seething with resentment toward Manager Ma.
If they’d crossed paths, he would’ve unleashed a sharp-tongued verbal jab, dagger at the ready.
But not anymore.
Having realized his own shortcomings, he just wanted a simple greeting.
At some point, he’d even started thinking it’d be cool to debate tactics with him.
Something told him Manager Ma would lead to some damn interesting conversation.
Thump-thump!
His heart raced for some reason.
Just as he closed the gap to one step away, Lowell Gardner’s hopes deflated.
Thud!
In a flash, Jeong-woo brushed past him without a second glance.
‘He really doesn’t know me...!’
Or maybe he had prosopagnosia.
Or... he was ignoring him.
‘Fair enough, I guess.’
Lowell had spent ages ripping into Manager Ma’s tactics nonstop.
No wonder talking to a guy who’d only ever criticized him felt awkward or uncomfortable.
But that thought didn’t last.
Snap—!
‘Gah!’
Lowell’s neck hairs stood on end in an instant.
A heavy grip suddenly clamped onto his left arm.
Whirling around in shock, he found Jeong-woo holding his wrist in a massive hand, staring right at him.
Peering through those rimless lenses, Jeong-woo eyed Gardner’s pupils twitching like mad as he fought to steady them.
“Why do you keep using this door?”
“...Pardon?”
“Bolton’s got separate exits for away managers and home managers. The usher told you, right?”
“...”
Gardner’s pupils finally gave out and shook wildly.
Come to think of it, the usher had mentioned something every time they met, but he’d brushed it off.
Even on the way to the interview room, he’d been so lost in tomorrow’s game plan—whiteboard tactics in his head—that he hadn’t really listened.
‘It’s a clear screw-up on my part...!’
But in his panic, completely different words tumbled out.
“Hey, why’re you talking down to me...?”
Jeong-woo smirked at the flustered display.
“You’re about my age, right? What can I say. If it bugs you, talk down to me too...”
He muttered, then twitched his eyebrow.
“Oops, you already are.”
* * *
Ask any Wanderers fan who Bolton’s most hated rival is, and they’ll scream Wigan without hesitation.
The Latics felt the same.
Both teams shared the same turf and had battled it out for ages.
Sure, Bolton’s decline over the last few seasons had cooled the rivalry a bit, but not anymore.
With Bolton on the rise, the bitter feud with Wigan was back in full force.
Especially since Lowell Gardner took Wigan’s helMad Dog Ma Jeong-woo grabbed Bolton’s—things had gotten crystal clear.
“Asshole.”
Back in his office, Jeong-woo muttered around a cigarette.
Straight ahead, the CRT TV flickered into view.
Lowell Gardner was deep into his interview.
[“Bolton and Wigan share a local derby bond that runs deeper than most. And lately, Wigan’s suffered four straight losses to them.”]
It was surprising.
The old Lowell wouldn’t have admitted that.
He’d have strutted around with smug arrogance, bragging about how he’d carve up Bolton this time for sure.
But not anymore.
[“I admit it. Bolton’s strong. They’ve been perched at the top of the Championship, locked in not just a promotion race but something bigger.”]
He went further.
He vowed Wigan would beat theMad Dog bring joy to the Latics.
And he didn’t skimp on the praise for Jeong-woo.
[“Bolton’s Manager Ma is tactically brilliant...!”]
[“His squad rotation is unconventional!”]
[“Manager Ma’s using the platoon system to close the gap between starters and bench...!”]
A total one-eighty from his old critical rants.
More than anything, Jeong-woo could feel it through the screen.
The guy genuinely wanted to go toe-to-toe with him.
* * *
Match day.
Bolton’s 35,000 seats were packed to the brim.
Of those, the 32,000 Wanderers seats erupted before kickoff, unleashing a barrage at Wigan with chants.
Wiiiiiigan!
Fuck oooooff!
Wiiiiiigan!
Fuck oooooff!
When one Wanderer bellowed “Wigan!” through a megaphone, the whole stand rose as one, roaring “Fuck off!”
Just profanity on its own, sure—but 30,000-plus voices made it something else.
Some Wigan players couldn’t help shrinking back mentally.
Meanwhile, Bolton’s lads got a massive boost in motivation and confidence.
With the passionate Wanderers roaring alongside them the whole match, they felt it in their bones.
Amid that roar, Lowell Gardner took his place at the technical area.
The cocky posture he used to strike for every game? Gone.
“Hoo—!”
He stared out at the pitch, tense as hell.
And he prayed.
‘I’ll win this time...!’
Four losses in four against another manager.
A first for Lowell Gardner.
He couldn’t stomach any more defeats.
Even if they lost, he wanted to go down pouring everything out.
7th minute of the first half.
Had the manager’s wish reached the players?
Thwack—!
Clang—!
[“Gooooaaal! Rahim Straaaaong!”]
Wigan’s star striker, Rahim Strong, sliced between the center-back and full-back for the opener.
The commentators screamed, veins bulging.
[“Rahim Strong! Blasts through the center-backs in a blink, finishes the lobbed pass from the right flank with a right-footed volley!”]
[“Goalkeeper Gavin Bazuno couldn’t even react!”]
Just like they said, Bazuno stamped his feet in place, flinching as the ball rocketed into the top corner—that was all he could manage.
Yeeeeeeeeeees~!
The away end exploded as every Latics fan shot to their feet, bellowing.
The Wanderers fell silent, if only for a moment.
9th minute of the first half.
Just two minutes after Wigan’s opener.
“Huh?”
Park Hee-won, watching beside Jeong-woo in the technical area, sensed something off.
His face twisted in a scowl.
“These bastards parked the bus already?”
Right before the goal, Wigan had been aggressive up top—now they’d dropped to below the halfway line.
The Wanderers clocked it too, jeering with a chorus of booooos.
The hooligans near the fence, shirts off, unleashed a torrent of abuse.
“Hey, you sneaky Latics bastards! Sitting back already after one goal?!”
“These pricks! You park the bus on us, so we do it right back?!”
“You rotten little...!”
But Jeong-woo just stood there, smirking crookedly.
On the surface, it looked like payback.
You stalled with park-the-bus tactics, so we’ll do the same!
But dig deeper, and it wasn’t.
“They’re gunning for counters.”
He’d placed lightning-fast Rahim Strong and another speedster not centrally, but out wide on the lines.
Just like Jeong-woo had slotted Pak and Sensuous Ruff at the left and right edges for sudden counter thrusts.
That setup made Bolton’s flank attacks trickier.
‘Push too hard, and you’ll get hit on the break. Plus, they’ve thickened the midfield.’
Clear prep for Owen Pressais’s long-range shots.
‘The spacing... it’s tight.’
Zigzagged lines, each player’s zone marked out sharp and clear.
Then Jeong-woo’s eyebrow twitched.
Swish—!
That’s when Gary Todd bolted forward to pierce the defensive wall.
Thwack—!
The ball soared from Wigan’s defensive midfield.
Thump—!
Rahim Strong exploded from the left flank end like a 100m sprinter—right then.
Thwack—!
Clang!
Seconds later, from the left half, he whipped in another with a right-footed inside kick.
Full-back Pedersen shoved him with sheer physicality, but it was useless.
Even rattled, Strong chest-trapped the dropping ball clean, claimed it, and timed his dive forward perfectly as it bounced, nailing the finish.
By the 10th minute, the scoreboard flipped again.
[“Bolton Wanderers 0 : 2 Wigan Athletic”]
The Wanderers’ silence stretched on.
Jeong-woo alone curled his lips in an uncharacteristic sneer.
“They came prepared.”