Chapter 27
Chapter 27
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 27
Chapter Title: Bulldozer (3)
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Club owner's office.
Under the darkened window, every time he leisurely rocked his upper body back and forth, the executive chair creaked incessantly in protest.
Tap, tap, tap!
Jeong-woo logged into World Manager for the first time in a while.
"Even if I didn't have time, it didn't have to pile up like this."
Managing the team as coach, running the club as owner.
He was busier than busy.
But today, he had a little breathing room.
'World Management...'
Jeong-woo's gaze on the laptop screen carried a faint nostalgia, like returning home.
Though he'd only joined the site a few months ago, it was the first place to recognize his talent.
"Let's see here."
Jeong-woo chuckled softly as he skimmed some posts with affectionate eyes.
[Mad Dog still alive? I know the answer!]
[Mad Dog's back in a real job and swamped.]
[Where are you? 10 million coach is looking for you, Mad Dog!]
Several users were desperately searching for him.
"Oh, for fuck's sake. Messages piled up by the hundreds in the meantime."
Most were lamenting the absence of his tactics.
A smug smile crept across his face naturally. But soon, Jeong-woo furrowed his brow.
"What the hell is this guy."
[Zollico Bubaci.]
The user who had impersonated Bubaci before had sent messages again.
"I blocked this asshole...?"
The ID looked like an alt account.
Jeong-woo muttered in disbelief.
"What kind of tick is this..."
He'd blocked him for spamming bomb messages, but while Jeong-woo was caught up in the real world, the guy had created an alt and started spamming again.
[I'm really Zollico Bubaci.]
[I'd like your contact info so I can reach out directly.]
[Hi, Bubaci here. Here's my number.]
[Where are you working? Hope it's not Everton or Manchester United.]
"..."
Definite psycho.
Jeong-woo blocked the account without hesitation.
Not forgetting to leave a reply first.
No need to put much effort into it.
* * *
At the same time.
Bubaci was thrilled.
'A reply...!'
His eyes widened as he stared at the computer screen.
After over a month, a response from the Mad Dog he'd been waiting for.
Gulp!
Swallowing dryly without realizing it, Bubaci cautiously left-clicked the mouse.
And then, Bubaci fell into shock.
[Fuck off.]
* * *
A few minutes later.
Jeong-woo returned to reality.
"Shrewsbury Town, huh..."
In a few days, they had a match against the 18th-place team in the league.
Definitely pricklier than Rochdale, judging purely by their last three games.
They ran a solid defensive back four, dropping the entire line deep.
Their intercepts and cut counters after were feared even by top League One sides.
Creak—!
Jeong-woo leaned back in the chair, tilting it as far as it would go.
His eyes narrowed to slits as they fixed on the bluish fluorescent light.
"That's why I called up Owen."
Owen Pressais.
Jeong-woo had seen it clearly.
The precision no one else at Bolton possessed.
* * *
A sunny afternoon.
Tactical training for the first time in ages.
But something was off.
In the 4-3-3 setup, Owen Pressais was placed as one of the front three.
Even more absurd: right back Delicate slotted in as central attacking midfielder.
Thwack—!
Whenever the ball came to his feet, Delicate fired through passes or lofted ones into the box without hesitation.
In that bizarre formation, Victor Jones—a starter under Derek Scott—muttered in disbelief.
He was jogging half-heartedly as the opposition.
"Look at that. Is that a coach or what?"
He still didn't trust Jeong-woo.
If anything, resentment had grown since being benched in the last match.
Darren Hootes, also demoted to the bench under Jeong-woo like Jones, let out a ridiculous laugh.
"He's just smashing positions left and right."
Not just them.
Coaches scattered around the training pitch whispered among themselves.
"What kind of freak tactic is that?"
"I knew it. One win against Rochdale and he's full of himself—classic case of Napoleon complex."
The players involved were flustered too.
"Huff, huff—!"
Delicate panted in short bursts, eyes darting quickly.
Horizontal and vertical passes from the back and flanks connected to him flawlessly.
His mind was a mess.
'I'm... a fullback.'
A fullback playing attacking mid near the penalty arc? Absurd even to him.
Owen Pressais was at least closer as a striker to attacking mid.
But Owen hesitated throughout the scrimmage.
"Hey, Pressais! Don't run. Gotta shit? Need the bathroom or what?"
"Just play in place. The ball'll find you."
Whenever he tried picking up speed, Jeong-woo—watching from the touchline—immediately stopped him.
Glancing back, some coaches were shaking their heads at Jeong-woo.
But Jeong-woo didn't care.
He even emphasized it several times to Delicate.
"You're Wunderers' machine guns in midfield. Just shoot blindly, got it?"
Owen followed orders: whenever the ball came, he shot first.
At that moment, left forward Park Chong-ah burst forward, shredding the defensive line in one sprint.
The attacking shape looked good on paper.
'Timing line breaks to my lofted passes...'
But would it work in a real game? Debatable.
Unfamiliar positions left both players uneasy.
The negative vibe around them didn't help.
Victor Jones jogged lazily, chattering.
"Modern soccer's all about press upon press. No matter how good Delicate and that half-baked kid's passing... enemies won't just sit there."
Passing Owen, he trash-talked openly.
"Lucky you? Coach's eyes must be rotten to play a punk like you."
Owen stayed silent, focused on his task.
Still, doubt swirled in his head.
'Will this... really work?'
Beyond the training fence, local reporter Jacob—cleared for access—muttered in disbelief.
"What the..."
He'd covered Derek Scott extensively, boasting a thick rapport.
Now, seeing Owen on the pitch, Jacob couldn't hide his shock.
"Calling up a dead man to the first team?"
A year and a half ago: ACL rupture, MCL tear, plus lateral meniscus damage.
And today, as striker.
Owen's prime.
He was a dribbler and passer opening attacks, not a scorer.
Putting him central in the front three?
"Coach has lost it!"
Even shoving right back Delicate into attacking mid.
"Playing favorites, huh? Things are looking up for him."
Nursing ill feelings toward Jeong-woo, Jacob snapped photos furiously.
* * *
Cafeteria in the Bolton building.
Break time. Strategy staff huddled at a glass-wall table, whispering.
"Heard the one?"
"What?"
"Our owner's got Napoleon complex, rumor has it."
"Napoleon complex?"
"Yeah, check this."
The freckled woman pulled out her phone, showing recent articles.
[Owner Ma revives forgotten prospect Owen Pressais to first team... but as striker...?]
[Bolton insider: 'Owner Ma's got Napoleon complex...']
Most articles on Bolton's owner were negative.
The two soccer-savvy staff muttered in disbelief.
"Owen's been poor even in the reserves."
"Delicate's a fullback... putting a defender in attacking mid?"
The gossip-loving guy perked up.
She glanced around and whispered.
"Thinks he's Pep or something. One good game and his ego's through the roof. Tsk!"
Then—
Thud!
A table slam from behind.
"Whoa, scared me!"
Startled, they turned and froze.
"T-team leader?"
At the table right behind: Charlotte Emma, blonde ponytail down, seated.
Her tiny fist clenched, trembling like an earthquake on the table.
Then,
Snap!
Emma lifted her bowed head sharply and shouted, posture prim.
"The owner...! He's staked his life on this club! So don't speak ill of him!"
Her raised voice echoed through the room.
The cafeteria fell silent instantly.
As all eyes turned to her, she blushed shyly and squeaked.
"E-eat up, everyone. The soup's delicious...!"
* * *
One hour later.
Hee-won visited Jeong-woo's office.
Clomp, clomp. Peeking across the desk, Jeong-woo sat slouched in the executive chair, glaring death at one spot.
The file from the scam by lawyer Park Sang-ho.
Jeong-woo muttered to himself.
"That motherfucker... I'll find you someday."
"Even melting your gold teeth wouldn't satisfy me, you scamming prick...!"
For Jeong-woo, just seeing that file fueled him.
Staring at the 150 billion won debt made fatigue vanish—in fact, blood boiled.
Gazing down at furious Jeong-woo, Hee-won casually said.
"Hey, seems people know if the club sinks, they do too?"
Flinch.
Jeong-woo shuddered slightly.
He gave her an incredulous look, eyes hardening.
"Why's that a rumor?"
* * *
Match day.
Shrewsbury's home stadium, capacity about 10,000.
Shrewsbury supporters belted out chants pre-kickoff.
Around a thousand Wunderers made the away trip.
Like round 30, they held "Ma Jeong-woo, Out" placards in protest.
Wunderers' frustration boiled over in the first half, just 10 minutes in.
Splash—!
[GOOOAL! Shrewsbury Town!]
[Striker Harrison Chapman scores early!]
Pierced by the feared counter, as everyone dreaded.
Diehards spewed curses they'd been holding.
"Get out and die, you fuck!"
"Yeah! Why push up Delicate!"
Jeong-woo stood calmly in the technical area, analyzing.
23rd minute, first half.
"Owen, you're on."
Owen Pressais started from the bench.
Called so early—not even halftime—Owen flinched.
Some whispered.
"Tactical failure admission."
"If you're subbing him, start him, duh...!"
Victor Jones griped, face sour at another kid over him.
"Watch. It'll be even more embarrassing."
Jeong-woo kept staring silently at the pitch.
To him, the early sub wasn't failure.
Just probing Shrewsbury calmly early on.
Simultaneously analyzing, pinpointing Owen's best spot.
Result:
Tap—!
Jeong-woo patted Owen's shoulder by the fourth official.
Exactly as planned.
"Don't forget, Owen. You're striker today. Fixed position."
Have a wonderful day~