Chapter 28
Chapter 28
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 28
Chapter Title: Bulldozer (4)
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Fans traveling for the away match stared in disbelief at the player standing by the bench, murmuring in confusion.
“Owen Pressais...?”
“The article was real!”
Disbelief quickly turned to anger.
“Owen! Why the hell are you putting that dead weight in!”
“I could run faster than him! And farther too!”
They had managed to turn the jeers into cheers after grabbing an early lead against Rochdale.
But now, they had conceded early.
The Wanderers fans, who had never been fond of Jeong-woo to begin with, erupted even more furiously, as if oil had been poured on their flames.
Uuuuuh—
An odd scene unfolded.
Jeers weren't coming from the Shrewsbury supporters—the opposing fans—but from the Wanderers themselves.
“...”
Owen's face by the bench could only drain of color.
Thud!
[Oh! Owen! Instead of even trying a pass under pressure, he turns it over and gifts them a counter!]
“Damn it...!”
Right after losing the ball near the penalty arc, Owen gritted his teeth and spun around.
He had to win it back somehow.
But he hadn't even taken two steps in pursuit.
Thwack!
The opponent who stole the ball had already opened up a four-step gap and lofted a long ball unimpeded.
27th minute of the first half.
Thud!
“Hah...!”
Owen collapsed, one leg stretched out awkwardly.
In his trembling eyes, he saw it.
A teammate's pass grazing his toe just barely, only to connect with the opponent.
The pass had linked up from the back, but poor chemistry meant he couldn't control it.
The commentators, who had watched with hopeful eyes toward Bolton's former golden boy, let out sighs.
[Owen Pressais...! I heard he was recently called up to the first team.]
[Ah...! He's definitely not at his old level. His form hasn't improved at all!]
For Owen, the constant barrage of abuse and jeers from the Wanderers since before he even entered the pitch had crushed his mentality.
Just a year and a half ago, those same Wanderers fans would cheer wildly whenever he touched the ball.
Caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and pressure, he overexerted himself wildly.
Uuuuuh—
But the jeers only grew louder.
Deployed as the central striker up top, he forgot Jeong-woo's instructions in the heat of the moment and chased the opponent's ball with desperate forward pressure.
*He's too slow...!*
Even Owen thought so himself. Way too slow.
A simple change of direction from the opponent left him buffering like a lagging video, stuck in reverse.
*Have I really fallen this far...?*
Owen's face flushed red with rage at himself.
A glance toward the bench—Victor Jones sat there crookedly, smirking.
Grind!
His teeth ground together involuntarily.
As his self-esteem hit rock bottom bit by bit,
Thump!
“Gah!”
Crash!
Tweet—!
The prodigy, who had been sprinting relentlessly since early in the first half, collided with an opponent just outside the arc and tumbled to the ground.
At that moment, Jeong-woo, watching the match stone-faced from the technical area, made a gesture.
A massive roar rose from the Wanderers fans.
“Take Owen out!”
“Put in Victor Jones!”
It had only been about ten minutes since his substitution, but the crowd wanted Owen off the pitch.
Owen's shoulders slumped as he trudged toward Jeong-woo.
*Am I being subbed already...?*
He had clung to a faint hope of revival now that he'd been selected for the first team...
*It was all a pipe dream.*
* * *
“Owen, I didn't tell you to create chances.”
“...?”
“You're just the fixed post up top, like we practiced. That's it.”
In front of the technical area, Owen lifted his head.
His eyes shook faintly.
Regardless of the Wanderers' shouts, Jeong-woo had no intention of pulling him.
*Why...?*
Even he knew he'd put on a disastrously poor showing in that short time.
Mental pressure and desperation to perform had made him ignore the pre-match instructions.
But Jeong-woo didn't reprimand him for it.
He just alternated sharp, raptor-like gazes between the pitch and Owen.
“So, where's your position?”
“...Bottom of the penalty arc.”
“Right. Just stay there, receive from Delicate and Jin, and dish out passes.”
“But to do that, I have to shake the defense...”
He wanted to say you can't receive passes without moving, can't dish them without moving—because of the opponent's pressure.
But Jeong-woo cut him off sharply.
“Socrates said it: Know your place.”
“Huh?”
“Who's gonna stick a dedicated marker on a slowpoke like you? Chase those lazy runners, and it's easy to steal it back. Like you just did.”
Owen's face flushed red in an instant.
It felt almost like Jeong-woo was telling him to give up on himself.
*You're only half the player you were.*
Yet there was this strange conviction that half was enough to earn him a spot on this field.
“I'll say it again: I'm not asking you to create chances. They'll make them.”
Jeong-woo pointed with his finger at Park Chong-ah and the other teammates.
The tall striker, the slow bulky forward, was starting on the bench today.
Instead, Jeong-woo had slotted a winger into the right forward spot in the front three—less explosive than the prodigy but quicker in bursts.
Owen was confused.
Jeong-woo grinned and ruffled his hair lightly.
“Sneak into position early. Your teammates will run into the spaces. If there's an infiltration from the left, pass it there. If the goal's open, take a shot at it. If there's overlap, ping it to him! Just hit it! Doesn't matter if it's cooked or burned. Got it?”
Jeong-woo made it sound so simple.
Owen wanted to complain that it was anything but.
The moment he stepped onto that pitch, it felt like diving into raging rapids.
Then, Jeong-woo grabbed Owen's cheeks with his large hands instead.
His cheeks puffed out like steamed buns.
Jeong-woo's eyes met Owen's startled ones head-on. He repeated clearly.
“I told you, didn't I? In this match, you're gonna be the machine gun, the fixed gun, and the fortress gun. Don't forget! Don't let that big dick of yours shrink on me.”
“You... you saw?”
Owen panicked, and Jeong-woo chuckled slyly.
“Heh heh. So, have some confidence.”
It sent a shiver down his spine. But somehow, his mind eased.
Owen was half-curious on one hand.
Why was this manager backing him so hard?
Jeong-woo met his questioning gaze and nodded toward the crowd.
“Hear those jeers? I'm not gonna tell you to turn them into cheers. But you're human—you get pissed, right?”
Jeong-woo widened his eyes.
“Part of me wants to cuss them out right in their faces. Look at that. They're cursing you while waving 'Ma Out' signs like crazy.”
A quick glance—yep, it was true.
Even as they hurled insults at him, fans shook 'Ma Out' placards back and forth.
It was kinda funny.
With Owen's tension easing a bit, Jeong-woo now stoked his competitive fire.
“Even if you stripped naked and danced out there, they can't hate you more than they already do.”
“Ugh.”
“So just do it. Nothing left to lose, right? The stage is mine to set—follow the script I gave you. No ad-libs.”
As Owen dashed back onto the pitch with Jeong-woo's orders, the fans' unified chant echoed behind him.
*Owen out! Out! Out!*
But Jeong-woo watched him with a solid, trusting gaze.
He had seen it clearly in the reserves' practice matches.
The passes he sprayed out of necessity... they were almost like...
*This guy's passes... it was like watching David Beckham.*
At least when it came to passing. That alone was enough. In League Two, that one skill would be a cheat code.
“You gotta nail it. Or I'm screwed too.”
Jeong-woo muttered with a grin.
At that moment, Owen shivered for some inexplicable reason.
* * *
From the bench, Victor Jones was busy smirking.
“Look at that guy—movements all sluggish.”
He pointed at Owen with his index finger, snickering.
Just as he said, Owen's movement had noticeably slowed.
Barely moving from the bottom of the penalty arc—you could call him fixed in place.
“Putting up a fight or something?”
A teammate beside him trashed Owen too.
Victor shook his head.
His narrowed eyes soon fixed on the back of Jeong-woo's head by the technical area.
“He benches me to play that scrub?”
It was utterly unacceptable.
For him, he didn't want Bolton to win.
Victor had always prioritized personal stats over team results.
It was no different from twisted inferiority complex.
Whump!
“Pfft!”
Victor burst into laughter again.
In a free kick, Owen's lofted pass missed its mark.
“Already wasted three like that lame. No, isn't it wrong from the start, giving free kicks to a guy who should retire yesterday? Huh?”
His teammate muttered in exasperation.
39th minute of the first half.
Shrewsbury Town led by one, but Bolton had more fouls in their favor.
“That speedy little shit.”
Victor frowned.
The prodigy had repeatedly won free kicks in dangerous areas with insane runs.
He earned another at the 41st minute.
But,
Whump!
[Oh! The free kick aimed at Pak flies a bit too far ahead! It sails over the dead ball line!]
[Their timing was just off!]
As Owen took the free kick, the prodigy had curved leftward around the defensive wall.
Owen had tried to poke it that way on cue, but all four attempts had failed.
Victor had seen it before.
The two players training that free kick routine under Jeong-woo's orders on the side of the practice pitch.
“Tsk tsk!”
Victor clicked his tongue.
“Like that repeated free kick tactic's gonna work.”
Even in the mid-to-long range free kick chance three minutes later,
Thud!
This time, before the prodigy could round the wall, an opponent defender headed it clear.
“Jeez!”
Victor laughed in disbelief.
The fans felt the same.
A hardcore supporter near the fence ripped off his shirt, flexing angry muscles as he spewed abuse.
“What the hell are you doing!”
“Get over here! Every problem's because of that Ma bastard! Come on! I'll cut your body into thirds!”
45th minute of the first half.
Three minutes of added time.
Tweet—!
The prodigy earned yet another free kick.
“Earning free kicks is impressive, huh. Real impressive.”
Victor shook his head, fed up.
But inwardly, he sneered.
*Obvious—he'll pull the same tactic again.*
All Victor wanted was for Jeong-woo to wake up, realize reality, and sub him in—as soon as possible.
Until then, he hoped the team kept flopping.
As the free kick began and the prodigy turned the same way, Victor smirked.
“As expected. Same old shit.”
The prodigy at the end of the wall, darting deep left.
In that instant, unlike before, Owen's eyes flicked not to the prodigy dashing forward, but the opposite way.
The defenders crumbling after him in pursuit.
And the gap that appeared in between.
Jeong-woo's words flashed through his mind.
*You're gonna be the machine gun, the fixed gun, and the fortress gun!*
The moment they resurfaced, Owen's instep smashed the front of the ball, crushing the air.
Whuuump!
The collapsed space.
The ball Owen unleashed rocketed through like a shell.
Clang!
Instinct.