Chapter 30
Chapter 30
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 30
Chapter Title: Gateway (1)
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After the match, Jeong-woo stepped into the mixed zone.
Just like after the Rochdale game, the reporters' reactions were worlds apart before and after the match.
The moment Jeong-woo took his seat, they fired off questions as if they'd been waiting.
"Following the Rochdale win, you've now triumphed over Shrewsbury too! How are you feeling?"
Deep down, he wanted to say, "Fucking fantastic."
His emotions were surging so wildly he felt like climbing on the table and breaking into a dance.
But he was the head of the team now.
Jeong-woo forced himself to maintain a stern composure.
Of course, his tie—half-undone in his excitement—hung ragged around his neck like a necklace.
"I'm thrilled. The players are all something to be proud of."
"Right up until kickoff, most pundits were predicting a Shrewsbury victory. As manager, weren't you disappointed?"
Well now, some reporters were calling him "manager" in their questions.
The first time he'd sat here, they'd called him the club owner.
'Sneaky, but it feels good.'
Jeong-woo shrugged, basking in the sense of accomplishment and the shift in the reporters' gazes.
He tried to play it cool, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching upward.
"Not at all disappointing. If anything... it was fun."
"Fun?"
"I’ve always been the type who likes breaking the mold. Of course, I respect their opinions. With these two wins in a row, I think their view of me will improve a bit."
The questions kept coming.
About the final match promised to the supporters.
The pressure of the managerial role, his sense of duty as owner, and more.
After quite some time,
Finally, one reporter posed the main question.
"Owen Pressais...! He scored twice today and was named Man of the Match. Word is that you, as manager, were the one who called him up to the first team. What did you see in him?"
It was the question on everyone's mind.
Before this game, Owen had been a completely forgotten prospect.
Yet Jeong-woo had promoted him to the first team without a second thought.
The reason was straightforward.
"I saw his ambidexterity, his passing, and his shooting precision."
That was it.
Owen Pressais's other stats had plummeted to the brink due to injury—it wasn't an exaggeration.
That's why the coaching staff had rebelled as a group.
Why play a guy who couldn't even run?
But in Jeong-woo's system, Owen didn't need to run much.
He shook off pressure using his teammates around him.
No running, pressure dispersed—his strengths were maximized.
The reporters' eyes sparkled brighter than before.
"In his post-match interview, Owen Pressais called you his mentor. What did you teach him?"
"I just got him back on the pitch. Everything else? That's all him."
He hadn't really taught him anything specific.
Still, hearing himself called a mentor had Jeong-woo's grin stretching ear to ear.
He snapped back to a solemn expression with a start.
At that moment, one reporter raised a hand for a follow-up.
"What was Owen Pressais's position in today's game?"
Almost simultaneously, the reporters murmured among themselves.
"Anchor...? Nah."
"Anchor? Please. Anchors have to contribute defensively too."
"Looks like an attacking midfielder to me. Like that old-school Juan Román Riquelme role."
It seemed everyone was curious.
Owen Pressais's role today had been that distinctive.
But,
"Not an anchor, not an attacking midfielder, not a mezzala... hmm, not even an advanced playmaker."
All those positions required a baseline level of work rate.
Some were even defensively oriented.
Owen Pressais, on the other hand, had recorded the lowest activity of the match.
A mere 4.7 km.
Even less than Lionel Messi's lowest recorded distance.
'Though he was subbed on at halftime.'
His teammates covered for the low work rate.
The reporter who'd asked first now looked puzzled.
"Then what the hell is it?"
Jeong-woo stared at him blankly, then furrowed his brow ever so slightly.
'Damn, I didn't really have anything prepared...'
So he just went with the first thing that came to mind.
"It's exactly what it looks like. A heavy machine gun."
* * *
Two days passed.
Tap, tap, tap, tap!
As owner, not manager, Jeong-woo endlessly pounded his calculator.
His brow furrowed and relaxed repeatedly, his eyebrows shooting up and settling multiple times...
"What're you doing?"
Hee-won had returned after scouting the feeder club on Jeong-woo's orders.
He'd stopped by home on the way and now plunked down bags of food on the table with a thud—hands full.
"Your sister-in-law sent this for you to eat. You know how killer her cooking is."
He shot a look that subtly begged for gratitude.
'Be impressed, you punk.'
Jeong-woo, still buried in his calculator, just nodded.
"Yeah, thanks. Japchae, cabbage kimchi, cucumber salad, and bulgogi."
Hee-won narrowed his eyes slightly.
He even flinched in mild surprise.
"...How'd you know without looking?"
"Smell."
"..."
He'd forgotten for a moment.
That Jeong-woo had a nose like a bloodhound among bloodhounds.
Once he'd processed it, Hee-won quietly watched Jeong-woo work.
Jeong-woo was still deep in thought.
'Just ticket sales, raffles, jersey sales... beyond sponsors, there has to be more we can squeeze out.'
He'd boldly declared on the radio that limited squad size was no issue.
But inside, it was different.
More players meant more tactical variety.
The radio bravado had been pure bluff.
What he really needed was money.
Jeong-woo's eyebrows shot up.
'Leaders aren't supposed to show doubt or pain, right?'
He'd read that somewhere.
If the leader wavers, everyone wavers.
Anyway, his final call: they needed reinforcements, even if not up to the full 25-man limit.
If Owen or the golden boy got injured...
'Just thinking about it makes my pores open with rage. Anyway... gotta consider every scenario.'
Additional revenue was essential first.
Even with free agents, agent fees and wages added up.
Plus, padding the coffers for more staff hires—good ones to fill gaps.
'If only a big-money sponsor would bite.'
Fat chance for a relegation battler.
Then it hit him.
Thud-!
Like a lightbulb moment, Jeong-woo lightly smacked the table with his fist, eyes flashing.
"That's it! We need to make merch of me!"
"...What?"
Hee-won, who'd been leaning awkwardly and watching, shot back.
Jeong-woo proudly thrust up his clenched fists.
"Merch! You know, like idol merch collections. What do you think? Genius, right?"
Hee-won blinked, then filtered it through his brain.
Finally, he rounded his mouth in admiration.
"Ooh, yeah, that's solid. Owen Pressais-style player merch collections could rake in side revenue like jerseys. Way better than plain scarves!"
Early in the game, Owen had faced monstrous jeers.
But as he showed his true quality, the jeers flipped to cheers.
Wanderers forums were buzzing—Owen's back!
Hee-won was a fan of his play too.
"That kicking technique just rockets forward... total fan favorite material. Rare stuff."
He threw up a double thumbs-up.
"Hey~ our Jeong-woo, you've got a real knack for soccer business, huh?"
But Jeong-woo blinked wide-eyed in return.
'What are you talking about? It's my merch.'
"...Huh?"
"My merch. Ma Jeong-woo merch."
"..."
Hee-won narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, then asked back.
"So... you're saying merch with your name, Ma Jeong-woo, on it?"
"Yeah! Genius idea, right?"
Jeong-woo sprang up, arms wide, praising himself.
"Kuh~! Damn straight! I always come up with these killer ideas! What, Edison reincarnated or something!"
Hee-won stared at him deadpan, pondering seriously.
'Is this guy nuts?'
* * *
The previous wins had come against lower-table sides.
So while many fans were ecstatic, some still eyed Jeong-woo critically.
The big issue: the owner doubling as manager.
Win or lose, some Brits saw that as the problem itself.
Amid this...
"Merch?"
"Merch...? Like scarves, knee blankets, keychains?"
The office manager, just back from leave and entering the meeting room, furrowed his brow.
Merch was rampant in soccer too.
Bolton keychains or scarves emblazoned with the Bolton crest, for example.
Rubbing his chin, the office manager scowled.
"Our current merch is just scarves. We tried keychains and such before, but they lost money."
Maybe they were planning franchise star merch.
Sadly, Bolton had no real franchise star right now...
'Owen...?'
He'd just returned.
With lurking injury risks—who knew when he'd drop off again.
Then, the marketing manager, who'd been silent, cautiously raised a hand to her mouth.
"Not player or Bolton merch... owner's merch."
"That's insane...!"
The office manager, deep in thought moments ago, recoiled in shock.
Not just him.
Most in the room drew a hard line: no way owner's merch sells.
Of course, strategy chief Charlotte Emma sat demurely, silent.
'He must have something in mind.'
She thought it absurd but wondered if there was an ace up his sleeve.
Meanwhile, Richard Geers wore an amused expression.
Wondering what wild plan the owner had cooked up this time.
'Not plain merch, that's for sure.'
Some time passed.
"Relax, everyone, sit down~ Why so tense? Did I juggle knives or something?"
He'd dipped out briefly, but seemed to have forgotten already.
As Jeong-woo entered the meeting room, the staff complaints vanished.
Marketing and others avoided eye contact like the plague.
Obvious reason.
A few days back, he'd fired a staffer outright for outright challenging—nay, defying—his views.
Jeong-woo knew full well he wielded the "blade of dismissal," a fearsome weapon.
And he planned to keep this dictatorship going a while.
'Still got intermittent idiots spouting nonsense.'
He wouldn't swing the axe just for opposing views.
Only for pure bullshit.
Even now, he was actively drawing out staff opinions.
Some were even positive.
Then, Richard Geers to his right spoke up.
"Staff opinions on the merch plan are mixed."
The office manager—who'd been ripping into Jeong-woo moments ago—flinched, shoulders twitching.
He even shot Geers a resentful glance...
Jeong-woo pulled his chair closer to the square table, leaning in.
"Yeah? Let's hear it."
The office manager spoke reluctantly.
"Ahem, well... merch ventures... might actually lose money."
"Why?"
"We've had failures before, like keychains and knee blankets..."
"Go on."
Jeong-woo fixed him with intense, serious eyes.
He was listening intently, or so it seemed.
The office manager felt like dying.
'He's glaring! What the hell...!'
That predatory bird-of-prey stare hit, and pressure crashed over him.
Still, he pushed through dutifully.
"Well... um. Fan sentiment toward the owner isn't great..."
He couldn't bluntly say people hated his guts.
But Jeong-woo got it without the ellipsis.
'I know. Lots still hate my guts.'
Simple reason for asking: even in dictatorship mode, one opinion vs. many differed.
'If it sucks, I filter it out.'
More than that, he wanted to shake the passive defeatism infecting them.
'Proactive is best.'
Have a wonderful day~
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