Chapter 37
Chapter 37
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 37
Chapter Title: Operation Juggling (2)
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Jeong-woo had left.
Sensus Ruff sat silently at the dining table for a while.
But Jeong-woo's words kept echoing in his mind.
‘Who expects loyalty to Bolton? Grow here and move on. Isn’t it valuable enough as a stepping stone?’
‘The important thing isn’t the team—it’s playing for you, Ruff, and for your family. In my neck of the woods, we call it returning home in glory. So just succeed and come back, right?’
There was no issue with the transfer itself.
The free agency window for this season ran until mid-April.
And now, he wasn’t unemployed anymore.
He glanced over.
Beside him sat his beloved wife, wearing that soft smile as always.
‘Ariana.’
Their warm gazes met, and Ariana spoke right away.
“I fully respect your decision.”
Even so, she seemed a little taken with the coach she’d just met.
“I only met him today, but... he seems like a decent guy, for some reason.”
Ruff gave her a gentle smile that only she ever saw.
But his mind was still a whirlwind.
‘What should I do...?’
As Jeong-woo had said, Sensus Ruff was a die-hard Wigan supporter.
And Wigan had an intense rivalry with Bolton.
Yet harsh reality kept dragging him into a pit of doubt.
Hadn’t several clubs that showed interest turned away the moment they heard about his assault record?
The teams that stubbornly wanted him were in even lower divisions than before.
It wasn’t satisfying.
That’s probably why a subtle greed was creeping in.
Jeong-woo’s words—prove your worth to other teams while playing for Bolton—hit home.
Above all, he was curious.
‘Who am I to deserve this?’
Up until today, he’d been an eighth-division player.
For an amateur like him to be personally scouted and persuaded to join a third-division club owner?
It didn’t add up.
On top of that, he’d openly shown his displeasure.
But Jeong-woo hadn’t cared about any of it.
‘He really wants to sign me... someone like me...’
The kid who’d dreamed big in Wigan’s youth team had plummeted to the eighth division, shattering his confidence.
Yet Jeong-woo had stated it flatly.
He could definitely be a threat on the pitch.
And he’d even vowed to make it happen.
One thing was clear: those unique traits were shaking Ruff’s emotions.
Soon, his trembling gaze drifted to Ariana’s swollen belly.
‘As a father and family man, too.’
Head of the household—the ultimate temptation.
* * *
With the 42nd round approaching, Bolton held a practice match.
“Look at that.”
Under the blazing sun, Jeong-woo slouched on the bench and pointed.
Hee-won followed his nod.
Captain David Dignity passed to Quick Floyd, who predictably charged forward with a dribble.
B-team players rushed to block his sudden burst of speed.
But Floyd’s dribbling was top-notch.
Just like right now.
Tuk, tuk, tuuk, tuuk—!
He shrugged off standing tackles with instep, outside foot, and phantom dribbles in a flash.
Since it was an open training, fans watching from beyond the fence let out cheers for a moment.
“Woo! Nice one, Floyd!”
“That dribble’s Messi-level, Messi!”
The B-team players who’d failed to intercept chased after Floyd as he surged forward relentlessly.
It looked just like...
Jeong-woo narrowed his eyes and smirked.
“Flypaper, pure flypaper.”
Hee-won next to him totally got it.
Floyd dragging defenders behind him like flies on sticky paper.
But regret soon crossed his face.
“If only his shooting timing was decent, he’d be a monster.”
Just as Hee-won said, Floyd had dashed 40 meters on his own.
But the finish was always lacking.
This time too, as he reached the penalty arc, he hesitated like a buffering video and blew the chance with a late pass.
Fans beyond the fence looked deflated, as if to say, “Typical.”
In a real match, they’d have cursed him out.
That’s when it happened.
“Hey, ever heard of the yips?”
Hee-won furrowed his brow at Jeong-woo’s sudden question.
“Isn’t that the thing in baseball where pitchers get it sometimes?”
“Yeah. But the yips exist in soccer too. Technically called Steve Blass syndrome. It’s a kind of slump.”
“Why bring it up out of nowhere?”
Hee-won wondered why Jeong-woo mentioned it.
Jeong-woo stared at the pitch—at Floyd specifically—and explained.
“That guy’s yips are in shooting. And goals.”
Hee-won stared at Floyd, then back at Jeong-woo, thinking.
‘This bastard... right, he did that.’
Back when they coached together in Korea, they’d only overlapped for six months.
Jeong-woo got fired mid-way after clashing with a senior coach.
The facts: he’d smacked the guy upside the head while he was eating.
Deserved, though.
The senior had stolen and used Jeong-woo’s tactical notes without permission.
And back then, Jeong-woo was even more hot-headed, with enough cash for a settlement.
Anyway, now, Hee-won looked at him with a hint of admiration.
‘He was like that even then.’
Beyond tactical genius, Jeong-woo had an eye for a player’s inner scars—the deep ones.
His best friend, who now looked every bit the proper manager, was speaking.
“We can’t break the yips right away, but second-best is doable. Passes.”
“Passes?”
“Yeah, less pressure than shooting. And... passes alone can be plenty threatening.”
“True, if he dribbles forward pulling all the defenders, his teammates get more chances.”
It was true.
He’d sealed the Gillingham match with one pass.
The problem was how rare those passes were.
“Exactly. So for him, passes are a lifeline.”
Since Gillingham, Jeong-woo had ramped up one-on-one tutoring with Quick Floyd, focusing on pass timing.
“But that alone isn’t enough.”
“Huh?”
“Look at him. So much room to improve, and leaving it like this is neglect. As manager, owner, coach... watching a player stagnate hurts. With training and mental care, that kid could shoot too, not just pass. Simply put... he could fire blanks too!”
“...”
For a moment, Hee-won was touched—for different reasons.
‘This guy...! When did he learn to care about others?’
He’d thought he was just a money-and-food-obsessed parasite.
Now he was even looking out for players’ careers.
Maybe clothes really do make the man.
The way Jeong-woo watched the player on the pitch now...
‘A master tactician!’
Cool today, even as a friend.
The sun shone down like a spotlight.
Then suddenly, Jeong-woo let out a sly chuckle.
“We fix those flaws and sell him for max profit.”
“...”
“That’s the true selling club way. Lock in survival, sell a few for performance bonuses. Sell players, pocket bonuses...! Best of both worlds! Keh-heh-heh!”
Illusion shattered.
Just a club owner.
A money-hungry one.
‘Worse than Ravi...’
* * *
As a kid, Quick Floyd had caused his team to lose repeatedly due to his poor finishing.
And Floyd always blamed himself.
Even the manager and coaches criticized his decision-making.
‘If only you’d converted that chance...’
“Sigh! No, my fault for expecting from you!”
The pressure built up until shooting itself became a massive burden.
Time passed, and he switched from striker to center-back.
Truth be told, the position change in youth stemmed from the manager’s near-forced suggestion.
Powerless Floyd had no choice but to comply.
Like drifting with the river’s current.
But he still thirsted for striker play. For goals.
‘I want... to score.’
Put him on stage, though, and old memories froze him—ruining passes and shots.
Still,
‘I feel... a bit more at ease.’
Shwaaaaa—!
Warm shower water soaked his gleaming bald head.
Quick Floyd surrendered to the water, lost in thought.
The Gillingham match from days ago surfaced.
‘Think of yourself as the frontline center-back.’
First person who came to mind: current Bolton boss, Jeong-woo.
Unthinkable advice.
But imagining himself as a frontline center-back eased the pressure a little.
Not ready for proper shots yet, but he could occasionally time passes to teammates.
“The boss is different from any coach I’ve had. He gives me stuff I can actually do now.”
White steam escaped his open mouth.
Lost in thought so long, the showers emptied—only him left—but his mind brimmed with Jeong-woo.
“Shooting training, huh...”
After today’s session, Jeong-woo approached.
‘Passes alone aren’t enough, so mix in shots like in the first half against Gillingham.’
‘Why the sour face? Think I’m saying score goals? You gotta fake shots to keep them watching. No pass option? Fire a warning shot. Got it?’
‘Forget scoring—just whack it. Aim for the bar or a player. Rebound’s second ball. Even if the keeper punches it wide, second ball. You know what I mean?’
‘That’s how you scare ‘em. Fun messing with them too.’
“...”
Ridiculous advice for a striker—pretend shots. But it helped him find his role.
He called it an aggro role.
Seven managers counting youth—including them all wanted goals.
Only Ma gave him a feasible role.
And his words proved true. Already shown with Gillingham’s star and Owen.
That’s why.
Crunch.
His fists clenched.
Trust seeped into Floyd’s eyes.
* * *
Three days before round 42.
“Hmm.”
In front of the club convenience store.
Jeong-woo stared intently at one spot.
His eyes sharper than ever.
Like he’d pierce and dismantle everything.
Beside him was marketing head Daniel Shai.
Daniel thought to himself.
‘Why’d he drag me out here...?’
Jeong-woo had barged into his office moments ago, insisting they hit the store.
The head followed in a daze.
But now, Jeong-woo wasn’t entering—just watching the entrance from ten steps away.
Ma Jeong-woo merch lined the rack by the door.
Even a gacha pull.
Some parents caved to their kids’ sparkling eyes, buying pulls and plushies.
He’d watched this for 30 minutes already.
Finally, Shai spoke cautiously.
“Uh, boss...?”
“Whoa, yeah, that’s it, that one!”
He couldn’t finish.
Jeong-woo’s eyes lit up like he’d struck gold.
Have a great day~
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