Chapter 41
Chapter 41
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 41
Chapter Title: Mother Club? (3)
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Game day.
DW Stadium, which could hold about 25,000 spectators.
The stands were packed to the brim.
Most of them were Lattics decked out in white-and-blue striped jerseys.
They'd been roaring thunderous cheers and belting out chants even before kickoff.
‘Lattics forever!’
‘King of Manchester, Wigan Athleeetic!’
“These guys would say that right to Man United and Man City’s faces without batting an eye. No shame at all.”
Jeong-woo, stepping onto the pitch right on cue, chuckled to himself.
He had just enough conscience not to call Bolton the king.
But every team based in Greater Manchester claimed the throne for itself.
“Ugh... this is intense. Way too intense.”
Hee-won, following behind, shuddered and hunched his shoulders.
And for good reason.
“Heyyyy! You bastard!”
“Come here! Come on! Get over here! I’ll chew you up with my teeth!”
Right up against the fencing, die-hard Lattics with their shirts off were barking like they’d vault the barrier any second.
“Hey, man, I told you to take it easy. Look at their eyes. They’re all bloodshot like mad dogs.”
“Ow, shit! Something just flew by!”
Hee-won quickened his pace, whining to Jeong-woo.
In yesterday’s interview, Jeong-woo had casually poured gasoline on the fire.
“What did I do?”
Jeong-woo plopped down shamelessly on the bench, crossed his legs, and shot back.
If anything, he gazed at the rowdy Lattics with an appreciative eye, then proudly added,
“No matter how I think about it, I’m impressed with myself.”
“Huh?”
Hee-won shot him a look like he was spouting nonsense.
Ignoring him, Jeong-woo shrugged and muttered,
“They said the derby drew such a crowd that it sold out and then some, wrapping around the whole stadium.”
Hee-won narrowed his eyes slightly.
“You idiot. It’s still Wigan’s home ground. Doesn’t do a damn thing for our ticket revenue.”
“It does help. Why wouldn’t it? Our revenue isn’t just from tickets.”
“Huh?”
“TV broadcast rights.”
“Ah...!”
Hee-won finally realized what Jeong-woo had been aiming for when he tossed that fuel on the flames.
Jeong-woo snickered and kept going, leaning back loosely against the bench and folding his arms.
“Watch. After the game, those seven local boroughs’ ratings are gonna be through the roof.”
As far as Jeong-woo was concerned, if it boosted revenue, a rain of trash was more than welcome.
“Derby premium, they call it. Gotta cash in big on days like this.”
Sure enough, fans near the bench awning were hurling all sorts of stuff despite the safety staff’s pleas, delaying kickoff for a bit.
“...”
Seeing his friend spread his arms wide in glee amid the chaos, Hee-won just sighed in resignation.
‘This guy... he’s way too immersed in the real world.’
It almost made him sad.
At least back in the day, crying in the corner of a PC bang while the older kids shook him down, he’d had some humanity left.
Right on cue,
Tweet!
The ref blew the whistle, signaling the derby’s start.
* * *
Wigan Athletic lined up in a 4-3-3.
Their most dangerous weapon up top was Rahim Strong, as expected.
Wigan’s top scorer and currently number one in the League One golden boot race.
‘Yeah, he’s a real handful.’
True to his name, he was the type to bulldoze with pure physicality.
Thwack!
“Guh!”
Just moments ago, the 190cm tower of a man, Strong, had shoved past Dominic Shield—who’d been blocking his path—and sent him staggering.
“Dominic’s got grit, though.”
Hee-won chimed in from the side.
Sure enough, Dominic recovered in a flash and slammed his shoulder into Strong, who was trying to surge past, pulling off another screen play.
He’d shut down the penetration route for good.
The lob pass from deep in the backline ended up smacking empty turf and bouncing out for a goal kick.
“The issue’s Dennis Slip.”
Jeong-woo’s sharp gaze shifted to the player Hee-won mentioned.
The 20-year-old prospect partnering Dominic Shield at center-back.
A talent Jeong-woo had pulled up from the reserves after taking the reins.
Tall for his frame, but weak in the air.
Instead, he had the quick feet to cover Dominic’s slower ones.
That’s why Jeong-woo had paired him with Shield a few times before.
Today was no different, but his eyes narrowed thin.
“Damn, he’s shaky as a reed.”
The fear was plain as day.
Rahim Strong wasn’t just physical—he had speed too. The reason they called him League One’s Romelu Lukaku.
No wonder Slip, who wasn’t the sturdiest build despite his height, flinched every time Strong came at him with the ball.
Dominic was barely covering with his defensive leadership.
Even now, Dominic bellowed with a flushed face.
“Dennis! Get your head in the game! Widen the gap to your left!”
“Y-yeah, got it!”
Dennis flinched but shuffled into position.
Still, a few misjudged moves led to errors.
He’d pressed Strong, but too shallowly—Strong shrugged him off like a ragdoll and waltzed into the final third.
Shwoosh!
But Strong couldn’t get the shot off this time either.
David Dignity appeared out of nowhere with a sliding tackle, nicking the ball away by a whisker to the other side.
Jeong-woo furrowed his brow hard.
“Keep the defense like this.”
He’d assigned David Dignity a holding role for exactly these situations.
A holding mid was someone more defensively minded in front of the back four.
Hee-won stared at Dignity and muttered,
“He’s basically a defender now?”
“Shut it.”
Jeong-woo averted his eyes awkwardly, then fixed his stare forward.
A bit shaky defensively, but it’d hold for now.
This was the best they could do.
Realistically, there was an inevitable talent gap with the current Wigan side.
‘Gotta stretch the gaps between the back four, holding, midfield, and forwards.’
Far from what some greats pursued.
Even Pep Guardiola obsessed over tight lines these days.
Passing play, communication, cover shadows, quick transitions—all hinged on proper spacing.
And he was right.
Wider gaps meant less precision, limiting passing options.
That’s why Bolton was resorting to long balls now.
Thwump!
Shield steals and pings it wide to players like Delicate, whose kicking was pinpoint, lofting it long into the box.
Kick-and-rush, pure and simple.
The go-to for underdogs against superiors.
Minimized risk while setting up for a counterpunch.
And above all,
“That guy with ‘I’m dead serious’ written on his face—he means it.”
Jeong-woo glanced sideways slyly.
In the adjacent technical area, Lowell Gardner was barking orders like he was fighting a war.
‘Steve Bruce’s disciple, huh?’
No need to dig into the guy’s background.
He was already the talk of League One.
Steve Bruce’s protégé, the rising star who’d dragged Wigan to the Championship’s doorstep.
And today, he’d unleashed his full arsenal.
Tactically sound, too.
‘The cohesion between the back four and defense, the wingers and wing-backs pressing high from the flanks—it’s ferocious.’
Even subjectively, more potent than Gillingham.
Probably down to the talent disparity, though.
“Still... Sensors Ruff, that one’s exceeding expectations.”
Up top alongside Tonga Pak and Aaron Rapid, Sensors Ruff.
He’d been catching hell from the Lattics pre-game—traitor this, that.
But right now, he was working harder than anyone.
‘Mental’s rock-solid.’
Looks really were everything.
He’d seemed like the type to say screw everyone else’s reactions from the jump.
With the ball, he feinted left with his upper body, then darted right.
Clumsy, but it worked.
Slower than Tonga, but that’s ’cause Tonga was freakishly quick. Proved it by blowing past his man and opening up space in a blink.
“Damn, he’s two steps clear already?”
Hee-won marveled from the side.
Then smugly added,
“See? Told you. He’ll eat it up even in League One.”
Jeong-woo nodded faintly.
Thwump!
Ruff spotted an angle and unleashed a right-footed rocket from outside the arc, no hesitation.
Pure instinct, basics be damned.
Kinda awkward, even.
But the keeper facing it had no choice but to panic.
Jeong-woo smirked.
‘Too much flair in the motion.’
Ironically, that threw Wigan’s keeper, Samuel Jackson, off.
The wild full-body wind-up made it impossible to read in-swing or out.
‘Told you—late reaction.’
Jeong-woo watched it all.
The ball rocketed off the laces, arcing wide of the far post... only to bend back in.
Looked like an out-swinger to him...
Ting!
Jackson jumped a beat late, but his long reach let his fingertips deflect what was surely goal-bound.
“Fuck...!”
Ruff thrashed in frustration.
* * *
After Ruff’s shot, Bolton went quiet for a spell.
Wigan racked up four attempts; Bolton could barely muster one.
That’s how dominant Wigan were.
Their flank attacks were especially lethal.
“Rahim Ster... no, Strong—that guy keeps drifting wide and cutting in?”
Hee-won voiced his concern.
Sure enough, Jeong-woo saw Strong breaching not centrally, but from the left half-space.
“Easier to body full-backs than center-backs.”
Mid-sentence, Jeong-woo clamped his mouth shut.
His eyes rapidly scanned the pitch.
‘Our attacks aren’t clicking at all.’
Despite being the clear favorites, Wigan swarmed with forwards and mids whenever Bolton had the ball.
Anytime someone past the halfway line took possession, opponents shifted rapidly across the front, left half, and right half.
‘Cutting off passing lanes.’
That zonal marking scheme had Bolton muted.
Quick Floyd tried dribbling through now and then, but didn’t get far.
Even when his fancy footwork broke through, teammates weren’t in sync to follow.
Those who did arrive botched their positioning.
‘They’ve got guys posted everywhere, blocking routes outright.’
With Floyd’s limited vision anyway, side passes were a pipe dream.
“Hmm.”
Hee-won quietly watched Jeong-woo deep in thought.
‘This bastard...’
Propped his chin, scanning the pitch with that signature bird-of-prey stare.
And Hee-won knew.
Whenever he got like this, his buddy was churning through tactics and strategies in his head.
Made him seem impressive all over again.
‘When’d he grow up so much?’
Jeong-woo used to be the taller one, even.
Now, he was locked in, eyes blazing solely on the pitch.
A new instruction would drop soon.
Facing a long-time rival like Wigan seemed to fire him up extra.
Hee-won felt it too.
‘Even if it’s only been a couple months as assistant...’
The jeers raining down in enemy territory stoked his grudge against the Lattics—and his will to win.
That’s when it happened.
“Hee-won.”
Finally, Jeong-woo spoke in a flat tone.
Hee-won snapped to attention, face serious as if possessed.
“Yeah.”
Their sharp gazes clashed mid-air like sparks.
Hee-won thought to himself,
‘Spit it out. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.’
Early subs? Fine by him.
Anything to crack the enemy!
Proof of his faith in Jeong-woo—and the manager.
“You know the pitch feels kinda soft and cushy?”
“...?”
“Let’s lie down for a bit.”
What the hell?
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