Chapter 55
Chapter 55
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 55
Chapter Title: Manchester Is Blue (1)
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Ole Gunnar Solskjær was the current manager of Manchester United.
During his playing days, he'd been called the baby-faced assassin, a living legend to the Red Devils.
And right now, that same man sat on a leather sofa, glaring at one spot with a displeased expression.
[At Wigan's home ground, the DW Stadium, Bolton Wanderers secure a shocking 1-0 victory!]
[Wow...! Unbelievable! An upset that defies all expectations!]
[The Wigan players look utterly shell-shocked by this stunning defeat!]
On the laptop perched at one end of the table, footage procured by the video analyst was playing.
It was from last season's matchup: Wigan Athletic versus Bolton Wanderers.
The moment the game ended, the Latics clutched their heads in unison, faces twisted in despair, as if scripted.
In stark contrast, the Wanderers rose as one, roaring in triumph.
And the broadcast camera zeroed in on one black-haired manager.
He was shouting something at the jeering crowd.
"Is that some kind of taunt?"
Gunnar Solskjær asked, his tone laced with distaste.
Mike Phelan, the assistant coach beside him, chuckled dryly and muttered.
"That's what they're saying. Apparently, he told them that if they wanted to vent, they should buy a Ma doll from the Latics."
"A Ma doll?"
"It's this Bolton club owner merch doll that's selling like hotcakes locally."
"Club owner merch? They sell that kind of thing?"
"It's merch, alright, but it's marketed like a voodoo doll—punch it, burn it, whatever helps you blow off steam. Word is, he's using himself as a shield so the players don't get rattled by fan abuse and it affects their performance. Unique thinking, to say the least."
Mike Phelan, who'd looked into Jeong-woo on Solskjær's orders, truly found him one of a kind.
From what he'd gathered, Jeong-woo was already more famous in Bolton than some of the players.
And that wasn't all.
"But... his tactical acumen is surprisingly sharp."
Phelan glanced at Ole Gunnar Solskjær before adding.
"Beating Bolton in a friendly would certainly thrill the Red Devils. They'd love to see them put in their place."
During preseason, EPL sides occasionally scheduled friendlies against lower-league teams.
The aim was to energize the English football pyramid beyond just the Premier League.
Unlike EPL clubs, tier 4 or 5 outfits could rake in massive revenue from a single big friendly.
With that in mind, Phelan had already been lining up matches with Manchester United's friendly rivals.
But things had derailed.
Bolton's owner-cum-manager had suddenly hurled stones at their crest.
"Manchester belongs to Manchester City."
From there, it escalated to claims that United was finished at Bolton.
A full parade of nonsense.
It almost seemed like he'd deliberately leaned into the troll persona.
Yet Phelan, reviewing his achievements over the past few months, realized the radio antics were just his everyday vibe.
Solskjær, in particular, was furious.
As a result, at his request, Phelan had greenlit the Bolton friendly after twice turning it down.
Even now, Solskjær scowled and sneered.
"You're giving too much credit to some bed football hack..."
"It's not just bed football."
Mike Phelan was a veteran coach.
Since taking the assistant role at Norwich City in 1995, he'd steadily built his reputation.
These days, back at United since 2018, he'd solidified his position as assistant coach.
Naturally, his tactical eye was top-notch.
Alex Ferguson had trusted him in his playing days, after all.
And through those seasoned eyes, Phelan saw it clear as day.
"Every foul he concedes is in prime counterattack territory. Slack play, and you're done—one shot ends it. That's why even the Wigan manager played it cautious."
Indeed, in the Wigan game, the winner came from a free kick earned in a danger zone.
"The spacing and positioning in defense are exquisite. Like maneuvering chess pieces to shut down attacks."
But Ole Gunnar Solskjær still looked thoroughly unimpressed.
Above all else, it rankled that some no-name kid from Bolton—whose name he barely knew—was treating him like a joke.
"I hear you, Assistant Coach. But their opponent that game was Wigan. Barely English League One level... and they failed promotion this season because of a loss to that Bolton lot, right?"
Phelan shrugged lightly.
"Can't deny that."
The league gap was undeniable.
Solskjær turned from the laptop screen, muttering under his breath.
His eyes twitched faintly with lingering anger.
"Fine... I'll take your word for it and keep it in mind."
Of course, unlike his words, Solskjær was grinding his teeth.
"Let's see how you squirm."
Manchester United losing? Unthinkable in his mind.
Against Bolton's current squad, it was about as likely as lightning striking twice on the same spot.
* * *
Clink.
Josep Guardiola carefully set his teacup down on the side table.
He sank into the plush sofa, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"It's called gyeulpi-cha. Good for recovery, they say."
To his right sat Francis Carson, Manchester City's loan and transfer liaison.
Carson reached for the steaming cup, took a cautious sip, and broke into a satisfied grin.
"It's sweet."
"Knew it'd suit your taste."
The two enjoyed tea times like this several times a week.
To Guardiola, Carson was a comrade without equal.
From leaving Barcelona, through Munich, to settling at City—they'd been side by side all those years.
Then, cautiously, Carson spoke up.
"Manchester United's going ahead with that friendly against Bolton, after all."
Guardiola swirled his cup gently and chuckled.
"Friendly in name only... it'll be pure revenge."
As Guardiola saw it, United had two paths.
Ignore the Bolton owner-manager's bluster entirely, or lock in this rage-fueled grudge match, as they'd done.
Guardiola himself would've ignored it.
But United hadn't.
On one hand, it was amusing.
"The Bolton manager... he reached out to you directly?"
"Yes. Wants to discuss a partnership deal. Said he couldn't find your contact, so he came to me."
The smile on Guardiola's lips lingered stubbornly.
"Intentional? Or just his personality?"
Contacting Carson alone would've been easy to brush off.
But now? Entirely different.
The Bolton owner had backed City on Manchester radio—and declared war on United.
Reactions varied.
Given it was third-tier league talk, far below EPL caliber, plenty dismissed it as banter.
But others, especially United supporters, were livid precisely because it was third tier.
"Agro's agro."
It had reached Guardiola's ears, after all.
Right there on his table sat a single binder.
Power analysis on Bolton's manager, courtesy of the scouting team.
"Definitely an odd one."
Ma Jeong-woo, the Korean, had become Bolton's owner at the winter window.
Soon after, he took the helm, posting 11 wins, 3 draws, 4 losses in 18 games.
Impressive for his resume.
"Owen Precise."
Guardiola narrowed his eyes.
He'd once coveted the talent himself.
The file noted:
[Called up Owen Precise to the first team just before release post-injury.]
[7 goals, 6 assists in 15 games excluding injury—full revival.]
[Manager minimized Precise's mobility with a kick/pass-focused tactic, masking his weaknesses perfectly.]
It detailed Sensuous Ruff, an eighth-tier part-timer, and Chong-a Pak too.
Incredibly, all had risen to Bolton's top assets.
Suddenly, Jeong-woo's radio words echoed:
[Talents lacking senior-level physique, or youth products deemed expendable after failed loans. I'll elevate them to Championship level—at least.]
"Hmm."
Guardiola stroked his chin, then spoke after a few seconds.
"Carson. Set up a meeting with Bolton's manager."
* * *
July.
High-end restaurant lounge.
Tap, tap, tap!
Jeong-woo straightened his clothes as he walked briskly.
A thrill bubbled up, undeniable.
"Damn, he actually bit."
Straight up.
The bait he'd tossed casually? Manchester City's manager, Pep Guardiola, had snapped it up.
Probably thanks to the agro he'd stirred.
Not just the loan guy—he'd danced on radio airwaves too.
Curiosity alone must've drawn him.
On the other hand, Jeong-woo steeled himself repeatedly.
"Why nervous? I'm the owner. He's just the manager."
Owner outranked manager.
Owners could sack managers.
So, carry yourself with authority.
Nothing to fear!
"Ahem!"
Jeong-woo cleared his throat, steadying his voice.
Even steeling himself couldn't kill the shakes entirely.
Like meeting a celebrity crush.
"Well, Pep's top-tier in management."
Hence the autograph paper he'd packed.
"Nah. Too undignified for an owner."
Reconsidering, no.
Jeong-woo furrowed his brow slightly.
Internally, he psyched up once more.
"Jeong-woo, you're the owner. Bolton's representative owner. Equals—or better. No bowing. You're on Man City's Sheikh Mansour level!"
He stepped into the reserved restaurant.
And halted dead at the entrance.
Through the glass wall, at the premium table, something gleamed like the sun in the light.
"Whoa...!"
Swish—
Just then, the sun peeked up, dawn breaking.
Blinding. Jeong-woo shaded his squinted eyes with a hand.
Guardiola spotted hiMad Dog grinned.
"Oh! Shabi-hyung?"
Overwhelmed, Korean slipped out.
Just too radiant.
Legends glowed from every pore, apparently.
After a brief greeting with Guardiola, they cut to the chase.
He seemed deeply intrigued by the United friendly too.
At the end, Guardiola proposed.
"We need proof first, right? From our side, we owe it to the fans to explain."
Jeong-woo, tension vanished, smirked back.
"Prove what, exactly?"
"At minimum, you don't get embarrassed by United. Convince us you're not a total embarrassment, and we'll ink the partnership. Throw in loan players where feasible."
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