Chapter 60
Chapter 60
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 60
Chapter Title: The Numbers Are There to Be Read (1)
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Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 60: The Numbers Are There to Be Read (1)
[Bolton University Stadium hosts Bolton Wanderers vs. Manchester United!]
The stadium announcer shouted.
Then, standing outside the touchline, he wrapped one arm around his chest as if pulling back before thrusting it forward with a sharp—!
[At last, the moment we've all been waiting for—the two teams make their entrance!]
In sync with the announcer's call, Manchester United players in red kits and Bolton players in white marched onto the pitch.
The stadium erupted in even louder cheers at that moment.
As everyone had predicted, Manchester United fielded a lineup close to their second-string squad.
Their formation was a 4-1-3-2, weighted heavily toward attack.
Up top in the front two: Facundo Pellistri and Conor Stanley.
Midfield trio: Arnau Puigmal, Hannibal Mejbri, and Amad Diallo.
The lone volante: Ryan Wood.
Back four: Max Taylor, Teden Mengi, Axel Tuanzebe, and Harvey Neville.
In goal, third-choice keeper from the first team, Tom Heaton.
Aside from Axel Tuanzebe and Heaton, who had occasional first-team minutes, the rest were all young prospects born in 2000 or 2001.
But it was clear this was no lineup to take lightly.
"Whoa."
From the technical area, Jeong-woo let out an involuntary gasp of admiration as he eyed each of United's starters.
Even as reserves, their market values started at a minimum of £2 million (₩3.1 billion) apiece.
"Man, seeing them in person makes them look even stronger. There's just this aura about them, you know?"
Beside him, Hee-won mouthed an awed "O" and murmured softly.
Jeong-woo knew exactly who he meant without asking.
*Amad Diallo.*
The talent signed from Atalanta for around £35 million (₩55.7 billion).
*And a key piece for Ivory Coast internationally, too.*
He couldn't help but chuckle at the pick.
Talents with valuations like that were grinding it out between United's first and second teams.
Seeing them up close, the gap felt enormous.
Jeong-woo glanced over at United's bench.
A few first-teamers were sauntering up and taking their seats.
Harry Maguire.
Edinson Cavani.
Mason Greenwood.
Paul Pogba, and so on.
Sure, some first-team stars were outright excluded due to international duty fallout...
"Fuck me, every single one of them outvalues the whole Bolton club."
Of course, Ole Gunnar Solskjær wouldn't deploy them.
That was exactly what Jeong-woo wanted.
"You don't use a slaughter knife to kill a chicken, after all."
Of course, Bolton wasn't a chicken.
Right on cue—
Tweet—!
The referee's whistle blew, and the match kicked off.
* * *
Ole Gunnar Solskjær had taken the helm at Manchester United starting in the 2018-2019 season.
He'd earned rave reviews from the get-go.
For playing fast soccer reminiscent of Alex Ferguson days, with bold, direct lines.
Of course, over time, even Solskjær had shifted toward defense over attack against the EPL's brutal style.
But that was only against top sides.
"Bolton are running a 4-4-2 based around defensive tactics."
Assistant coach Mike Phelan continued gravely.
"Their wingers are cutting inside from the flanks toward central midfield roles. The right back in their back four is positioned more advanced, too."
Phelan furrowed his brow.
"Hmm. Looks like they want numerical superiority in midfield to ease their build-up."
Mike Phelan was assistant coach and a top tactician.
His eyes pierced right through Bolton's strategy against them.
Including the gaps it created.
"How about shifting Amad Diallo from the right to the left? Instruct him to exploit the space behind the fullback and penetrate between the lines."
"Yeah, that's good."
Ole Gunnar Solskjær nodded with his trademark innocent smile.
Just yesterday, he'd been seething with frustration over Ma.
But stepping onto match day, that anger had evaporated.
*All unfamiliar faces, every one of them.*
The Bolton players on the pitch.
Ole Gunnar Solskjær was genuinely seeing their faces for the first time today.
The video analyst's footage had been laughable.
First touches sending the ball veering 2 meters off.
Some players barely logging 5km over 90 minutes.
*That Park kid's finishing was rock bottom.*
Sure, his speed was frightening.
Even now, as the ball trickled toward his feet—
Stretch—!
He lunged with his front foot.
Despite right back Harvey Neville being three steps behind, the kid blew past him anyway.
But that was it.
Thwack—!
The winger hesitated at the mere threat of midfield cover and blasted a shot wide of the mark.
Solskjær's lip twitched ever so slightly.
After that, Bolton barely held possession.
The commentary team voiced their concerns.
[This is getting serious.]
[Man United's shots are already at six in the early first half!]
It was just as they said.
Thwack—!
Amad Diallo, core of United's second string, charged into any space and unleashed shots relentlessly.
And it didn't stop there.
Tap, tap!
Facundo Pellistri shook Bolton's defense with a simple trap and fired away.
Thwang—!
Even left back Max Taylor overlapped, then underlapped suddenly in Bolton's half for a surprise long-range strike.
Ooooh—!
The Red Devils in the away end groaned as Taylor's shot sailed wide.
But seconds later, they applauded in support.
Solskjær, in the technical area, wore a satisfied smile.
*Just as planned.*
United were dominating Bolton from the outset.
He'd worried they might park the bus like Wigan...
*Got some pride after all?*
The only gripe: just two of those six shots on target.
But time would fix that.
Soon, Solskjær shifted his gaze.
Diallo had moved to the left flank per instructions.
United's second-string star followed Phelan's advice.
And moments later—
Swish—!
"Gah!"
Bolton's right back, Delicate, panicked.
*He's faster than I thought!*
Diallo sprinted purely on speed into the space behind on the flank.
Delicate twisted his torso in alarm.
*Even without the reverse turn, I couldn't catch him.*
By the time he spun instinctively, Diallo had gone from sideline to half-space to the edge of the box.
Tap—!
Just then, a pass pierced between the tilted center back and Delicate.
Thwang—!
Clang—!
That was that.
Diallo curled a right-footed shot past Bolton keeper Screech—who hadn't even rushed out—for the opener.
Waaaaaaaaah—!
The away end Red Devils rose as one in ecstatic roar.
"Yes!"
Solskjær shouted "Yes!" in the heat of the moment before furrowing his brow.
"Huh? What?"
Ooooh—!
The cheers turned to boos instantly.
The linesman had flagged it forward.
Amad Diallo, sprinting joyfully toward the away fans, hopped in frustration.
"What? How's that offside!"
"Pfft."
Jeong-woo, watching from the technical area, let out a light chuckle.
"Nice, caught lucky."
Just as he said—he'd spotted the offside before the linesman.
Not intentional.
"Delicate reacted slow, so Diallo's lunge put him a boot hair off."
Diallo's burst had been too quick.
Delicate's delayed chase two tempos later triggered the fortunate flag.
Heart-stopping stuff regardless.
But the smile lingered on Jeong-woo's lips.
"Jackpot."
* * *
The pattern held after.
Manchester United pushed the line high, attack after attack.
From afar, it looked like cornering a foe and pummeling with lefts, rights, hooks.
Even the commentary winced.
Bolton hunkered down naturally.
[This is bad.]
[In 30 first-half minutes, United have 17 shots!]
[At least only three on target...!]
[Bolton's dropped the line for man-marking defense!]
As said, Dominic Shield and the backline threw themselves to block shots.
But even that looked pitiful.
[At this rate..., Bolton won't hold much longer?]
Unlike the caster, pundit Parker Vince offered some optimism.
[Hmm, not sure. Bolton's holding up pretty well, I'd say.]
[Oh? Haha.]
[United are pressing hard, sure, but post-that offside chance, no real danger. They're adapting. Surprisingly solid.]
The caster seemed to offer comfort for the Wanderers.
But Vince meant it.
His veteran eyes caught something unexpected.
Vince's gaze narrowed on the pitch.
*They're getting battered wildly, no doubt...!*
Yet Bolton players didn't look rattled or overwhelmed.
Thwack—!
Thud—!
Captain David Dignity, dropped deep, booted a shot clear mid-flight.
As it sailed over the line into the stands, he sighed in relief and muttered.
"Phew! Finally feels playable."
"Yeah, holding better than expected. Thought we'd concede early, but we're still standing. Heh."
Dominic Shield, Bolton's defensive rock, chuckled in agreement.
Skinny keeper Screech wiped sweat from his brow with his wrist and chimed in.
"That Diallo kid—I thought a cheetah was charging. Blinked, and he's in my face."
Delicate, who'd lost Diallo four times already, shook his head and apologized first.
"Guys, their transitions are quick overall. Cut us some slack if we miss."
But none showed the panic Vince imagined.
They all grinned with flushed excitement.
Dignity spat and added.
"We prepped for this exact scenario. Boss's script to a T."
* * *
37th minute.
"More... organized than expected."
Mike Phelan muttered through narrowed eyes.
Solskjær's eyes burned with irritation unlike before.
Bolton's block was sturdier than thought.
*18 shots already.*
Chances kept coming.
But each one deflected off shins, or ricocheted off flung heads and bodies.
As if yielding specific zones deliberately, fixated on blocks.
*No way...*
Solskjær clenched then unclenched his fist against rising stress.
Phelan's point irked him more.
"Their organization looks better than ours. Natural with reserves mixed in."
Solskjær hadn't seen the need for long prep.
Some players got called up last-minute for the friendly squad.
Basics were superior anyway.
No need to gel—just crush a league bottom-feeder.
Still, he needed to counter.
"Watch. One goal opens the floodgates."
Right.
Just needed that goal.
Then, Solskjær glanced at Bolton's technical area.
His eye twitched uncomfortably.
Bolton's manager and assistant chatted with beaming smiles.
It grated on him deeply.
Jeong-woo's smile wouldn't fade.
First time live at an EPL match, let alone United's.
Even second string—the gap was massive.
"Fuck, not just fast—his dribble tempo's insane? Dives right, then snakes left? Whack-a-mole? Snake? Ankles like liquid anyway."
Hee-won nodded along.
"Amad Diallo—that kid's the real deal. Give him a year or two, starting XI for sure."
"No doubt."
Jeong-woo agreed fully.
Bolton's defenders couldn't cope with Diallo's rhythm.
Then Hee-won sighed in relief.
"But our organization edges them."
Jeong-woo smirked.
"Think about it. Reserves and bench scraps all mixed. Solskjær's tactics differ from the reserves coach too. How's that cohesive?"
Some clubs mirror first-team tactics in reserves, but not always.
In sports, if amateurs beat pros anywhere, it's soccer.
"All-star teams prove it. Gather the best individuals, still struggle clubs in friendlies—organization."
A week-gelled side vs. two days? Night and day.
Jeong-woo had read United called some up days before.
Obvious PR spin.
*We can call 'em last second and still smoke Bolton.*
Yet at 40 minutes, no goals.
Hee-won nodded, then fretted.
"But they'll gel soon, right? Their instincts are nuts."
Jeong-woo didn't argue.
"Yeah."
He grinned wider.
"So we shake those instincts."
With that, Jeong-woo slowly turned toward the bench rear, the stands.
* * *
The broadcast camera froze on one spot.
The commentary duo paused mid-call, eyes widening.
Seconds later, fatherly smiles bloomed unprompted.
[The Wonderers' kids!]
As said, kids in oversized Wanderers kits filled the frame.
Eyes fierce, glaring at Red Devils.
Others beaming innocently.
The duo puzzled aloud.
[Card section with kids?]
The kids hoisted square boards.
They aligned into a shape...
[A cat...?]
[No, wait—looks like a tiger?]
They chuckled.
Meaning unclear, but a cute Bolton fan tribute.
But as they smiled at the kids, Bolton's display shifted fluidly like water.