Chapter 61
Chapter 61
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: uly
Chapter: 61
Chapter Title: Moves Are Meant to Be Read (2)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Black-Haired Tactical Genius
Chapter 61: Moves Are Meant to Be Read (2)
Halftime.
Ole Gunnar Solskjær demanded more from his players with a stern expression.
“What good are all those shots if they don’t go in! Stay focused until the very end!”
This wasn’t just any friendly match.
Bolton had humiliated Manchester United.
Not to mention the massive gap in club value.
They should have scored at least one or two goals in the first half.
“You’re not under the illusion that the team with more shots wins, are you? You have to put the ball in the net to win!”
The first half had been so one-sided that four goals wouldn’t have been surprising.
But the score was 0-0.
Solskjær urged the players to focus even more.
“So in the second half, I want you to be more deliberate with your shots!”
He figured this much advice was enough since they weren’t being outclassed in any other area.
‘They still haven’t scored a single goal...!’
Of course, he was seething inside.
They were a League One team—bottom of the table, no less—and United had peppered shots but failed to score.
They had to score in the second half.
He was confident that once one goal went in, the dam would break.
Yet something nagged at him.
‘A formation change just before the end.’
It wasn’t a simple adjustment, which is why it bothered him.
The shift had been too seamless.
It made their movements hard to read right away.
‘Clearly... there were no instructions from Bolton’s bench...’
* * *
Second half, 7th minute.
Shearer Kane prowled around the edge of the box.
Axel Tuanzebe, the star he’d only seen on TV, stuck tight to him, applying pressure.
Yet the defender wouldn’t even make eye contact.
‘That’s weird.’
Shearer Kane couldn’t quite believe the situation.
‘Me, playing against Manchester United...!’
He braced his thighs and ankles to resist Tuanzebe’s pressure.
Jeong-woo’s instructions echoed in his mind.
‘Get used to United’s tempo early on. Even if we concede, hold firMad Dog adapt.’
Experiencing United firsthand, the advice hit home.
‘Their tempo really is fast.’
United players advanced passes with one-touch play.
A single dribble could gain meters in the blink of an eye.
By the time you caught your breath, they were already playing in Bolton’s attacking third.
That’s why Jeong-woo had ordered a more defensive setup early, to adapt to the pace at minimum.
‘But I’m getting the hang of it!’
He’d wobbled at first, but now he felt he could compete.
Still, it was frustrating.
‘Goals aren’t coming as easy as I thought.’
United had already racked up 21 shots.
Bolton managed just four.
All created by Kane.
But none found the net.
The stage was definitely different.
‘Feels like being thrown from a stream into the ocean.’
Then—
Thwack—!
Shearer Kane snapped his head up, Tuanzebe at his back.
A lob pass flew from Owen Fresais in midfield.
It was pinpoint precise.
‘It’s dropping right to me!’
No need to adjust position.
Thud—!
Tuanzebe slammed his shoulder into Kane’s back like a battering ram.
‘What?’
But Tuanzebe was the one rattled.
Whoosh—!
He staggered forward for a split second, only for Kane to twist his ankle, hold firm, and spin in a wide arc.
Just then, the ball dropped from Owen’s boot onto the pitch.
Thwack—!
After one bounce, Kane unleashed a shot without hesitation.
‘The timing on that shot...!’
Tuanzebe’s thought trailed off at the sheer speed of the strike.
Twaaaang—!
The ball rocketed up like lightning, smacking the crossbar and ricocheting high.
The commentators flinched.
[Oh! It clips the top right corner of the crossbar and flies up... Out for a goal kick!]
“Tch, ha—!”
Shearer Kane let out another sigh of regret.
In League Two, it would’ve been a sure goal.
Tuanzebe’s pressure had thrown off his balance and aim.
Suddenly, Kane glanced at the stands.
The kids were doing another card section.
Rabbits this time.
Kane’s body reacted before his mind, and he started running.
A flashback hit him: himself hunched over, vomiting on the training pitch.
* * *
Second half, 11th minute.
Manchester United’s center-back, Axel Tuanzebe, couldn’t hide his discomfort anymore.
He was an aggressive center-back who could play full-back.
But now, he hesitated to push the line high.
Swish, swish!
Just two steps ahead, a young man with slicked-back brown hair paced back and forth.
His eyes darted the other way.
Sensuous Ruff lurked along the defensive line, poised to burst forward.
‘What the hell? Switching play? Why’s this guy suddenly here?’
Tuanzebe was confused.
It wasn’t just them—Bolton as a whole was the issue.
‘That Sensuous guy was on the left just now...! And that one...!’
Dead ahead, Delicate scanned from the center.
‘Why’s the right-back pushed up to midfield!’
Their positional shifts were too varied.
Yet Bolton stuck to a defense-first tactic.
But every 10 or 20 minutes, the approach subtly changed.
Defense-heavy, but individual positioning rotated.
Or emphasizing long counters.
At times, they weighted the flanks for crosses.
Now, with target man Shearer Kane up top, they’d switched to long balls.
Fluid as water, like the next phase was pre-programmed.
‘Bolton’s manager isn’t giving instructions...!’
He was just standing there, hands in pockets, even yawning.
But just now... another change.
“What?”
Tuanzebe muttered in disbelief.
Shearer Kane, who’d been glued tight like a target man, had dropped deep.
United still had the lead in possession... but the unease lingered.
Gunnar Solskjær sensed something off from the technical area too.
‘Instructions? Even then, this quick?’
Including the first half, Bolton had already cycled through several tactical shifts.
Not multiple full tactics, but...
“They’re mixing 4-1-1-3-1, 4-4-2, and 4-3-3 interchangeably.”
Phelan spelled it out.
His expression more serious than at the start.
Bolton’s transitions were too natural.
Moreover.
“They’re sowing confusion just with position chains alone.”
Coaches usually order man-marking on specific players or zonal defense.
Blocking shots, runs, or passes on or off the ball.
Basic stuff.
United’s current setup was built on that.
But Bolton disrupted it purely with positional rotations.
Look at United players now—hesitating mid-mark, fumbling.
Right-back drifting to central midfield. Midfielder dropping to center-back. Shifts too extreme.
Mike Phelan was impressed inwardly.
‘They’ve drilled organization to the limit. Yet they’re only drawing minimal output from those positions. Were they always like this?’
Pulling off tactics like that isn’t easy.
Without mastery, it backfires.
But Bolton was different.
‘Excluding one or two key spots, they’re sticking to defensive positional chains.’
Eighty, ninety percent defense-based changes.
Basic passes and movement otherwise.
‘Minimizing risk from the rotations.’
United players faltered just from facing new opponents.
The moment gaps appeared, Bolton players shifted to exploit with precise counters.
And more.
‘It’s not just fumbling from position changes.’
Bolton individuals were preempting United’s every move with smart positioning.
“Heh.”
Phelan chuckled in disbelief.
But he thought holding steady was key.
‘We still control possession.’
One goal, and they’d seize total momentum.
Conversely,
‘If Bolton scores first...’
The game could spiral uncontrollably.
That Bolton manager was no ordinary coach.
Solskjær reached a similar conclusion, differently.
‘We still have the edge.’
More than that.
United owned the ball and infiltrated Bolton’s defensive zone before you knew it, unleashing barrages.
Even rebounds were quickly regained.
Bolton’s attacks were rare.
‘Maybe one per ten of ours.’
Only on United’s pass errors.
Owen Fresais was a minor thorn.
‘Owen, huh.’
He knew.
Pre-injury, Chelsea coveted him as a top prospect.
‘Thought he was done.’
ACL tear, then vanished.
Turned out not.
Activity low, but Bolton launched sporadic long counters from him.
‘Passing precision is elite. Best on the pitch.’
Unique fit perfectly.
But that was it.
Boredom settled in Solskjær’s eyes.
‘Low mobility doesn’t suit the EPL.’
If unprepared, trouble. Bolton’s manager thrived on surprise subs at key moments, so they’d prepped.
His gaze shifted more to Shearer Kane. Rough now, but growth potential.
Thwack—!
Mid-thought, Amad Diallo unleashed a threatening shot.
Bolton’s post rang viciously.
A minute later, central midfielder Hannibal Mejbri blasted a long-ranger.
It shaved just wide of the left post.
Victory seemed certain, but frustration mounted with time.
‘Why won’t the goal come?’
Past the 15th minute, still nothing.
* * *
Technical area. Jeong-woo crossed his arms, whistling contentedly.
The pitch looked good.
“EPL teams do have that fast tempo. But they’re struggling.”
United still dominated.
From afar, it looked like bombs raining on Bolton.
Up close, not so much.
Jeong-woo was sure.
“See? He’s grinning.”
Dignity, blocking a shot with his body, flashed a heated smile.
United still showed organizational flaws.
More solo dribbles and long shots than penetrating passes.
Jeong-woo kept disrupting their cohesion with constant tweaks.
Not blocking all shots—just fatal zones, conceding harmless ones.
Position switches as bonus.
‘Nothing more confusing for opponents than position changes.’
And it paid off.
‘Look at ‘em. Pushing up and firing away, giving us counter chances.’
He’d predicted this if they survived the first half. Drilled a few tactics over two weeks.
Jeong-woo eyed the grass, chuckling.
“Fertilized our first-team pitch so much the last two weeks, flowers are blooming. Heh.”
Hee-won shot him a weary look.
“You even wore a mask...”
Undeniable.
Jeong-woo tailored tactics solely for United, drilled them relentlessly.
Distributed detailed profiles on expected starters for memorization.
Pulled up reserves for 11v13 or 15 scrums.
Even imported track athletes mid-drill for breakthroughs—players got wrecked.
Endurance focus too: run, puke, repeat.
Just then, the ball went out for a throw-in.
Jeong-woo turned to the stands.
Eye contact with Shyrus Muamba.
“Hey?”
He grinned and waved.
Raised a thumb skyward at chest height.
Muamba beamed, hoisting his cards high.
* * *
Second half, 20th minute.
Cameras panned to the kids raising another bizarre card display.
[Haha! It’s that lion? Cat? Whatever that one from before!]
Seconds later, back to the pitch.
Commentators followed.
The caster sounded puzzled.
[Bolton’s switched formation!]
True—Bolton shifted in a flash.
The second change from ten minutes ago.
4-1-1-3-1.
With big forward Shearer Kane up top.
Blink-and-miss-it stuff.
Crowd barely noticed.
Seconds ticked by.
Splash—!
The net rippled.
[What?]
The caster muttered.
In that “what” moment, the opener flew in.
Scorer: black-haired youth, Chong-ah Pak.
“I... I did it!”
Chong-ah stared in disbelief at his goal.
Keeper Tommy Stone mirrored the shock, unable to accept the concession.
It had all happened too suddenly.