Chapter 67
Chapter 67
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 67
Chapter Title: Let's Secure the Real Gains (3)
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Queens Park Rangers' left-back, Morten Pedersen, was a squad player pushed out of the starting lineup race.
The new manager had opted for a more defensively minded player over the attacking Pedersen.
And from preseason onward, he'd sat out every single match, his relationship with the incoming boss completely soured.
It all stemmed from him airing his grievances to the press.
[The manager excluded me from the start. I never even had a choice.]
But now, after a winding path, Pedersen had transferred to Bolton Wanderers.
Not the second division, but the third suited him better, the former manager had sneered.
[Bradford City finished 11th last season, so they must have put in a strong showing.]
On the wall-mounted TV in one corner of the training center.
A young man with black hair was facing the camera, continuing his interview.
Dressed in a rumpled suit with his tie half-undone, he spoke on as if appearances meant nothing.
[We're 16th... Objectively speaking, in terms of squad strength or last season's standings, we're the underdogs. But we'll give it our all.]
The reporters fired questions nonstop.
[You've brought in Morten Pedersen from the English Championship League for about 400,000 pounds—roughly 6 billion won. You ran a crowdfunding campaign under that name to raise part of the fee, right?]
[Let's get this straight. We showed the player's value and invited supporters to invest in the club. The choice was entirely theirs.]
That had surprised Pedersen too.
He hadn't expected to be signed that way.
Fortunately, the transfer fee hadn't been exorbitant.
With only about two years left on his contract, 400,000 pounds had made it possible.
[Morten Pedersen dropped from the second division to the third... Doesn't that mean he's not cut out for the second? Word is several clubs turned him down.]
Ears perked, Pedersen could hear a few reporters nodding along.
[I think so too. Pedersen just wasn't second-division material.]
[They say he was a big reason QPR nearly got relegated.]
[Didn't the old manager spill the beans? Said Pedersen bombs forward and doesn't track back easily. Cost them at least ten goals, from what I heard.]
It was an undeniable truth.
His defensive skills lagged far behind his attacking prowess.
And QPR had barely avoided relegation the previous season.
Still, it felt unfair.
'It was the manager's orders.'
Overlap now and then and whip in crosses—that was the directive.
So when he pushed up to the opponent's back line and they countered... naturally, the blame fell on him.
No matter how hard he sprinted back to his zone, the opponent's forward was already stepping into the space he'd vacated.
'I even considered a move abroad...'
But the manager had shot that down too. Few teams wanted a second-division left-back languishing in the relegation zone anyway.
It had been a tough stretch for Morten Pedersen all around.
But it didn't last long.
That's when Ma Jeong-woo appeared.
He'd tracked down Pedersen's home and laid out the club's vision.
The more Pedersen heard, the more captivated he became.
The black-haired manager on TV was dreaming big—grandiose, even.
And detailed.
One plan even involved gold-plating the bathrooms.
'Arthritis and neuralgia relief, he said...'
Whatever the case, Pedersen hadn't needed much deliberation.
It was a first: the owner-manager coming to recruit him personally.
He'd watched the Man U match too, and it had moved him deeply.
After seven long years, a League One side—not just any, but Bolton—had beaten EPL giants Manchester United.
That alone made Bolton appealing.
Then it happened.
[Everyone's eyes must be glazing over.]
[Pardon?]
[Oh, my brain short-circuited. Sorry about that.]
"Pfft."
Pedersen burst out laughing.
Not just him—several players in the training center grinned like they'd seen it coming.
It was a familiar sight to them.
Pedersen had heard enough from his teammates to get the gist.
On TV, Jeong-woo leaned back in his chair, tilting his head cockily, oblivious to the press.
Then he said,
[Looking around, it seems some of you journalists came to the mixed zone just to trash Bolton players.]
[No way.]
[Oh, there's a way. You just casually downplayed Morten Pedersen's value to me. Oh, and you in the back. I heard that. Front-talk disguised as back-talk?]
[No, that's not—]
[Huh?]
[What's wrong?]
[I just heard from Bolton fans. They say we shouldn't bother interviewing you, you, and that balding reporter over there.]
[Well, I never!]
Throughout the interview, Jeong-woo had issued a warning to the reporters pelting him with tough questions.
He'd even raised his voice for Morten Pedersen—solely for him.
[This is just my opinion, but Morten Pedersen is undoubtedly a top player. Especially as a left-back—his attacking talent is innate. No right-back after overlapping? That's not an issue. If anything, I want to call out the previous manager. If the left-back overlaps and a counter hits the space he left... you cover it with teamwork.]
The captain, Dignity, had called Jeong-woo a fighting cock and spokesman for the teaMad Dog he'd been spot on.
[A team is a team, after all. For individuals to shine, it comes down to work ethic and teamwork meshing perfectly—like gears in a machine. Morten Pedersen was just in the wrong spot for his talents. Here, I can draw out every bit of his potential.]
He'd sparred with the press without hesitation, all for him.
Then came:
[Bradford City's manager took a jab at Bolton Wanderers' most threatening tactic—'Middle Eastern bed football.' Care to comment?]
A blatant, uncomfortable question followed.
The reporter Jeong-woo had called out pressed on doggedly.
The league opener interview was days away.
This was a pre-opening event: interviews and introducing the new signings.
To Pedersen, it sounded deliberately provocative.
But Jeong-woo wasn't fazed.
He blinked once, then countered with a puzzled look.
[That's a tactic for top teams, no?]
The asking reporter faltered, firing back.
[So you're saying Bradford isn't a top team? They finished 11th last season.]
[Last season, sure, Bradford was a top team. But this season? Different story.]
[Do you see Bolton's squad depth improving with those two loanees from Manchester City, making Dabs stronger too?]
Pedersen couldn't help but chuckle at the next response.
[We've been strong all along. Ever since I took over. And... if you look at just the 15 games since I arrived, I believe we're actually higher than them. Plus, with the squad depth you mentioned... unless their manager pulls off some flashy miracle in a few days, beating us will be tough. Might accelerate that hair loss too.]
That was it.
Jeong-woo stood up abruptly.
The interview wasn't over.
A few friendly reporters bid him familiar farewells.
Jeong-woo waved only to the Bolton-beat writers, ignoring the stunned hostiles, and turned away.
Of course, at the door, he paused and tossed one more line over his shoulder.
[Oh, one thing I have to say: We're a promotion-chasing team now. Write your headlines however—arrogant manager, whatever trash adjective fits.]
* * *
Jeong-woo bolted from the press room the moment the interview wrapped.
He froze at the threshold.
There stood Charlotte Emma, her blonde ponytail swaying demurely.
Jeong-woo shoved his hands in his pockets and asked shamelessly,
"You didn't hear that, right?"
"You didn't stick to the prepped answers."
Emma murmured softly.
Jeong-woo rolled his eyes leftward.
"Oh. Did I?"
He'd meant to follow Emma's interview script today, but his contrarian mode had kicked in again.
No helping it.
'They trashed my players' value like it was nothing.'
Even gossiped openly among themselves.
Just sharing the room with them had grated on him.
'These are the guys I need to build up and sell for profit.'
Then,
"Thank you."
Jeong-woo flinched, shoulders jumping.
He stood stock-still for seconds.
Charlotte Emma bowed lightly from the waist, expressing her gratitude.
A sudden thank-you?
'What the hell.'
Jeong-woo was thrown off by the unexpected gesture.
He didn't show it, though.
Never one to wear his heart on his sleeve.
Then, without a word, he brushed past her right side.
"Ah, starving. Let's hit the cafeteria. Spaghetti's on the menu today."
The awkwardness had him playing it cool, shuffling down the hall.
Emma straightened and watched his retreating back.
Her green eyes tracked his broad frame to the end.
She thought,
'At first... I only doubted him.'
She'd pegged Jeong-woo as no different from the previous owner.
Convinced he, like the old man, ignored her role and schemed only to sell the club.
But over time, her eyes had witnessed it.
Bolton evolving, day by day.
Across the league and beyond.
As a fifth-generation Wanderers heir, she now felt grateful.
She'd sensed it in that interview too.
'He's fighting for Bolton.'
It explained why people were rallying to him one by one.
He was the leader she'd sought.
That wide back, those powerful strides—brimming with charisma.
He seemed lighthearted, yet every word carried weight.
Right then—
Screech!
Jeong-woo, mid-stride, slipped and tumbled backward.
He floated airborne for a split second, then crashed down,
Splat!
Landing butt-first, his face erupted like a volcano as he bellowed,
"Damn it! Who the hell spilled a drink in the hallway?! You fucking prick! I'd slap you silly with a rotten fish and call it mercy, you bald-ass bastard!"
"..."
Emma paused, thoughts halted.
It was Korean—and sounded like swearing.
* * *
A bright morning.
"Over here. Ah, that one goes there!"
Facilities manager Thompson circled the food corner, barking orders.
Workers hustled machines into place at his coMad Dog.
In the newly finished interiors, freshly hired chefs tested dishes.
Marketing lead Daniel Shah was there too.
"Mm. This is good."
Shah jolted at the Korean tteokbokki in a palm-sized cup.
Beside him, displays manager Camilla Emily nibbled kimbap.
"This is tasty too."
Emily's bright smile flushed Shah's cheeks.
They soon burned hotter.
"Try this!"
Emily beamed, offering her half-eaten roll.
Shah squeezed his eyes shut and opened wide.
Love bites.
Watching from afar, Hee-won muttered coolly,
"Good times, good times. Back in my day, my wife looked like an angel from heaven. Heh."
His hands never stopped, though.
Under orders from his quartermaster wife, he scrubbed dishes furiously.
"Guess Korean food's blowing up in England too?"
Hee-won had only learned from Jeong-woo.
'Not everyone's raving, but plenty love it. That new Korean snack bar chain just opened here—lines out the door.'
He hadn't even known they existed in the UK.
The food corner would feature K-food alongside spaghetti, steaks, and more.
Starting tomorrow.
"The event..."
Yes.
Tomorrow: Bolton's fan event for the Wanderers faithful.
Jeong-woo's idea—to build harmony between club and supporters.
Boost the local economy too, he'd said.
"Wow~"
Hee-won let out a sigh of awe.
Jeong-woo had tasked marketing and facilities with installing mini-screens around the big scoreboard and perimeter.
Now, Daniel Shah—fresh off tteokbokki—watched highlights on one.
Hee-won tsked softly.
"Mostly Man U highlights."
Solskjær yapping at the ref before red-carding took up hefty chunks.
Cut to Jeong-woo smirking.
Hee-won narrowed his eyes.
'Come to think of it... kids we beat in games always lost it for real.'
Jeong-woo's trolling was next-level—even bled through games.
A chat with Jeong-woo flashed back.
'Whoa, Hee-won. One game vs. Man U and revenue skyrockets? Might as well push the local derby angle full throttle.'
'How? They won't even glance our way. Sure, they might be pissed from that friendly.'
'Make 'em notice. Poke the ribs, tickle 'em, yank nose hairs. They'll deny we're rivals—'Bolton who?'—but it'll get under their skin. Right?'
The memory hit because the highlight ended with a Photoshopped portrait of smiling Solskjær looming large.
Hee-won marveled again.
"Crazy bastard."
Lucky he wasn't the enemy.