Chapter 77
Chapter 77
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 77
Chapter Title: Mad Dog (4)
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Bolton Conference Room.
By now, this place had become a cheering spot for the staff.
Even now, the office manager, Donald Victor, was wearing a Bolton uniform, veins bulging in his neck as he shouted.
“Ooooh! Bolton! Win this!”
And his jersey number was 10.
Owen Precise’s number, exactly.
Daniel Shai gave an awkward smile as he watched Donald Victor’s cheering fervor not die down even during halftime.
“You could take a breather for a moment...”
“Whaaat? What’d you sayyy? Ooooh Boltonnnn—!”
“Ah, no, nothing. Heh heh.”
On the other hand, Shai was wearing number 11.
Tony Pak’s number.
The other staff members present were all decked out in their favorite Bolton jerseys, each one.
Of course, only Charlotte Emma remained in her black pantsuit skirt and white blouse.
“Hey, Team Leader, who’re you rooting for?”
Donald Victor paused his yelling to ask.
Charlotte Emma answered softly.
“I’m rooting for Bolton.”
“Come on~ Everyone roots for Bolton. But this is a bet.”
In fact, they had all joined a bet.
Not on goals, but on which Bolton player would get the highest rating.
The reason Donald Victor was in such high spirits was that Owen was coming alive more and more as time went on.
Emma shook her head firmly once.
“I never said I’d join the bet.”
Just then, the players entered ahead of the second half.
“Oweeeen—!”
Victor whipped his head around and let out a scream-like roar.
In the meantime, a small arc formed at the corner of Emma’s mouth.
Because Ma Jeong-woo was walking out behind the entering players, hands shoved in his pants pockets.
Her cheeks flushed faintly.
‘Impressive.’
She marveled inwardly, over and over.
Just a moment ago, when the score was 3-1 against them, the atmosphere here had sunk considerably.
But Bolton had equalized in just a few minutes.
Charlotte Emma had seen it.
His changed tactics were working effectively.
Then, she quietly lowered her head.
On her demurely folded knees, the Ma doll glared wickedly at her with a sly grin.
Emma murmured to herself.
‘I’m cheering for you.’
For some reason, ever since Ma Jeong-woo had taken the reins as coach, she hadn’t felt like they would lose.
* * *
Second half, 7th minute.
“Not bad at all. There’s a reason they won the Middle East league.”
In the technical area, Ma Jeong-woo muttered.
But his mouth was whistling with a smile.
‘They still haven’t found a countermeasure, huh.’
They had taken a hit right after the tactical change.
The score had widened to 3-1.
‘That was close to a friendly own goal from the sudden shift.’
They had been slow to react.
But Bolton had scored two goals in mere minutes to tie it up.
“Might as well open the door if they’re jumping the fence anyway...”
Beside him, Park Hee-won muttered in admiration.
Ma Jeong-woo replied smugly.
“If you push the defensive line that high, the space behind is bound to open up.”
As he said, Ma Jeong-woo had deliberately yielded space.
Even the Gegenpressing that once rocked the world worldwide had struggled with that behind-space exposure.
But that was only temporary.
Jurgen Klopp had soon adjusted the backline height to check infiltrations behind.
Park Hee-won added, looking at Ma Jeong-woo with genuine pride.
“But you kept the height and chose to yield only the flanks.”
Ma Jeong-woo nodded slightly.
The reason for keeping the defensive line high was simple.
To lay out numerical superiority in the opponent’s half and press.
“The more numbers you have near their goal, the more passing and shooting lanes open up.”
But this was just the foundation.
Soon, Ma Jeong-woo muttered meaningfully.
“A bit later, we’ll drop back and let them think they’re something special.”
* * *
One corner of the stands.
“You have to take that huge risk of the space behind.”
A man narrowed his brows, staring at the pitch.
To him, Bolton’s game management looked like a gamble.
Hadn’t they pushed the line too high, where one mistake could expose the back completely?
Just up to halftime, the acquaintances beside him had all voiced concerns.
But now, they were speechless.
“Th-that...!”
“Does that even make sense?”
Exclamations burst out naturally.
One acquaintance, a die-hard Addicks fan dragged reluctantly to the away section, now seemed glad he came.
‘Amazing. Truly amazing.’
Bolton’s Manager Ma had minimized the risky behind-space.
Without even lowering the defensive line.
He had intentionally yielded only the left and right flanks, not the central behind.
Honestly, there had been doubts at first.
‘I get the plan. They’re dictating the direction of the opponent’s attacks themselves.’
But steering the opponent’s attack direction and method as planned was no easy feat.
But then, the man chuckled while watching the pitch.
[Charlton Athletic! Unlike the first half, they’re struggling quite a bit in the second!]
[With Bolton pushing their line deep, Charlton’s passing play seems to be suffering!]
Even long forward passes were met by Bolton players charging in like they’d been waiting.
Even if space was yielded...
[Didier Ramsey! He breaks down the left flank but slows down gradually!]
The man in the stands saw it.
Ramsey’s face twisting.
During the breakthrough, Bolton players nearby had swarmed like moths to a flame, pressing relentlessly.
Holding out under that pressure was praiseworthy.
But in the eyes of the man, a team analyst, something else stood out.
“Pressing only the flanks on purpose.”
They had blocked Ramsey from even attempting an underlap, sealing off the flank completely.
Instead, they left space to advance forward.
In the end, Ramsey, not known for it, lofted a cross.
Thwack-!
Dominic Shield headed it clear, leading straight to Bolton’s counter.
Tony Pak was already waiting on the halfway line and surged forward quickly.
Suddenly, the man furrowed his brow.
This tactic was something he’d never seen before... but it felt familiar somehow.
* * *
Second half, 20th minute.
Jimmy Jones’s crumpled expression showed no sign of easing.
Grit-!
His clenched teeth didn’t part.
‘What the hell is this...!’
When the score reached 3-1, he’d been certain of victory.
But no.
Pooosh-!
At the sound of splitting air, Jones flinched, body trembling.
Owen Precise, now up to the penalty arc, unleashed a cannon shot.
It thankfully skimmed just wide of the goal, but Jimmy Jones’s confusion and rage wouldn’t subside.
‘While Pak’s run dragged our players to the left flank, Owen slipped into the gap...!’
Right after, Owen had fired a precise shot unpressured.
Of course, their attacks were sporadic.
They countered with one attack for every four of ours—one counter, that was it.
The problem was that one attack was far more threatening than their four.
‘How is this possible?’
His trembling pupils turned to the halfway line.
Charlton players were targeting the flanks as per his instructions.
In the process, Jimmy had opted for individual dribbles over passing play.
With the opponent positioned dangerously, forward passes could lead straight to counters.
Fortunately, Charlton had plenty of great dribblers.
And this choice had been right so far.
Tap, tap-!
[Aaah! Didier Ramsey! Sprinting down the left flank!]
From Ramsey to wingers like Chris Atkins, they dashed down the flanks whenever space appeared.
Their physicality was top-notch too.
Thud, thud-!
[Didier Ramsey! Bravely shrugging off pressure, reaching right up to the corner flag!]
But now Jimmy Jones’s facial muscles twitched on both sides.
‘Why?’
By the time Ramsey broke through laboriously, Bolton’s defense was already set.
The flanks were still open, as ever.
They hadn’t even seemed to exert much effort.
Strangely, a chill ran down his spine.
Even his confidence from moments ago had vanished.
Jimmy Jones himself barely noticed.
One thing was clear...
‘At this rate, our attacks will dull...!’
Charlton had no players strong at crosses or set pieces.
Second half, 28th minute.
‘Boss was right!’
David Dignity, orchestrating the center, slyly lifted the corner of his mouth.
He could see it in their eyes.
Charlton was clearly rattled, unlike the first half.
Then, Dignity swung his right foot powerfully to the right.
Tap-!
Charlton’s attacking midfielder, Nigel Rolland, who’d been trying to burst behind him, got clipped on the shin and tumbled forward.
Crash-!
“Gah!”
Rolland whipped his head around, face furious.
Dignity extended one hand in a sorry gesture.
It was an intelligent foul.
Ma Jeong-woo had said.
‘Leave the flanks open, but if there’s any central penetration, just foul to stop it.’
They played under his instructions every match, yet he was amazed anew every day.
Ma Jeong-woo assigned the most detailed roles to ensure no one was sidelined.
And today, Frank Gerrard in central midfield and he were like navigators.
‘Navigators...’
Navigators steering not just allies but the opponent’s direction too.
It had sounded absurd at first, but after days of drilling, it clicked.
Up top, Shearer Kane and Tony Pak had navigator roles too.
In defense, they narrowed the center intervals for zonal marking.
Even then, Dignity recalled Ma Jeong-woo’s words.
‘Charge passing play when it enters the right zone. Allow flank dribbles. Eventually, they’ll go full dribble—they’ll think it works.’
As predicted, Charlton was stuck in a one-note attack.
With flanks wide open, they dribbled straight there.
No pressure even crossing the halfway line.
But the moment they passed it—Bolton’s pressure hit.
Thwack-!
“Urk!”
Charlton’s Didier Ramsey gritted his teeth.
Predictably, central midfielder David Dignity latched from the flank, shoulder-barging.
But Ramsey held on.
He even reached the opponent’s defensive line.
‘Damn!’
But his face was crumpled.
Stepping into the defensive line killed his momentum.
His feet stuck to the ground, if only briefly.
Dignity, who’d been pressing, now kept two steps distance, just shadowing.
The right-back joined to cover space.
‘What the...!’
It had been like this for a while.
He was running free, yet it felt like his legs were bound.
Tap, tap-!
He tried forcing an outside cut,
Thud!
“Guh!”
Tap-!
“Eek!”
But Dignity, the fullback Delicate’s harsh pressure sent him staggering back.
The funny thing: they’d drop into zonal as soon as he backed off, waiting for him to dive in.
‘These crazy bastards...!’
For Didier Ramsey, stress boiled over.
Meanwhile, Jimmy Jones’s recent order flashed.
‘Break through with dribbles no matter what! No crosses!’
Simple reason.
He wasn’t great at crossing himself.
Handing it off could spark a counter.
But now, Ramsey vented inwardly.
‘That’s all we’ve got left!’
“They’re starting to realize, bit by bit.”
In the technical area, Ma Jeong-woo’s eyes gleamed sharper than ever.
“That they’re stuck in a quagmire. They’ll thrash around soon enough.”
He added.
“In the end, Charlton will lead us right into a razor-sharp counter.”
Thwack-!
No breakthrough with dribbles—Ramsey finally lofted a cross toward the box.
Right on cue.