Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Mad Dog (6)
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Ryan Enby peered into the press conference room through the half-open door.
There sat Jeong-woo, having just taken his seat, fielding questions from the reporters.
He was utterly unflappable, whether before or after a match.
As if he'd known from the start that this was how it would end.
‘Does this even make sense?’
Ryan Enby held his breath.
Yet he couldn't hide the shock etched across his face.
Final score: 4-3.
Bolton Wanderers had pulled off a dramatic comeback against Jimmy Jones's Charlton Athletic.
With five minutes left in stoppage time, they'd resorted to their signature park-the-bus tactics to run down the clock.
But to Enby, those tactics weren't the least bit bothersome.
‘It's the winner's privilege, after all...!’
Some called it dirty football, but if this was the victor's luxury, so be it.
And Enby had seen it.
Even as Jimmy Jones, riding the wave of MAD tactics, tried shift after tactical shift to turn the game around, he'd ultimately been brought to his knees.
Post-match, Jones had skipped the interview altogether and left the stadium.
‘Jimmy Jones, basing his play on MAD tactics, crumbling this easily.’
The score was 4-3, but dig into the details and Bolton had dominated utterly.
Enby simply couldn't believe that Jimmy Jones—so masterful at wielding MAD tactics that he practically worshipped them—had been outfoxed by Manager Ma's strategy.
Yet everything he'd just witnessed was undeniable truth.
He'd seen it with his own eyes, felt it in his bones.
‘The way he shut down their next tactical move felt like he could see right through them.’
It was like wrapping your hand around an opponent's just as they went to draw their sword from its sheath, stopping them cold.
Jimmy Jones's Charlton had been completely stifled for the entire second half.
‘Moving exactly as Manager Ma intended.’
Like puppets on strings.
Even Charlton's attacks flowed precisely as Ma had orchestrated.
Above all, throughout the match, Ryan Enby had felt goosebumps prickling his skin in waves.
At some point, the scent of Mad Dog had wafted strongly from Jeong-woo.
‘No way...!’
In that moment, Enby harbored a noble suspicion: that the genius Mad Dog himself stood right before him in Jeong-woo.
It was then.
One reporter griped about the five-plus minutes of park-the-bus play.
Claiming it was low-class soccer and that the Asian was resorting to such tactics—dripping with racism.
Jeong-woo, slouched crookedly in his chair, casually raised a fist.
“Do you know what this is? A fist potato. It's an insult. For you. Fuck off, hope you go bald.”
Enby took a smooth step back.
That sight didn't look noble in the slightest.
‘Yeah... not him after all.’
Indeed.
True Mad Dog would have dismantled the guy logically.
* * *
Bolton Wanderers notched four straight wins, surging to third place.
“Fucking hell.”
But Jeong-woo slumped into the creaky executive chair and spat a curse first.
Grimacing, he lit the cigarette wedged between his teeth.
“Hoo—!”
He exhaled a plume of gray smoke, then scowled deeply.
“Four straight wins, and we're not first? What the hell?”
Third place, though.
Hull City and Plymouth Argyle stood firmly ahead.
Hull City hadn't just won four in a row—they'd kept clean sheets the whole way.
“How airtight is their defense?”
Still, third place for a team like Bolton was praise-worthy.
The media, days after the Charlton Athletic match, kept pumping out articles.
[Bolton Wanderers! Topple Charlton with Backdoor Soccer!]
[Bolton on the Rise Since Man Utd Win! How Far Will They Go?]
The players got their due too.
[Owen Precise! 3 Goals in 4 Matches! Bolton's Star!]
[Star Pak! Blazing Start to the Season!]
Shearer Kane's debut goal in four matches drew spotlight.
From an impossible position, no less.
Now media and fans alike buzzed with anticipation.
Just how high would Bolton climb?
“Hoo—!”
Jeong-woo puffed smoke through his nose, cigarette in his teeth, muttering.
“Promotion, obviously.”
The squad around Dabs was thickening by the day.
The bigger and tighter the roster, the more tactical options opened up.
Of course, a few players still needed polishing.
One was Emmanuel Adebayor.
* * *
Just shy of 170cm tall.
Chubby cheeks.
Neat black hair.
Pudgy hands.
Chicken President CEO Kim Solo was too busy soothing his pounding heart with one hand on his chest.
‘What the hell is this?’
And now he sat in a restaurant in Bolton, Greater Manchester.
Somehow, he'd become part of the Wanderers family.
‘Such an appealing team.’
He'd known of Bolton before, but never loved it like this.
Yet with his own eyes, he'd seen it.
The underdog topple Manchester United, then rack up win after win in league play.
He'd even caught the Charlton Athletic match live.
Right after, Solo was blown away.
‘That was some fiery soccer...!’
It cleared the soul right out.
Now Kim Solo stood on the cusp of a sponsorship deal with Bolton.
Business demanded cool-headedness, of course.
‘As a fan, I'd love to throw more at them... but realistically, a one-year short-term deal feels right.’
If Bolton's hype lasted, great—but if not, it'd just be money down the drain.
‘League One popularity swings hard with results.’
Drop in form, drop in profile—no reason to sponsor.
This was judgment as a businessman, not a supporter.
Yet Solo couldn't hide his excitement now.
He was about to meet Bolton owner and manager Ma Jeong-woo.
‘Ma Jeong-woo...!’
Maybe from all the Nutube appearances.
Koreans were huge fans of Ma Jeong-woo.
Not just cameos, but raw glimpses into his life as owner and manager, shared freely.
To Solo, the most moving was the locker room talk before Manchester United.
‘Today, we're jacking up your value. So go get sold next season—or the one after...!’
Goosebumps even now.
The swelling epic BGM afterward nailed it.
Nutube's Ma was the epitome of rugged charm.
A black-haired Asian dominating foreigners? Koreans fell hard.
It was then.
“Huh...!”
Solo glanced casually—then gaped.
‘He's huge...!’
Far sturdier than in videos, a man strode through the lounge toward him.
Hair slicked back, furrowed brow.
Nearly 190cm tall...!
Arched brows, sharp eyes.
Black suit, hands jammed in pockets, striding confidently.
A sudden rush like raging waters.
Impeccable suit, yet utterly untidy vibe.
No—more like...
‘A beast...!’
His mere presence oozed aura.
Farbeer's "Don't Touch" played fully in Solo's head.
His walk was pure swagger.
Even Solo caught it, adrenaline surging contagiously.
His water tasted like protein shake now.
A Solo habit: sizing up vibe and linking a song.
Soon Jeong-woo reached him, extended a massive hand, grinned.
“Ma Jeong-woo. Honored to meet you.”
“Ah, yes. Kim Solo!”
Solo shot up, gripped the hand.
First impression: gangster.
Like he'd come for illegal arms deals.
The Chicken President CEO meeting was scheduled.
Their initial 400,000-pound (600 million KRW) offer was plenty satisfying.
But Jeong-woo thought:
New sponsorship era—squeeze every pound possible.
‘From what Exec Director said on company size... we can pull more, no sweat. Wait, did I do something wrong?’
The Chicken President CEO across from him flinched at eye contact.
Staring outright? Eyes darted away.
Twenty minutes ticked by.
They'd eaten, exchanged greetings, light chat.
Yet Solo seemed uneasy.
‘Dressed up for once. Do I look that off?’
Hee-won had said the same.
Suit suits the man? Nah, follows his nature.
What nature? Heron, he'd snapped.
‘Bad bastard.’
Now he suspected Hee-won spread the "heron" nickname.
Solo, meanwhile, trembled like meeting an idol.
‘Damn.’
Way more solid and charismatic than Nutube.
Then Jeong-woo cut to the chase.
“I'd like Chicken President franchise in our Bolton University Stadium.”
“...Pardon?”
Kim Solo, expecting plain sponsorship, blinked wide.
Jeong-woo pressed on with a smile.
“Exactly that. Time to enter the UK market. Your stock's soaring in Korea, and K-food's booming here too.”
Jeong-woo leaned closer over the table.
A massive presence descended; Solo held his breath.
Undeterred, Jeong-woo twitched a brow, whispered like sharing a secret.
“Straight up: it's an opportunity. Not just tossing it out there. Sign with us, and we're family—we'll back you every way.”
From then on.
Jeong-woo unleashed tongue wizardry like PSG Junior Neymar's flair.
Scoop turns, phantom dribbles, McGeady spins, Rabona fakes—fluid poetry.
Ten minutes later?
Kim Solo gaped, soul fled.
‘What the...!’
By his words, Solo had already conquered the world.
Yet oddly, it rang true.
Not pie-in-sky at all.
Jeong-woo straightened, nodded, smiled.
“Life's a gamble, they say. A challenge. So... take the shot. One franchise in University Stadium? Worst case, minimal bleed for you. It's a test run. See if it sticks. Via our stadium.”
“Failure odds are tiny. Weekly crowds top 60,000 easy.”
“Plus Nutube promo.”
‘Cool as hell.’
Now Kim Solo was smitten, man to man.
He'd always idolized one type since kid days.
Beast-mode men.
Tried kickboxing, every sport.
But born short, soft-faced—far from cool.
Couldn't overcome genes.
Yet Jeong-woo? Pure awe.
‘He's the dream...!’
No hesitation.
Dominant, just like Nutube.
“You decided on sponsorship after our official Nutube, right?”
“Haha. Of course.”
Solo played it cool.
Undeniable fact.
Any Korean: watch Bolton Nutube, claim Wanderers.
Jeong-woo nodded, struck.
“Yeah. Nutube alone's killer promo. Stadium boards too. Paris? Hell, Chicken President can do it. Use us as launchpad. Soon, it'll be Bolton holy ground.”
Irresistible, even repeated.
‘Franchise...! Paris...! Bolton holy ground...!’
Unthought-of angle.
Test in University? Ideal.
Plus, Solo was hooked on the tongue dribbles.
Jeong-woo slipped in the real hook.
“So... not 400,000, but 600,000 pounds (970 million KRW) sponsorship. Nutube ad's separate contract. Don't sweat costs—I'm not stingy.”