Chapter 94
Chapter 94
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: Bolton Wanderers Here (4)
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A player’s decision to transfer can stem from a few key reasons.
Failure in the starting lineup battle, or a challenge to climb higher.
Or perhaps to secure a bigger paycheck, or to join the dream team they’ve always longed for.
“So, which one are you?”
Ma Jeong-woo asked, eyeing Owen across from him—the blond with his hair slicked back.
The cafeteria inside Bolton was empty save for the two of them.
His agent had stepped out, face twisted in displeasure.
Jeong-woo had insisted on speaking with Owen alone.
And Owen had agreed.
“Me...”
Owen hesitated to answer.
Truth be told, it was a tempting offer.
He could feel his form rising with every match he played.
That spark of hope reignited—an old dream, once faded, now flickering back to life.
Jeong-woo tilted his head slightly at Owen’s conflicted expression.
“All the kids at youth level start with the same dreams. They all charge into this world puffed up with visions of becoming global stars, rubbing shoulders and scrapping for every inch.”
But as time passes, as the age groups get tougher, those kids hit the wall of reality and cool off fast.
“Some drop to their knees, others turn away because the wall’s too damn high. Injuries are part of it, too. And bit by bit, those grand dreams start to shrink.”
Rustle, rustle—!
Beyond the cafeteria’s glass wall, a downpour had suddenly unleashed itself.
Jeong-woo reached for the cigarette pack on the table.
He pulled one out and tucked it between his teeth.
Owen was right there, so he didn’t light it.
He just chewed on it lightly out of habit as he continued.
“You were one of those cases. But not anymore. Fifteen games, twelve goals, eight assists. Pure attacking output? Fuck! Top of League One. Who wouldn’t want you?”
On stats alone, any team would be crazy not to.
Now Jeong-woo let out a low whistle with a grin.
“If I were running another club, I’d be at your door first thing transfer window opens. Talking big visions till I’m blue in the face. That’s how appealing you are.”
Owen lowered his head slightly.
“Sorry.”
To him, this seat felt like a millstone around his neck.
Just moments ago, he’d heard clubs were after him.
He needed time to think.
But facing Jeong-woo like this, it wasn’t greed pulling him—it was loyalty.
‘The gaffer... he believed in me.’
Owen knew it.
Without the man in front of him, he wouldn’t have come back like this.
Playing under him, growing, his love for Bolton had only deepened.
That made him feel even sorrier.
Selfish, too.
When the offers came, he hadn’t slammed the door—instead, he’d felt a thrill, then plunged into doubt.
Deep down, though, he hoped.
Hoped Bolton would counter with something to hold him.
Not greed—affection-fueled expectation.
How much did this club value him, when he cherished it so?
Deals always boiled down to treatment and vision, after all.
Jeong-woo added, cigarette dangling like candy.
“I know Championship sides are in the mix. And most offers beat what you’re getting at Bolton now.”
No need to check—he knew.
Bolton’s wage structure was bottom-tier even for League One.
Ever since Jeong-woo took over as owner in January, he’d been trimming the squad ruthlessly.
High earners over six thousand pounds—about nine hundred sixty-two million won—were all cut.
Unnecessary resources dumped, too.
“As you know, Adebayor’s our top earner now. You’re next.”
Cole Palmer and Frank Gerrard had solid loan deals with Man City covering fifty percent of wages.
Adebayor’s was around five thousand pounds—eight hundred million won—thanks to his star power and off-field revenue, game form aside.
‘Even that was a bargain.’
Owen had re-signed before the season for three thousand pounds—four hundred eighty-two million won.
Jeong-woo’s face soured suddenly, like he’d tasted something bitter.
“Truth is, outside Adebayor, we’re running the squad under three thousand pounds.”
On that front, the cost-efficiency was insane.
Bottom of the wage table, yet holding third in the league.
Flip side? Still broke.
Jeong-woo said it cold.
“We can’t match their money. No financial muscle to hold you with cash.”
“...”
“No plans to stretch wages just for you, either. Bump you up, and everyone else wants raises to match. That’s wage structure collapse.”
“This is fair as it stands.”
Adebayor’s pay was accepted—his European pedigree spoke for itself.
Owen’s face showed real shock at the unexpected words.
Watching him, Jeong-woo thought.
‘This guy’s mentality just rocketed to Andromeda, huh?’
Plenty more shots left.
* * *
January transfer window kicked off, and Sunderland went public right away.
[Sunderland interested in Bolton’s Owen Doyle!]
[Sunderland boss Corey Johnson: ‘Owen’s the perfect playmaker for the Black Cats!’]
[Sunderland bids 800k pounds—1.2 billion won—for Owen!]
Biggest League One news? Owen, hands down.
Even away from Bolton, he topped the attack points chart.
800k from Sunderland? Media outlets lost it.
Horwich radio jumped in.
[This season in the Championship, Sunderland’s offering Owen 800k! Fabrice Muamba, your take?]
[Big deal for sure. Last season start, Owen was barely scraping a bench spot in League One’s second tier.]
[One year, value skyrockets!]
[Yep. Post-injury, he was worth zilch.]
Creak—!
The executive chair groaned.
In his office, Jeong-woo tuned into the vintage radio speaker Park Hee-won had gifted him.
[Personally... I think he’s gone.]
[Why, Fabrice?]
[Owen’s always had big ambitions. Back when Bolton was in League Two, Chelsea came calling—he didn’t hesitate. He believes in his talent more than anyone.]
[And frankly... Bolton lacks the capital to fend off these temptations!]
Click—!
Jeong-woo reached over and killed the radio.
“Noise creeping in. Hee-won, that punk—hyped a fake as vintage.”
“No noise at all.”
Charlotte Emma, seated to his right, countered flatly.
Jeong-woo grumbled, nodding faintly.
“Then the outside’s too damn loud, mangling it.”
“Weather service says winds at 0-0.2 m/s. A calm day—have a great one.”
“Ah, that same weather service? Might rain, might cloud, might clear?”
Emma’s turquoise eyes stung his face.
“Ahem.”
Jeong-woo dodged her gaze, switching topics.
“Alright, let’s review presser questions later...”
“You’ll do whatever feels right anyway.”
“Yeah, so today I’ll try your scripted answers. Super polite, full respect.”
Bullshit, of course.
Her sharp gaze hit his cheek.
He ignored it.
Emma just stared as he flipped open the binder, feigning innocence.
Inside, she wondered.
‘Are you okay?’
She worried for him.
Owen stories nonstop lately.
Owen Doyle—team core, fans’ favorite.
No surprise Wanderers fans were pissed.
Sunderland’s media blitz, Bolton silent.
She’d just scrolled a forum’s live comments.
- Bolton’s a poor club! They’ll sell Owen without a fight!
- Silence means they’re haggling higher with Sunderland behind our backs!
- Like Ma owner... but keeping Owen? Slim odds. Sold legend Owen Doyle before, no qualms.
Most screamed keep him.
Some griped at Jeong-woo.
Idiots spewing racisMad Dog curses mixed in.
Controversy raging.
Squeeze—!
Recalling them, Emma’s slim fist on her thigh tightened.
‘How dare they...!’
Jeong-woo’s calm facade felt steady yet heartbreaking.
She rarely showed her feelings, but inwardly comforted him.
‘That seat weighs heavy... you feel it more lately.’
Bolton’s finances, results—his doing.
She’d seen him work nonstop for the club.
‘Always got Bolton on the brain.’
Now, he furrowed his brow, lost in thought.
Richard Geers had said once.
After those pensive looks, Bolton always leveled up.
As expected, Jeong-woo pondered deeply.
‘Post-interview... Korean BBQ? Samgyeopsal’s calling. Ahem.’
* * *
How much time passed?
FA Cup third round vs. Sunderland loomed—presser time.
Jeong-woo walked the corridor with Emma from the office.
Her worry lingered.
“Owen questions will dominate.”
She’d prepped answers.
Didn’t expect him to stay, though.
Even if he left—no biggie.
‘Attack points drop, sure...’
‘Jersey sales dip...’
‘Goal ratio might slip...’
“...”
Emma closed her eyes briefly, then opened them.
Decided not to think.
Bolton had owner-manager Ma Jeong-woo—bigger than Owen.
‘That’s enough.’
Then—
Halt—!
At the door, Jeong-woo stopped, looked down at her a step away, and grinned.
“Told you, no worries?”
“What’re you on about?”
“Worry’s plastered on your face since earlier. How’m I supposed to relax in the interview?”
Caught, Emma blinked innocently.
“Misunderstanding. I don’t do worry.”
She touched her left cheek with her left hand.
Faint frown on her smooth brow.
‘Cute.’
Even that was adorable.
“Nah, it’s on the right.”
Swipe.
Emma’s hand veered right, then froze, glaring at him.
“You’re teasing me?”
Jeong-woo chuckled at her, dropping the bombshell.
“Owen’s staying. Fifth-gen Wanderer—telling you first.”
“...”
Worry vanished from Emma’s pale face.