Chapter 96
Chapter 96
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 96
Chapter Title: Bolton Wanderers Here (6)
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“W-what the... ugh...!”
Sunderland manager Corey Johnson gaped for a few seconds before his throat tightened up.
He couldn’t even speak properly.
It was a shot too unbelievable to accept, even with his own eyes.
Waaaaaaaaah-!
The chant for Wanderers was already swelling through Sunderland’s home ground, Stadium of Light.
Even some of the Black Cats stared at Owen in stunned admiration, despite the early concession.
A whopping 43 meters—nearly from the halfway line—a thunderbolt long-range strike.
Owen, still rooted to the spot where he’d unleashed the shot, nodded his head in a little performance.
“Crazy...!”
Sunderland’s playmaker, Dave Phillips, muttered as he watched Owen from nearby.
His gaze was that of someone staring at a monster.
At the same time, a recent conversation with manager Corey Johnson flashed in his mind.
‘Dave, you’re the undisputed starter, so just play your normal game without worrying.’
Rumors had swirled for days about a new competitor for his position.
That’s why Dave Phillips had gone straight to the manager for reassurance about his spot.
Right after, Bolton’s Owen Presser became the media buzz.
And Phillips had felt relieved.
No matter how talented someone was at League One level, they wouldn’t challenge him.
Hadn’t Corey Johnson said as much?
‘Good passing and shooting, but... low mobility. His performance will vary wildly depending on the opponent.’
In other words, he was just stamina-management fodder.
Of course, Phillips knew his shooting was top-notch.
But Phillips was convinced.
No matter how good, he couldn’t outshine him.
Hadn’t Corey Johnson said it? Sunderland’s undisputed playmaker was Dave Phillips alone.
“Fuck...!”
But now, a bewildered curse slipped from his lips.
Just that clothesline-straight shot told him everything.
‘I can’t hit it that hard.’
And it was precise, too.
At least in shooting, Owen had the edge.
* * *
The early goal had community sites flooded with Wanderers fans.
- : Oh ho! Our Wanderers are turning the Stadium of Light green again~!
- : What? These guys are really the 5th-place Championship team? Why are they playing so poorly?
Korean fans watching via a YouTuber’s live commentary were ecstatic.
- <LifeIs90Minutes> : Owen’s the real deal! Owen’s the one! Upload that long-range rocket video quick!
- <BlueDragon> : From what I see, our Ma Jeong-woo knows Owen’s true value. That 3-minute show in the first half alone is worth 7 million pounds (11.2 billion KRW)!
- <SoccerLife10Years> : I just got a rush and bought 10 official Owen jerseys from the site!
Self-proclaimed Black Cats, meanwhile, sneered.
They even seemed emboldened.
- <DieHardSunderland> : First half’s only 3 minutes in, babies. One fluke goal and you’re celebrating victory? Even a stray dog would laugh lololol
<YoannAlmande> : You idiots. All pride because you’ve got money to burn lolol
<DieHardSunderland> : Better a rich sucker than a broke bum.
- <MongoMary> : Do the Wanderers kids even know how to play soccer? It’s 90 minutes of regulation time, folks. Plus stoppage, even longer. Get hyped over one goal and you’ll get burned bad.
<IAmMaJeongwoo> : Yeah, sure. Give up on the FA Cup and focus on the league promotion battle.
<MongoMary> : Why the informal tone, punk? What kind of shitshow is this? How old are you, asshole.
<IAmMaJeongwoo> : Yeah, I’m 45. You piece of shit.
In the end, the chat turned into a mudslinging war between the two sets of supporters.
* * *
“We should stick Luke O’Nien on Owen for man-marking.”
“No way. Luke O’Nien needs to mark Paq as planned! We don’t know when he’ll sneak into the box...!”
A brief argument erupted on the Sunderland bench.
The coaches bickered over tactical adjustments.
Meanwhile, Corey Johnson, who’d been rattled early on, quickly regained composure and cut in decisively.
“He’s low-mobility anyway. Like Aaron Coach said, put a man-marker on Owen—but not Luke O’Nien. Have Linden Gooch handle it.”
Linden Gooch was Sunderland’s kangta, their tenacious central midfielder.
Short in stature but with tireless work rate, specialized in interceptions and pressing.
At the same time, Corey Johnson was impressed.
‘Owen’s shooting is this good...!’
Up close, he seemed even more appealing.
‘That’s why Bolton’s manager keeps starting him despite the mobility issues.’
His shooting was cheat-code level.
And yet, Johnson was confident.
‘We’ll win in the end.’
Owen’s thunderbolt had shaken them momentarily, but that was it.
The class difference was too vast.
Among Sunderland’s starters, five were worth 7 million pounds (11.2 billion KRW) each.
Bolton’s most expensive? Maybe 2 million pounds (3.2 billion KRW)—Cole Palmer and Frank Gerrard, both on loan anyway.
The rest were 400k-pound (600 million KRW) types, known only in League One.
Plus, Johnson knew Bolton’s Achilles’ heel.
‘Just mark Owen.’
He’d studied their games closely.
Owen was always central to their goals.
Even without a direct assist, he played the pivot role like a third assist.
Today confirmed it.
He hadn’t gone man-to-man early because he trusted his setup.
A touch of complacency, too.
Owen’s passing and shooting wouldn’t shine against Sunderland.
But he’d been wrong.
Johnson had to admit it.
“Linden!”
And so, he immediately called for his central midfielder, Linden Gooch.
From the moment he got the order, Gooch shadowed Owen like glue.
It wasn’t tough.
Marking Owen left Gooch baffled.
‘His feet are practically glued to the turf.’
For over three minutes, he stuck close, but Owen barely moved—a step or two from halfway, maybe three or four at most.
‘They want me marking this guy...?’
Sure, the mid-to-long-range threat was real.
But for Gooch, man-marking instructions felt unsatisfying.
Tying up one player limited his own freedom.
Still, he was confident he could shut Owen down.
‘Just staying close does the job.’
The guy barely moved anyway.
It was yawn-worthy.
* * *
“He’s probably thinking it right about now.”
From the technical area, Jeong-woo muttered, seated on the folding chair.
“‘Do I really have to mark this guy?’”
Even to Jeong-woo, Owen looked rooted to the pitch, legs planted like trees.
And as Sunderland issued the man-marking order, Jeong-woo instructed his side.
No passes to Owen until further notice.
“Linden Gooch, right? Whatever, he looks confused.”
Beside him, Hee-won grinned.
Jeong-woo chuckled softly in agreement.
“Owen’s doing nothing. But with passes, runs, and interceptions flying around him, it’s got him flinching.”
As he said, Jeong-woo deliberately sent Quick Floyd—dribbling wizard—drizzling near Gooch.
To make him twitch and react.
In that short time, Gooch’s eyes had already been pulled away multiple times.
Jeong-woo crossed his legs and murmured.
“Wonder why Owen’s League One’s second in goals and fourth in assists.”
Owen’s low mobility was public knowledge now.
Yet he still dominated League One.
“Because they know and still can’t stop him.”
Simple reason.
Their entire tactic revolved around Owen.
Like just now, Quick Floyd charging at Gooch to steal his gaze.
Around Owen, teammates swarmed like moths, constantly pulling aggro.
Screen plays kept markers at bay.
“That’s why we’ve got high-work-rate David Dignity and Frank Gerrard near Owen.”
Bodyguards, essentially.
Or they’d launch sequential counters from the flanks.
Sunderland couldn’t ignore the extra threats.
“It’s aggro with teeth.”
Let Bolton players advance unchecked while marking Owen, and it’d be a headache.
How much time passed?
Jeong-woo’s sharp eyes, fixed on Gooch, flashed.
“That guy’s stance is drifting outward.”
He subtly raised a hand.
David Dignity spotted it first and roared.
“Raaaaah!”
Tactical shift signal.
Suddenly, Gooch’s brow furrowed.
Thwop-!
From just past halfway, Owen turned his back and received his first ball froMad Dogefender.
Gooch darted into the left channel.
“Damn it... shit!”
But Gooch halted, cursing in disbelief.
He’d lunged the moment Owen received, but Owen—still back-to—had whipped a diagonal outside-of-the-left-foot pass.
‘Fast...!’
The timing was spot-on.
Thwack-!
At the right touchline’s end, Bolton’s Delicate received and overlapped.
Thud-!
Then Frank Gerrard burst forward into the space on Gooch’s right.
Suddenly, Gooch sensed the situation flipping.
“What the...!”
For a split second, he twitched toward the movement—nearly dragged along.
No, he’d already taken steps without realizing.
Thwang-!
Delicate, driving forward, spun sideways and lofted a cross to the center.
Whoosh-!
In the gap as Gooch’s head turned, Owen had sidestepped four paces, then advanced four more.
Plop-!
The low-arcing ball dropped right at Owen’s feet.
“Linden—!”
From the technical area, Corey Johnson yelled desperately.
Gooch felt a chill down his spine and spun late.
His face crumpled.
‘I got faked!’
Thinking fast, he flung his right leg out desperately.
But Owen’s pass timing was quick again.
Pwoong-!
“Ugh!”
Gooch’s jaw dropped.
At the same time, Sunderland defender Tom Flanagan—positioned in the right penalty area—flinched.
Thwack-!
Paq had suddenly burst from the left channel toward the halfway line? No—into the box.
“Where!”
Flanagan whirled in panic, lunging for Paq’s collar.
‘Got him—!’
Flanagan was one of the Championship’s quickest, strongest right-backs.
Good reader, too.
He grabbed Paq’s wrist as he broke forward, already plotting ahead.
Unbalance him, close the gap, shoulder-charge him off the line!
But in under a second, he realized his mistake.
Shwoosh-!
“What?”
Paq was flung backward like sucked into a vacuum, wrist yanked.
Crash-!
Just then, Owen’s chipped ball bounced three paces ahead of Paq and rolled over the dead ball line.
Tweeeeeet-!
The ref sprinted with whistle and outstretched arms.
Flanagan’s face went ashen.
The ref was pointing to the spot.
[PK—! What is this! 10th minute of the first half! Just 7 minutes after the opener, Bolton wins a penalty!]
Watching, Jeong-woo flung his arms wide toward the pitch and shouted.
“See? They know and still can’t stop him. That guy? For 800k pounds (1.2 billion KRW)? Damn, that wouldn’t even buy one of Owen’s ears!”