Chapter 99
Chapter 99
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 99
Chapter Title: Bolton Wanderers Here (9)
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Score 3:1.
From that moment on, Sunderland's manager, Corey Johnson, began to flail desperately.
[Midfielder Linden Gooch and defender Dennis Cirkin coming on for Sunderland!]
[Oh! Bringing them in and throwing on Ross Stewart and Alex Emery as a bold move!]
[Both players are strikers...!]
[Going all-out attack to chase a goal and equalize in the remaining time?]
Just as the commentators said.
‘I can’t let it end like this!’
Corey Johnson belatedly realized he had been dancing to Bolton’s tune.
After going up 2-0, Bolton had defended relentlessly, but then, right after subbing in Adebayor, they unleashed a sudden total football-style attack.
Watching from the technical area, Corey Johnson felt like a ferocious wave was crashing into Sunderland’s half.
“Damn it...!”
Just the thought made his rage boil over, grinding his teeth to the point of shattering.
But the game wasn’t over yet.
Johnson still firmly believed they held the edge in attack against Bolton.
In this dire situation, he even stripped the midfield and defensive support entirely, deploying five strikers up front...!
Thud-!
“Daaaanveeer!”
However, Corey Johnson let out a shriek just two minutes after issuing the substitution orders.
Sunderland’s center-back Dan Burn was tightly marking Adebayor at the edge of the penalty arc.
Even so, he couldn’t help but feel rattled.
‘What kind of body is this...!’
Despite shoving his upper body in from behind Adebayor’s back like he was wedged in, the opponent hadn’t budged an inch.
Thwack-!
“Guh!”
In an instant, Dan let out a groan of pain.
Suddenly, Adebayor had shouldered him off.
With that single shoulder barge, Dan staggered back three steps.
‘What the...!’
Just then, a cross stabbed in from deep on the right flank by the advancing full-back Delicate dropped right toward Adebayor’s chest.
“No, no!”
Panicking, Dan twisted the studs of his right foot planted on the pitch and managed to hold his ground.
Then he lunged forward.
He had to stop him from getting a shot off, somehow.
But it was too late.
Thump-!
Adebayor controlled the ball perfectly with a chest trap in one clean motion.
And that was it.
Bang-!
Clang-!
[GOOOAAAL! Adebayooooor!]
[Chest trap to settle the ball, then before it could bounce, a one-touch inside-of-the-foot right-footed shot for the additional goal!]
Now the commentators’ faces were flushed red as if they might burst.
And they screamed, veins bulging in their necks.
[The ball curls into the far post corner, and the Sunderland keeper’s best option was just to watch!]
[Score 4:1! Bolton Waaaanderers! Creating a massive upset at Sunderland’s home stadium!]
After scoring, Adebayor sprinted toward the corner flag again.
Being the away side, most fans clutched their heads in agony, staying silent.
“Our fans are over there!”
Bolton’s captain, David Dignity, ran over with a beaming smile, pointing to the opposite corner.
“No problem!”
But Adebayor didn’t care, starting to dance in place like he owned it.
Thrusting his hips, shaking his shoulders and hands.
“Yes! Sunderland’s fucked food!”
Just like Daniel Sturridge’s iconic jig from his Liverpool days.
At that moment, the Black Cats right nearby hurled the trash in their hands and unleashed a barrage of curses.
“You motherfucking bastard!”
“I’ll smash that garage of yours for sure!”
“Come here! Let’s have a go! Huh? Man to man!”
The reaction was scorching hot.
Even an innocent kid near the fence glared like he was staring down an arch-nemesis and shouted.
“Fuuuck! I’ll rip your hair out, you monster!”
With his face streaked in tears.
Meanwhile, Jeong-woo in the technical area stood up, clapping with a look of immense pride...,
Clap clap clap!
Pouring fuel on the fire.
* * *
After the match, Owen Pressays stepped into the mixed zone.
Flash! Flash! Flash!
Camera strobes exploded from all sides the instant he did.
The reporters waiting there fired off questions one after another, as if they’d been holding their breath just for him.
“Owen! You notched two goals and an assist today! Bolton advances to the FA Cup 4th round, the round of 32! One word on your thoughts!”
“Happy with the result. Don’t know who the round of 32 opponent will be, but... if we keep playing like today, I’m certain we’ll get another good outcome.”
“That long-range shot from over 40 meters—was that intentional?”
A good number of reporters’ eyes lit up.
Some whispered among themselves.
“Definitely struck it on purpose!”
“I think so too. Just look at Owen’s free kicks so far—they’re all insanely precise and powerful.”
“Nah, no way he aimed for that...”
“The Sunderland keeper was caught off guard too.”
That said, the 43-meter thunderbolt was a sensation in itself.
“I saw their keeper come all the way out to the edge of the penalty area. The gaffer instructed us to disrupt their buildup now and then with long-range shots since he plays sweeper-keeper style. It was more for threat than goal, but I got a bit lucky.”
Owen answered each one with a gentle smile.
The female reporters in the crowd blushed at his bright white smile.
And misunderstood.
‘He smiled at me!’
‘No, it was for me!’
The questions kept coming after that.
Owen learned through the Q&A that he’d been named Man of the Match.
How much time passed like that?
One reporter asked this.
“Bolton’s owner and manager, Ma, declared he absolutely won’t let you go to Sunderland. He even counter-offered a minimum £7M transfer fee alone (112 billion KRW). Owen, as the party in question, what’s your take? Any regrets that the Sunderland move fell through?”
For a moment, the reporters held their breath.
And they all fixed their eyes on Owen, his sweat-soaked blond hair slicked back.
Under those gazes, Owen answered calmly, without a hint of hesitation.
“No regrets. I think the manager made the right call. Above all, there’s no way I’d transfer to a team we just crushed. That’d be a downgrade.”
* * *
[Bolton Wanderers! Beat Sunderland to advance to FA Cup round of 32!]
[Owen Pressays! 2 goals 1 assist! Froze the Stadium of Light solid!]
Sitting in his executive chair, reading the articles, Jeong-woo’s lips stayed curled upward the whole time.
Even a full day after the match, the media buzz hadn’t died down.
Especially since Bolton had reached the FA Cup 4th round for the first time in six whole years.
Fans on the forums were going wild.
- : 4:1 thrashing of Sunderland! This is insane!
- : Owen’s the real deal!
- : I love Ma! I even collect all the Ma merch series!
Now a good chunk of fans were even agreeing with the £7M (112 billion KRW) price tag Jeong-woo had floated in interviews.
- : Owen blasting long-range rockets from 40M out! And they tried to snag him for just £800K? Is the Sunderland chairman a cheapskate hillbilly?
- : Holding onto Owen feels like a godsend.
The best part was Owen’s post-match interview.
[There’s no way I’d transfer to a team we just crushed. That’d be a downgrade.]
“That manager, that disciple. Even picking up his trash talk,” Hee-won muttered.
He was sitting on the client sofa, phone in hand, furiously refreshing.
Jeong-woo shrugged smugly.
“Didn’t expect the kid to drop bombs like that.”
From Wanderers’ perspective, it was a statement you could raise both arms in triumph over.
But the Black Cats, still reeling from the 4:1 humiliation, felt differently.
The moment that interview aired, they unleashed a torrent of abuse at Owen.
On the way back after the match, one Black Cat even hurled a tomato at Owen as he boarded the shuttle bus, brimming with rage.
“Shouldn’t we assign hiMad Dogedicated psychologist?”
Hee-won muttered with a touch of concern.
Jeong-woo just shook his head.
“Kid’s got steel nerves.”
He’d even scooped the tomato off his kit with his finger, tasted it, and grinned.
There was plenty more good news besides.
Jeong-woo smirked at another article.
[Emmanuel Adebayor! FA Cup return after 5 years...!]
[Bad boy’s comeback! 10 minutes was all it took...!]
[Adebayor bags brace in 10 minutes off the bench! Wanderers united: ‘Start him in league games...!’]
Creak-!
Leaning back comfortably in the executive chair, Jeong-woo murmured softly.
“His finishing’s still alive and kicking.”
It explained why even the young prospects clung to Adebayor for tutoring during that idiot parade.
‘Sniffs out goals like a pro.’
And the movement he showed chasing that scent was downright astonishing.
Far from a sprinter type.
‘Instead, a target man who explodes with max power from minimal movement and minimal distance.’
The two goals against Sunderland highlighted that strength perfectly.
Of course, it was only possible thanks to his teammates’ sacrifices.
‘They went all-out draining their stamina from early in the first half.’
That let Adebayor handle Sunderland’s exhausted defenders without breaking a sweat.
‘Plus, his form’s improving.’
That’s when it happened.
“Oooooh!”
Hee-won, who’d been relentlessly refreshing the news section, suddenly convulsed and yelled.
“What?”
Jeong-woo, used to such reactions, just turned his head without surprise.
Hee-won dropped to his knees on the sofa, spun around, and thrust his phone toward Jeong-woo.
“FA Cup round of 32 opponent’s been decided!”
“Oh, yeah?”
Jeong-woo replied nonchalantly.
He could guess why Hee-won was so worked up.
‘One of the big teams, huh.’
Normally, round of 32 draws pit you against Championship sides or EPL teams mostly.
Still, that reaction suggested...
‘Mid-table or lower mid EPL, probably?’
He’d hoped for a weaker opponent if possible, but he’d factored that in.
But at Hee-won’s next words, Jeong-woo’s expression turned peculiar.
“It’s Arsenal!”