Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: The Miracle of the FA Cup Lower League Team (2)
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In Korea, Park Ji-jeong's cheer song—famous as the "Wee Jung Bba Rae"—had become legendary.
They'd taken that cheer for the Korean legend who'd once starred at Manchester United and reworked it into Ban Yeager's very first chant.
"Tel tel ter-de! Yeager Ban~!"
"Tel tel ter-de! Yeager Ban~!"
Just hearing it swell with majestic power—the Ban Yeager version now filled Old Trafford to the brim.
The local die-hard fans who'd shown up as always were lost in memories of the glory days.
"PARK... What a dedicated player he was..."
"Could another Korean player... bring Manchester United back to its golden era, Dad?"
The storied Smith family—lifelong Man United devotees—were in the stands.
"Hmm~ But isn't this match going to be tough today?"
"Hey now! Victoria! Have you forgotten what Ban's done in the last ten games?"
"Sure, but this is a whole different league we're talking about. According to the supercomputer predictions..."
Victoria Smith, granddaughter of Dave Smith and daughter of David Smith.
Surprisingly, she wasn't a Manchester United fan.
Born in 2011, by the time she'd started watching soccer, United was already on a downward spiral.
Even with her dad and grandpa's constant nudges as loyal Reds, she'd never once become a United fan.
And it wasn't because she lacked interest in soccer.
Quite the opposite—she loved it fiercely, with firm tastes and preferences.
The teams she'd backed over the years? The strongest squad each season.
Chelsea, Barcelona, Real Madrid—you name a big club, she'd cheered for it. But Manchester United? They'd been declining nonstop since her birth, so she'd never given them the time of day.
Yes, Victoria Smith—the pampered jewel of the venerable Man U dynasty—was a shameless glory hunter.
"Heh heh... In my old age, cheering for United alongside my granddaughter was my one dream..."
"You'll get it soon enough, Grandpa. We just need to climb back to the top of the world again. Ban Yeager himself said so."
"And once Alex grows a bit more, he can join us too."
"Yes... Thank goodness our Alex has the red blood running through his veins...!"
Dave and David Smith steeled their resolve, ignoring Victoria's eye-rolls.
"Hmm~"
Brushing them off like always, Victoria turned her gaze to the pitch.
At center field stood Ban Yeager, ready for the kickoff pass—striker be damned.
——
Beep-!!
The match kicked off with Manchester United's first-half advantage.
Now fully immersed in Ban Yeager's style of soccer, United even let him handle the kickoff pass.
Thanks to that, Ban could rocket to his optimal position in the shortest distance possible.
Peak efficiency soccer, through and through.
Before, he'd drop back now and then to help with build-up or orchestrate play. Now? He could focus even more on pure attack.
All thanks to the signing of Marc Bernal.
Just because it was top flight versus second division didn't mean the opposition lacked talent across the board.
Marc Bernal was starter material for any upper-table Premier League side.
He was United's most trustworthy option after Ban Yeager.
Thwack!
The pass skipped straight past West Ham's midfield duo to Ban.
Objectively, Marc Bernal's passing was a cut above your average deep-lying playmaker.
Thump—
With quality service like that, Ban controlled it effortlessly and spun around in one smooth motion.
West Ham's defensive midfielder, Freddy Potts, lunged in desperately—but a single phantom dribble left him grasping at air.
"Ngh!"
Potts slid past but quickly planted his feet and charged again.
Swish, tap—
Too fired up—his legs splayed wide open.
Iyaaaaahhh!!!—
The crowd erupted at Ban's playground-level skill on Potts.
Thwack!—
Ban scanned ahead and fired a pass that zipped past Jean-Clair Todibo, streaking down the half-space.
Mason Mount—the left winger—latched onto it.
He took it in stride, shaping to cut outside... but...
Beep!
Todibo caught him, forcing the ball out for a throw-in.
The linesman flagged it decisively toward United's side.
West Ham took the throw.
"Phew... Nice play!"
"Sorry!! Great pass though, Ban!"
The guy's decent enough... Seems to hustle too...
'Focus.'
No whining about failed left-wing buildup. Find another path, solo it, whatever—my job to solve it.
West Ham recycled from the throw, and Mount, Sesko, and Antony pounced with high press.
The ball dropped all the way to the keeper, who hooved it long in a panic.
Marc Bernal plucked it out of the air centrally and slotted it back to Ban.
As Ban drove forward again, Mason Mount signaled and surged ahead.
"Ban! Onward!!"
Yeah, he hustles, alright.
Time to make that hustle count.
West Ham's right-back trailed Mount's run.
Thwack—
Ban spotted it, took a long touch, and burst into the left half-space.
Todibo hesitated between the penetrating Mount and Ban's extended touch.
Judging he could beat Ban to it, Todibo wheeled toward him.
Tap.
By a hair's breadth.
Ban evaded Todibo's lunge and powered forward on the dribble.
Iridas Golarimbeikis rushed in next, right on cue.
"Ban!!"
Mount called again, darting into the box.
Another easy dilemma.
Remembering how Todibo melted when he committed? Golarimbeikis hung back.
Thump—
Ban closed the gap, forcing him to pick: Ban or Mount?
Tap.
As the last defender, Golarimbeikis dithered—Ban accelerated past into space.
West Ham keeper Mats Hermansen flung himself wide, desperate to cover the goal.
"Ban!!!"
Mount now grasped his role, peeling off at the perfect moment to drag the keeper's eyes.
One-on-one with Ban—and Mount lurking for the cutback.
Hermansen splayed arms and legs to seal every angle.
Too greedy—the gaps yawned open.
Thwack!! Shrrrrrk—
Iyaaaaahhh!!!!!!
The clean rip through the grass, then the roar as the low drive between the keeper's legs bulged the net.
Ban bolted straight to the West Stand at Old Trafford.
The heart of the home end—Stratford End—where the most fervent Reds packed in.
"Tel tel ter-de! Yeager Ban~!"
"Tel tel ter-de! Yeager Ban~!"
Fans thrust hands skyward, belting the chant.
Ban vaulted onto the scoreboard gantry and flung his arms wide.
"Ban!!!"
"Look my way!!!"
He locked eyes with each one, drawing out their cheers.
"Glory United!!!"
Iyaaaaahhh!!!
The fans howled back their love for the team.
Two months in, and plenty of faces already felt familiar.
Seeing that raging red tide all for him—pure adrenaline.
"Glory Man United!!!"
Ah, watch the pronunciation.
——
"BAN!!! BAN!!! BAN!!!"
The chants and cheers for Ban Yeager shook Old Trafford.
The Smith men had ditched all dignity, swept up in the red wave, screaming their lungs out.
"Oh, come on..."
Victoria Smith had no choice but to stand too—blocked by the sea of fans on their feet.
Gazing down, her eyes naturally fell on the red jersey perched atop the scoreboard.
"Ban... Yeager..."
He edged onto her mental list of "top-class players."
——
Just ten minutes in, and Ban Yeager had struck.
He'd shattered fans' predictions of a tough grind.
First shock: Ban Yeager's goal.
Second: The rock-solid foundation Marc Bernal provided to make it happen.
Satisfaction with Marc Bernal naturally bled into frustration over the other midfield options.
Toby Collier: usable now, but talent-capped...
Fletcher brothers: bags of potential, but raw for immediate impact...
What can you do? Marc Bernal's gotta carry the log.