Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Old Trafford Debut Match (2)
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"So... you just left the stadium like that??"
"Yeah... If I'd kept watching that game, I wouldn't have lived to see my dying day."
After conceding three goals to their rivals Leeds United by halftime.
At that point, a huge number of Manchester United fans had already filed out of the stadium.
Dave Smith, who'd ducked into the pub, was one of them.
He told himself that even though he'd headed to a pub showing the Man U match, he was just there to drink.
"Whoa... Mr. Smith! Take it easy on the booze!"
"How can I not drink after seeing that...?"
"If you wanna see United rise again, you've gotta stick around for it!"
"Hahaha!! Now that's some hopeful talk!"
The pub patrons listening to the server and Dave Smith's banter clapped as if it were a hilarious joke.
"Rise again... You think that'll happen by the time you're my age...?"
Dave Smith was a die-hard fan who'd held season tickets for a whopping 65 years.
The team getting relegated to the second division was the first time in 55 years.
And back then, they'd bounced right back by winning promotion. But this season, sitting at fifth place, the chances looked slim.
Season ticket prices kept rising year after year, results kept dropping, and now relegation loomed for Manchester United.
Yet he'd never even considered letting his tickets lapse.
Old Trafford was like a second home, watching matches was his daily routine, and it had even provided him with a job.
But the problem was that watching games wasn't fun anymore.
The passion and excitement for the team had long vanished.
Now even the anger and disappointment had faded away.
"My whole life has been Manchester United... Work, daily life—everything was possible because of United... But lately, I haven't felt even a shred of happiness."
"Hey, we've finally got an oil-money owner! Just believe and wait!!"
"Haha... You know what that fancy new owner's first move was, don't you...? Bringing in some 16-year-old punk..."
"Ah~ Speaking of which, he's subbing in right now!"
"What...?"
He'd known there was a TV in the pub but had stubbornly ignored the match broadcast until now.
"He's actually going through with the debut...! In what might as well be a funeral of a game..."
"Yeah... Darren Fletcher must've lost his mind... He was a die-hard United fan before he was even a manager."
"Still, he seemed like a promising kid? I heard Real Madrid and Barcelona were after him too."
"Hahaha... So you think that punk's gonna turn a 3-0 game around? What, you think he's Wayne Rooney or something?"
Dave Smith, already resigned, turned away from the screen again and sipped his drink.
"Whoa whoa... Mr. Smith...!!!"
"Gulp... I'll take care of my health myself!!!"
"That's not it...!! He actually scored!...... BAN scored right after coming on!!!"
"What...?"
He'd sworn he wouldn't look...
He knew it had to be some ridiculous lie...
But he couldn't stop his head from turning.
"BAN YEAGER..."
It was the name of number 10, come to save Manchester United in their hour of crisis.
"Oh... Denis La... It looks like your successor has finally arrived...!!!"
Dave Smith's stalled heart began to beat again.
And on the streets of Manchester,
the roar of the RED DEVILS began to echo once more, swelling into a grand chorus.
No need to spin around and flash his kit this time.
No need for a ceremony either.
The fans would spot the number on my back themselves.
Forty-four minutes still on the clock.
My celebration today starts with a hat-trick.
United had pulled one back with that stunning goal, but they were still losing.
Still, the atmosphere of the match, the team's momentum—it had completely flipped.
Twenty minutes into the second half.
Leeds was pinned back, absorbing wave after wave of Man U attacks.
For the Manchester United players, it was simple now.
Just pass it to Ban Yeager.
Then the attack unfolded along the perfect path on its own.
They'd seen it in training over the past three days and hoped it'd work, but no one expected it to translate straight to the pitch like this.
Building up around Ban Yeager, they were methodically peeling away Leeds' pressure.
As Ban Yeager dropped slightly to receive the ball, Alex Scott latched right onto him.
"Stick with him!!!"
Bang—!
Toby Collier's pass sliced through the grass, aimed right at my feet.
"Urk!"
Scott glued to my back, bumping and harassing me.
He'd shown insane work rate in the first half when I was still on the bench.
His stamina was his strength, but it made him react aggressively to every move—which was also his weakness.
Just before the ball reached my feet, I didn't bother fighting through Scott's pressure. Instead, I slipped sideways like water.
As I burst forward facing the goal, sure enough, the ball had beaten me there, threading between his legs.
Scott realized too late and spun around, only to tumble over.
With space opening up, I drove forward with the ball.
The Leeds players, having seen my sharp passes already, weren't daring to close in recklessly.
With their midfielder Alex Scott peeled off, only the back four stood between me and goal anyway.
Tap—
No need to telegraph my move.
I kept my speed up, driving onward.
Maintaining an ambiguous pace that let me change direction anytime.
Five meters from the box.
Defender Ethan Imbodu, who'd been backpedaling, finally planted himself to block my path.
Still some distance between us.
'This is about right...'
Tap, bang—!!
No setup needed.
A light nudge right, then a shot timed perfectly with my dribble.
The ball arced beautifully toward the top corner.
Every player on the pitch stared blankly at it.
Clang—! Shhhrrrr—
Yeeeeeeah—!!!
Glory! Glory, Man United!
Glory! Glory, Man United!
Glory! Glory, Man United!
(Glory to Manchester United!)
As the reds go marching on! On! On!
(The Red Devils march on!!!)
The cheers and chants filled the entire stadium.
No more doubts about the young prospect from abroad.
Gratitude for leading the team to victory.
Hope for promotion, reignited.
Regret that he hadn't arrived before relegation.
And now, absolute trust—they'd cheer until their throats gave out, thankful he'd come at last.
Leeds United had conceded a multi-goal haul to the second-half sub Ban Yeager.
They still led by one, but considering they'd switched to defensive mode from the start of the half, this was absurd.
Daniel Farke, Leeds' best manager of the 21st century.
Though he'd gone down with Man U last season, his prior promotion kept him in the job—a survival king.
Midway through the season, leading the league, he was earning rave reviews for another likely promotion.
Coming into the 24th round on a winning streak against a Man U team that seemed stuck in past glories.
"A bunch of has-beens living off old glory."
Just like the disastrous tenth-round clash where Leeds had crushed them.
At least until halftime, when they'd notched three goals.
"It was... supposed to be that way... What the hell is that number 10?!?"
The same trash team, now with one fresh-faced prospect added—and that kid was dismantling their entire game plan.
"The Korean player who took down Spain at the U-17 World Cup!" yelled his assistant coach.
"I know that much!!! But it's U-17 level! There's a huge gap between prospects and pros! You telling me this 17-year-old's toying with our veterans like that?!?"
No more goals could be allowed.
Daniel Farke marked Ban Yeager—who'd been the source, link, and finisher for both goals—as the highest-priority threat.
"Anton, team up with Scott and shut down every pass to that number 10. Don't even let him touch the ball!"
He'd thought Alex Scott's work rate and solid defending would suffice, but it wasn't enough.
To lock it down for the final 25 minutes, he pulled a striker and added another defensive midfielder.
Alex Scott marking me man-to-man, Anton Stach blocking pass lanes to me.
Numerical disadvantage in attack, maybe, but shutting down the guy who'd scored twice in 20 minutes? Worth the trade-off.
If two players could neutralize Ban Yeager, that is.