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Translator: uly
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: Prologue
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December 2020.
In a cramped, dimly lit room lit only by the glow of a single monitor, thirty-year-old Jeong-woo chewed on a mouthful of red bean bread in the barely big-enough space to lie down.
His eyes raced across the text.
[Hello, soccer managers around the world! It's been two weeks. Today, I'm sharing a tactic and formation I wracked my brain to create on the tips board!]
The poster's nickname was 'Mad Dog.'
Commonly known as Mad Dog.
Users called him Mad Dog.
In just a few months of activity on domestic and European coaching community sites, he had earned the title of tactical genius.
The site he was active on was called 'World Management.'
It supported translations into Korean, English, Spanish, and various other languages based on user preference.
With average daily visitors exceeding ten thousand, it was a renowned tactic-sharing hub among coaches.
Rumor had it that even pro league coaches occasionally borrowed tactics uploaded there.
And there was evidence to back it up.
Mad Dog's posts always hit the best posts list, enjoying peak popularity.
[.... The defensive approach is simple. By keeping the width narrow between players, you increase central density for stable operations.]
[Most amateur managers, and even pro ones, tend to focus more on one rabbit over both in this aspect. (Usually defense.) Simple reason: chasing both risks losing them all...]
[...That's how hard it is to execute a tactic that's excellent on both ends. You need exceptional organization and work rate just to attempt it.]
[First, as shown in Diagram 1, to properly utilize both attack and defense, start with a three-back base...]
"Smack, smack."
Jeong-woo reviewed his own writing while munching on the bread, then checked the comments.
- : Thank you for the heartfelt post! Amazing as always, Mad Dog!
- : I'm managing an amateur team. Manager Mad Dog, I went on a four-game win streak using your previous tactics! I'll crush it with this one too!
- : Mad Dog, I'm your biggest fan.
"Biggest fan, my ass."
Despite his words, a satisfied smile crept across Jeong-woo's lips.
Just an hour after uploading, comments had already surpassed a hundred.
Jeong-woo had discovered the site only a few months ago.
Now, he was hooked like it was a game addiction.
In this world, pedigree meant nothing.
Only skill mattered.
"Recommendations are looking good too."
For Jeong-woo, life as Mad Dog on World Management was another existence—his sole joy.
There, and only there, he was treated like a legendary manager on par with, or surpassing, Jose Mourinho, Jurgen Klopp, or Pep Guardiola.
Indeed, some comments didn't seem from mere amateurs.
- : I lost in the 18th round. The owner says he'll fire me if we lose the 19th in a few days. I prefer a line-focused style... (abridged)
...hen I fail to press... (...when pressing fails in the center...) (abridged)
The problem is it works well early, but as rounds progress, we keep conceding to mid-range shots.
ㄴ : That's a simple fix.
Through pre-match analysis of the opponent's central midfielders and forwards' tendencies, identify mid-range threats and shut them down with man-to-man when they enter designated zones. Get nearby teammates to help block pass lanes too.
Users hooked on Jeong-woo's tactics now waited daily for more, craving even greater insights.
Foreign users spammed "Good" and "Fantastic."
"The reliable go-to guy, huh. Heh."
Jeong-woo chuckled smugly.
Some even mistook him for a pro manager hiding his identity and nationality.
"Ung-cha!"
Stretching big, he yawned and muttered.
"Alright, that'll wrap up today's session."
His gaze then landed on a black bag tossed in the corner.
Filled with soju and dried meat.
It was nearly midnight.
Unlike moments ago, a bitterness clouded Jeong-woo's eyes.
Shutting down the computer brought reality crashing in.
"This damn insomnia."
Muttering softly, he plopped down on the floor and reached for the black bag.
Pop-!
He cracked open the soju and took a swig straight from the bottle, no glass needed.
"Gargle-gargle-gloop!"
After gargling and swallowing, he tore into the dried meat.
It had been two years of using soju as a sleeping pill.
Now it was routine.
"If only I hit the lottery, I'd quit that shitty club in a heartbeat."
Lamenting was routine too.
Just as he was hailed as a tactical master online, Ma Jeong-woo's real job was a power analyst.
But unlike World Management, in reality, he was just a K-3 league analyst.
A third-rate one, paid by the stipend at that.
* * *
Jeong-woo had nurtured a dream of becoming a soccer coach late in life.
They say you realize you're too late exactly when you think you are.
"Damn it, at this point, I'm totally screwed."
Jeong-woo muttered to himself from the bench.
Before him, on the wide pitch, players in red and blue kits clashed.
But Jeong-woo's furrowed brow showed no sign of relaxing.
'Again, ignoring my advice. That damn old fart.'
He glanced sideways.
The director, lips pursed, barked tactical instructions at the players repeatedly.
A few days prior, Jeong-woo had analyzed the opponents and outlined countermeasures.
Yet the team's tactics now bore not a trace of his input.
His words had evaporated into thin air that day.
Routine.
Of course, it wasn't about tactics.
"School ties, regional ties, blood ties."
Jeong-woo spat toward the director's face.
No way he'd hear.
'Even if he did, whatever.'
Instead, he added to the rookie coach beside him.
"This industry's filthy. They only favor their own."
"Ah, haha. Is that so?"
Glancing at the flustered rookie, Jeong-woo nodded slightly.
"It's a world where you need Yonsei, Korea University, or shut up. Hell, even Konkuk or Sogang falls short... You'd haunt this place like a ghost otherwise."
That was Ma Jeong-woo—himself.
He'd entered university only after military discharge, and not from those elite schools.
He'd learned the hard way upon entering soccer that even analysts needed pedigree.
The soccer world was rooted deeper in school connections than imagined.
"Guys not even K-1 level get coaching offers thanks to connections."
The dream that had swelled initially withered sharply once he became an analyst.
"They say analysts should at least have a license. So post-discharge, I scraped together money, went to Europe, got my UEFA A ahead of time... Useless as hell."
He'd charged forward dreaming of Europe.
Reality was stingy.
Just for graduating from some no-name school, his opinions were dismissed outright.
Most shocking: guys with lower test scores than him all landed K-1 jobs.
That's when Jeong-woo went rogue.
Still, his talent kept him employed, barely, in K-3.
Beep, beep, beeeeeep!
The match ended.
Score: 3-1.
Their loss.
The director stormed off through the gate without greetings, face twisted in rage.
Players and staff followed, shaking hands as they left the pitch.
But Jeong-woo stayed put, pulling a cigarette from his pocket.
"A-Analyst?"
The kind but dim rookie looked panicked.
Ignoring him, Jeong-woo lit up and grumbled.
"It's a world where even sitting at the absolute back of the bench gets you flak. 'That's for my juniors—why're you there?' Total bullshit, right?"
"Th-That's not..."
Quick on the uptake, Jeong-woo followed the rookie's troubled gaze.
"You fucking punk. What's the big idea smoking on the bench after the game's over?"
Kim Seok-tae, who'd coached at Jinju CF for three years, approached bulging his eyes.
The rookie looked half-dead from one shout.
Jeong-woo, meanwhile, stared back brazenly.
This Kim Seok-tae was one who looked down on him.
The snake who'd spread rumors Jeong-woo was a gambler too.
"Oh? This bastard bulging his eyes at me? Wanna die for real?"
He hadn't actually.
But no mood for chit-chat either.
Hearing nonsense did make him ponder.
Should he swing?
...Nah. Can't pay for the aftermath.
Flick!
He threw a light, cost-free jab.
Analysts and coaches weren't strictly senior-junior.
But in Korean soccer, that hierarchy was tacitly enforced.
Not for Jeong-woo, though.
"That bastard...!"
"Hey, let it go. He's always like that."
"Don't tangle. Let's bounce! Hey, Shin Jong-hoon! You too, hurry up. Don't hang near that jinx."
"Y-Yes! S-Sorry!"
The rookie shot up and squeezed into their group.
Jeong-woo yawned long, leaving them to curse him loud enough to hear as they walked away.
One worry now.
"Yawn~ What to eat for dinner tonight."
* * *
Day off.
Jeong-woo finally slept soundly.
Even dreamed.
Of striking it rich.
A grand door opened, beautiful women giggling as they approached him.
"Ooh, nice."
Even in the dream, his lips stretched wide.
Then—
Thud thud-!
"Ooooh...! No, not there... Wait, bro's not ready yet...!"
Thud thud-!
"...!"
Eyes snapped open just shy of climax.
Thud thud-!
At the front door knocks, Jeong-woo rose without a word.
'Which bastard dares interrupt my beautiful escape...!'
Creeping up despite burning inside, he peered through the peephole and scowled.
'What the.'
Two suited men stood beyond.
Have a nice day~
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