Became The Premier League’S Youngest Manager [EN]: Chapter 231

Beep!

“Uwaaaaa!!!”

With the resounding cheers of the crowd, the referee blew his whistle and pointed decisively to the center of the penalty box.

“Damn it!!”

Burnley’s vice-captain, Tomaso Povega, cursed bitterly, clutching his head, but none of Burnley’s players approached the referee to protest.

Only captain Nicolas Seywald wrapped an arm around his frustrated vice-captain’s shoulder, offering comfort for his mistake.

In truth, it was hardly a mistake.

After the opening goal, Real Madrid had reverted to a defensive posture.

With four defenders and the goalkeeper guarding the goal like an iron wall, the three midfielders in front of them engaged in a fierce battle against Burnley’s midfielders, never giving an inch.

Unable to completely seize control of the midfield, two of the three forwards waited for counter-attacks, while one alternated dropping back into midfield to aid in the fight to control the center.

The shot count was 11 to 2.

But the number of shots on target was the same at 2 to 2.

The experienced Real Madrid players were playing with ultimate efficiency, while the spirited Burnley players were pushing them hard with youthful vigor.

However, Real Madrid’s veteran defenders did not easily allow the young Burnley attackers to approach.

As the ebb and flow of attacks unfolded in front of Real Madrid’s penalty box, the first half neared its end, and Real Madrid once again transitioned to a counter-attacking stance.

And then, Karim Adeyemi instantly broke through to the penalty box, and Tomaso Povega’s desperate sliding tackle on his former teammate resulted in a penalty kick.

It was fortunate that he received a yellow card instead of a red card for bringing down Karim Adeyemi, who had completely broken free.

As Tomaso Povega despaired and the Burnley players looked on bitterly, a brief discussion took place among the Real Madrid players, and soon Karim Adeyemi approached with the ball tucked under his arm to take the penalty kick.

The battle from 11 meters [approximately 12 yards].

Karim Adeyemi carefully placed the ball down and received instructions from the referee before slowly stepping back a few paces from the ball.

In front of the goal, Burnley’s goalkeeper, Bailey Peacock-Farrell, stared at Karim Adeyemi with a tense expression.

He had faced him dozens of times in practice, but a penalty kick was like a gamble.

If you had to put it one way, it was a Russian roulette that was disadvantageous to the goalkeeper.

Bailey Peacock-Farrell slowly lowered his stance, and Karim Adeyemi, with the ball in front of him, met his gaze.

The two players exchanged faint smiles and remained still as the referee’s whistle blew.

“Uwaaaaa!!!”

With the cheers of the crowd, Karim Adeyemi strode towards the ball and swung his left foot fiercely, and as Bailey Peacock-Farrell dove, he squeezed his eyes shut as the ball headed in the opposite direction, rippling the back of the net.

“Yes!!”

Karim Adeyemi’s Real Madrid teammates hugged him in celebration, while the Burnley fans, though not singing their chants again, responded with warm applause towards the young attacker who once again raised a hand as if to apologize.

Hyeongmin sighed as he watched the scene.

***

“We’re just a little town!”

“On the edge of Lanchashire!”

“We’ve come to Europe!”

“And we’ll go all the way!”

“No one likes us!”

“We don’t care!”

“We are Burnley!”

“Super Burnley!”

“We are Burnley!”

“From the Moor!”

“Led by the man!”

“From the east!”

“Super Burnley!”

“Super Kim!”

“Super Burnley!”

“Super Kim!”

Outside, the fans’ endless chants could still be heard.

A call and plea to the manager to create a miracle in a game they were losing 0-2.

Hyeongmin, standing in the center of the locker room, looked around at the players.

A heavy atmosphere.

Hyeongmin, with his hands on his hips, looked at the players and suddenly chuckled.

As the coaching staff and players stared at Hyeongmin with expressions that seemed to say, ‘Has the manager finally cracked under the pressure?’, Burnley’s young maestro spoke with a face full of smiles.

“It might sound a bit strange to say this, but…”

Hyeongmin smiled and spoke gently, making eye contact with each of the players.

“…I think we’re amazing enough just for having come this far.”

The players, who had been weighed down by pressure and frustration, slowly began to raise their heads.

“Actually, this has been a truly crazy journey! Hasn’t it?”

As the coaches nodded, the players also began to nod one by one.

“Think about it! We beat AC Milan, and Barcelona too. Barcelona, even at Camp Nou! How many people can say they thrashed Barcelona 3-0 at Camp Nou in the Champions League semi-finals? And that too, a team from the rural corner of England!”

Now, most of the players were nodding.

“Whether we advance further here, or whether we end our journey here, it doesn’t really matter.”

The players tilted their heads at the manager’s statement, which seemed to be giving up on victory so easily.

“What matters is that we made an attempt without regrets. If we play our own game, and lose that way, we can accept it tonight. But if we don’t, can we sleep soundly tonight?”

“No!”

Captain Nicolas Seywald answered the loudest, and Tomaso Povega, who had been frustrated next to him, nodded seriously with a glint in his eyes.

“Right. So, what we need to do is give our best in the second half as well.”

“And if that best isn’t enough?”

Hyeongmin shrugged at Anselmo Garcia McNulty’s question.

“Then we’ll have to come back to the Champions League final next season and try again. Until our best is enough.”

Hyeongmin smiled and looked around at his players.

“For you. And for me. There’s plenty of time.”

The atmosphere was still heavy.

But now it wasn’t a crushing heaviness.

It was seriousness and determination.

As the players exchanged glances and nodded, Hyeongmin spoke softly.

“Alright, let’s go out there and see if our best is enough.”

***

Lorenzo Luca is inevitable.

As the giant banner made by the fans fluttered in the wind, captain Nicolas Seywald approached the towering Italian striker waiting for the kickoff in the center circle.

“Lorenzo.”

“Oh, captain.”

“Listen carefully.”

The young midfielder, looking around and covering his mouth with his hand, relayed the strategy he had been instructed by the manager just before leaving the locker room.

“We can’t break through Real Madrid’s defense with technique. So…”

“We’re going to smash through with force?”

“Yes.”

Nicolas Seywald nodded at Lorenzo Luca’s words.

“From now on, both flanks will be focusing on supplying you with the ball.”

“…I’ll have to run hard.”

He knew that it wasn’t just about using his height and heading skills.

At times, he would have to hold the ball up front, giving his other teammates time to join the attack, or he might have to go straight for the attack himself.

If he wasn’t careful, he could end up wasting time chasing balls flying through the air for the remaining 45 minutes.

Or the already struggling attack could become even more tangled.

The one-time journeyman striker, who had risen to become the ace of the Italian national team, shrugged in a situation where he practically had to unlock Burnley’s stalled attack alone.

“Well, we just have to do it, right?”

“Yeah, we just have to do it.”

Nicolas Seywald grinned.

There were many reasons why this young Italian striker was good, but one of them was his positive and proactive attitude to try anything.

This friend, who was familiar with failure and frustration, was not afraid to try.

“There’s no need to conserve your stamina. The manager said he’ll substitute you around the 70-minute mark. So, burn it all for the next 25 minutes.”

“Then I should score a goal or so?”

Lorenzo Luca said with a grin.

“Otherwise, I’ll fall behind if Benyamin scores a goal.”

Nicolas Seywald laughed brightly at the Burnley squad’s top scorer competition, which was tied at 32 goals to 32 goals.

“Don’t forget that I bet on you!”

“…What are you talking about? You bet almost the same amount on Benyamin too.”

“Um…”

The captain, lost for words, fell silent.

Lorenzo Luca smiled contentedly.

He wanted to point that out sometime.

***

Lorenzo Luca is inevitable.

Lorenzo Luca gritted his teeth as he looked at the giant banner fluttering in the wind.

“Hey, aren’t you being too serious?”

Antonio Rüdiger, the veteran defender from the German national team who was checking him, spoke to him, but Lorenzo Luca ignored him.

His eyes constantly followed the ball and the movements of the players on the field, and his feet continued to move his position accordingly.

Things he had learned while training with Benyamin Šeško this season.

Coach Taejin Jeong, who was in charge of training the attack and defense, had demanded simple things from the two central strikers.

“Lorenzo, you should learn movement from Benyamin.”

“Understood.”

“And me?”

Taejin smiled as he asked Benyamin Šeško, raising his hand.

“What you need to learn from Lorenzo is already decided, isn’t it?”

“Don’t tell me…”

Taejin looked pleased at Benyamin Šeško’s pale face.

“Building muscle and physical fights.”

To become a striker who makes a name for himself in Italy, the country of Catenaccio [a tactical system in football known for its highly organized and defensive style], ordinary effort is not enough.

Lorenzo Luca, who had experienced all the Italian leagues from Serie D [the fifth tier of the Italian football league system] to Serie A [the top league in the Italian football system], was, with just a little seasoning added to the expressions of the Burnley defenders who trained with him, the devil himself.

If they were short, he would press them down with his height, and if they pushed him with strength, he would simply push them back with strength.

Already, 90% of the defenders were eliminated there.

What if a Virgil van Dijk-level physique and strength occasionally appeared?

All sorts of methods that are never found in textbooks appeared, but in the VAR [Video Assistant Referee] era, what Taejin demanded of Lorenzo was to learn Benyamin’s fantastic movements.

When, where, and how should you move to reach the most appropriate position?

And when should you change that position?

It was Benyamin Šeško’s specialty to constantly move his position without resting for a single moment during the 90 minutes to seize opportunities, which, in a different sense from Lorenzo Luca, earned the resentment of the Burnley defenders who trained with him.

And Lorenzo Luca, who had chewed on tears-soaked bread while moving from team to team for 9 years, was second to none when it came to learning and practicing.

As he moved constantly, another opportunity was given to Lorenzo Luca.

“I’m going!”

He doesn’t even call his name.

With the shout of Burnley’s left defender, Luca Pellegrini, who raised one hand, a sharp left foot was swung.

The ball, launched from slightly past the halfway line.

The ball, which skipped over the midfielders of both teams who were still fighting fiercely to occupy the center even during the second half, headed straight for the center of the penalty box.

“Thibaut!!”

Antonio Rüdiger, who was chasing after Lorenzo Luca, who was rushing fiercely into the penalty box, called out to the goalkeeper in a hurried voice.

“Damn it!!”

Thibaut Courtois, who was firmly in place as the goalkeeper for the Belgian national team and Real Madrid, cursed and rushed out of the goal.

This, the gap is ambiguous.

As he looked at the ball drawing a trajectory that fell accurately between himself, who was running out, and the opposing team’s striker, who was rushing in, the veteran goalkeeper, who had started from the famous Belgian club Genk and settled in Real Madrid via Atlético Madrid and Chelsea, floated his body into the air and thrust both fists forward.

He had to knock it away before that giant reached the ball!

At the moment when his desperately outstretched fists were about to touch the flying ball.

“F

The referee’s whistle blew, and the stadium became a scene of chaos.