Became The Premier League’S Youngest Manager [EN]: Chapter 225

“Kim!”

Halftime.

As Hyungmin walked wearily out of the locker room and through the tunnel towards the exit, he turned around at the sound of someone calling him.

“Simon, what’s going on?”

When the team doctor suddenly comes to see the manager during a game, it’s always bad news.

Burnley’s team doctor, Simon Morris, quickly delivered the bad news to Hyungmin, whose face had hardened.

“It’s Anselmo. He completely twisted his ankle.”

“Haa…”

He had looked uncomfortable ever since colliding with his central defense partner, Anel Ahmedhodžić, during the first half’s goal concession, but it seemed he had just been playing through the pain.

No wonder he was having a serious conversation with the team doctor in the locker room throughout halftime…

“Is it serious?”

“It’s not that bad. Of course, we’ll have to do a thorough examination, but it just seems like a muscle strain. He’ll be fine with a few days of rest.”

“That’s a relief.”

Simon Morris nodded at Hyungmin’s relieved words, inwardly admiring him once again.

*This man is always the same.*

In a do-or-die match that could bring the team its first championship in 64 years, a starting central defender is out with an injury, yet the player’s health is more important.

The fact that he prioritizes the players over the outcome of the game was one of the reasons why Burnley’s young players gave this young manager their absolute support.

“Then I’ll have to substitute Nathan in.”

“Yeah, that seems right.”

Hyungmin nodded and turned towards the tunnel exit, then looked back at the team doctor as if something had just occurred to him.

“Thank you, Simon. Please take good care of Anselmo.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Hyungmin smiled back at the veteran team doctor, who smiled reassuringly at the manager, and began to quicken his pace towards the end of the tunnel.

It was time to tell Nathan Collins, the only central defender left on the bench, about the substitution.

***

“Oh Nicky! You’re so fine!”

“You’re so fine you blow my mind!”

“Hey Nicky! Hey Nicky!”

“Oh Nicky! You’re so fine!”

“You’re so fine you blow my mind!”

“Hey Nicky! Hey Nicky!”

What resounded fiercely throughout Andril’s Moor [Burnley’s home stadium] was a chant for the captain, but it was effectively a chant for everyone playing in the midfield.

The figure fiercely traversing the midfield in the second half slid his body at the same speed he was running, using the tip of his foot to deflect the ball from under the opponent’s feet.

“Damn it!!”

Liverpool’s number 8, Jude Bellingham, cursed at the sudden tackle from the side, but Burnley’s young midfielder, who was sliding without losing momentum, pushed off the ground with one arm and sprung up from the grass with the same speed, taking possession of the loose ball.

“Uwaaaa!!!”

Andril’s Moor erupted in cheers at the fantastic tackle by Burnley’s youngest midfielder, Christian Medina.

“Adam!!”

As Liverpool players swarmed towards him like bees, Christian Medina shouted loudly and pointed to Burnley’s right-winger, Adam Hložek, who was penetrating deep into the opponent’s territory along the right sideline.

At the same time as confirming that the players’ attention had all turned to the right flank, Christian Medina smiled and swung his right foot fiercely.

“Huh?!”

Allies, opponents, and spectators alike were deceived.

While everyone was looking at the right flank that his fingertip was pointing to, the ball struck by Christian Medina’s foot began to fly fiercely.

A long-distance pass that cut diagonally across the field.

However, the pass was not directed at Adam Hložek, who was running along the right sideline before abruptly cutting towards the center of the field.

It was Dwight McNeil, Burnley’s gem, who had been quietly moving up the left sideline.

The current player that the Burnley youth team was most proud of lightly chested the ball that had crossed the field in one go, then placed it under his feet.

“Stop him!!”

Virgil van Dijk, the central defender who commanded Liverpool’s defense, issued a firm order.

Liverpool’s right-back, Trent Alexander-Arnold, who had advanced forward to join the attack, and Joël Matip, Virgil van Dijk’s central defense partner, simultaneously approached Dwight McNeil, while defensive midfielder Fabinho lingered behind, blocking any escape routes.

A 3-on-1 situation.

Logically, and considering Dwight McNeil’s usual tendencies, the possibility of another pass was almost absolute.

If he went on the offensive, he would send a cross into the penalty box, and if he played conservatively, he would pass the ball back to the midfield, but either way, a pass would come.

While Liverpool and Burnley players alike moved into positions to receive or intercept the pass with that thought and belief in mind.

Dwight McNeil smiled, unlike his usual expressionless face on the field.

“Dwighty!!!”

“Do something, Dwighty!!!”

“You’re the only one!!!”

“Our hope!!!”

Behind him, the cheers of the home fans desperately calling his name pierced his ears, and in front of him, three opposing players were rushing at him with hardened faces to snatch the ball away.

The outcome of today’s game held the opportunity to jump from a miserable 20th place to a glorious 1st place after a 32-game winning streak this season.

It was a chance to finally bring the championship trophy back to Burnley, a trophy that had last been won before his own father was even born.

He was enjoying it.

Burnley’s young gem, Dwight McNeil, smiled at the laughter that burst from his chest without him even realizing it.

That word that the manager had earnestly told him in his first season was finally resonating with him now.

The manager’s words that he wanted him to be comfortable and free.

The pressure and burden he had as the only youth academy player.

The obsession that he couldn’t make mistakes.

When was the last time?

When was the last time he truly enjoyed himself on the field?

Whenever the whistle blew, relief always came before joy when they won.

“I want you to attack much more comfortably and freely. What if you fail? The responsibility for the win or loss is on me, the manager, and your teammates will help you carry the burden on the field.”

That warm word that he had said to him on a spring afternoon that already felt like a long time ago, showing him data that he had obviously collected and analyzed himself, calling him into the manager’s office.

Today, a full two years and two months later, on the final match of the 2023/34 Premier League season, Dwight McNeil finally understood the manager’s words.

“Fuck, we’re all taking responsibility together!!”

“What did you say?!!”

Trent Alexander-Arnold, his teammate on the England national team, who was approaching him from the side, shouted with a bewildered expression at the words that suddenly burst from him.

Dwight McNeil stuck out his left foot as he turned his head to the right to check the position of Liverpool’s young defender, who was quickly approaching him.

“Ugh!!”

Trent Alexander-Arnold and Joël Matip, who were approaching Dwight McNeil, screamed almost simultaneously.

And the gem of Burnley, who pushed the ball into the narrow gap between the two of them, charged forward at the same time.

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

With a voice mixed with anger and absurdity, Joël Matip reached out his left arm to stop the opposing player from passing by him, but Dwight McNeil brushed off the obstruction by forcefully hitting the opponent’s arm with his left shoulder.

“Damn it!”

“Support me!”

Joël Matip, who had been brushed off in an instant, cursed and sent out a desperate request at the same time as Trent Alexander-Arnold, who was watching from the side.

Fabinho, Liverpool’s defensive midfielder, who had been positioning himself to provide support from behind, rushed forward at full speed with a desperate expression.

A 1-on-1 situation in an instant.

Dwight McNeil instead increased his speed and charged towards Fabinho, who was positioning himself to block the path to the penalty box.

Considering the distance and speed, they each had only one chance.

And the moment Fabinho slowed down his running speed and lowered his upper body to take a stance to check him.

Dwight McNeil pushed the ball between Fabinho’s legs as it was.

“Oooooooo!!!”

Amidst the cheers, gasps, and lamentations of the spectators, Fabinho, who was in danger of being broken through in an instant, spread his arms to stop Dwight McNeil.

A card was guaranteed, but this was a critical situation.

If he was breached here, a straight path would open up between the opposing attacker, who had completely gained momentum, and the goal.

If he fouled him in the penalty box, it would obviously be a penalty kick.

It was virtually the same as conceding a goal, and it was too dangerous to leisurely trust goalkeeper Alisson, who was guarding the goal from behind, or central defender Virgil van Dijk, who was positioning himself to provide support.

However, despite Fabinho’s desperate attempt, risking a card or even being sent off, Dwight McNeil brushed off the opposing team’s defensive midfielder’s hand, which was grabbing his crimson uniform, by attaching his right arm to his body and sharply swinging his elbow.

“Damn it!”

He broke through!

Ignoring Virgil van Dijk, who was looking around with a desperate expression, Dwight McNeil focused only on the goal and the opposing team’s goalkeeper blocking it, as the Burnley players, who were cheering wildly, all made movements to penetrate into the penalty box.

“Dwighty!!”

“I’m here too!!”

Adam Hložek, who was penetrating from the right flank, and Benjamín Šeško, who was pushing up from the center, were both raising their hands and calling his name.

It was good if a pass came, and it was enough if they could disperse the opposing team’s defense even if a pass didn’t come.

The young ace of Burnley, who had always run with the mental burden that he had to pass whenever his name was called, lowered his head and further increased the speed at which he moved his feet.

“Fuck!!”

Virgil van Dijk, who had been hesitating, finally started charging towards him, but it was already too late.

It was too late to even catch up to his tail.

Conversely, Liverpool’s goalkeeper Alisson, who had missed the timing to rush out, widened his arms with a nervous expression.

Dwight McNeil of Burnley was a technician who could shoot high, low, right, and left.

Between the fiercely running attacker and the goalkeeper, several gazes crossed, and a battle of wits continued in units of 0.1 seconds.

*Where is it coming?!?*

The moment Dwight McNeil’s head turned slightly to the right at the sound of a fierce shout coming from his right, and goalkeeper Alisson sensed a pass across the goal, he tilted his body slightly to his left.

“Got him!!”

Burnley’s central attacker, Benjamín Šeško, smiled and moved the foot he had been running towards the goal with to the right, and as Liverpool’s goalkeeper Alisson looked back at his front in panic, the ball had already left Dwight McNeil’s foot.

“Damn it!!”

He jumped up with all his might on the spot, but the ball had already barely passed the height that his fingertips could reach.

The ball slightly caught on the desperately outstretched fingertips, causing it to spin.

“Uwaaaaaaaa!!!!!”

As the 191cm tall giant fell backward, Alisson, who had closed his eyes in despair, heard the cheers of the home fans filled with joy.

67 minutes into the second half.

Burnley’s gem brought the score back to square one.