Became The Premier League’S Youngest Manager [EN]: Chapter 226

226: After 64 Years

“This is Burnley Town!”

“This is our home!”

“This is our turf!”

“This is our moor [open, uncultivated land]!”

“This is where we win!”

“This is where we stand and die!”

Time was running out.

All the useful substitution cards had already been played, and both managers were hesitant to make tactical changes that might disrupt their teams in such a tight match.

Burnley, trailing 1-0, had leveled the score with a fantastic chip shot from Dwight McNeil, but a draw was not enough.

For Burnley, the five losses they had accumulated during the season, and for Liverpool, the three draws and two losses, were now painfully felt.

If they had managed to grab even one more point back then…

If they had poured out their players and tactics without holding back, turning losses into draws, or draws into wins, wouldn’t this moment be less agonizing?

The renowned manager, a towering figure of 191 centimeters, who had made a name for himself by winning the Premier League, Bundesliga, Champions League, and numerous other competitions, and the young manager, standing at 180 centimeters with a slender build, who was writing a new chapter in Premier League history, stood side by side in the technical area, both reflecting on the past as the game slipped from their grasp.

And as both teams’ benches and coaching staffs surged to the sidelines, offering fervent support, a final, desperate battle was unfolding on the field.

“Christian!!”

The urgent shout came from beside him, but it was slightly too late.

Thwack!

Burnley’s young midfielder, Christian Medina, was knocked away from the ball with a shock that suddenly emptied the air from his lungs.

“You son of a…!!”

Before he could even finish the curse, he was slammed onto the field, his face hitting the grass, but there was no time to wait for the referee’s whistle.

Forcing air back into his lungs, he pushed himself up, his hands trembling as he gripped the grass, looking around to find the culprit.

Whistle!

“Damn it….”

Christian Medina was frustrated by the lost counter-attack opportunity, as the referee’s whistle stopped the game and the Burnley players began to scatter to set up their attack.

“You okay?”

In response to captain Nicholas Seiwald’s question, Christian Medina nodded, wiping the grass from his face.

“It was a good chance… damn.”

Nicholas Seiwald chuckled at the young midfielder’s frustrated expression.

“Now they’ve learned that they can only stop us with fouls.”

Jürgen Klopp, Liverpool’s manager, had been struggling against Burnley’s aggressive and violent midfield, led by Nicholas Seiwald, Patrick De Paula, and Christian Medina since the start of the second half, and he made a bold decision.

He took off Thiago, who wasn’t contributing much physically, and Jude Bellingham, who looked exhausted, replacing them with captain Jordan Henderson and vice-captain James Milner.

At the same time, he replaced central defender Joel Matip with Ibrahima Konaté to increase the speed of the central defense, and he brought in Diego Jota instead of central striker Darwin Núñez to intensify the pressure.

The plan was to completely shut down Burnley’s attacking opportunities with fast and intense pressure, but Burnley’s young midfield was overpowering even that.

As a result, Liverpool was committing more and more fouls.

But they were still managing to avoid giving up any critical chances.

Christian Medina sighed, assessing the free-kick position far from the opponent’s goal.

“It’s ambiguous….”

Just a little past the halfway line.

Of course, he could send it into the opponent’s penalty box, but what would happen after that was entirely a matter of luck.

And it was an impossible distance to aim directly for the goal.

“You’re the only one who can do it anyway. Just kick it well.”

“That’s not helpful at all, captain?”

Christian Medina replied to Nicholas Seiwald’s words with a grumble, but he carefully placed the ball on the spot marked by the referee’s spray.

“Oh, wait. Just a minute!”

“Huh?”

At Nicholas Seiwald’s interruption, Christian Medina looked up from the ball.

The young midfielder’s gaze swept across the field, past the referee trying to control the players from both teams who were already jostling in the penalty box, and towards the fourth official urgently raising the substitution board on the sideline, and the towering figure beside him.

“Lorenzo!!”

93rd minute of the second half.

The game hadn’t been stopped for long at any point, so not much extra time was given.

This was probably the last attack.

And in that final moment, Hyungmin had brought out Lorenzo Lucca, Burnley’s best heading specialist.

“Aaaaaah!!!”

Amidst the roaring cheers of the home fans, a large banner was unfurled on one side.

It featured Lorenzo Lucca’s face photoshopped onto the body of a giant purple giant [reference to Thanos from Marvel’s Avengers movie franchise], with the words written below:

Lorenzo Lucca is inevitable.

The banner, a direct parody of a famous line from a blockbuster superhero movie, fluttered amidst thunderous cheers, as the Burnley player designated for substitution sprinted towards the sideline.

It was Gu-ga, who had started as Burnley’s right-back and fought hard throughout the game.

The shortest player on the team was being taken off, as two central strikers were brought onto the field.

At the manager’s gesture, signaling both central defenders to join the attack, Nicholas Seiwald and Christian Medina exchanged glances.

“Mika and I will cover the back, so you go in too.”

“Hmm… okay.”

Would a counter-attack even be meaningful now?

If this free kick didn’t go in, the referee would probably end the game.

Nicholas Seiwald, who had been hesitating, nodded and headed into Liverpool’s penalty box.

Patrick De Paula was already in the crowd.

To pose at least a minimal threat, 18 of the 22 players on the field were battling inside the penalty box, except for Liverpool’s short striker Mohamed Salah, who was out on the halfway line, Burnley defender Mika Marmol, who was marking him, goalkeeper Marco Carnesecchi, and Christian Medina, who was taking the free kick.

Christian Medina took a deep breath and slowly stepped back from the ball, his eyes fixed on it.

Thwack!

“Damn it, get out of here!”

“You get out of here!”

Curses and elbows exchanged in low voices.

Pinching and pulling jerseys were basic.

The attacking side was trying to create opportunities by any means possible.

The defending side was trying to disrupt and block the opponent’s attack by any means possible.

The 17 field players, excluding Liverpool’s goalkeeper, were packed in the center of the penalty box, elbowing each other, pushing each other with their forearms, kicking each other, and cursing at the opposing team and the referee.

Whistle!

Finally, the referee’s whistle blew, and Christian Medina, rushing fiercely towards the ball, powerfully swung his right foot back and down, striking the ball with force.

“It’s coming!!”

With someone’s shout, some players prematurely leaped into the air.

The ball spun fiercely, curving to the right.

The players in the optimal position to receive that trajectory, the biggest and toughest players on the field, were timing their jumps, swinging their elbows menacingly to either side.

“Virgil!!”

The first to jump, calling out his teammate’s name, was Liverpool’s young central defender, Ibrahima Konaté.

But this was a feint [deceptive action].

As Ibrahima Konaté came down, slightly pushing down on Burnley’s central striker Lorenzo Lucca, who was trying to jump behind him, Virgil van Dijk, another Liverpool central defender who jumped at the same time as Lorenzo Lucca, roughly pushed the towering striker aside.

“Gah!”

Lorenzo Lucca groaned as a sharp elbow stabbed into his stomach, but he stretched his neck out to bring his forehead into the path of the incoming ball.

“Alisson!!”

Liverpool’s goalkeeper, Alisson, jumped towards Lorenzo Lucca, along with the veteran central defender, who had failed to contain the opposing central striker, who was almost 10 centimeters taller, shouting his name.

Three players, including the goalkeeper, were defending against one man.

In Alisson’s view, who had succeeded in blocking all possible angles of the shot with both hands, he saw Lorenzo Lucca smiling, instead of looking desperate.

“Not me!!”

“Aaaagh!!”

Alisson screamed as Lorenzo Lucca pulled back the forehead he should have been pushing forward, flailing in the air.

The ball, which had passed right over the three Liverpool players and one Burnley player clustered in front of the goal, headed towards Liverpool’s far post.

There was another giant figure, suppressing Andrew Robertson, the captain of the Scottish national team and Liverpool’s regular left-back, who was desperately jumping up.

An unexpected face.

Burnley’s central defender, Nathan Collins, who still had a youthful face, was leaping into the air, having found the perfect opportunity.

“No!!”

Andrew Robertson, who was guarding the goalpost, jumped up with him, but the height difference was significant, and his timing was off.

On the other hand, Nathan Collins, floating effortlessly in the air, accurately brought his forehead to the ball.

Thud!!

The fans of both teams, their eyes wide, gasped in unison and jumped up from their seats, as the ball, leaving a beautiful sound, passed straight through the upper left corner of Liverpool’s goal.

As the net rippled, a powerful shout that shook Andrils Moore erupted.

***

Whistle!

“Aaaaaaaaaah!!!”

The referee, looking at both goals once, raised one hand and blew a long whistle, and the roar that filled Andrils Moore erupted once again.

Both the winners and losers, overwhelmed with emotion, sat down on the field, looked up at the sky, or applauded the fans, while Hyungmin hurriedly moved towards the opposing team’s technical area.

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you!”

Before being swept away by the crowd, Hyungmin barely managed to shake hands with Liverpool’s Jürgen Klopp, who had a bitter expression, and the first to rush to him was captain Nicholas Seiwald.

“We won!! We’re champions!! Aaaaaah!!”

“Haha. Yes, we’re champions!”

Nicholas Seiwald, who still couldn’t hide his bewildered expression, hugged Hyungmin and lifted his young manager into the air.

“We won!!”

Bang!

Fireworks, prepared from who knows where, were launched into the sky from above the roof of Andrils Moore, as the home fans, weeping and ecstatic, began to sing Burnley’s anthem in unison.

“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!”