<h4>Chapter 133: unexpected twist</h4>


    After more than seventy minutes of steadyposure, Aston Vi finally panicked. The emotional drop from leading to being turned around was palpable. At this moment, behind Brian Little, there was nothing but a cliff; taking a single step back would plunge them into the depths. The only way forward was to attack!


    With a wave of the referee''s g, the attack was signaled.


    Aston Vi switched to a 3-5-2 formation, and the wing-backs surged forward, their previously conserved energy allowing them to sprint vigorously up and down the field.


    Meanwhile, Aldrich, having subbed in Vieira, reinforced intercepting the vertical y in front of the penalty area alongside Makelele, bracing for Aston Vi''s counterattacks.


    Time ticked away, and as the match progressed, yers on both sides shed fiercely, leading to frequent fouls. Aston Vi struggled to organize effective attacking ys. Crosses from the wings posed no threat to Millwall''s goal, as Southgate and Stam held firm as the backbone of the defense.


    When the match reached thest three minutes, Aston Vi''s impatience became conspicuous on the field. All three midfielders pressed forward to bolster their numerical advantage in threatening the penalty area.


    However, theycked a good passer. Their consecutive crosses failed to make an impact—one went out of bounds, another was too low to even reach Materazzi''s head and was cleared by a full-back.


    After Stoughton''s third cross, the ballnded perfectly near the penalty spot. The entire stadium held its breath, not daring to blink, fearing they might miss a goal in the next moment.


    Thud.


    A massive sigh of disappointment erupted from Aston Vi fans, while Aldrich also felt a sense of relief.


    In the crowded penalty area, Stam soared high to head the ball away, denying Milosevic any opportunity.


    The cleared ball was collected by the retreating Nedved, positioned dangerously as Taylor prepared to ambush him from behind. Nedved, aware of the imminent threat, turned his back to the field and swept the ball towards the right nk, where Larsen, who had been lurking for his chance, seized the ball andunched into a long stride.


    Millwall''s fans waved their arms vigorously, roaring Larsen''s name, urging him to charge forward.


    Aston Vi''s back half had bepletely exposed, consisting only of three center-backs. Larsen raced down the wing like a whirlwind, executing a quick change of direction towards the inside. Just as he took a couple of strides with the ball, he faced an interception from Wright. Larsen maintained his speed and skillfully shifted direction again, driving the ball toward the goal line.


    With two Aston Vi defenders in pursuit, he neared the small box, and Simek had to step in to block him. Calmly, Larsen knocked the ball back toward the center.


    Prepared and waiting, Trezeguet darted into the open space. With Essien closing in from two meters away, Trezeguet unleashed a powerful shot!


    Goalkeeper August dove towards the near post—he guessed right—and miraculously saved Trezeguet''s shot!


    But in a cruel twist of fate, the ball deflected to the other side,nding perfectly for Solskjaer, who seemed to materialize out of thin air,pletely unmarked. In a sh, he struck the ball without breaking his stride, sending it surging into the bottom right corner of the like a thunderbolt.


    Millwall secured a 3-1 victory!


    "Super substitute Solskjaer! Millwall has once again pierced through their opponent''s defenses with their favored counterattack. Aston Vi has probably missed their opportunity now; they can only watch helplessly as the championship trophy slips away, as Aldrich-Hall''s substitutions and adjustments have been key to the match. From today''s game, it''s clear that Aldrich knows how to deploy the most appropriate strategy even in unfavorable situations. Who would have guessed that Materazzi, a center-back, could perform so well as a striker?"


    Solskjaer shed his trademark smile, raising his fists triumphantly. Trezeguet ran over and lifted him up, while teammates disyed expressions of pure excitement.


    It was exhrating to pull off such aeback in the final!


    Aldrich turned to celebrate with his coaching staff and yers, jumping on Jensen''s back as everyone raised their fists and cheered.


    At this moment, Brian Little wore an expressionless face, seemingly stricken by the blow. Aston Vi''s yers had lost their fighting spirit, hands on hips and heads downcast, looking forlorn and defeated.


    With just three minutes of stoppage time left, following the restart, Millwall retreated defensively, while Aston Vi attempted two long balls that resulted in nothing, even sending a high ball directly out of y.


    When the referee blew the final whistle, Millwall''s yers were filled with exhration, darting all over the field.


    Other coaches and yers rushed onto the field to celebrate, but Aldrich walked slowly beside Neil, wrapping his arm around him. He whispered in Neil''s ear, "You sacrificed a lot today for this victory. Lucas, I can''t express enough gratitude; having a yer like you is my fortune."


    Neil, already in his jacket, embraced Aldrich. "Boss, to be honest, I''m more thankful to you. When you came two years ago, I was really scared, but you trusted me. Other yers my age wouldn''t have gotten this many chances in the Premier League. I respect every decision you make, and today is no different. What matters is we won the championship."


    Aldrich shared a smile with him and nodded.


    When Aldrich took over the team two years ago, he had ruthlessly cleared out yers. During that time, Neil, who was with the youth team, must have felt anxious, too. However, he was one of the two yers left on the team, directly promoted from youth to the first team. Aldrich believed that a naturally tough yer like him would adapt well to big asions, but he still needed to bnce his workload to avoid burnout from too many early matches.


    yers were celebrating on the field, and Aldrich patted Neil on the shoulder, encouraging him to join the jubnt crowd.


    Around him, reporters and cameras focused on Aldrich. There was no doubt that he had made history for Millwall and achieved greatness for himself.


    With his twentieth birthday approaching, he secured the first significant trophy of his coaching career today. This was possibly unprecedented, and whether anyone could surpass himter didn''t matter to Aldrich.


    As he walked steadily onto the field to embrace each yer and celebrate, an unexpected turn of events urred!


    When the referee blew the whistle to signal the end of the match, over forty thousand Millwall fans in the stands erupted as if they had heard the most beautiful melody.


    Millwall supporters watching the game on television began to celebrate frantically as well.


    Some were crying tears of joy, others threw down bottles, some lost themselves in wild cheers, and others kissed their jerseys as they clutched the team crest...


    Countless pubs in East London reverberated with a celebratory rhythm as bar owners eagerly served free beers to patrons, joining in the festivities.


    Crowds in the streets shouted and celebrated this glorious moment.


    They had waited far too long, suppressing emotions for too long—one hundred and ten years. How many times can one live through a hundred and ten years? None; it was a lifetime spent traversing through generations. This victory, this championship, not only marked the most thrilling moment for the witnesses but also rang as a bell offort to past generations who could now rest in peace.


    Those predecessors, who could not witness Millwall''s glory even unto death—whether in heaven or hell, can you see it clearly now?


    Millwall, the first championship in the club''s history, has arrived!


    Outside Wembley Stadium, it was packed beyond capacity. With no tickets, the gathering of Millwall fans outside created immense pressure on security. Inside the stadium, countless fans were embracing and crying—some even knelt with hands raised towards the heavens, tears streaming as they conveyed the good news to the heavens.


    But many fans could not control their emotions; they wished to thank the heroes on the field and express their gratitude through hugs and kisses. Consequently, they climbed over the stands and surged onto the pitch like a volcanic eruption, unstoppable and overwhelming.


    Aston Vi''s yers quickly retreated to their bench, standing together to avoid being harmed in the chaos.


    The stadium security was taken aback, as such scenes had be a gue in English football. Thest thing ticket managers wanted was forrge groups of fans to create disorder. The horrific memories of the Hillsborough disaster were still fresh, and today was a final with an impending awards ceremony.


    Security personnel and police rushed onto the field to maintain order, but they were powerless to stop the throng, only able to restrain overly emotional male fans who disyed exaggerated physical reactions.


    In the royal box, where FA officials Wiseman and CEO Kelly prepared for the awards presentation, their faces turned ashen with concern.


    "Millwall, pride of the n!"


    What started as a splendid match ended in chaos, marred by thugs once again!


    Joining them in the box were royal members and several footballing legends—no one relished witnessing such pandemonium on the pitch!


    What should happen next?


    How would they carry out the awards?


    Wiseman felt an inkling of panic. He guessed that the League Cup final would dominate European football headlines tomorrow—whether it be a scandal or a joke, it would turn the FA into aughingstock and a scapegoat.


    Just when it appeared that the officials were at a loss for how to conclude the situation, a powerful male voice echoed through the stadium''s sound system.


    "Stop it! You motherf*ckers, stop it! Hey, you, fat cop, take your filthy hands off the Millwall fans! And you, do you n to kill that guy? Everyone stop it, now!"


    On the pitch, in the stands, everyone froze, searching for the source of the voice until their gazended on the center of the field.


    There, Materazzi and Southgate stood shoulder to shoulder, and on top of their shoulders, Aldrich wobbled a bit but maintained his bnce, holding a microphone in one hand while pointing at the nearby police and security personnel as they subdued fans.


    His handsome face disyed a cold yet resolute expression, and Aldrich''s words brought an instant silence to the stadium.