ã€ŠFootball Dynastyã€‹


 Football Fan Forever, Even In Death.

    For an athlete, there is no greater fear than injury. It lurks in every tackle, every sprint, every jump. It is the shadow that follows them onto the pitch, the unspoken dread that threatens to end everything in an instant.

    The same is true in football, where every second is a battle and the risk is ever-present. A wrong step, a mistimed challenge, or sheer misfortune could turn a promising career into a distant memory.

    Beeping monitors played a constant rhythm, like a soundtrack to the stillness of the room. The soft rustle of paper and the tapping of rubber-soled shoes echoed down the corridor, blending with the quiet murmur of distant voices.

    "Richard."

    It was a very familiar voice, warm and comforting, cutting through the haze of unconsciousness.

    "Richard."

    His heart skipped a beat, a surge of something raw rushing through him as he tried to focus on the sound. His eyelids fluttered, as if the effort to open them felt too much. But then¡ª

    "Richard, wake up!"

    The third time she called his name, something in him snapped. His eyes shot open, and this shocked not only his mother, who had called after him so many times, but everyone in the room. The nurse was so startled that she almost screamed in fear.

    His family and the medical staff surrounding his bed stared in shocked. For a moment, the silence stretched, a breathless pause. Then, all at once, the tension evaporated. Joy filled the room like a rush of air.

    The news spread like wildfire through the hospital. Soon, it spread across the country.

    Richard Maddox was back, alive!

    The man who had been declared dead was alive!

    Richard Maddox. Before the disastrous collision, people had many names for him.

    The Sun dubbed him The Local Football Prodigy, capturing his meteoric rise and undeniable talent that had the nation buzzing with excitement.

    The Mirror wasn''t far behind, calling him England''s Most Talented Youngster, recognizing his promise and the bright future ahead of him.

    The Daily Express added its own flair, going full tabloid with headlines like The Boy Who Assists, likening his passes to spells cast with surgical precision, unlocking even the tightest defenses.

    The Guardian took a more measured approach, referring to him as The Next Generation Talent of the Three Lions, believing that he could be the future backbone of England''s national team.

    In the 1983/1984 season, just after his debut, Richard helped Sheffield Wednesday secure promotion from the Second Division to the First Division.

    In the 1984/1985 season, they made an immediate impact, defying expectations. Their spirited performances propelled Sheffield Wednesday into the upper echelons of English football, with the club finishing a remarkable 8th place.

    Now, in the 1985/1986 season, when many believed Sheffield Wednesday was finished, they managed to shake off the doubt and make a breakthrough, challenging the upper echelons of English football once again, finishing an impressive 5th place.

    It was an extraordinary and consistent performance, with the young debutant''s impact nothing short of remarkable. His displays on the pitch had captured the hearts of both fans and pundits, and the excitement he generated throughout the league was felt across the nation.

    He had already secured his place¡ªproof that, even at such a young age, he was destined for greatness. However, no one could have anticipated the unexpected accident that occurred in the dying minutes of the match.

    It was the 8th fixture of the 1985/1986 season, Sheffield Wednesday F.C. versus Luton Town. With only moments left on the clock, the game was tense¡ªtied at 1-1. The crowd held its breath as the ball bounced awkwardly in front of the goal.

    Richard, ever the opportunist, saw his chance. His eyes locked on the ball, and without hesitation, he launched himself into the air, aiming to meet it with a header. He was running at full speed, leaping from a distance to reach the ball, which had come to him in the nick of time.

    His timing was perfect, and the ball flew into the back of the net, a stunning goal that leveled the score. The stadium erupted, the fans cheering in sheer joy as their team was moments away from securing a draw. But the celebration quickly turned to shock.

    In his desperate attempt to score, Richard had misjudged his leap, colliding with the goalpost in a sickening thud. The impact reverberated through the stadium, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze.

    The referee blew his whistle, signaling the end of the match, but all eyes were on Richard.

    He lay there motionless.

    The stadium was filled with a tense silence as medical staff rushed onto the pitch. Fans, who moments ago had been celebrating the goal, now held their breath, hoping the young man wasn''t seriously hurt.

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    But it was too late.

    Richard received treatment for eleven minutes on the Hillsborough Stadium pitch before being stretchered off with an oxygen mask and taken to the hospital. It was there, in the sterile, cold light of the emergency room, that the unthinkable happened.

    Richard Maddox, the rising star of English football, was declared dead!

    The doctors worked tirelessly, but despite their best efforts, his injuries¡ªtoo severe, too sudden¡ªhad taken him. The news spread like wildfire, and in a cruel twist of fate, the world had lost its brightest hope in the blink of an eye.

    People were mourning deeply, but then another national shock came after the declaration of his death.

    Richard had been rushed to the hospital, where he was never able to regain consciousness. However, just as his body was being transported to the morgue, he suddenly gasped for breath, startling everyone in the room.

    "Arrggh, zombie!"

    "Open the door quickly!"

    "Hey, where''s the freaking extinguisher?!" someone yelled. "Let''s hit him in the head properly this time!"

    "..."

    A brief silence fell over the room as the entire staff stared in disbelief. Thankfully, the doctors at that time were still able to think rationally and quickly rushed to stop the staff members who had already grabbed the fire extinguisher.

    The hospital turned upside down. Still, they were still in shock, struggling to understand how¡ªjust how?!

    At the end of the day, they were forced to make a quick decision. The hospital decided to issue a statement.In the eyes of the media, government officials, and the millions of fans worldwide, The pressure grew unbearable.

    [...Richard Maddox had experienced a "clinical death" state, where the body appears lifeless but can sometimes be revived. It was a rare occurrence, but not unheard of...]

    With the public demanding answers, the government keeping a close eye on them, and media scrutiny intensifying, they knew they couldn''t let this headline-grabbing event drag on. They could only present the most logical explanation they could offer.

    Even if it felt a bit forced, they had no choice but to accept it. The pressure was too great for them to do anything else.

    "Well, that''s what happened."

    After briefly being filled in on everything that had happened while he was in a coma, Richard finally regained his composure. Still struggling to grasp the reality, but slowly, it began to settle in¡ªhe had come back to life.

    "Your body goes into a natural state of panic and self-preservation when you get badly hurt¡ªit knows when something is massively wrong. The pain was unbearable, like a bomb going off in your head, right at the temple," the doctor explained slowly and patiently.

    In extreme trauma, the body sometimes "shuts down" as a survival response, limiting unnecessary activity to conserve energy and focus on repairing itself. Fractured skull and potential for brain damagepushed his body into a state of emergency. The pain had been too much.

    His system had simply... stopped. It took him a total of eight months to regain consciousness.

    Seven metal plates in his skull, with fourteen screws just to hold them in place. Thirty-five staples and a seven-inch scar ran across his head¡ªa constant reminder of the ordeal he had endured. His balance was severely affected; walking in a straight line felt impossible. Even the slightest movement of his head sent waves of dizziness through him.

    For the first ten days, he had to be spoon-fed, unable to do even the most basic tasks on his own. It wasn''t until ten weeks later that he could finally open his mouth properly again. The road to recovery was long and grueling, but he had no choice but to push through.

    The next thing he remembered is being woken up. Everything was a bit of a blur. He remembered feeling a lot of pain. He couldn''t handle it. There was so much noise¡ªso much that it felt like screaming straight into his ear. He was incredibly sensitive to noise.

    "I''m lucky to be back¡­ huh?" Richard murmured to himself, staring out the window of the hospital room.

    The distant sky, with its fading hues of sunset, felt almost surreal to him. The world outside seemed normal, yet he couldn''t explain what had happened to him¡ªor what had really happened during the time he had been unconscious.

    It felt like an entire chapter of his life had been erased, leaving him only with fragments of memories and flashes of events that seemed so distant, almost as if they belonged to someone else.

    His mind kept circling back to the same question: What had happened to him during that time?

    Transmigration? Reincarnation? Or possession?

    No, this is me.

    Everything is still the same.

    But was it truly possible for someone to die and come back? Or was this some kind of miracle¡ªa freak occurrence that no one could explain?

    He didn''t have answers, only more questions.

    When he was unconscious, his body lay motionless in the hospital bed, but his spirit seemed to wander far from it. He could see his lifeless body, lying there helpless, a sight that made his heart chill.

    He tried calling out, hoping someone would hear him. He called for his father, mother, and big brother, the nurse, other patient, and doctor¡ªbut they couldn''t hear him.

    ''Am I truly dead?'' A strange thought struck him

    He thought back to the stories he''d heard¡ª''aren''t people supposed to go to heaven or hell after they die? Or am I just a wandering soul, trapped in this world like a ghost in horror movies?''

    The shock and confusion gave way to a deep sense of denial. Then came anger¡ªwhy couldn''t anyone hear him? It wasn''t fair. Then came bargaining¡ª''Maybe if I try hard enough, I can wake up, get back in my body.'' But after what seemed like an eternity, Richard reached a place of acceptance. He had to, eventually.

    With a reluctant sigh, Richard bowed his head to his parents, his big brother, and even to the doctors and nurses who had worked so hard to save him. He had to leave his hospital room behind. But where to?

    Where does a football-obsessed soul go when it''s no longer tethered to a body?

    With no physical restrictions, Richard rubbed his hands excitedly before drifting effortlessly, flowing from one country to another, like a phantom attending football matches.

    England, Spain, Italy, Germany... and after Paris Saint-Germain''s ambitious attempt to replicate Real Madrid''s Gal¨¢cticos with "The Mbapp¨¦ Project", he even added France to his list.

    What he didn''t expect was the rise of Manchester City, toppling Manchester United''s long-standing dominance. There was also Leicester City''s incredible underdog season, Arsenal''s Invincibles, Chelsea''s rise under Abramovich, and Liverpool''s domination in the Premier League in later years, with Mo Salah as their main attacking threat.

    Richard was absolutely thrilled. So many surprises, so much to watch.

    Not to mention Barcelona and Real Madrid''s continued dominance, with Atl¨¦tico Madrid squeezing their way into the conversation.

    In Germany, Borussia Dortmund and Bayer Leverkusen began challenging Bayern Munich''s stranglehold on the Bundesliga. Meanwhile, Serie A saw fierce battles between AC Milan, Inter Milan, and Napoli.

    There''s also the talent-producing machine of the Netherlands, the passion-fueled leagues of Portugal, the intense Supercl¨¢sico and Paulista Derby, and the chaotic excitement of the Turkish league, where fans sometimes run amok.

    And so, despite being a ghost, Richard couldn''t resist watching the beautiful game¡ªhis passion¡ªcontinuing from the afterlife. After all, there''s nothing more comforting than watching a match, even if you''re no longer sitting in the stands.

    A football fan forever, even in death.

 Forced Retirement

    "So in the end, Sheffield Wednesday didn''t make it, huh..." Richard murmured, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.

    He had always hoped the team would rise to the challenge, but the harsh reality hit. They couldn''t compete in the top tier of English football in the end.

    His disappointment was clear, but it didn''t last long. Deep down, he knew that his feelings for Sheffield Wednesday weren''t that deep. Playing for them often felt more like being under contract than out of sheer loyalty. Yes, it was meaningful, but in the end, if a better offer came along, he would leave.

    The doctor''s voice broke through his thoughts. "Lie down," he instructed gently as he checked his condition. Richard complied, lying back on the bed.

    "Does it hurt here?" the doctor asked.

    "No, I don''t feel anything," Richard replied.

    The doctor nodded to the nurse standing beside him. She nodded and scribbled something down in her notes.

    "What about here?" the doctor continued, probing gently around Richard''s head. "Any discomfort?"

    Richard simply shook his head again. There was nothing. He truly felt fine, almost too fine. It was as if the long, unsettling period of being a wandering ghost had somehow restored him completely¡ªhis body healed, no aches, no pain. It felt almost like a fresh start, like he''d never been hurt at all.

    In fact, he even thought about returning to the pitch, the idea of playing again lingering in his mind. But as soon as he asked his doctor about it, the answer came instantly: "You probably could never play football again."

    A harsh verdict. But after everything, he had already spent time as something supernatural thing¡ªwhat else could possibly shock him or drive him to despair?

    The doctor, sensing Richard''s devastation, decided to open up. "Here," he said, showing Richard the CT scan results.

    Richard''s eyes locked onto the CT scan, the image of his skull fractured in ways he couldn''t quite comprehend. It looked almost alien¡ªso many fractures, so many plates and screws holding him together. A part of him still couldn''t quite believe it.

    "Is it me?" he asked quietly.

    The doctor only nodded slowly. After thinking for a moment, Richard stood up and bowed slightly to the doctor.

    "Thank you for saving my life."

    Dr. Mark Waller, the club doctor of Sheffield Wednesday at that time, was the one who made some big decisions that shaped his recovery.

    He knew immediately that Richard had fractured his skull and that there was potential for brain damage, especially since the entire right side of his face had dropped and was paralyzed.

    The ambulance driver had wanted to go to the nearest hospital, but Dr. Waller insisted they go to St. James''s University Hospital¡ªthey actually drove past two other hospitals to get there.

    That decision probably saved his life. If they had gone to one of the nearer hospitals, he likely would have had a scan and then been referred to St. James''s, which would have wasted valuable time.

    Dr. Waller simply waved his hand before continuing to check Richard''s condition thoroughly. After making sure everything was in order, he nodded and said, "I think your recovery is going very well. I''m confident it won''t be long before you can go home."

    "Home, huh?" Richard said, feeling nostalgic at the sound of those words.

    The next seven days were filled with final assessments and preparations for Richard''s discharge. The doctors and nurses carefully monitored his recovery, running a series of tests and evaluations to ensure he was fit enough to leave the hospital.

    The physical therapists worked with him to regain strength and mobility, and the doctors went over the results of his CT scans once more to make sure everything was as it should be. It was a slow process, but a steady one. Finally, on the last day of his stay, Dr. Waller gave him the final clearance.

    "You''re in great shape," Dr. Waller said, smiling as he shook Richard''s hand. "You''ll need some rest and recovery at home, but I have no concerns. You''re good to go."

    Richard smiled back, a mix of relief and exhaustion. He''d made it through. Despite everything, he was finally able to leave this damn place. Every day here had felt like forever¡ªdull and boring.

    After leaving the examination room, Richard returned to his room. There, waiting for him, were his father, mother, and older brother. But what he didn''t expect, however, was to see his manager¡ªor rather, his former manager¡ªstanding there as well.

    "Richard, I''m glad to see you''re alright," said Howard Wilkinson, the current manager of Sheffield Wednesday.

    Richard looked at him with a complicated expression. This was the man who had given him his debut, but it was also under his leadership that Richard''s football career had come to a premature halt.

    Don''t get him wrong, it wasn''t personal. But the end of his career had come under Wilkinson''s tenure, and that stung.

    Shaking off the complicated thoughts swirling in his mind, Richard took a step forward and extended his hand.

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    "Thank you, Mr. Wilkinson," he said.

    Howard, hearing the way Richard addressed him, could immediately tell the distance in Richard''s eyes and also the sadness behind them.

    Yes, this was indeed a farewell.

    He knew Richard had been exceptional, a player destined for greatness. And yet, fate had not been kind. Football could be cruel that way. Howard had been the one to lead Richard into his career, but he was also the one who saw it cut short.

    "You know this doesn''t have to be goodbye, right?" Howard said, trying to offer some encouragement.

    "Sheffield Wednesday''s door is still open for you. In fact, I''ve already spoken to the higher-ups, and they''re on board. If you''re interested, we can offer you a potential transition to a coaching role. With your experience and ability as a player, I believe you''d be great at guiding the younger players."

    Richard paused, the idea of coaching lingering in his mind. ''Transitioning to coach, huh... but after everything I''ve seen in the future?''

    He sighed, his voice tinged with melancholy. "I''ve spent so many years in the hospital, and I missed out on so much with my family¡­"

    In the end, Richard gently declined.

    "Howard couldn''t argue with that. He understood all too well. If Richard wasn''t ready or willing to make that change, no amount of persuasion would convince him. Howard gave him a moment of silence, then nodded in understanding.

    "I understand," Howard replied softly. "It''s important to take time for yourself and your family. This is a big decision."

    "Thank you, coach."

    Hearing the familiar words, Howard finally smiled and regained his enthusiasm.

    That day, Richard and his family, along with Howard Wilkinson and the club''s lawyer, were gathered to discuss finalizing the terms of Richard''s contract termination. Since it was a mutual termination, there was no requirement for a lawyer from the Maddox family''s side.

    Richard''s injury clearly fell under the clause allowing termination due to a career-ending injury. With two years remaining on his contract, Sheffield Wednesday would need to provide compensation, but both parties had agreed that the Maddox family would only take 50% of the compensation package.

    The club had provided all the medical care and facilities for Richard''s recovery, and they had also handled all the publicity surrounding the injury and his career. The 50% was seen more as a gesture of honor to the club, or a formality for the legal process.

    The Maddox family, if it were solely up to them, would have opted not to take any compensation at all. However, from a legal and public relations standpoint, it wasn''t an option. The club also had to ensure the process was handled in a way that protected its image and followed legal requirements.

    By the end of the meeting, both sides were satisfied with the outcome¡ªa win-win situation.

    Both parties agreed on a fair and respectful settlement, allowing Richard and his family to move on with their lives while also protecting Sheffield Wednesday from any negative publicity or legal complications.

    Howard shook Richard''s hand once more. "We''ll always be here if you need us. Take care of yourself, Richard."

    Richard nodded, grateful for the support. "Thank you, Coach. I''ll always have a place in my heart for Sheffield Wednesday."

    Richard''s weekly wage at Sheffield Wednesday had been ¡ê90 before he signed a new contract two years ago, which was worth ¡ê120 per week and set to last for four years.

    With two years remaining on his contract, Richard had earned a total of ¡ê14,042 during his football career. Including contributions and bonuses, his total savings now stood at approximately ¡ê15,000.

    "Mr. Maddox and Mrs. Maddox, take care."

    "Take care, Mr. Wilkinson, and Sir Montague."

    After bidding farewell and watching the Ford Sierra drive away, Richard finally felt like he could breathe. He turned to his father, mother, and older brother.

    "Are you okay, dear? Are you feeling dizzy? Can you walk? Are you hungry?" Before Richard could even get a word in, his mother bombarded him with questions, her worry evident in her voice.

    "Yeah, if you''re feeling uncomfortable, just let us know, alright?" his father added in his usual calm tone.

    Bryan Maddox and Anna Maddox¡ªGallo, by her maiden name¡ªwere the two most important people in Richard''s life.

    His father worked as a forklift operator at a warehouse in King''s Cross, spending his days moving heavy pallets and boxes. It was tiring work, but he never complained. His mother, Anna, was a housewife¡ªa dedicated one. She took care of everything at home.

    "I''m okay, Mom, Dad," Richard reassured them with a tired smile. "I''ve never felt this good before." He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

    His older brother, Harry Maddox, stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. "That''s good to hear. Just focus on resting for now, alright? Make sure you recover properly before worrying about anything else. And don''t think about football."

    Harry was afraid his little brother would be devastated. Football had always been Richard''s life¡ªhis dream. The thought of his career ending like this was almost unbearable.

    "I already told you, I''m okay," Richard joked as he playfully pushed his older brother.

    After chatting and laughing with his family, they decided to spend the night at a small hotel. The next morning, they took the first train home to Islington, London.

    It is an inner-city area of North London, England, within the wider London Borough of Islington. Talking about Islington¡ªthe neighborhood where they lived¡ªor seeing what it had become made Richard''s face turn gloomy.

    If he looked at it now through the eyes of himself when he was still a wandering ghost, the difference was too great. It was like comparing two entirely different worlds, and the transformation was undeniable: from shabby to chic.

    The streets were unkempt, with potholes, litter, and neglected buildings. Thankfully, during the day, from morning to evening, the area was still lively, so it wasn''t too dangerous to walk alone. But at night, it was better to walk with someone, as it could get dangerous.

    Soon, Richard walked on and noticed the familiar sights. Despite the poverty, the neighborhood had a strong community feel, with local shops, fish-and-chip stands, and small pubs where neighbors gathered.

    Living amid a seemingly never-ending construction boom, it was hard to believe how much London had changed since the 1980s, especially Islington. Once a quiet, neglected area, it had transformed into one of the most fashionable places in the capital by the 2020s.

    "Still... It was like a desert¡ªtoo empty, too vacant¡­" Richard mumbled without realizing it.

    "What did you say?"

    "No, nothing. Let''s go."

    The house they lived in was just like any other on the street¡ªa mix of old Victorian and Georgian terraces, post-war council estates, and aging tenement-style flats.

    These buildings, originally built for working-class families, featured classic details like bay windows, pitched roofs, and brick facades that had seen years of wear and tear.

    When the Conservatives rose to power, they introduced the Right-to-Buy policy, which allowed council house tenants to purchase their homes at a discount.

    For many families, it was a chance to own a piece of the city, and the Maddox family was no exception¡ªthey didn''t want to miss out on this opportunity.

    If Richard remembered correctly, his father had spent nearly ¡ê3,500 to purchase their house¡ªalmost their entire savings at the time. It forced them to tighten their belts just to get by.

    The deal came with a condition though: the council retained the right to buy the house back in the future, based on its market value at the time.

    ''Hmm, seems like we took advantage of that policy while it was still available,'' Richard thought to himself, reflecting on the decision.

 Important Information!

    1. The story starts in the 1985/1986 season of English football. Story is centered around football ownership, with the main character (MC) owning a football club.

    2. The MC won''t be the coach or manager, but he will appoint one to lead the team. The story emphasizes the decisions made as an owner and the operational aspects, such as sponsorship deals, stadium development, academies, scouting, how to operate in the transfer market.

    3. The MC starts from the lowest point, focusing on how to make money and grow his wealth first. So, don''t expect him to buy a club right away¡ªit takes time. [Spoiler: His initial money comes from betting and property.]

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    4. Before becoming an owner, the MC will first work as a coach, scout, and football agent, so once again, it takes time.

    5. Once again, the story is about being a football club owner. So, you can expect the MC flying around the world, making investments here and there, and discussing business. [Spoiler: He will get involved in the artist agency business since he knows who will make it big in the future.]

    6. Matches will be shown from the perspective of someone in the stands. There will be a little prep talk and motivational strategies, but more focused on the club''s philosophy and future direction.

 Family First

    "Mom, Dad, here''s the money."

    The total amount of money he received was ¡ê15,000. Once the Maddox family settled, Richard took the initiative and gave ¡ê7,500 of his earnings, including his salary and compensation, to his parents. He also set aside ¡ê2,500 for his brother.

    "Brother, I heard you want to start a business. Here''s ¡ê2,500 for the capital. I hope you can run the business wisely."

    The reason was simple: as someone who could be considered a "peek into the future," Richard knew that the future wasn''t just a mystery¡ªit was an opportunity for him. With his knowledge, he understood that money, in itself, was easy to come by.

    What he needed was confirmation¡ªproof that everything he saw aligned with reality. He had already set a target for himself, a way to test his predictions for the future.

    1986 FIFA World Cup. Mexico.

    If his prediction turned out to be true, he could be sure that everything he had seen about the future was accurate.

    "No, you take back your money!"

    It felt like he had stepped on his parents and older brother''s toes. They anxiously pushed the money back into his hands.

    ''You''re kidding me, right?''

    Bryan was frustrated, but also deeply sad.

    As a father, he wanted nothing more than for his son to succeed. He had always been proud of Richard, especially when he managed to make a name for himself and achieve great things. But the injury had shaken him to the core.

    With the injury, his son''s future now seemed uncertain. Bryan knew his son could no longer pursue heavy labor, and he feared the long-term effects of the injury would make it impossible for him to hold down a regular job.

    In his eyes, his youngest son was too fragile at that moment.

    Harry Maddox, Richard''s older brother, shared similar concerns but viewed things differently. He had intended to follow in their father''s footsteps, working at the warehouse.

    Though the pay was modest, Harry believed he was still young, strong, and had many years of work ahead of him, which gave him a sense of stability and purpose. So, when Richard offered him money, Harry rebuffed him harshly, saying he didn''t need it.

    Richard was speechless. ''Brother, I want to invest! Invest!''

    But in the end, he gave up. If he insisted, he feared his brother might think he was undermining him.

    Originally, when he handed Harry the ¡ê2,500, it wasn''t meant as a gift¡ªit was meant to be an investment in his business.

    He also tried giving the money to their mother to manage, but she refused. "It''s your money, Richard. You manage it. I believe in you." Her words were firm, filled with both love and trust.

    In the Maddox family, Richard had always been the most successful¡ªat least before his forced retirement. His decision to focus on football rather than academics had been met with skepticism, but he had proven everyone wrong.

    "Do you still want to build your own supermarket?" Richard couldn''t help but ask his brother.

    Harry, his elder brother, had always had a knack for business.

    He remembered it clearly¡ªwhen they were kids, Harry used to complain about how difficult it was to buy things in Islington.

    The lack of convenience frustrated them both, and at one point, they had even joked, "It''s like we''re stuck in the stone age¡ªno supermarket, no convenience."

    When Richard was unconscious and wandering as a ghost, he spent his days either watching over his family from afar or observing how the world was changing¡ªwars, crises, and the gradual transformation of society.

    Football matches were usually held on weekends, sometimes on wednesdays, thursdays, and fridays. If there was no football, he had time to see how the world moved forward without him.

    Everyone knew that Islington had been in a state of decline. Traditional industries were disappearing, local shops were shutting down, and the population was shrinking.

    At one point, it was considered "too poor to even have a supermarket."

    What Richard hadn''t expected was the arrival of Sainsbury''s, one of the most well-known supermarket chains. But they had only agreed to open a store in Islington on one condition¡ªit had to have a car park. They believed most of their customers would be driving in from wealthier parts of London.

    This was just one of many changes. The Thatcher government''s economic policies, combined with progressive local efforts, reshaped Islington forever.

    Hearing Richard bring up the supermarket dream, Harry nodded seriously and placed a firm yet gentle grip on his younger brother''s shoulder.

    "Don''t worry. The money you earned is the result of your hard work. Don''t think about me¡ªI''ve already accepted a job at the warehouse. Before long, I''ll be working, saving, and building our own supermarket. It won''t just be mine¡ªit''ll be our family''s supermarket!"

    Richard felt a warmth spread through him at his brother''s words.

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    Yeah, the Maddox family rule number one¡ªfamily always comes first. No matter what happened, they were a unit. And when it came to money, they had always been taught to be careful.

    Even as kids, their parents instilled discipline in them. Their allowance was given at a set time, and once it was spent, that was it¡ªthey had to wait until the next day. No asking for more, no borrowing, no exceptions.

    Money had the power to create division. That was something they had learned early on. Unless it was an emergency, you never borrowed or took money from others¡ªnot even from your own family. Because money, no matter how small, could be dangerous.

    "Richard, Harry, come for dinner!"

    Their mother''s voice rang through the house.

    "Coming, Mom!" Harry shouted back before turning to his younger brother with a grin. "Alright, no more chit-chat. Let''s go¡ªI''m starving."

    Richard rolled his eyes but smiled, pushing himself up carefully. As they made their way to the dining room, Harry instinctively placed a steadying hand on Richard''s back.

    "Take it slow, Richard."

    Richard sighed. "Brother, I''m okay now."

    "I know, just making sure."

    The kitchen was small and outdated, but it had always been the heart of their home. The linoleum flooring was slightly worn, the old cabinets had chipped paint, and a well-used gas stove stood in the corner. At the center of the kitchen was the dining table, a simple but sturdy piece.

    Tonight, it was set with care.

    The table was already set, a comforting sight of home. A steaming pot of stew sat in the center, its rich aroma filling the room. Freshly baked bread was neatly stacked beside it, and a bowl of mashed potatoes glistened under the warm kitchen light.

    Richard blinked at the spread. "So much food?"

    His father, Bryan chuckled from his seat at the head of the table, his eyes lighting up as he looked at his two sons. "Hahaha, don''t worry about it. Come sit down, don''t just stand there. You need to eat well if you want to heal properly."

    Their mother motioned for them to sit as she gently placed a plate in front of Richard. "I made extra tonight. You need strength."

    Richard chuckled, touched by the attention. "Mom, I''m not dying, you know."

    "No, but you gave us all a scare," she replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.

    Harry smirked as he tore off a piece of bread. "He''s right, though. You being home like this? Feels weird. Shouldn''t you be out there kicking a ball?"

    The room fell into a brief silence. Harry''s words lingered in the air, an unspoken reminder of what Richard had lost. Realizing his mistake, Harry quickly tried to backtrack.

    "Richard, I didn''t mean¡ª"

    But Richard simply raised a hand, cutting him off with a small, reassuring smile. "Brother, it''s okay. Really."

    He glanced around the table, noticing the worried looks on his family''s faces. With a gentle smile, he reassured them, "I promise, I''m okay. If this were the end of the world for me, I wouldn''t be here enjoying Mom''s stew and mashed potatoes."

    Harry exhaled a quiet breath of relief, though a flicker of guilt still remained in his eyes. Their father, sensing the shift in mood, decided to steer the conversation in another direction.

    "Richard, now that you''ll be home more often, maybe you could help out around the house a bit?" Bryan suggested, setting down his newspaper.

    Richard chuckled. "Of course, Dad. Just don''t ask me to lift anything heavy¡ªI don''t want to give Mom a heart attack."

    Anna laughed as she ladled stew into their bowls, shaking her head. "Oh, please. You boys act like I''m fragile."

    Dinner went on with easy conversation¡ªtalk of the neighborhood, everything that had happened while he was unconscious, and the usual family chatter.

    His mother fussed over his portions, making sure he ate enough, while Bryan casually slipped an extra slice of bread onto his plate when he wasn''t looking. It was a simple dinner, but it felt like home.

    For the first time since his injury, Richard felt at peace.

    The house they lived in was modest, with only three bedrooms¡ªone for Bryan and Anna, one for Harry, and one for Richard. It wasn''t spacious, but it was home. Every creaky floorboard and faded patch of wallpaper held years of memories.

    Richard stepped into his room and let out a quiet sigh. Everything was just as he had left it¡ªthe small bed pushed into the corner, the wooden desk by the window, and the old wardrobe that never quite closed properly.

    He shut the door behind him and sat at his desk. The air inside was damp and cold, and the single-glazed window had dark stains creeping along the edges¡ªsigns of moisture seeping through over the years.

    Damp stains like these were common in council housing. Poor insulation, narrow layouts, and steep staircases were all typical of these homes.

    He remembered being barely six years old when a government official stood on a stage, explaining how families could apply for housing.

    Housing charities had long blamed the deteriorating conditions on a lack of investment in social housing.

    In response¡ªor perhaps to quiet public dissatisfaction¡ªthe government had pledged to build more affordable homes. That promise led to the construction of council houses and flats.

    The choice between a house and a flat came down to affordability.

    Those who wanted more space and a small kitchen could opt for a standalone or terraced house. But even with government discounts, many families either couldn''t afford one or hesitated to spend the extra money.

    For them, flats were the better option¡ªcheaper, though smaller and more cramped. They were part of larger buildings, similar to apartment blocks, but priced at just ¡ê30 at the time, making them far more accessible.

    As a result, nearly 90% of people chose flats, leaving many council houses sitting empty. That''s why he had said earlier¡ªit felt too empty, too vacant.

    Thanks to his father''s decisive action at the time, he had immediately purchased a three-bedroom house, making life at least a little easier for the Maddox family. It proved especially valuable in moments like this¡ªwhen Richard needed privacy.

    What he was about to do might shock his family if they saw him.

    ¡ê15,000.

    That was all he had¡ªhis salary, compensation, and savings from his football career. Now, he was left with one pressing question: how to stretch that ¡ê15,000 as far as possible in the shortest amount of time.

    With that thought, Richard reached for the newspaper he had borrowed from his father.

    He had already been informed about what happened while he was unconscious.

    After the sickening collision, the thing that truly stunned him was another tragedy that occurred shortly after. It seemed as if his soul was somehow tethered to the moment, so close to the event that he had missed it.

    However, the result of it left him completely shocked. English teams were banned from participating in European football competitions for five years!

    What was meant to be a night of European glory turned into a tragedy that shook the footballing world. A large-scale riot broke out, and chaos followed. English football faced one of its darkest moments¡ªthe Heysel Stadium disaster.

    The disaster was blamed on hooliganism, mistakes by officials, and structural issues with the stadium. The consequences were severe. In response to the tragedy, UEFA imposed a blanket ban on all English clubs from participating in European competitions for five years.

    Richard scanned the newspaper, flipping through pages filled with outrage, analysis, and political rhetoric. Even until now, people were still talking about it.

    He shook his head. Despite the differing opinions, the media''s goal was the same¡ªto assign blame.

    This was more than just a sporting crisis; it had become a political issue. The government, desperate to restore order, sought scapegoats, and the cycle of accusations was relentless.

    Uninterested in the endless debate, Richard turned the page, his eyes finally landing on the section he had been searching for.

    [...Mirror Sport: Copa Mundial de F¨²tbol M¨¦xico ''86 ¨C Here we go!...]

 Bet

    Betting.

    This wasn''t a difficult to think of. The World Cup was about to begin, and this tournament would go down as one of the most iconic in football history.

    For the 1986 World Cup, the British Isles sent three representatives¡ªNorthern Ireland, England, and Scotland¡ªeach determined to make their mark on the world stage.

    The format had changed once again. For the first time since 1970, the second round returned to a knockout system, where the six group winners, six runners-up, and the four best third-placed teams would advance.

    Football fever had gripped the nation. The Britain was obsessed with the World Cup, especially after fans were eager to see England excel at the competition, hoping to show the world that banning English teams from the three main tournaments was a loss for Europe and the world alike!

    News about the tournament dominated the media. As someone who had witnessed the event firsthand¡ªeven if from the perspective of a ghost¡ªRichard knew exactly what was coming and that was why this World Cup was the perfect opportunity to bet.

    A tournament of drama and legend¡ªfrom the controversy over why Mexico hosted instead of Colombia, to the new format and teams, the intense group stage battles, and finally, the infamous "Hand of God"¡ªthis World Cup was one for the ages.

    If there was ever a moment to take a gamble, this was it.

    After going through the list of competing nations and writing down everything he could remember, Richard was done. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen against the table as he stared at his notes.

    He didn''t have unlimited funds¡ªonly ¡ê15,000.

    That meant every move had to be calculated, precise. However, he also knew that his memory wasn''t perfect. The most crucial thing was to test whether the events he had witnessed as a ghost would truly unfold as he remembered.

    With caution in mind, Richard decided to start by betting ¡ê10,000. Instead of playing it safe with favorites, he would take a different approach¡ªplacing his bets on teams that were underestimated, the ones no one expected to go far.

    His choices?

    The Soviet Union and Morocco.

    Both teams were overlooked, dismissed as unlikely to make an impact. But Richard knew better. If his memory served him right, they would surprise everyone. With his preparations complete, he set his notes aside, exhaled deeply, and climbed into bed.

    Tomorrow, he would put his plan into motion. As he closed his eyes, a single thought lingered in his mind.

    ''If this works, everything changes.''

    Betting on football matches is hugely popular in the UK, especially on a grand stage like the World Cup.

    After all, William Hall and Ladbrakes¡ªboth giants in the betting industry¡ªare British companies, making football wagering a common pastime.

    While West and Central London had the largest concentration of betting shops, North, South and East wasn''t far behind.

    Several well-established gambling firms had a presence in the city, though their branches were smaller and less extravagant. Still, they were easily accessible, allowing football enthusiasts to place their bets without much trouble.

    Arriving at the William Hill betting station on Streatfield Road, Richard took a deep breath before stepping inside.

    The atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Men¡ªmostly middle-aged or older¡ªwere gathered around newspapers, studying match fixtures and odds with serious expressions.

    Some scribbled notes on betting slips, while others lingered near the counters, discussing potential outcomes in hushed voices before placing their wagers.

    Richard scanned the upcoming fixtures. The first match that caught his eye: Bulgaria vs. Italy.

    His excitement spiked. This was the perfect opportunity to test his knowledge. Wasting no time, he checked the odds.

    The most basic betting options were straightforward: Team A to win, Draw, or Team B to win.

    When his eyes landed on the listed odds, a smile crept onto his face.

    Italy to Win ¨C 1:1:2

    Bulgaria to Win ¨C 1:10

    The odds told a clear story. If you bet ¡ê1 on Italy, you would win ¡ê2 (plus your original ¡ê1 back). On the other hand, if you bet ¡ê1 on Bulgaria and they pulled off an upset, you would win ¡ê10 (plus your original ¡ê1 back).

    It wasn''t surprising¡ªItaly was heavily favored. Serie A was still one of the most dominant leagues in the world, producing some of the finest players.

    The general expectation was that Italy would win comfortably. But Richard wasn''t here to follow the crowd.

    He had other plans.

    His eyes drifted toward the draw odds¡ª1:3. If his memory was right, this match wouldn''t have a winner.

    He filled out his betting slip with steady hands, carefully writing: Bulgaria vs. Italy ¨C Draw ¨C ¡ê150.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Sliding it across the counter along with the cash, he watched as the bookmaker, a gruff-looking man with tired eyes, took it, glanced at him, then stamped the slip with a dull thud.

    "A draw, huh?" the bookmaker muttered, arching an eyebrow. "Most are backing Italy. You sure about this, lad?"

    Richard simply nodded, keeping his expression neutral. "Just a gut feeling."

    The bookmaker gave a small shrug, handing back his betting receipt. "Well, best of luck. Could be an easy payday if you''re right."

    Richard pocketed the slip and stepped back, exhaling slowly. Now, all he could do was wait.

    The next day, Richard returned to the William Hill, his hands tucked into his pockets as he walked through the morning bustle of London. Just as he had expected, Bulgaria vs. Italy had ended in a draw.

    The final whistle had confirmed it¡ªhis first bet was a success.

    Pushing open the door, he stepped inside. The atmosphere was much the same as the day before¡ªmen hovered over newspapers, muttering about results, some celebrating small wins, others lamenting their losses.

    Richard approached the counter and handed over his betting slip to the same bookmaker from the previous day.

    The man barely glanced at it before stamping it, pulling out a wad of cash, and counting the notes. He then slid ¡ê600 across the counter¡ª¡ê450 in winnings, plus the original ¡ê150 stake.

    "Looks like you had a good feeling after all," the bookmaker remarked.

    Richard took the cash without much reaction, tucking it into his pocket and giving a small nod. "Guess I did."

    The bookmaker smirked. "Well, let me know if you get another ''gut feeling'' like that."

    But Richard didn''t take the bait. He wasn''t here for small talk¡ªhe was playing it safe. Without a word, he turned and walked out, heading toward his next target¡ªLadbrakes.

    Rather than relying on a single betting company, he planned to spread his wagers across multiple bookmakers. He would distribute them across two or three well-known firms.

    This would help him minimize risk and more importantly, avoid drawing too much attention to himself. With ¡ê15,600 in hand, Richard was ready for his next move.

    This time, he wasn''t just placing simple bets on match outcomes¡ªhe was thinking bigger. His strategy? An automatic accumulation bet.

    Rather than placing a single wager on the Soviet Union and Morocco to qualify from their respective groups, he opted for an accumulator-style bet.

    This meant that instead of betting directly on their advancement, his wager would roll over automatically, match by match, compounding his potential winnings.

    The advantage was clear: if both teams performed well, each successful bet would multiply his earnings instead of cashing out after every match. A single win wouldn''t mean much, but if the results lined up, the final payout could be massive.

    Of course, this approach carried significant risk.

    Neither the Soviet Union nor Morocco was expected to dominate their groups, and they wouldn''t win every game. But that was precisely why Richard liked this bet¡ªit was concealed within a mix of results, making it less obvious.

    Once his bets were placed, Richard had no intention of returning after every match to collect winnings. That would only draw unnecessary attention. Instead, he would wait until the group stage was over. Only then would he return¡ªif everything went as planned.

    In the days that followed, Richard settled into a quiet routine. During the day, he helped his mother around the house, but in the evenings, he made his way to a nearby pub to watch the World Cup matches.

    By now, his hypothesis was confirmed¡ªwhat he had seen in the future was real. Every match, every result unfolded exactly as he remembered.

    His gains were massive.

    As the group stage progressed, Richard decided to get his father and brother involved, casually suggesting that they place small bets for fun¡ªjust enough to make the games more exciting. His father hesitated, ever the cautious man, but Harry, who had just landed a job, was a little more open to the idea.

    In the end, they agreed, but only in moderation. His father put in ¡ê30, while Harry added ¡ê15, both warning Richard not to get too carried away or start believing in easy money.

    Richard nodded instantly. He wasn''t about to argue¡ªafter all, things at home had only just begun to improve.

    His brother had secured stable employment, and for the first time in a long while, there was a sense of normalcy after Richard''s recovery.

    For them, betting was nothing more than harmless fun¡ªa small indulgence in the excitement of the World Cup. More importantly, they saw it as a way to keep Richard''s mind off his injury. If his little obsession kept his spirits up, then so be it. If it ever got out of hand, they would step in.

    After the group stage concluded, Richard returned home feeling refreshed, a thick wad of cash in hand. His success rate was unmatched¡ªhe had outperformed nearly every other bettor.

    His bets had been a masterstroke, backing underdogs and securing incredible odds:

    Soviet Union 6¨C0 Hungary - odds 3:1

    France 1¨C1 Soviet Union - odds 1:25

    Soviet Union 2¨C0 Canada - odds 1:2

    Morocco 0¨C0 Poland - odds 1:6

    England 0¨C0 Morocco - odds 25:1

    Portugal 1¨C3 Morocco - odds 20:1

    Even the bookmakers was taken aback by his winning results.

    Nearly all of his bets had hit, and the fact that he had backed unpopular teams made it even more surprising. However, they didn''t mind too much¡ªif anything, they saw an opportunity.

    Rather than being upset, they considered promoting his success as an example to encourage others to place riskier bets.

    Against this backdrop, Richard felt at ease as he cashed out his winnings. After all, what he had earned came from the losses of other bettors.

    Naturally, as elite bookmakers, they were still making money¡ªespecially with frequent upsets of the results, most gamblers suffered huge losses. Speaking of it, conspiracy theories about match-fixing surely thrived at times like this.

    Still, when Richard went to cash out, the bookmakers were like wolves¡ªthey weren''t about to let a high-roller like him walk away so easily.

    They tempted him to stay, subtly nudging him toward betting again in the knockout stage. Some even teased him with the promise of better odds if he continued wagering.

    "Don''t worry," Richard said as he patted his chest. "I''ll be back¡ªand I''ll double my money."

    Only then did they finally let him walk out easily, satisfied with his promise to return.

    Richard took the money with a grin, retreating to his room to count his winnings in private. From his initial ¡ê15,000, his journey had been nothing short of remarkable.

    It all started with a ¡ê450 win from the Italy vs. Bulgaria match. From there, he split his remaining funds, placing ¡ê7,700 each on the Soviet Union and Morocco, leaving ¡ê50 aside for transportation and pocket money.

    Now, after the group stage had ended, his total winnings stood at a staggering ¡ê223,300!

    Richard dashed into the living room, only to find his father and older brother looking utterly dejected. Unlike him, they had bet on England. Their mistake lay in Group F¡ªthey had assumed both Portugal and England would advance.

    After Portugal''s shocking victory over England in the opening match, many believed they were on course to qualify. However, two consecutive losses sent them packing instead. Fortunately, they had only bet on England reaching the knockout stage.

    Had they gotten greedy and shifted their bets to Portugal, things could have gone very differently. Thankfully, they stayed loyal to the Three Lions. Still, even though they had nearly broken even, they still felt like losers¡ªdisappointed by England''s performance.

    "Give me the pen!" Harry, frustrated, snatched the pen from Richard''s hand and quickly scribbled down England''s name on the betting sheet. With a determined look, he handed it back. "There''s no way England loses to Paraguay!"

    Bryan hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement, then followed suit, writing down England''s name on his own sheet.

    Richard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

    Betting on England again?

    But after thinking it through, he relaxed. England should win this one. Still, after this, he''d have to put a stop to their blind faith in England¡ªbefore they ended up losing everything.

 Housing Survey

    "Ah, you''re back," the bookmaker said, eyeing Richard''s betting slip. "So, what is it this time? Another wild punt on the dark horses?"

    Richard slid the slip across the counter. "Argentina."

    The bookmaker blinked. "Argentina?" He picked up the slip and gave it another glance, as if expecting more names. "That''s it? Nothing else?"

    Thinking about it for a moment, Richard decided to put a small sum of money on Denmark, the dark horse, as they were set to face Spain.

    After that, Richard shrugged. "Yeah, everything''s set."

    The bookmaker frowned. "No love for the Soviet Union? Morocco?" A smirk tugged at his lips as he tried to bait Richard into another bold move. "C''mon, kid, don''t tell me you''ve lost your nerve."

    Richard chuckled, shaking his head. "You''re joking, right? This is the Round of 16. The odds of them pulling it off now are next to nothing."

    The bookmaker let out a sigh, clearly disappointed. This was the same young man who had defied logic in the group stage¡ªbetting big on the Soviets and Morocco when no one else dared.

    "Shame," the bookmaker muttered, stamping Richard''s slip and handing it back. "Guess you''re playing it safe this time."

    Richard took the slip, tucking it neatly into his wallet. He smirked. "Safe doesn''t mean losing."

    The result was expected¡ªArgentina won, and Denmark lose, increasing his ¡ê223,300 to ¡ê283,000.

    The England vs. Paraguay match was equally satisfying. A 3-0 victory not only strengthened England''s campaign but also left his father and brother pleased with their earnings.

    Buoyed by their success, they were eager to bet on England again. But this time, Richard strongly objected, warning them that the stakes were getting too high.

    "But Argentina can''t beat England," his brother argued.

    Richard was momentarily speechless before shaking his head. "Who says that? Argentina has Maradona! Why wouldn''t they make it to the semifinals?"

    "But we have Lineker."

    "And Argentina has Valdano, Pasculli, Burruchaga, Giusti¡­ the list goes on. Both teams are strong, but Argentina is still the favorite."

    "But¡ª"

    "Harry," Richard interrupted sharply. "Football isn''t politics."

    If his brother truly believed that the Falklands War from four years ago would make Argentina submit on the pitch, he was sorely mistaken.

    From the early 1900s to the late 2010s, South America¡ªespecially Brazil and Argentina¡ªhad consistently produced some of the greatest footballing talents in history.

    Harry fell silent, a flicker of doubt crossing his face.

    Sensing his hesitation, Richard took a deep breath and gently suggested, "Brother, maybe it''s time to stop."

    To his relief, their father agreed. Bryan stood up and spoke firmly, "Alright, we''ve made a decent profit. It''s time to quit while we''re ahead and focus on more important things. Harry, you have work tomorrow, don''t you?"

    "Yeah, I do, Dad."

    "And Richard, have you thought about what you want to do once you''ve fully recovered?"

    Richard nodded. "I think I''ll continue my vocational school."

    "Then you should start studying for the entrance exams too."

    "Yes, Dad," Richard answered obediently.

    "Good. Then both of you, go to your rooms. No more discussions about betting from now on. Understood?"

    "Yes, Dad," the brothers replied in unison, though both were still reluctant to let go of their earlier debate about which team was stronger.

    As Richard turned to leave, he glanced at his father''s back and silently apologized. ''Sorry, Father... I had to lie.''

    The next day, Richard made his way to William Hall on Streatfield Road, just as he had done before. Approaching the counter with a casual demeanor, he slid his betting slips forward.

    The bookmaker''s eyes lit up instantly. ''not bet on England?''

    Richard placed a sizeable wager on Argentina¡ªa logical choice, given their strong form. But mixed within were a few unexpected picks: a modest sum on Mexico and Spain, and a hefty bet on France!

    France, of all teams. No one expected them to beat the mighty Brazil, the tournament favorites.

    The bookmaker grinned with excitement. This was exactly what they had been waiting for. And it was exactly the reaction Richard wanted!

    After his previous streak of success, the bookmakers had started keeping a closer eye on him. Winning too often would eventually lead to restrictions¡ªsmaller betting limits or, worse, an outright ban. He needed to throw them off.

    These bets were placed with the sole intention of losing money. They were carefully chosen losses, calculated to create the illusion of recklessness. By mixing in bold, unlikely picks, he made himself look like just another gambler chasing high-risk payouts.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    Once he was done, he pocketed his remaining slips and walked out of William Hall, heading toward another betting station to repeat the process.

    After finishing his bets, Richard wandered through Islington, taking in the familiar sights and reflecting on its history.

    Originally a rural village on the outskirts of London, Islington had grown into a thriving residential area during the medieval period, prized for its fresh water supply and open fields.

    But like many inner-city areas, Islington had suffered through economic decline, and bomb damage during World War II. Over time, traditional industries moved out, many local shops disappeared, and the population declined.

    Post-war modernization had done more harm than good. Historic terraced houses had been demolished or hastily renovated. Warehouses and office spaces sprang up without proper planning. Social housing projects, intended to revitalize the area, had only led to more disrepair.

    Rather than breathing new life into the neighborhood, these efforts only made things worse. Many of the newly renovated terraces fell into disrepair, and much of the new housing developments were abandoned before they were even fully occupied.

    To address the growing number of vacant properties, the government had introduced the Right-to-Buy policy, allowing council tenants to purchase their homes at a discount. Yet, despite these incentives, many homes remained abandoned¡ªdecaying and unwanted.

    Flats became the preferred choice over houses because they were cheaper and offered a better sense of security. A locked main entrance and living several floors up provided a psychological and physical barrier that a standalone house simply couldn''t.

    The biggest challenge Islington faced was how to attract the "elites" and businesses to the borough, especially after disastrous plans for the eight-lane motorway and an Old Street-style roundabout¡ªhad nearly torn the borough apart before being scrapped.

    Once these plans were scrapped, the focus shifted to rebuilding and preserving what was left. However, careless architecture and reckless landlords eager to demolish historic buildings remained a threat.

    Richard already had a plan for it. Islington''s biggest trump card was its history and central location.

    "All of this will change next year," Richard mumbled unknowingly.

    The Big Bang was coming.

    A landmark agreement between the government and the London Stock Exchange was set to transform the financial sector, deregulating markets and opening the floodgates for foreign investment.

    For the first time, global banks and investment firms would be able to set up in the City without restrictions. The result?

    An influx of wealth, new businesses, and an unprecedented demand for prime real estate¡ªincluding places like Islington, where entire streets had been neglected for years.

    With money pouring in, derelict warehouses and rundown council estates, combined with the Right-to-Buy policy, made redevelopment inevitable. Islington next year would become a property hotspot.

    "What?! You want to buy all the houses? How old are you?"

    The official sitting across from him¡ªa man in his thirties with thinning hair and a skeptical expression¡ªstared at him in disbelief.

    Buying property in Islington wasn''t straightforward. If a house was still under council ownership, Richard had to go through Islington Council Housing. If it had already been sold, he''d need to negotiate directly with the owners or use a third party.

    But Richard wasn''t asking for just one or two houses. He wanted every available property. The official eyed him suspiciously.

    "You do realize how much these houses cost, right?" His brow furrowed. "Even if they''re in poor condition, they''re still well above what most people can afford."

    Areas like Packington Estate, Bemerton Estate, and the neighborhoods around Finsbury Park and Holloway had houses available¡ªmany of them unoccupied and in need of renovation.

    Alongside these, vacant offices and abandoned warehouses presented further opportunities for acquisition. If approached strategically, these properties could be secured at a bargain before the market caught on to their true potential.

    Richard leaned forward. "Sir, I''m an ex-footballer. With the money I''ve earned, I decided to invest."

    The official stared at him for a moment, then scoffed. "Can you prove it?"

    Verifying a buyer''s identity and financial standing was standard procedure. In the 1980s, there was no national ID system in the UK, so most people used a National Insurance (NI) card or the Electoral Register.

    Richard provided his details without hesitation. The official scanned them, then abruptly stopped. His eyes widened as he looked up, his expression shifting from doubt to realization.

    "Wait¡­ y-you''re that Richard Maddox?"

    Richard had expected this reaction. He gave a small, wry nod.

    The man''s skepticism vanished, replaced by excitement. He quickly stood up and shook Richard''s hand. "My name is Stuart Olm. Nice to meet you! God, I heard about your injury! Are you sure you''re okay?"

    "Well, I''m standing right in front of you, aren''t I?"

    Before he could say more, Stuart turned and called to his colleagues. "Oi! You won''t believe who''s here! Richard Maddox from Sheffield Wednesday!"

    Suddenly, Richard was surrounded.

    "Did it hurt?"

    "How long was your recovery?"

    "Are you coming back to football?"

    "Can I get an autograph?"

    The room was a chaotic whirlwind of voices until¡ªuntil a single cough silenced everyone.

    "Ehem."

    The once-animated employees froze, quickly retreating to their desks.

    Someone important had arrived.

    Richard wasn''t sure who, but judging by the sudden shift in atmosphere, he guessed it was a senior one¡ªpossibly the head or something. After a brief exchange of pleasantries¡ªquestions about his health, career, and future plans¡ªthe newcomer nodded, allowing Richard to proceed with Stuart

    "Phew, that was intense," Stuart muttered as things settled down.

    "Was that your boss?" Richard asked.

    "For housing? Yeah. That was the head of the main department." Stuart exhaled. "Anyway, let''s get back to business."

    Buying multiple properties came with strict regulations. The council needed to verify Richard''s eligibility, intent, and financial capacity. They checked for past property purchases, outstanding debts, and legal issues.

    "You really believe property values here will rise, don''t you?" Stuart asked, studying him. "And you''re willing to take on full maintenance responsibilities?"

    Richard nodded. "Yes. I''ll handle everything once I finalize the purchase."

    "Hmm¡­" Stuart tapped his fingers on the desk. "Wait here for a moment."

    Richard leaned back, confident. There was no way they''d reject his offer.

    He''d even agreed to cover the repair costs. Even if he only restored the exteriors¡ªfixing the plaster, repainting, and improving brickwork¡ªit would still be a major improvement for the area.

    More importantly, he was local.

    Public objections and political concerns were always factors in bulk property sales, but his connection to the borough worked in his favor.

    A short while later, Stuart returned, carrying a thick stack of documents.

    "Alright," Stuart said, setting the documents down. "You must live in the property or remain the owner for at least three years before you can transfer ownership. Do you agree?"

    "What if someone wants to buy the building before the three years are up?" Richard asked.

    Stuart chuckled, amused. ''Who would want to buy houses here?''

    Still, he remained professional. "If it''s the council, they can buy it back directly. But if it''s a private buyer, you''ll need authorization from the council before making the sale."

    "Oh, sure," Richard nodded.

    "The next thing I want to tell you is that since you''ve committed to repairs and modernization, we can offer some flexibility¡ªespecially if you''re considering taking out a loan or something similar. Also, just so you know, we''ll be dispatching an inspector to assess the renovations. If everything meets the required standards, we may be able to offer you additional concessions. How does that sound?"

    Richard smiled. "That sounds perfect. Please proceed with the process."

 All In

    On the day of the England-Argentina clash, the nation was left in stunned silence as England suffered a 1-2 defeat, ending their World Cup campaign.

    First, they were in shock of Maradona''s miraculous solo goal, then outraged by the infamous "Hand of God" goal, which sparked vehement criticism and controversy.

    Back home, Richard found his father and brother sitting in the kitchen, drinking in complete silence, their dejection palpable.

    As Richard was about to head to his room, his mother whistled softly to get his attention.

    "Shh."

    He stopped, looking at her curiously. "What''s wrong, Mom?" he asked.

    His mother lowered her voice to a whisper. "Are you hungry? How about your studies?"

    Richard gave her a puzzled look before whispering back, "Why are we whispering? What''s going on?"

    She gestured toward his father and brother. "Don''t you see them? Don''t mention it now. Anyway, how''s your vocational school?"

    What vocational school? Richard hesitated.

    There was no way he could tell her that instead of searching for school and attending classes, he had been betting on the World Cup and buying up houses in the neighborhood.

    In the end, he simply replied, "It''s fine, Mom."

    His mother sighed in relief. "That''s good, that''s good. Use your money wisely, alright? Education comes first¡ªthis is for your future."

    Richard forced a smile and nodded. "I understand, Mom."

    He facepalmed internally, knowing he had no choice but to obediently go along with her expectations.

    The next day unfolded like any other. Richard placed his bets¡ªthis time on Argentina and West Germany.

    Across the counter, the bookmaker at William Hill smirked as he watched Richard hand over his money.

    "Still playing it safe, kiddo?"

    Richard''s lips twitched at the way he was being addressed, but he chose to ignore it.

    The bookmaker, on the other hand, was secretly pleased. Finally, he could teach this cocky young man a lesson. Richard had been on a winning streak for too long, and now, luck had turned against him.

    Sure, his winnings from Argentina''s victory still covered his losses, but at least there was no more unstoppable streak. Finally, the kid had lost some money.

    After placing his bets, Richard continued his property search.

    This time, however, he wasn''t looking at council-owned housing. Instead, he shifted his focus to privately owned properties¡ªhomes, buildings, warehouses¡ªanything that had potential.

    His first stop was a real estate agency. They went through the listings together, discussing pricing, locations, and potential renovations. If a property looked promising, Richard negotiated on the spot¡ªpushing for a lower price or asking about seller flexibility.

    He wasn''t just after houses. If the agent mentioned a warehouse, an office space, or a rundown shop, Richard took interest.

    As the meeting went on, the agent''s initial skepticism faded. He could tell Richard was serious, well-funded, and willing to move fast¡ªa dream client in the property business.

    Richard left the agency with a list of potential properties and a few appointments to view them.

    His plan was in motion.

    Besides working with real estate agencies, Richard took a more direct approach¡ªone that required a bit more boldness. He thickened his skin and began knocking on the doors of occupied homes, knowing that not every property for sale would be listed officially.

    At first, his approach was met with suspicion and confusion.

    "You want to buy my house?" one homeowner scoffed. "Not for sale, mate."

    Another barely let him finish his sentence before shutting the door in his face.

    Most people weren''t looking to sell. That was until he mentioned the price.

    Money had a way of changing minds.

    When Richard made his offers, some homeowners paused. Others hesitated, glancing at their aging walls and leaking roofs, suddenly reconsidering.

    One man, an older gentleman with a cigarette in one hand and a skeptical expression, leaned against his doorframe.

    "You''re serious?" he asked, exhaling smoke.

    Richard nodded, his voice steady. "Cash offer. No delays. You name your price, we negotiate, and I''ll make it happen."

    The man scratched his chin, considering. He wasn''t planning to sell¡ªbut now, he was tempted.

    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

    One by one, Richard closed the deals. Some required persuasion, some tough negotiation, and others simply needed time to make up their minds.

    By the time the World Cup ended, his efforts had paid off. He had convinced homeowners, real estate agents, and property owners alike.

    The agreements were signed¡ªall that was left was to finalize the payments. Houses, offices, warehouses, land, rundown shops¡ªeverything was secured. Now, it was just a matter of paying up.

    The day had finally arrived.

    With the finalists now decided, there was no need for further deliberation¡ªhe would continue to bet on Argentina.

    Richard''s total winnings currently stood at ¡ê1,226,333.

    France''s stunning victory over Brazil¡ªat odds as high as 10:3¡ªhad brought him a massive windfall. However, that amount had yet to be reduced by taxes and his concealed bet. As a result, the actual sum he could wager on Argentina was ¡ê1,005,963.

    Everything had played out just as he had hoped.

    The familiar jingle of the doorbell rang as Richard stepped inside. Behind the counter, the bookmaker glanced up¡ªand immediately did a double take. His eyes widened before a slow grin spread across his face.

    "Oh, you''re back again, kid?" He leaned forward on the counter, sizing Richard up.

    "Yes," Richard replied calmly, sliding a thick envelope across the counter. "All in."

    For a moment, the bookmaker just stared. Then, as realization dawned, he straightened up so fast his chair nearly tipped over. Clapping his hands together in sheer delight, he looked as if he might actually try to kiss the person in front of him. This kid was a goldmine.

    "How much this time?" the bookmaker asked, rubbing his hands eagerly.

    Richard crossed his arms. "What are the odds?"

    "1:1," the bookmaker replied. "But if you want to make things more interesting, we can offer double odds. Interested?"

    Richard raised an eyebrow. "Oh? How does that work?"

    "Glad you asked!" The bookmaker grinned. "If you can predict specific details¡ªlike who will score, the exact number of goals, or the score at halftime or full-time¡ªwe''ll boost your odds. Here, take a look."

    He slid a laminated brochure across the counter. Richard picked it up, scanning the fine print.

    "So, say I bet on Argentina to win with a score of two, my odds will be doubled?"

    "Exactly!" The bookmaker nodded eagerly. "You have my word."

    Richard tapped his fingers against the counter, thinking. "What if I predict Argentina will score three goals?"

    "Three goals without conceding?"

    "Are you insane? Three goals without reply?" Richard quickly waved his hands. "No, no, no. Just three goals¡ªfor Argentina."

    "Hmm." The bookmaker scrunched up his face like he''d just bitten into a lemon¡ªthoughtful, yet every now and then, his eyes peeked toward Richard, as if waiting for something.

    Only then did Richard realize¡ªthis guy was just putting on a show. They had already given him the double bet benefit, so now the question was: ''What was he going to give them in return?''

    Richard bent slightly and uttered in hushed tones, "A million."

    "Deal!"

    And just like that, the wager was locked in. But there was one more thing. A little favor.

    As one of their most loyal bettors¡ªsomeone who had stuck with William Hall from the start of the tournament all the way to the final¡ªthey wanted an interview.

    Mirror Sport and The Sun, William Hall''s media partners for the World Cup, had requested an exclusive.

    Richard scoffed. "If my mother finds out I used my retirement fund to bet, she''ll beat me senseless at home. So, what''s your deal?"

    ''Sorry, Mother,'' Richard quickly muttered in his heart.

    The bookmaker was momentarily speechless. Then, after a beat, he gave Richard a long, calculating look. Annoying as this kid was, his bets often went against the grain. And that was exactly what made him interesting.

    Most high-rollers played it safe, sticking to the favorites, hedging their bets with predictable patterns. But this guy? He had a knack for spotting dark horses before the odds swung in their favor. That kind of gambler¡ªthey made headlines. And headlines were good for business.

    According to the analysts, if they looked at the timing, about four percent of bettors placed their wagers after this kid walked in. A small number, sure¡ªbut considering this was only his first major bet, it was worth paying attention to.

    After weighing the pros and cons, the bookmaker finally said, "How about becoming our VIP?"

    "VIP?" Now this was interesting. "What''s in it for me?"

    "Better odds, exclusive bets, priority withdrawals. And of course, special invitations to high-roller events. Plus, for those who prefer not to cash out their winnings, we offer luxury item exchanges¡ªwatches, cars, vacations, you name it."

    Richard leaned back, pretending to consider it. In truth, the offer was tempting. But after a moment, doubt crept in.

    "Do I have to pay a monthly fee?"

    "Not exactly a monthly fee, but there''s a quota to meet, which means you need to place a certain number of bets to maintain your status," the bookmaker admitted.

    Richard sighed, disappointed. But at the same time, he didn''t want to miss out on this opportunity. After a brief pause, he gathered his courage and said, "Don''t you know me? I''m an ex-footballer. Can I get special perks?"

    He felt a little embarrassed saying it out loud, but what he didn''t expect was for the bookmaker to freeze.

    "Pardon me?"

    Richard cleared his throat. "I said, I''m an ex-footballer. Can I get special perks?"

    The bookmaker squinted at him. "You''re an ex-footballer? What, did you retire early or something?"

    "Yeah. Maddox. Richard Maddox. Ring any bells?"

    Something clicked in the bookmaker''s mind. Suddenly, it all made sense. No wonder people in the room kept sneaking glances at this kid. He had assumed it was because they were curious about his betting habits, but now?

    No wonder. No wonder.

    Richard Maddox. He had heard the name before. A rising star¡ªuntil he disappeared from the public eye over a year ago. Now, it was all starting to come together.

    "Please wait a moment."

    After waiting for a minute or two, the bookmaker returned. This time, he stepped forward and shook Richard''s hand enthusiastically.

    "Sir, welcome to our VIP program. My name is Fay Loan, and I am your dedicated personal manager."

    "Oh, so it worked?" Richard was elated.

    "Yes, sir. I already spoke with my direct supervisor and the higher-ups. Most of them are in favor of it and are also eager to see how this works out."

    "Just call me Richard," he said, waving his hand dismissively. Then, still unsure, he asked again, "But do I need to keep betting every month?"

    Understanding his concern, Fay explained, "So, Mr. Richard, here''s the deal. Our agreement only requires you to meet your quota during major football tournaments¡ªlike the World Cup, the Euros, or the First Division. You just need to place a bet, and that''s it. Simple, right?"

    "Is there a minimum bet amount?"

    "One hundred thousand dollars minimum. But given how much you''ve won already, that shouldn''t be a problem, right?"

    Richard exhaled deeply. A hundred thousand dollars? That was a big number, but considering his current performance... it wasn''t actually that bad.

    "Mr. Fay, thank you for your help." Richard quickly shook his hand in appreciation.

    "Hahaha, that''s okay, that''s okay! It''s my job." Fay grinned.

    Technically, his rank wasn''t high enough to be a dedicated personal manager. However, thanks to his smooth talking¡ªand the fact that he was the one who discovered Richard and convinced him¡ªhe had managed to persuade the higher-ups to approve his request.

    Now, Fay couldn''t help but dream. Maybe one day, he''d replace his direct supervisor¡ªor even the current head of this William Hall branch.

    "Alright then, Mr. Richard, shall we proceed with the bet on Argentina? One million?"

    "Yeah, please," Richard said with a nod.

 Just One Share

    Just as Richard finalized his bet, a sharp knock on the VIP lounge door interrupted the moment. Fay turned and opened it, revealing two well-dressed journalists, their press badges gleaming under the casino lights.

    One was from The Sun, the other from Mirror Sport.

    "Mr. Maddox, a pleasure to meet you. I''m Daniel Ford from The Sun, and this is Mark Henshaw from Mirror Sport," Daniel introduced himself, offering a firm handshake.

    Richard nodded and shook their hands one by one. "So¡­ are we doing two separate interviews, or are you both asking questions at the same time?"

    Mark chuckled. "Good question. We''ll cover different angles, but we can do it together to save you time¡ªunless you''d prefer otherwise?"

    Daniel stepped forward first. "The Sun would like to focus more on your life outside of football¡ªwhat happened after your injury, how recovery has been, and what''s next for you. Would that be alright?"

    Richard thought for a moment. He had nothing to hide. "Yeah, that''s fine by me."

    He then turned to Mark from Mirror Sport. "And you?"

    Mark smiled. "Mirror Sport is more interested in your football journey¡ªyour rise through the ranks, your breakthrough into the first team, and of course, the injury that changed everything."

    Richard exhaled and nodded. "Alright, let''s do it."

    Both journalists readied their notepads and recorders, sensing that this would be a rare and valuable insight into the life of Richard Maddox¡ªthe once-rising star who had seemingly vanished from football.

    The interview will take place after the World Cup final.

    The lounge was everything Richard had imagined, a luxury lounge would be¡ªleather armchairs worn in all the right places, thick curtains muffling the noise from the world outside, and a polished wooden bar stocked with top-shelf spirits.

    A haze of cigarette smoke lingered in the air, curling lazily under the soft yellow glow of the overhead lights.

    ''As expected of William Hall. They really know how to treat their patrons,'' Richard thought, giving an approving nod.

    Around the room, a handful of well-dressed patrons lounged comfortably, sipping expensive whiskey and chatting in hushed tones.

    Based on how Daniel Ford from The Sun and Mark Henshaw from Mirror Sport were mingling with them, laughing and exchanging stories, it was clear these weren''t just regular bettors¡ªthey were probably "high-ranking" people.

    Then, Daniel clapped his hands to get everyone''s attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce Richard Maddox, former Sheffield Wednesday player. Let''s give him a round of applause for his remarkable recovery!"

    For a split second, the room fell into a confused silence. But as the word "recovery" sank in, recognition sparked in the patrons'' eyes.

    Richard Maddox. The name that had disappeared from headlines over a year ago.

    Whispers rippled through the room. "That''s Maddox?" someone murmured. "I thought he was done for after that injury."

    "Shh, lower your voice," another person whispered.

    The last year had been a mystery to most¡ªRichard had vanished completely from the public eye after his career-threatening injury. Rumors had swirled, but no one knew the full story.

    Now, here he was, standing tall in the William Hall VIP lounge, casually sipping¡­ orange juice?

    The moment Richard raised his glass, a ripple of excitement spread through the lounge¡ªespecially among the madams.

    Their eyes lit up with recognition, some whispering behind manicured hands, still remembering that iconic form he had before his injury. The 1980s marked the rise of women becoming confident in expressing their style.

    Socialite women often balanced elegance with bold fashion¡ªthink shoulder pads, form-fitting dresses, sequins, and statement accessories, with a growing acceptance of more revealing or daring outfits.

    Even if their open-mindedness wasn''t as overt as it would become in later decades, they couldn''t help but shoot him admiring glances. Some even gave him a subtle once-over, eyeing him from head to toe.

    They remembered him on the pitch¡ªRichard tearing off his jersey, sliding across the grass, his perfectly sculpted V-shaped torso on full display. His raw athleticism, chiseled muscles, and defined abs had sparked envy among men and admiration from women.

    But now, after more than a year in recovery, the signs of change were subtle yet noticeable. His frame, though still tall and imposing at 6''0", seemed slightly softer around the edges. Still, his striking features hadn''t faded¡ªa sharp nose, strong jawline, and thick eyebrows that framed his piercing eyes. It was enough to make heads turn.

    The ladies exchanged knowing glances, their imaginations wandering, though not in the way one might expect.

    Despite his charm, the rumors about his injury had spread widely¡ªwhispers of how severe it had been, and how it had sidelined him for so long. Any thoughts of flirtation quickly gave way to a mix of curiosity and sympathy.

    At the center of it all sat an old but sturdy wooden cabinet TV, its curved glass screen flickering with the live broadcast of the 1986 World Cup Final¡ªArgentina versus West Germany.

    The image wasn''t crystal clear, and the occasional static lines buzzed across the screen, but no one cared. This was as good as it got.

    Richard sat comfortably in a deep leather chair, legs crossed, a tumbler of orange juice in hand. He appeared calm, almost too calm, given the million-pound bet riding on the outcome.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Beside him, Fay was anything but calm. The bookmaker paced back and forth, his drink untouched on the side table.

    He kept glancing at Richard, who seemed far too relaxed for someone with so much at stake. ''Is this how high-rollers do it?'' he wondered.

    It seemed the mentality of a footballer compared to a common person when handling adrenaline was indeed different. Every time Maradona touched the ball, he would tense up, then let out a quiet, restrained cheer.

    He wanted Argentina to win¡ªnot out of love for Maradona or Argentina. No, he had his own reasons. This bet was his golden ticket. The more Richard bet, the higher his achievements¡ªand his commission¡ªwould climb.

    If Argentina pulled through, Richard would have a hefty payout, and the bets would keep rolling under his name. He couldn''t afford to lose this goldmine, not before he''d fully capitalized on it.

    "You think Argentina''s got this?" Suddenly, out of nowhere, Richard and Fay heard someone speak.

    They exchanged quick glances before turning around to see a distinguished-looking man dressed in a sharp three-piece suit, complete with gold cufflinks and a silk pocket square. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back neatly.

    Must be a rich man.

    "Mr. Swales," Fay muttered under his breath, immediately straightening his posture.

    The man offered Fay a brief handshake before turning his full attention to Richard. "You''re Richard Maddox, right? Sheffield Wednesday?"

    "Ex-player," Richard replied, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he extended his hand.

    "Peter Swales. Chairman of Manchester City," the man introduced himself, gripping Richard''s hand firmly. "Didn''t expect to bump into a Sheffield Wednesday legend here of all places."

    "Haha, you jest, Mr. Swales. What kind of legend can''t even make it past his twenties?" Richard chuckled bitterly, mocking himself.

    Peter Swales studied him for a moment, then asked carefully, "Really? No chance of a comeback?"

    Richard shook his head, the weight of that truth evident in his eyes.

    The other party sighed, clearly disappointed. He had hoped to scout fresh talent to bolster City''s squad, but it seemed this was a dead end.

    ''Shame,'' he murmured inwardly, his voice tinged with regret.

    "But Mr. Swales, all the way from Manchester to London just to watch football?" Richard asked skeptically.

    Swales chuckled heartily. "Haha, no way! I''m here on business. Got an invitation to this event, so I thought, why not? Kill two birds with one stone, right?"

    "Ah, that explains it,"

    They continued chatting about trivial things and sharing the occasional joke until their attention fully shifted to the television. The World Cup Final was hitting its peak.

    The lounge buzzed with excitement as the match reached its climax. In the 80th minute, the atmosphere shifted dramatically when West Germany''s Rudi V?ller scored the equalizer.

    People erupted in cheers¡ªnot out of loyalty to West Germany, but from the sheer thrill of the moment and, for some, as a bit of payback, considering Argentina had already knocked out England.

    Football fever had completely taken over the room. The game had become relentless¡ªwave after wave of attacks from both sides, each push for the decisive goal cranking up the tension to its peak.

    Swales leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen. "With this momentum, West Germany looks unstoppable. Argentina''s in real trouble now," he declared, taking a sip of his scotch.

    "Not so fast," a familiar voice chimed in.

    Fay the bookmaker, Swales, and his friend all turned, surprised, to see Richard casually sitting nearby, his eyes still fixed on the screen.

    Peter Swales, a hardcore football fan, wasn''t annoyed by the interruption. In fact, he seemed delighted. It was the perfect opportunity to show off his football knowledge, especially with the ladies around. Plus, since Richard was an ex-football player, he figured he still had valuable insight into the game.

    "Oh, Mr. Richard, tell us then¡ªwhat do you have in mind?" Swales asked with a grin.

    Richard was momentarily taken aback. He hadn''t meant to speak out loud. He cursed himself for his carelessness¡ªa bad habit he''d picked up during his long, isolated days as a wandering ghost.

    He sighed inwardly before clearing his throat, deciding to roll with it. "Ah, Mr. Swales, I just mean Argentina still has the edge. After all, they''ve got Maradona."

    Swales chuckled, slightly amused. "Momentum is everything in football, don''t you think? Once a team starts rolling like this, it''s hard to stop."

    "But great players thrive under pressure. That''s when they shine. Maradona''s been pulling the strings all tournament, hasn''t he? He just needs one moment," Richard countered.

    Swales raised an eyebrow. "You think so? Football isn''t always about flair. It''s about who can keep their nerve when it counts."

    Richard clicked his tongue. Not always about flair? Don''t you see how Maradona has reached perfect chemistry with his teammates? Skills, mentality¡ªArgentina''s in complete harmony right now.

    Seeing Richard unconvinced, Swales decided to push further. A mischievous glint appeared in his eye. "Well then, how about we make this interesting? Care for a little wager?"

    Richard was momentarily thrown off. A wager?

    "Mr. Swales, with all due respect, you probably don''t know my situation, so there''s nothing I could possibly stake."

    He waved his hand dismissively. "Don''t sell yourself short. You probably just haven''t found another path yet¡ªbeyond being a footballer."

    81st minute¡ª

    "Is that so? Then I look forward to your guidance, Mr. Swales," Richard replied politely.

    "Haha! That''s the spirit! That''s it!" Swales laughed, his ego swelling with pride from the praise. He couldn''t help but want to solidify his prestige right there and then.

    Swales then leaned in. "How about this? If West Germany wins, you''ll come to Manchester City as our youth coach and help guide our young players. How does that sound?"

    Richard was now truly at a loss, unsure of how to respond.

    Swales had been mulling over Richard''s reputation. ''Why was Sheffield Wednesday producing local talent like him?''

    It had to be their youth system, their coach¡­ or perhaps Richard Maddox really was something special.

    Thinking about the large sums of money squandered on bad signings, a wave of frustration hit him. ''If only City had more money,'' he thought, ''they could''ve poached Sheffield Wednesday''s staff.''

    But for now, he hoped this young man could replicate that success at City¡ªmaybe even create another Richard Maddox.

    82nd minute¡ª

    "Becoming a youth coach?" Richard echoed, uncertain.

    "Yes, of course. And naturally, you''d get a monthly salary and all the facilities that come with the role. You understand why I''m offering this, right?" Swales said confidently.

    He glanced around at his colleagues, who looked at him in awe, basking in their admiration¡ªespecially as the wives cast subtle, approving glances. His pride swelled.

    "But Mr. Swales¡­ would that mean I''d have to move to Manchester?"

    "Of course," Swales replied firmly.

    Richard hesitated. His Islington acquisition plan was just starting to take shape¡ªhow could he manage that and coach in Manchester at the same time?

    He was about to decline when Peter Swales actually made an unexpected offer.

    "How about this¡ªour wager. You''re backing Argentina, right?"

    "Yes," Richard replied cautiously.

    "Then, if West Germany wins, you come to Manchester. But if Argentina wins¡­" He leaned in, a sly grin spreading across his face, "¡­I''ll give you one of my share. Just one. How does that sound?"

    Richard was stunned. Fay was stunned. Everyone was stunned.

    83rd minute¡ª

    ''You''ve gotta be kidding me, right?'' That''s what Richard wanted to say, but the words wouldn''t leave his mouth. His jaw simply hung open.

    "So, how about it? Become a youth coach or walk away with a Manchester City share," Swales pressed.

    ''Even if it''s just one¡­ it''s still¡­''

    Without even realizing it, his hand lifted to shake on the deal. Peter'' eyes lit up, and he grabbed Richard''s hand tightly.

    "DEAL!" He declared.

    84th minute¡ª

    Though Diego Maradona had been heavily marked by Lothar Matth?us, in a moment of brilliance, he found Jorge Burruchaga with a perfect pass.

    Burruchaga sprinted forward, slotting the ball past the advancing goalkeeper from the right and into the corner of the net.

    [...GOAL!!! Jorge Burruchaga!!!...]

    The commentator''s voice roared over the cheers.

    [...Burruchaga manages to slide the ball past the keeper! Argentina regains the lead¡ª3-2!...]

    "..."

 Interview

    "Mr. Swales, I¡ª"

    "No need," Peter cut Richard off, waving his hand dismissively. "I''ll call my lawyer and handle all the invitation for the meetings."

    ''Are you pulling my leg?''

    There''s no way he''d take back what he just said in front of everyone. Besides, it was only a single share¡ªwhat could he even do with that?

    At best, it might get him an invitation to the meeting. And even then, no one would care if he showed up or not.

    Richard swallowed his doubts and, in the end, accepted the single share of Manchester City.

    The atmosphere was awkward for a moment, but it didn''t last. Peter Swales was a successful businessman¡ªwhat was one share to him? Soon, the conversation drifted back to Argentina vs. West Germany, as if nothing had happened.

    Everyone cheered and clinked their scotch and whiskey glasses. The winners got congratulations, while the losers looked dejected. After all, the Three Lions'' payback didn''t go as planned.

    The staff at William Hall''s Streatfield branch, who had made a fortune with most punters betting on West Germany, were happy. Their commission probably covered a month''s salary. The other person grinning was Richard, of course.

    The ¡ê1,005,963 he had bet at double odds had now become ¡ê2,011,926.

    After deducting the 9% tax and a 2.5% VIP service commission, he ended up with ¡ê1,780,554 in net winnings.

    Richard let out a deep breath, relief washing over him. Thank God I chose to pay the taxes and commission upfront. If I hadn''t...

    He would have regretted it so much.

    "Mr. Richard, I''ll be waiting for you in Manchester. Don''t forget, you''re now one of us, and you''ll need an introduction to the other board members. Even if it''s just a single share, it''s still a Manchester City share," Peter said seriously.

    "Understood, sir," Richard replied obediently.

    After that, the upper ranks boarded their Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, and Mercedes-Benzes, leaving Richard and Fay alone.

    "I guess congratulations are in order?" Fay said awkwardly.

    "For what?"

    "For becoming a Manchester City owner."

    "Hah, it''s still way too soon to call me that," Richard chuckled. "Alright, let me cash out my winnings. I''ve got plans for that money."

    "Wait, you''re forgetting something."

    "What do you mean?"

    "The interview!"

    Fay''s reminder snapped him back. Without wasting time, Richard and Fay headed to the public lounge, where Daniel Ford from The Sun and Mark Henshaw from Mirror Sport were waiting. Since they weren''t VIPs, they''d been watching the World Cup in a separate room.

    "Let''s get this interview started," Richard said, taking a seat.

    Interview with Richard Maddox ¨C Career and Injury

    By Mark Henshaw, Mirror Sport

    Mark Henshaw (Mirror Sport): "Richard, you were in your prime when your career suddenly ended. How have you come to terms with it now?"

    Richard: "I think, regardless of whether you retire at 35 or 36, you''ll always miss it. I mean, football was something I did my whole life, right? It''s hard to just let go. What can I say... it was unfortunate, but life has to go on, doesn''t it?"

    Mark: "Can you tell us what really happened that day?"

    Richard: "Yeah. I remember making sure I left two tickets for my mum and dad at the ticket office. I saw them sitting in the front row, and I thought, ''If I score today, I''m running straight to them.'' The game started positively for us. I was up against Dreyer and Langan¡ª1 vs 2, a tough battle, but my adrenaline was pumping. There were a few heavy tackles, good 50-50s, but nothing out of the ordinary. Then, six minutes in, it happened. They had a corner. The ball came in, I jumped to head it clear... and then I felt this force just crash through my skull."

    Mark: "That sounds horrific. How did you cope in the aftermath?"

    Richard: "The first three months were by far the worst. It was all about tiny milestones¡ªfirst, it was, ''Can I sit up in bed?'' Then, ''Can I walk again?'' It was a massive emotional challenge, not just for me but for my family too."

    Mark: "When did you realize the severity of the injury?"

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Richard: "I knew I had staples and metal plates in my head, but it wasn''t until about six months later that the doctors fully explained what they had done. It was so severe, they tried not to overwhelm me early on. Looking back, I don''t think I could''ve handled the truth at that time."

    Mark: "That must''ve been hard. What helped you push through?"

    Richard: "Funnily enough, being a footballer helped. I treated recovery like I would any challenge on the pitch¡ªone step at a time. It was about moving forward, no matter how slow the progress."

    Mark: "At what point did you know you had to retire?"

    Richard: "When the doctors told me that if I went back¡ªif I started heading balls again for even six months¡ªI could develop dementia or epilepsy by the time I was 28 or 29. They said it was a miracle I''d recovered as well as I had, but that playing again could cause irreversible damage. By the time I stood up to leave that meeting, I knew my career was over."

    Mark: "That''s heartbreaking. But looking at you now, you seem in a better place."

    Richard: "It doesn''t matter in the end, really. I''m grateful for what I have. Now I can do simple things I missed before¡ªlike going to family birthday parties on Saturdays, something I''d always miss because of matches. Physically, I''m okay. I can walk, run... and I just hope I find something I''m as passionate about as I was with football, something I can give 100% to again."

    Mark: "Richard, thank you for sharing your story. It''s inspiring to hear how you''ve handled everything."

    Richard: "Thanks, Mark. I appreciate it."

    After wrapping up the interview with Mark Henshaw from Mirror Sport, Richard didn''t waste a moment. There was no need for a break; the second interview was ready to begin.

    Interview with Richard Maddox - Life After Football

    By Daniel Ford, The Sun.

    Daniel Ford (The Sun): "Mr. Maddox, how are you doing right now? It''s been a year since you stepped away from football."

    Richard: "Well, I can say I''m still kickin''."

    Daniel: "Oh? Any plans for a comeback?"

    Richard: (laughing) "No chance. My mum and dad would beat me if I went back to the pitch! Haha."

    (Both laugh before the conversation shifts to his early football memories.)

    Daniel: "Let''s talk about the past. What first got you into football?"

    Richard: "One of my first memories is kicking a ball against a little wall. My mum and dad always said I carried a football with me everywhere I went."

    Daniel Ford: "So, what made you take that step into professional football?"

    Richard: (shaking his head) "Nothing really. When you''re a kid, you don''t think about careers¡ªyou just play. I''d rush home from school, grab my ball, and play until dinner. It was just pure love for the game."

    Daniel: "Can you tell us about the start of your career?"

    Richard Maddox: "I grew up in Islington, but for a year, my dad had work in Yorkshire, so we moved there. It was different from London, but I made friends quickly, and of course, we played football all the time. I joined my school''s football team, and about six months later, Sheffield Wednesday spotted me. Coach Adam saw me play during a school match and invited me to join their academy. I still remember when my dad got the call¡ªhe told me, and I was running around the living room, cheering. It was everything I''d ever wanted."

    Daniel: "Is that where you scored 70 goals in that local tournament?"

    Richard: (shrugs) "Yeah, that''s the one. A year later, I scored 42 goals for the under-18s, and I started thinking I might actually get a shot with the first team. I remember having a serious talk with the academy manager around that time."

    Daniel: "Any special words for Sheffield Wednesday?"

    Richard: "What can I say? A lot has changed since then. I could list so many things that affected me long after, things I sometimes forget. But it always felt like destiny to play for Sheffield. I''d be lying if I said there weren''t tough moments, but that''s football. Everything happens on the pitch. I was fortunate to play and grow with Sheffield Wednesday."

    Daniel: "Thank you for your time, Mr. Maddox. One last question¡ªsince you''ve hung up your boots, what''s next for you?"

    Richard: (smiling) "Well, that''s still up in the air. I''m exploring my options, but football will always be a part of my life in some way. Who knows?"

    Daniel: "We wish you the best, Richard. Thanks again."

    Richard: "Thanks, Daniel. Appreciate it."

    Interview end¡ª

    The interview wrapped up with firm handshakes and polite smiles.

    "Thanks for your time, Richard. I really appreciate it," Mark Henshaw said, closing his notebook.

    "No problem, Mark. It was good to talk," Richard replied with a nod.

    "Thank you, Richard," Daniel added.

    "You''re welcome, Daniel."

    As Mark and Daniel gathered their things and left, Richard took a brief moment, waiting until they were out of sight before turning his attention to Fay. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

    ¡ê1,780,554

    Without wasting any more time, Richard called a taxi and headed straight to the Islington Council House to finalize the payment for the buildings he had purchased¡ªan overdue transaction he was eager to complete.

    As usual, Stuart¡ªthe same council officer who had helped him before¡ªwas there to assist, ready with the official documents.

    Richard reviewed the list of properties he was about to acquire:

    Terraced Houses: 30 units priced between ¡ê13,000 to 16,000

    Offices, Shops, and Pubs: 21 units ranging from ¡ê13,000 to ¡ê25,000.

    Warehouses, Garages, and Workshops: 41 units priced between ¡ê8,000 and ¡ê22,000.

    The total cost for purchasing all the buildings came to ¡ê1,428,600.

    After completing the payment, Richard carefully placed all the paperwork¡ªtitle deeds, payment confirmation contracts, and forms¡ªinto his father''s old leather briefcase, the same one he had used when they moved to Yorkshire years ago.

    Once everything was settled at the council, he visited the agents and each of the houses he had purchased, especially the ones already occupied, to finalize agreements with the tenants.

    The man who had previously looked at Richard with skepticism was now packing up his belongings with his family, waiting for him to complete the payment. When he saw Richard carrying a large suitcase, he was speechless.

    "Are you moving in? Is the deal off? Let me tell you, even if you beg, I won''t return the deposit," the man warned.

    "No, no, you''ve got it all wrong," Richard replied, shaking his head. "These are just my clothes. My house is under renovation, and since this place will be renovated too, I thought I might as well move in temporarily."

    Even though the man didn''t fully understand, he clearly didn''t care.

    After completing the payments for all the occupied houses, Richard spent an additional ¡ê200,000, bringing his total expenditure to ¡ê1,628,600 in a single day!

    With ¡ê151,954 remaining, Richard set aside ¡ê100,000 for future repairs on the buildings along the main road, leaving him with around ¡ê51,954.

 Real Estate Renewal and The Shock

    Arriving home, Richard struggled to pull the large suitcase up the front steps, his arms aching under the weight. But before he could even reach the door, there she was¡ªhis mother¡ªstanding in the doorway with her arms crossed, eyebrows arched, and a look that could pierce through steel.

    "Well, well, Mr. Richard Maddox," she began, her voice sharp and demanding. "Care to tell me what this is all about?" She placed one hand firmly on her hip, her eyes darting between him and the oversized suitcase.

    Richard let out a long sigh, already bracing himself for the inevitable questioning. "Mum, it''s not what you think," he replied, panting slightly from hauling the suitcase. "By the way¡­ could you, um, help me a little bit?"

    His mother glared at him for a moment longer, but when she saw her youngest son struggling and giving her that sheepish look, her expression softened¡ªjust a bit. Letting out a huff, she walked over and grabbed the other end of the suitcase.

    "You better have a good explanation for this, mister," she muttered as they both carried the suitcase inside.

    Once they set it down in the living room with a heavy thud, she wiped her hands on her apron and crossed her arms again. "Alright, now, Mr. Maddox," she said sternly. "Tell me¡ªare you really moving out? Because dragging a suitcase that big screams ''I''m leaving.''"

    Richard quickly shook his head. "No, no, of course I''m not moving, Mum," he reassured her. "But¡­ well¡­" He scratched the back of his head, trying to find the right words.

    "How about this? Can we wait until Dad and big bro get home? I''m honestly too exhausted to explain this twice. Plus, I think it''ll be easier to say it all at once."

    His mother narrowed her eyes at him, clearly still suspicious, but she sighed in defeat. "Fine," she agreed. "But you''d better not be in any kind of trouble, Richard Maddox. And don''t think for a second this conversation is over."

    Richard smiled, relieved. "Deal. And, um¡­ is there anything left from lunch, mom? I am starving." he asked, hopeful.

    She rolled her eyes but couldn''t hide the small smile creeping onto her face. "You''re lucky I made extra."

    "Told you I''m the favorite," Richard joked, flopping onto the couch.

    "Keep talking like that, and you''ll be having cold leftovers," she retorted, but her tone had softened now, the edge in her voice gone¡ªat least for now.

    As night fell, a tense energy filled the Maddox household.

    Richard paced nervously around the living room, glancing at the clock every few seconds.

    His mother sat quietly nearby, watching him quietly. The moment Bryan and Harry walked through the door, Richard sprang into action.

    "Come on, both of you¡ªliving room, now!" he called, waving them over urgently.

    Bryan, still tired from a long day at work, blinked in confusion. "What''s going on? What''s this about?" he asked as he was pulled toward the living room.

    Harry kicked off his shoes, raising an eyebrow but following along without question.

    Richard stood awkwardly in front of them, his palms sweaty as he rubbed them against his trousers.

    "Alright¡­ Dad, Mum, Harry¡ªjust hear me out," he began, his voice trembling slightly. "I¡ªuh¡ªI need to tell you something. Actually¡­ a lot of things¡­"

    The room fell into a heavy silence, every eye fixed on him. Richard took a deep breath and launched into his story, starting from the very beginning.

    Then¡ªboom. When he finally finished, the room exploded.

    "WHAT?! Two million?!" they all shouted in unison.

    Anna looked pale. She clutched the edge of her armchair, her knuckles white. "All that money¡ª You¡­ you didn''t do anything illegal, right?" Her voice trembled, anxiety pouring out.

    Bryan leaned back, stunned. "Two million... Even if I worked every day of my life, I don''t think I''d ever see that kind of money." He shook his head in disbelief.

    Harry''s jaw dropped, but his shock quickly shifted into suspicion. His brow furrowed as he walked over and placed a firm hand on Richard''s shoulder.

    "Richard," he said in a serious tone, "be honest with me. You''re not mixed up in anything dangerous, are you? Drugs? Human trafficking? Something worse?"

    It was a natural reaction. What else could explain such an insane amount of money?

    Their minds raced through every worst-case scenario.

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    "What? No! Of course not!" Richard shot back, exasperated. "You know me¡ªI''ve only ever cared about football. How would I even get involved in something like that?"

    Harry crossed his arms, not entirely convinced. "Then tell us, Richard. How did you get all that money?"

    Richard hesitated, his throat dry. He swallowed hard before finally speaking.

    "Alright... I''ll tell you everything."

    He confessed it all¡ªthe World Cup bet, becoming a VIP at William Hall, and even how he had been lying about looking for vocational schools, using that time instead to set up his money-making plan.

    When he finished, the room fell into stunned silence. No one knew what to say.

    "Oh my¡­" Anna gasped, placing a trembling hand on her forehead as if she might faint. Her face turned pale, and Richard panicked.

    "MOM!"

    But before he could reach her, Anna suddenly straightened up, as if nothing had happened, her eyes now locked on the large suitcase by the door.

    "Is the money in the suitcase? Is that why you borrowed your father''s briefcase?" she asked, her voice filled with sudden hope.

    Richard''s mouth twitched at the sudden burst of vitality.

    Her words also immediately caught Bryan and Harry''s attention. Both turned their heads toward the suitcase, their imaginations running wild.

    "Two million¡­" Harry whispered, eyes wide with excitement. "We''re a millionaire family now!"

    "No, we''re not," Richard muttered quickly, his nerves spiking again.

    The excitement in the room fizzled out in an instant.

    "Huh? It''s not the money?" Anna asked, her brows furrowing. "Then where is it? What''s in the suitcase?"

    Bryan and Harry exchanged skeptical glances, now eyeing Richard with suspicion, waiting for an explanation.

    "I¡ª"

    Richard swallowed hard. It felt like he was being watched by six pairs of eyes, each one sharp and ready to tear him apart. But the longer he hesitated, the bigger the problem would become. So, Richard decided to just come clean.

    Before he could finish his explanation, his body automatically slid to the side, leaning next to his mother, who had already slumped over.

    "MOM!"

    "Oh my. My son didn''t go for a vocational school, nor did he want to study. Instead, he gambled. Now he''s buying this useless house¡­ Oh, my head hurts."

    If not for the fact that there are screws and staples in his head, she would probably have already pulled his ear off in annoyance. Bryan and Harry stood there, speechless.

    Millions...!

    Just like that... But they were also completely confused by the situation.

    Why on earth would he buy so many buildings here?

    Didn''t he realize this area was undeveloped?

    Even supermarkets were too afraid to come here¡ªthis place was just chaotic. With all the buildings he now owned, if this is true, he could be called Islington''s little lord.

    Almost every building¡ªno, the entire housing complex¡ªseemed to be under his control. The only thing he hadn''t bought yet were probably the apartments.

    As someone with the most experience in the room, Bryan took a deep breath to calm his uneasiness. He asked patiently, "Son, can you explain why you''ve bought so many houses? Are you trying to bet on property?"

    Entering the property market was indeed lucrative, but it was also a risky game, especially if you didn''t fully understand the bigger picture.

    Bryan knew this. Anna knew this. Harry knew this.

    This was the game of the rich. They often heard people discussing it and saw the newspapers reporting on it, so they weren''t completely clueless.

    Richard wanted to say something, but in the end, nothing came out. He couldn''t defend himself. There was no way he could tell them, ''Mom, Dad, the houses will be worth more next year," or "The big bang is about to be announced!''

    No way, right?

    However, that was exactly why Richard had bought nearly every building here. The big bang is coming, and with the influx of money flooding in, everything is about to change.

    It''s all about the money¡ªso much money¡ªthat Islington is set to become the first property hotspot. In fact, this will lead to an influx of foreign banks into the Square Mile, with bankers eyeing homes in Islington''s elegant Georgian terraces and squares just up the road.

    Soon, estate agents were vying for space on Upper Street, which eventually earned the nickname "Supper St." later. This frenzy sparked a massive wave of office development in the City, where the growing demand for large trading floors transformed miles of derelict land into London''s new financial district.

    This shift encouraged more enlightened urban planning. Truth be told, it wasn''t just Islington. Richard had already planned everything meticulously.

    First, Islington¡ªthe desolate area, the great spiral of decay.

    Second, Exmouth Market in Finsbury, already declared a ghost town.

    Third, King''s Cross and St Pancras¡ªinfamous for their association with prostitution and drug abuse.

    He wanted to acquire property little by little, buying and selling, scalping the market. His first target? The bankers and financial institutions who would soon be eyeing Islington.

    Sighing, Anna could only regret that he had already spent the money. "Is the money all gone?" she asked quietly.

    "No, there''s still about fifty thousand left."

    "Then give it to me."

    "Ah?"

    "Yes, give it to me."

    "B-but why?"

    "Why? After your careless spending? Give it to me now!"

    Reluctantly, Richard handed over his ATM card. In the mid-1980s, ATM cards had already been introduced, but they were not as ubiquitous or advanced as today. They were mostly used for smaller withdrawals.

    "But my suitcase¡ª"

    "Forget the suitcase. No one cares about your useless house," Anna snapped, her frustration evident. She was fuming now.

    Richard''s heart pounded in his chest. Almost... almost...

    If he said he still had one hundred and fifty thousand, everything would fall apart. The money for the building repairs would be gone. Thankfully, he only mentioned there was fifty thousand left.

    "Yes, Mom," Richard said, trying to stay calm. Then, as he remembered something, he added, "Ah, by the way..."

    "What now?" Anna''s patience was running thin.

    "I need to go to Manchester this week. I have to meet someone."

    "Manchester? Why are you going all the way there?" Anna eyed him suspiciously.

    "Yeah, it''s about City. I... uh, how should I put it... I might be a shareholder?"

    "Hmm? What''s a shareholder?" she asked, clearly confused.

    However, Harry, who had been silent up until now, was shocked.

    "What?! You own a football club now?"

    Richard frantically waved his hand. "No, no, it''s just a small share. I can''t even attend the meetings. I''m just going there for an introduction."

    There was no way he was going to tell them it was just a single share¡ªit was too embarrassing.

    "Wait, Manchester City? Is that the team in the second division? The one from the same city as Manchester United?"

    "Yeah, that''s the one," Richard replied.

    "How could you have Manchester City shares? I''d rather buy Barnet or London Tigers!"

    Richard''s mouth twitched upon hearing the clubs Harry mentioned. "Well, I never thought I''d own a share in a football club either."

 Attending the Meeting

    The next few weeks were a whirlwind for Richard.

    Every day felt like a race against time as he juggled plans, meetings, and endless site visits. Naturally, his top priority was finding contractors who could breathe new life into the tired, crumbling buildings he had hastily purchased in Islington.

    It wasn''t just about slapping on fresh paint¡ªthese places needed serious work. The row of office buildings lining the main road topped his list. Their exteriors were an eyesore¡ªwalls streaked with moss, flaking paint, and broken signage that made them look completely abandoned.

    Richard knew first impressions mattered, especially if he hoped to attract businesses or investors. ''If the outside looks promising, people might just take a peek inside,'' he told himself.

    For this, he reached out to the Islington Housing Council, hoping they could point him in the right direction. Fortunately, he was already in a good position¡ªhe had built a positive rapport with the council.

    At the very least, he was keeping his promise to renovate the buildings. And it wasn''t just one or two¡ªalmost every building along the main road was set for refurbishment, all funded from his own pocket.

    This dedication impressed the council, making them even more enthusiastic about helping. It didn''t take long before they connected him with several local contractors who were well-versed in the borough''s strict building regulations.

    Back to his personal life¡ªat home, things were... complicated. He kept his parents updated, but more out of obligation than choice.

    His father, Bryan, had long since stopped voicing his doubts, while Anna, his mother, never stopped nagging him.

    "If only you studied¡­ if only you used your money for something smarter¡­ if only¡ª" It was endless, and Richard was tired of hearing it.

    As for Harry, he had moved from shock to reluctant acceptance. They still thought he was in way over his head though, but what could they do?

    Their youngest son had already poured a fortune into these buildings.

    "This area''s a mess," Anna sighed one evening, staring out the window at the crumbling terraces across the street. "Even if you fix them up, who''s going to want to buy in a place like this?"

    Richard ignored her, focusing on his inspections and surveying which buildings needed the most urgent repairs. The neighborhood was rough¡ªgraffiti-covered walls, broken fences, overgrown lots, and streets that felt deserted more often than not.

    There was even a part of the area that most people had written off entirely as a lost cause. But that was exactly what he was banking on. If no one else could see the potential, he would be the first.

    After two long months of waiting, what Richard had been anticipating finally arrived¡ªan official invitation to Manchester City''s General Meeting.

    He carefully opened the envelope, reading the formal lines inviting him, as a shareholder, to attend. It felt surreal.

    Richard chuckled to himself. Despite owning only a single share, seeing his name on that formal invitation felt both ridiculous and exciting. He placed the letter on his desk, staring at it for a moment.

    "You''re actually going?" Harry asked, gulping down his breakfast.

    It was Sunday, a day off for both of them and their father.

    "Of course I''m going. Why wouldn''t I?" Richard replied, leaning back in his chair.

    Harry snorted. "I still don''t get why you bought a share in City instead of United. If it were me, I''d have gone for a club closer to home¡ªTottenham, Arsenal¡­ even Fulham would''ve made more sense."

    "I already told you, I didn''t buy it." Richard waved his hand dismissively. "You just don''t understand."

    The room fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, broken only by the sound of Harry finishing his meal. Then, out of nowhere, Richard spoke again, his tone softer.

    "Hey¡­ don''t you want to go back to school?"

    Harry froze, clearly caught off guard. ''Huh? Where did that come from?''

    Richard met his brother''s surprised look and sighed. He knew that Harry had once had big dreams¡ªdreams that now seemed buried under the weight of reality.

    "You used to talk about starting your own supermarket," Richard reminded him. "But how are you going to do that without knowing how to run a business?"

    Harry didn''t answer right away. His silence spoke volumes.

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    "Why not ask Mom to help pay for your tuition?" Richard pressed. "She''s still holding my ATM card, right?"

    Harry hesitated. "Do you really think she''d agree?"

    "Of course! Why wouldn''t she?" Richard frowned. "She wants what''s best for us."

    "But¡­ my age¡ª"

    "Come on! Who says you''re too old to study? You''re only in your twenties!" Richard threw up his hands. "You think that''s old?"

    Harry chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don''t know¡­ I guess not."

    Richard leaned in, lowering his voice. "Listen, I''ll help you. You know how I became a footballer, right? It all started because I took a chance. Do you have the guts to do the same?"

    His path to becoming a footballer was anything but conventional. No one in his family had seen it coming. From neighborhood games to school matches, and then tournament after tournament, he just played for fun.

    But he kept climbing higher until, one day, a scout passing by happened to watch him play. Without warning, an invitation to a trial landed in his hands. But instead of running to tell his family, he quietly folded the letter and tucked it away in his drawer.

    Every day after that, he snuck off to training sessions. Sometimes he skipped school, and his grades plummeted, but he didn''t care. Other times, he pretended he was just out with friends or running errands. It wasn''t easy, but his determination kept him going.

    "But I''d have to quit my job¡­"

    "Yeah, but think of it as an investment in your future. Do you really want to spend your whole life stuck in a warehouse, like Dad?"

    Harry''s expression darkened.

    "Alright, that''s enough, Richard. You''re going too far."

    "No, hear me out! I''m not saying Dad''s life is bad," Richard added quickly, "but he works so hard because he wants more for us. I know he''d support you, and Mom will too. The only question is¡ªdo you dare?"

    Harry sat there, thinking deeply. After a long pause, he finally asked, "You''ll help me talk to them?"

    "I promise."

    "Right now?"

    "The sooner, the better. Let''s not waste time."

    Harry took a deep breath, then slapped his thigh with determination. "Alright! Let''s do it!"

    "That''s the spirit!" Richard grinned, clapping his brother on the back. "Come on, brother¡ªyou''ve got this!"

    After wrapping up property and business matters, Richard finally boarded a direct train from London Euston to Manchester Piccadilly.

    Anna had made sure his son dressed nicely and even insisted Richard brush his hair. The journey took around three hours, but he didn''t mind¡ªhe had been looking forward to this for a long time.

    Upon arriving at Manchester Piccadilly, Richard still needed to make his way to Maine Road. The stadium wasn''t exactly close, located a few miles from the city center in the Moss Side district. Not wanting to waste time navigating buses or trams, he opted for a taxi.

    As the cab weaved through Manchester''s streets, Richard gazed out the window, watching the cityscape shift. Soon, the towering stands of Maine Road came into view¡ªManchester City''s iconic home ground, standing tall and proud since 1923.

    This was it.

    Before arriving, Richard had done a bit of research on Manchester City.

    To be honest, their performance on the pitch was surprisingly poor. It was a stark contrast to the Manchester City that dominated the Premier League under Pep Guardiola in the future, a version he knew well.

    Richard then shook his head. His role was more focused on management, so he didn''t pay too much attention to their on-field struggles

    In 1986, Manchester City Football Club was still structured as a private limited company, not a public one.

    This meant the shares were privately held and not available for public trading. The club''s management was overseen by a board of directors, responsible for making key decisions.

    Richard stepped out of the taxi and looked up at the towering stands of Maine Road. Clutching the official AGM invitation, he walked toward the main entrance.

    Inside, the marble-floored lobby was quieter than he expected, the only sound being the soft echoes of footsteps. A receptionist sat behind a polished wooden desk, flipping through her documents. When she saw Richard approaching, she stood up.

    "Good morning, may I help you, sir?"

    "Good morning," Richard replied. "I''m here for the meeting."

    The receptionist seemed taken aback, but she smiled politely. "Yes, sir, how can I assist you?"

    "I''m here for the meeting," Richard repeated.

    The receptionist paused for a moment, thinking, ''Meeting? Who is this? So young? And also I never seen him before, a troublemaker?''

    Just as she was about to call security, Richard remembered the invitation he was holding. It had been hidden under the desk and wasn''t visible. He showed it to her, which clearly surprised her.

    "Wait a moment, sir." She took the invitation, checked its authenticity, and compared it with her guest list, flipping through the pages.

    After scanning and cross-checking, she smiled. "Ah, yes, Mr. Maddox. You''re on the list. You''ve arrived a bit early, but that''s perfectly fine." She handed him a visitor''s badge. "Please follow me."

    Richard followed the receptionist down a quiet corridor. The atmosphere felt unusually still, so he decided to break the silence. "Aren''t the players coming?"

    "No, it''s still too early," the receptionist replied.

    As they walked, Richard noticed the receptionist kept sneaking glances at him. Curious, he asked, "Is there something on my face?"

    Ashley, startled by the question, quickly responded, "N-no, nothing, sir." She tried to keep her composure, but it was clear she was nervous.

    "Am I that scary?" Richard chuckled lightly.

    Ashley, now gathering her courage, ventured, "Are you really Richard Maddox, that Richard Maddox?"

    Richard found the question funny but didn''t tease her. He simply nodded.

    The confirmation seemed to make Ashley even more intrigued. She''d heard about his injury and how severe it had been.

    Finally, they stopped at a large wooden door. "Here we are," Ashley said, pushing it open.

    Richard stepped into a spacious, yet understated, meeting room. A long, polished mahogany table stretched down the center, surrounded by high-backed leather chairs. The walls were adorned with framed photos, likely of club legends and key figures.

    At the far end of the table sat a stack of printed agendas and informational packets. Ashley picked up one with Richard''s name on it and handed it to him.

    "Thank you."

    As it was his first time attending a meeting like this, what he needed was a little bit of guidance.

    "Anything else, sir?"

    "Do I just need to wait for the others here?"

    "Yes, since you''re quite early, the chairman and the others will likely arrive in about an hour."

    "Oh, that''s okay then. Thank you so much, Ashley," Richard said, glancing at the name on her badge.

    With a polite nod, Ashley responded, "You''re welcome, sir. If you need anything else, don''t hesitate to ask."

    "Sure."

    She left the room, closing the door behind her.

 The Extraordinary General Meeting

    At 9:30 AM, a temporary general meeting was officially held at Manchester City''s Maine Road Stadium. This was a special, unannounced gathering, initiated by the current chairman, Peter Swales.

    Typically, whether for a listed company, private company, or other types of businesses, shareholders attend a mandatory yearly meeting known as the Annual General Meeting or AGM.

    This serves as a platform to review the company''s performance over the past year, discuss future strategies, and make key decisions.

    In contrast, an Extraordinary General Meeting or EGM is called outside of the AGM to address urgent matters requiring shareholder approval that cannot wait until the next AGM.

    EGMs are unscheduled and usually convened for major events, such as issuing new shares, amending the company''s articles, or the unexpected appointment or removal of directors.

    Both types of meetings require key members of the club to be notified in advance, but there are no specific regulations under company law. Instead, the notification process can be determined by the company''s internal regulations.

    Upon hearing the news about the meeting, many people were puzzled about what Swales was thinking.

    At the entrance of Manchester City''s Maine Road, two board members, clad in sharp, tailored suits¡ªcomplete with pocket squares, polished leather shoes, and neatly combed hair happened to cross paths.

    Eric Alexander, the former chairman and now a director, was walking nearby, lost in thought. Club politics and his father''s declining health were taking a toll on him. He sighed, wishing his father were here.

    His father, Albert Edward Burns Alexander Sr., or simply Albert Alexander, was a central figure in the club.

    From the club''s early rise, he had been at the heart of it all, leading Manchester City as chairman through its pivotal years. Now, however, due to age and health issues, he could only hold a ceremonial role as club president.

    While the title of club president still held significance, the real issue was that there was already an acting president, making his father''s role purely honorary, with no actual power at all.

    Eric had hoped to follow in his father''s footsteps, and though he had briefly succeeded as chairman, losing the position and being reduced to just a director felt like a demotion in his eyes.

    "Sigh, if only Father were here¡­ Now I''ve lost the chairman''s seat¡­ Sigh¡­" Eric lamented.

    While he was deep in thought, he didn''t realize he was already being watched.

    Sydney Rose, another director, noticed him and walked over, gently tapping his arm before stepping ahead. He slowed his pace, waiting for Eric to catch up.

    "Rose," Alexander greeted warmly, his tone filled with respect.

    Sydney Rose was an NHS consultant surgeon at Withington and Wythenshawe Hospitals. He was also the surgeon who had performed the emergency appendectomy on Manchester United''s Sir Matt Busby in 1970.

    "What''s on your mind, Eric? If it weren''t for me, you''d have walked straight into that post," Sydney chuckled, nodding toward a towering lamppost.

    "Oh, then I must thank you, haha," Eric replied with a faint smile.

    Sydney watched him with mild disapproval¡ªso early in the morning, and he already seemed burdened with thoughts. He shook his head before steering the conversation to something more important.

    "Peter''s called a meeting. Do you know what it''s about? Have you seen the agenda?" he asked.

    Alexander shrugged. "No idea what he''s thinking. But we''ll find out soon enough."

    The moment they arrived at the meeting room, both men were taken aback. Someone was already there, calmly reading through the briefing pack.

    Noticing their arrival, the man stood up and stepped forward to introduce himself.

    "Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Richard Maddox."

    "You¡ª"

    Before Sydney could finish, Alexander jumped in, "Maddox? Sheffield Wednesday?"

    "Yes, That''s me." Richard replied with a nod.

    "Holy¡ª"He stopped himself, catching his tongue before saying something impolite. He extended his hand instead. "Your injury¡­?"

    Richard smiled. "I''m doing fine now. After all, I wouldn''t have been invited here if I wasn''t," he said, raising the pack with his name printed on it.

    Alexander and Sydney exchanged glances. It seemed they had both started to piece things together. However, confusion quickly set in. Wasn''t the board already full? Why was there suddenly a new member?

    After introducing himself, Richard sat back down in his chair. He opened the briefing pack and flipped to the section on board members.

    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "Hmm¡­ Eric Alexander and Sydney Rose¡­ ah, here it is," he muttered.

    He found their names listed and continued reading, diving deeper into the contents of the pack. It detailed the current City board and shareholdings as of today.

    Chairman: Peter Swales

    Vice-Chairman: Simon Cussons

    President: Joe Smith, Albert Alexander

    Directors: John Humphreys, Sidney Rose, Ian Niven, Chris Muir, Eric Alexander, Robert Harris.

    After a couple of minutes, more and more people arrived, just like Eric and Sydney. They too were taken aback, but once they realized it was Richard Maddox, the former Sheffield Wednesday player, their imaginations ran wild.

    A new player?

    A coach?

    Is this because of his injury?

    Many of them thought Richard might be introduced as a new coach or something similar. However, they were still unsure. After all, why call an EGM just to announce a new staff member?

    By the end of it, no one even considered the possibility that Richard was there to join them¡ªofficially or even just in name. But soon, all their guesses were shattered by the arrival of Frank Shepherd and Gordon Barry.

    Frank Shepherd, the club''s solicitor, and Gordon Barry, the barrister.

    The roles of a solicitor and a barrister served specific legal purposes, especially during critical events. If the solicitor handled the day-to-day legal affairs of the club, then the barrister specialized in advocacy and complex legal opinions.

    All things considered, why were they here?

    Something big is coming!

    Peter Swales was the last to arrive. He wore a sharp three-piece suit on a Sunday morning, carrying a briefcase in hand. He didn''t speak to Richard or greet him directly like the others had, likely knowing that acknowledging him now might reveal too much too soon.

    With all the members gathered, Swales took his seat at the head of the table, commanding the room. As the murmurs continued, he clapped his hands to bring the conversation to a halt.

    "Good morning, everyone, and thank you for attending this general meeting. We have urgent matters to discuss today¡ªhence the short notice."

    The room fell silent, all eyes now fixed on Swales and the agenda.

    "First, I apologize for taking up your valuable time with this sudden meeting. However, today''s agenda is critical and has only one item¡ª" he paused, letting the tension settle in the room, "and that is to propose the addition of a new acting director to Manchester City Football Club."

    BOOM!

    All were stunned. A heavy silence hung in the air as the weight of Swales'' words settled over the room. Only Frank Shepherd, the club''s solicitor, and Gordon Barry, the barrister, remained calm¡ªunsurprising, as they had already been briefed by Peter beforehand.

    The other board members exchanged puzzled glances, some leaning in to whisper, trying to make sense of the unexpected proposal.

    Sydney Rose was the first to break the silence, his brow furrowed. "Peter¡­ a new acting director? Without any prior notice?"

    Peter nodded, clearly expecting this reaction. "I understand your concerns, but the situation required discretion. I''ll explain everything in due time."

    Richard, who had been quietly observing, twitched at this. ''What situation? What discretion?'' If they knew he had lost a single share just because of a bet, he feared they would bang their heads in frustration.

    Eric was still processing everything when he spoke up. "And who exactly is this new director?" His eyes flicked toward Richard, who sat quietly at the table.

    Peter gestured toward him. "Gentlemen, allow me to formally introduce Richard Maddox."

    A ripple of whispers spread across the room. Some board members eyed Richard with curiosity, others with thinly veiled skepticism.

    "That Maddox?" someone murmured.

    "The one who banged his head on the post?" another chimed in.

    Richard wanted nothing more than to dig a hole and disappear, but the situation didn''t allow for that. He took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and stood up. All eyes were now on him.

    "Morning, gentlemen." He nodded and gave a slight bow out of respect before continuing, "My name is Richard Maddox. Some of you may know me as a former player¡ªuntil, well, the injury." He paused, letting the weight of that moment sink in before continuing. "I may not have the impressive backgrounds that you gentlemen have, but I do know football¡ªon the pitch and¡­" he trailed off, "¡­off the pitch."

    "And what exactly do you mean by ''off the pitch''?" someone asked.

    "Thank you for the question, gentlemen," Richard replied with a polite nod. "As many of you know, my youth career ended with 70 goals, followed by another 42 the next season before I was promoted to the senior team. There, while my goal tally wasn''t as impressive as in my youth¡ª15 goals and 11 assists¡ªI became a more mature and complete player." He paused, letting his words settle as he scanned the room.

    A few board members exchanged glances. Some leaned in, intrigued by his honesty, while others sat back, arms crossed, still skeptical.

    "What I''m trying to say is," Richard continued, "it wasn''t just me. It was the club management, the coaching staff, and especially their youth development program that molded me into the player I became. Gentlemen, what I''m offering is the chance to use my experience¡ªnot just as a player, but as someone who''s been through that system¡ªto help Manchester City grow stronger, both on the pitch and off it."

    Sensing the room''s mixed reactions, Peter Swales smiled and gave a subtle nod. At first, he had planned to intervene if something went wrong, but it seemed everything was going smoothly.

    Joe Smith, the current president, wasn''t unhappy with Richard. In fact, he didn''t mind him at all. What bothered him was how Peter Swales, the current chairman, had suddenly nominated someone without warning. It felt like Peter was misusing his authority.

    So he raised his hand and said, "Mr. Swales, pardon my interruption. Before we continue this discussion, are you aware that the club covenant is still active to this day?"

    On the day of the General Election, on 15 October 1964, the club''s six directors signed a Deed of Covenant which stated:

    "...in the event of a director''s death or his otherwise leaving the board, the shares should still remain with the club..."

    What "remain with the club" meant in practice was that the shares of departing directors would be divided among the remaining signees.

    Since the board still controlled a majority of the club''s shares, the aim was to prevent any hostile force from acquiring a large enough stake to force a takeover.

    "Of course I understand," Peter Swales replied confidently before gesturing for Richard to take his seat. He then cast a quick glance at Frank Shepherd, Manchester City''s sole solicitor.

    Frank nodded, placed his briefcase on the table, and opened it with a deliberate click. He pulled out a stack of documents and cleared his throat.

    "Gentlemen, please allow me to read the 1964 covenant signed by the original six-man board." He read the document in full before summarizing its key points.

    "Firstly, the 1964 covenant was built on shaky legal ground. This became evident when the club''s Articles of Association were amended in 1971, allowing the number of board seats to increase from seven to nine, with one additional seat for urgent matters."

    It was a clear threat.

    In other words, even if anyone objected, it wouldn''t stop future attempts. As long as Peter held the chairman''s seat, he could continue using the same approach.

    With his authority, no one could be certain whether he might resort to shady tactics to sway current or future directors. No one wanted their power on the board to be weakened or to give Peter an opportunity to dominate the board''s control.

 The Covenant pt.1

    "However, as a club that values tradition, let''s not disrupt our foundation," Frank continued. "What I''m trying to say, gentlemen, is that we value and believe the covenant was established with clear rules designed to guide Manchester City toward a better future."

    Frank paused for a moment, ensuring his point was clear before continuing. "Gentlemen, I believe some of you may have questions regarding this. Currently, nine plus one seats are occupied, which means adding another¡ªwithout proper adjustments¡ªwould technically violate the covenant''s terms."

    Everyone nodded in agreement.

    "However, gentlemen," Frank continued, "I also believe some of you may have overlooked the fact that one of the board members who should be here has his shares locked away in his lawyer''s bank due to certain circumstances."

    The moment Eric heard this, his face froze.

    His father''s shares.

    Everyone already knew that, according to the covenant, when Albert Alexander eventually passed away, his shares would be transferred to Eric Alexander, his designated successor.

    This meant that, since Albert was still alive, Eric couldn''t legally take control of the shares just yet.

    At the time, Albert was unable to attend the meeting due to health issues, leaving Eric to represent him. However, since Eric was acting purely as his father''s proxy¡ªthrough their familial connection and not as the legal controller of the shares¡ªAlbert''s shares were deemed inactive.

    As a result, his seat was effectively considered vacant.

    Of course, Eric had no ulterior motives toward his father¡ªhe deeply respected and loved him. No one on the board had any bad thoughts either, as none of them wanted to provoke tension or attract media attention that could damage their reputations.

    Hence, since Albert''s shares were inactive, they were securely locked away in his lawyer''s bank to prevent any risk of them going missing again.

    Why bother to lock them away? Missing again?

    Back in the 1960s, during Albert Alexander''s tenure as Manchester City chairman, the club faced serious challenges regarding share ownership and control. At one point, the club''s shares went missing, causing internal uproar that nearly tore the club apart.

    In March 1964, during this period of turmoil, a consortium led by property developer Peter Donoghue made a ¡ê100,000 takeover bid for the club, which the board firmly rejected. The fact that the bid coincided with the missing shares raised suspicions, with the board viewing it as a hostile takeover attempt.

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    In response to this, two directors at that time hired private detectives to track down the missing shares. Despite their efforts, no one was certain what would happen during this sensitive time. Political changes was also making the board fearful.

    Donoghue, who was a Labour councillor, then had been selected as a Labour candidate for the 1964 General Election. This raised concerns within the board, as a Labour government¡ªled by a Prime Minister who openly supported football¡ªcould potentially aid Donoghue''s takeover plans.

    Recognizing the threat, Albert Alexander and the board decided that a new defensive strategy was needed. This crisis led to the creation of the Deed of Covenant.

    The purpose was simple: the covenant ensured that if anything happened before the missing shares were recovered, the shares would remain within the club, divided among the remaining directors.

    This safeguard was designed to prevent external parties from gaining significant control over Manchester City. Thankfully, the crisis eventually ended when the missing shares were found. With their recovery, Albert''s allies controlled four of the six boardroom votes.

    Donoghue, by that time, had withdrawn from the takeover group. Had the shares fallen into the hands of the consortium, the consequences could have been severe¡ªsomething one key figure at the club was keen to exploit.

    Now, the question is¡ªwhy didn''t Albert simply transfer or gift his shares to Eric, his designated successor? He could''ve just gone to his lawyer, signed the papers, and it would''ve been done, right?

    The answer lies in the nature of business dynamics. When an organization reaches a point of stability, internal conflict almost inevitably follows.

    The hostile takeover attempt by Donoghue''s consortium had initially united Manchester City''s board, but what happened after that?

    Once people have tasted power, they tend to cling to it. The confrontations between board members became fierce.

    Shares shifted hands from one director to another, though they remained within the internal circle. Eventually, Albert, who was still chairman at the time, began experiencing health problems due to old age.

    His shares became a hot commodity, but Albert, being a seasoned political player, was shrewd. He decided to step down as chairman and part with some of his shares, while locking the rest away in his lawyer''s bank for safekeeping.

    After long and tense discussions, a kind of Christmas truce was called. As a goodwill gesture, Joe Smith even offered to make Albert chairman for life if the takeover succeeded.

    His target?

    The shares in Albert Alexander''s hands¡ªthe ones he might be willing to part with.

    Albert agreed, as this was the most appealing offer on the table. But in reality, both sides were secretly preparing their legal strategies.

    With Smith taking the lead, other board members threatened to issue a "huge new block of shares" to block the takeover. Smith, whose legal team had prepared a list of eight alternative courses of action, was confident he could prevent it.

    The current director, Joe Smith, became the largest shareholder at the time thanks to Alexander''s shares. However, his plan to become chairman didn''t go smoothly. He fought fiercely with other board members, especially Frank Johnson, the vice-chairman at the time, who was also eyeing the chairman''s seat.

    The conflict intensified, and this was exactly what the media craved. After further digging, a hot piece of news emerged ¡ª it turned out that the Oldham-based double glazing tycoon, Joe Smith, owed his position on Manchester City''s board to none other than Johnson himself.

    This revelation made everything even more dramatic.

 The Covenant pt.2

    As the conflict dragged on, Joe Smith held a press conference at his home in Prestbury. The topic was the threat from other board members to issue a "huge new block of shares" to block his path to becoming chairman.

    Smith and his lawyer argued that the board''s proposals were invalid and announced that his takeover group would propose their own resolutions at the next general meeting, calling on his allies to side with him.

    Everyone expected the next general meeting to be a showdown between Joe Smith, the biggest shareholder, and Frank Johnson, the vice-chairman. But in a shocking twist, Johnson didn''t even attend the meeting. What was even more surprising was the revelation that Johnson was planning to hand over all his shares.

    It was at this moment that the sidelined ex-chairman, Albert Alexander, revealed his hand.

    He was in no mood for peace offerings ¡ª the conflict had gone too far, dragging the media into the club''s internal chaos.

    In the meeting that Johnson failed to attend, he was stripped of his vice-chairmanship and replaced by Sydney Rose. The club also announced plans to launch legal proceedings to block the sale of Johnson''s shares, arguing it violated the signed Deed of Covenant.

    This time, the battle moved to the courtroom. Manchester City''s solicitor, Frank Shepherd, was sent to London to prepare their case.

    The club''s legal team argued that the Deed of Covenant, signed on October 5, 1964, was still valid and enforceable.

    Following a meeting between the lawyers representing both sides, Albert Alexander revealed the club''s next explosive move ¡ª they planned to officially remove Frank Johnson from the board at the upcoming general meeting.

    If the courts ruled that the covenant was still active, and Johnson was removed from the board at the next meeting, then Alexander would have a legal claim to Johnson''s stake. That would leave him with a majority of the club''s shares¡ªrivaling the current Joe Smith.

    Johnson wasn''t ready to back down. With the court''s involvement and time running out, he promised that the voting rights on his shares would not be exercised "on any resolution to remove any director from the board, reduce the number of directors, or appoint any further directors."

    However, the court ruled that Johnson could still use his shares to block his own removal from the board and prevent the issuance of new shares ¡ª a decision that ensured further deadlock.

    By this point, the boardroom turmoil was clearly affecting events on the pitch. That season, City suffered early exits from both the League Cup and the FA Cup. A league campaign that had started so strongly ¡ª with six wins and two draws in the first eight games ¡ª crumbled, ending with just one win in their final 19 matches.

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    Club solicitor Frank Shepherd warned that the trial could be up to 12 months away, deepening the sense of stagnation and frustration within the club.

    As City became embroiled in an increasingly bitter takeover battle, a fresh face in the world of football was attracting headlines for all the right reasons. Several newspapers reported rumors of a mystery backer interested in investing in City.

    After some digging, media soon found out that the mystery benefactor was a rising figure in the football world ¡ª someone who now offered to help break the deadlock.

    His name was Peter J. Swales.

    "Mr. Shepherd, may I know what you mean by this?" Eric''s face darkened.

    He was no pushover. Even though his tenure as chairman hadn''t lasted as long as his father''s, he was still a club legend.

    At 19, he became the youngest member of the City ''A'' team his father had set up. In fact, he was not only the captain but also held the course record and was in charge of a large social club.

    "Eric, calm down. This isn''t what you think," Peter quickly intervened, trying to prevent another conflict from spiraling out of control.

    "I''ve already proposed this idea and even consulted Mr. Gordon about it," Peter continued, letting out a deep sigh. "Eric, gentlemen¡­ let''s be honest here ¡ª this club isn''t doing well, is it?"

    A heavy silence filled the room. It was undeniable. Legal bills were mounting alarmingly, and the club was on the brink. Yet, no one wanted to loosen their grip on the power they still held.

    "We need to be bold. We need to take risks," Peter said, exhaling deeply before nodding to his personal secretary, who handed him a document concerning Richard''s situation.

    When the others read the bolded words ¡ª "single share" ¡ª that Richard would own, the room froze in stunned silence.

    ''A single share? You can''t be serious. Even the smallest director holds at least ten shares!''

    But Peter didn''t let them think; he needed to press them hard. "Gentlemen, I want to work together to lead this club in harmony. The power struggles are over. It''s time to bring in fresh energy and new ideas." He walked over to Richard''s seat and patted him on the shoulder. "And I believe in him."

    Sure, the High Court battles were behind them, but the crushing legal fees and the club''s disastrous performances on the pitch had left them all in despair. If things didn''t change soon, they''d have no choice but to sell their shares to outsiders.

    Even the covenant couldn''t save them!

    The bitter truth was that it had been their collective decision to back the previous manager ¡ª the one who had squandered vast sums on failed signings while selling off key talents like Asa Hartford, Gary Owen, and Peter Barnes.

    One of the worst blunders was the record-breaking signing of Steve Daley, which shattered the British transfer fee record but delivered nothing on the pitch. City had started the season with high hopes, but now, with just one win in their last 19 games, the weight of their mistakes was unbearable.

    "Now, gentlemen," Peter clapped his hands sharply, drawing everyone''s attention. "It''s time to make a decision ¡ª a big one. We either stand together and fight for this club, or we let it crumble right in front of us."

    He let the silence hang in the air for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in.

    "Now, give me your choice," he continued, his voice firm. "Are you with me to rebuild this club, or are you ready to watch it fall apart?"

 Important to read!!!

    1. The story starts in the 1985/1986 season of English football. Story is centered around football ownership, with the main character (MC) owning a football club.

    2. The MC won''t be the coach or manager, but he will appoint one to lead the team. The story emphasizes the decisions made as an owner and the operational aspects, such as sponsorship deals, stadium development, academies, scouting, how to operate in the transfer market.

    3. The MC starts from the lowest point, focusing on how to make money and grow his wealth first. So, don''t expect him to buy a club right away¡ªit takes time. [Spoiler: His initial money comes from betting and property.]

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    4. Before becoming an owner, the MC will first work as a coach, scout, and football agent, so once again, it takes time.

    5. Once again, the story is about being a football club owner. So, you can expect the MC flying around the world, making investments here and there, and discussing business. [Spoiler: He will get involved in the artist agency business since he knows who will make it big in the future.]

    6. Matches will be shown from the perspective of someone in the stands. There will be a little prep talk and motivational strategies, but more focused on the club''s philosophy and future direction.

 Nominated

    "Mr. Richard, may I ask you something?"

    "Yes, please, Mr. Cussons."

    Cussons.

    If you focused on the surname "Cussons," it would be impossible not to recognize the name.

    Simon Cussons, the managing director of the giant cosmetics company that bore his family''s name, came from a legacy not unlike that of the current chairman.

    His great-grandfather, Thomas Cussons, founded the company¡ªcoincidentally, in 1894¡ªwith his son, Alexander. Cussons, Son & Co soon expanded into a derelict mill in Kersal Moor, Salford, transforming it into a 14-acre factory that produced soap, talcum powder, cosmetics, and perfumes.

    After Alexander Cussons'' death in 1951, the chairmanship passed to his son, Leslie. Simon Cussons, one of Leslie''s two children, inherited a significant stake in the company, along with his share of vast landholdings in Cheshire, Derbyshire, and the Isle of Man.

    Simon later joined Peter Donoghue''s attempted takeover consortium but took a different path, which earned him a seat on City''s board.

    Around that time, it seemed an agreement had been made with Eric Alexander to succeed his father as chairman. For that deal to work, Joe Smith had likely promised not to use his large block of shares to unseat Eric.

    It''s not entirely clear what Simon said to each board member to sway them into giving him the leeway to overlook the covenant. However, it was announced during the stormy period of the board meeting that he had joined the City board.

    Richard cast a pitying glance at the current president, Joe Smith. The very "large block of shares" strategy Joe had once used to threaten Eric and his father was now being used against him ¡ª the same tactic that had ultimately cost him the chance to become chairman.

    It wasn''t hard to figure out. In Richard''s version of the meeting pack, there was a wealth of information about the club ¡ª detailed backgrounds on each board member, key documents, and even specific instructions on the actions he needed to take.

    Someone had clearly gone out of their way to prepare him for what lay ahead. It felt like an invisible hand was guiding him through the chaos, setting him up for success at this meeting. Realizing this, he glanced at Peter and wanted to give him a thumbs-up.

    "First, I apologize if my question comes off as a bit blunt. Uh, Mr. Maddox, no, Mr. Richard, are you okay with this decision?"

    Richard was momentarily puzzled by the question and tilted his head. "Could you please clarify what you mean, sir?"

    "I mean the single share. Are you comfortable with this?"

    It was only then that he understood what they were referring to. For someone like him, simply being a part of a football club was already an achievement to be proud of. But to them, owning just a single share wasn''t enough¡ªit almost felt a bit insulting.

    Richard smiled wryly. "Sir, when I first went unresponsive in the CT scanner, I was in surgery within minutes. Had I been anywhere else, things could have turned out very differently. I was being operated on just 61 minutes later. The next thing I remember is waking up. Everything was a blur. I remember feeling a lot of pain."

    "I was sleeping 20-22 hours a day. They would wake me up for a few tests, check my blood pressure, and so on, but most of the time, I just had to sleep. Recovering from an injury like that takes a toll on your body. You need to pace yourself. I had staples and metal plates in my head. It was so severe, they tried not to overwhelm me."

    "For a while, I thought about getting back onto the pitch once I recovered. In fact, I had already started thinking about going back to Yorkshire to start over. Every day I''d jog up and down. Although there was still some dizziness, by the end of my break, I was running at about 70 or 80%, twisting, turning, and kicking a ball again. That time off really gave me the belief I could come back."

    The room fell silent, their expressions complex. ''What a good lad. Why did his love for football have to be taken from him?''

    "I convinced myself I was just a few weeks away from playing for the first team again. I thought I could get back in the team, play in a local tournament, and then hopefully return to the First Division. That''s where my mind was at, but then, out of nowhere, I started feeling dizzy again and went for another scan..." Richard paused, taking a deep breath. "That scan changed everything."

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    The room was still, everyone hanging on his words.

    "I still love football, and fortunately, I''m fit enough for a kickabout. But it wasn''t safe to play professionally again. I considered coaching or managing a team, but even that didn''t seem like a safe option. Would the thrill of scoring a goal keep me seated? If my team made a comeback or won a championship, would I be able to resist getting swept up in the excitement?"

    Richard shook his head as he mocked himself.

    "It''s incredibly difficult. But then Mr. Swales extended his hand, offering me a chance to join Manchester City. How could I say no? Football is my life. I love the game. No other club offered me this kind of opportunity, but Manchester City was the first to reach out. How could I not be touched by that? So, with all humility, gentlemen, please help me. I want to be a part of Manchester City Football Club."

    Each person in that room, even the most stoic among them, was visibly moved. Some seemed to be fighting the lump in their throats.

    It was as though they were witnessing a man laying down his soul before them¡ªa man whose passion for the game had been stripped away, yet whose love for football still burned brighter than ever.

    One by one, the board members exchanged looks¡ªsome with wide-eyed sympathy, others with expressions of sheer admiration. How could anyone not be moved by this?

    Peter Swales, who had been sitting motionless, his hands folded tightly in front of him, slowly leaned forward, his eyes glistening with emotion. He had never expected the one he had recruit to have such a rich story.

    He had thought it was just an injury, something very normal for a footballer, but now he understood.

    His decision hadn''t been wrong. It wasn''t just about football anymore; it was about the very essence of passion, sacrifice, and the will to keep going even when everything seemed lost.

    Swales stood, his face a mixture of pride and compassion. "Richard," he said, his voice trembling with emotion, "you''ve proven more than your commitment to football. You''ve proven your heart, your soul, and your unwavering belief in what this game truly means. Manchester City is lucky to have you. And we will do everything in our power to ensure that you''re part of this club for as long as you wish."

    The entire room erupted into applause. Everyone looked at Richard with a mix of complexity and sympathy. He had inspired everyone in that room to see football as more than just a sport, but as a way of life, a journey, a dream.

    And just like that, Manchester City Football Club would never be the same again.

    The response from everyone was overwhelmingly positive.

    The only issue now was how to bypass the covenant.

    Everyone agreed they wanted to follow the established practice of using a unanimous vote to approve Richard''s nomination as the new director. No one felt threatened by his presence¡ªit was just a single share, and so, everyone was quite accommodating.

    However, no one was willing to be the first to recommend this course of action. The reason was clear.

    The city solicitor, Mr. Frank Shepherd, had already made his position known regarding the covenant. As a club that prides itself on tradition, they could not disregard the covenant. This meant that those who had previously failed to honor it should not repeat that mistake.

    Now, his words had backfired. Yet, the room remained calm. Given Mr. Shepherd''s legal expertise, it was clear that he had considered all options before speaking, and everyone trusted he had a solution in mind.

    "That''s why I suggested we use the president''s vacant seat," he said, waving his hand to signal everyone to stop speaking. "Not to dismiss him or anything. In fact, we have another solution for this."

    Everyone looked at him with expectation. Since everyone agreed, they now controlled the majority of the vote.

    The question was only how to work around the covenant so that when the minutes of the meeting were recorded, everything would appear legitimate.

    This way, if Manchester City had future plans to go public and be listed, all the information that became publicly available would be free of any legal, ethical, or development-related issues.

    "The goal now is to ensure that Richard can join the board without violating the covenant''s stipulation about the number of directors. The president, who is unable to attend meetings due to illness, is effectively not participating in the governance of the club. Am I right, gentleman?"

    Everyone nodded, clearly familiar with the situation.

    "Then we can claim the seat is effectively vacant, even if it''s still technically occupied by the current president on paper. While the position may not be part of the active decision-making board, it could still hold formal standing. This is possible, right, Mr. Gordon?"

    Naturally, for something like this, they needed the barrister''s opinion.

    Gordon, the barrister leaned in and responded, "So, you''re asking if you can justify the absence and non-fulfillment of responsibilities by the honorary president, allowing Mr. Richard to be offered this ''vacant'' seat without violating the covenant?"

    "Exactly. No one has formally ''left,'' and no shares have been transferred. We see this as a practical matter. Since the president hasn''t been participating or transferring his shares to an outsider, there''s no violation, correct?"

    "Hmmm," the barrister pondered. ''Since the honorary president is no longer attending meetings, we can frame his absence as ''inactive,'' making the seat eligible to be filled by someone else. Therefore, the seat can be considered ''vacant'' in terms of board participation. This would allow Richard''s nomination to be justified as a way to strengthen the board.''

    "Then what if the president suddenly attends the meeting? Are you prepared to face the consequences?"

    With that question, everyone turned their attention toward Richard.

    If the president were to suddenly wake up from his bed and learn about this, there''s a possibility he might hold Richard accountable or even take legal action.

    Since he doesn''t know the full details of the situation, he might view this as a violation of his position and the club''s governance, potentially assuming that the board members had bypassed proper procedures.

 Concentration of Power

    Richard sat in silence, his mind racing.

    ''Sheikh Mansour, Thaksin Shinawatra, Francis Lee, David Bernstein¡­ and then Peter Swales.''

    He had never been particularly interested in Manchester City. But their meteoric rise under Sheikh Mansour, with Pep Guardiola orchestrating a new era of dominance in European football, had certainly caught his attention¡ªjust as it had the rest of the world.

    As he studied the club''s management structure, something stood out. After Swales, there was no mention of anyone named Alexander. A loophole, perhaps? One that could be exploited?

    ''Everything should be in order¡­ right?''

    The sudden return of a long-forgotten and ailing president reclaiming his seat should have been an impossibility.

    Richard had always been pragmatic. In the world of football¡ªjust like in business¡ªnothing was ever truly set in stone. Even the most meticulously laid plans had weak points, and the unexpected was always lurking. But high risk often came with high rewards.

    If he didn''t seize this opportunity now, when would he ever get another chance like this?

    The idea of stepping into the boardroom¡ªarmed with knowledge of the future, with the power to shape the destiny of one of football''s greatest clubs¡ªwas both exhilarating and terrifying.

    Would his actions trigger a butterfly effect? Perhaps.

    But football wasn''t like business or politics, where a single decision could send ripples across the world.

    Football was entertainment. Politics might occasionally seep into the sport, but it didn''t hold the same weight. He wasn''t running FIFA¡ªhe was running a club.

    One thing was certain: whatever happened next, there was no turning back.

    "Yes, I''m willing to take the risk."

    "Good!"

    With that, the board members, from top to bottom, launched into discussion.

    Richard, unfamiliar with football management, could only focus on listening and learning. He took careful notes, absorbing every detail.

    His attentiveness didn''t go unnoticed¡ªmany in the room were pleased to see his eagerness. Even Eric, who had initially been skeptical of his involvement, found himself nodding in approval, almost without realizing it.

    The next step was to use a vote of no confidence to trigger a board reshuffle, paving the way for new members.

    While Richard was stepping into a leadership role, it wouldn''t be a direct takeover. Instead, the process would be framed as a natural transition within the club''s governance structure.

    The key restriction within the covenant lay in its definition of what it meant to "remain" in the club. It mandated that departing directors'' shares be distributed only among the remaining signees, effectively preventing outsiders from joining easily.

    So, how could the board argue that the covenant''s spirit was being upheld while still introducing a new member¡ªespecially when no seats were available?

    The answer lay in two things: unanimous agreement and legal documentation.

    A unanimous vote would ensure there were no objections, while proper legal framing would present the reshuffle as an organic part of the club''s restructuring. Everything needed to appear legitimate, aligning with both the letter and spirit of the covenant.

    By positioning the reshuffle as a necessary step for the club''s governance and future stability, the move would remain within legal boundaries¡ªdespite the underlying intention of bypassing restrictions.

    It would be presented as a strategic decision made in good faith and in the club''s best interests. Richard''s nomination would be framed as essential to strengthening the board and addressing internal challenges.

    Additionally, it aligned with tradition, maintaining the "nine-plus-one" seat structure. This approach would minimize potential legal or ethical concerns that could arise under scrutiny.

    After thorough discussion, the new board panel was finalized, officially welcoming its newest member.

    Before:

    Chairman: Peter Swales

    Vice-Chairman: Simon Cussons

    President: Joe Smith, Albert Alexander (Honorary)

    Directors: John Humphreys, Sidney Rose, Ian Niven, Chris Muir, Eric Alexander, Robert Harris

    After:

    Chairman: Peter Swales

    Vice-Chairman: Simon Cussons

    President: Joe Smith, Albert Alexander (Honorary)

    Vice Presidents: Eric Alexander, John Humphreys, Sidney Rose, Chris Muir

    Directors: Ian Niven, Robert Harris, Richard Maddox

    An additional position was proposed, and after careful discussion, a vice president role was introduced to add further legitimacy to the reshuffle.

    This allowed them to frame the restructuring as a way to honor tradition.

    They could argue that Eric Alexander, John Humphreys, Sidney Rose, and Chris Muir were key figures in shaping Manchester City''s modern management.

    Having served on the board since Albert Alexander''s leadership, their continued presence would reinforce stability and continuity within the club.

    For the next two hours, the discussion continued, with board members debating strategies, weighing potential consequences, and examining every angle of the reshuffle.

    Richard listened intently, absorbing every detail. Though he was new to football management, he made sure to ask the right questions, clarifying his future role and responsibilities.

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    "Are you sure about this?"

    "Yes, I''m sure."

    At this time, Manchester City was in turmoil, both on and off the pitch. The club had suffered relegation to the Second Division in 1983 after a significant decline in form.

    Financial struggles only made matters worse¡ªmounting debt, rising operational costs, and increasing wages were putting immense strain on the club.

    ''Even if I join the main staff now, it won''t make much of a difference.'' Richard thought quickly.

    So, he chose to start as their youth coach¡ªa strategic first step.

    At the end of the day, the main reason he was accepted was his ability to rise through the ranks and make a name for himself¡ªa product of the Sheffield Wednesday academy. That credibility made it easier for the board to justify his inclusion.

    Richard wanted to make his stance clear and leave a strong first impression. He was here not just to make a power grab¡ªhe understood the game, the hierarchy, and, most importantly, the importance of self-awareness.

    When it came to youth development, City, from what Richard saw, was still in the early stages of understanding its importance. Their academy system was nowhere near as structured or well-funded as it would become in later years.

    While they focused on developing homegrown talent, their approach lacked consistency. The club wasn''t regularly promoting players from its youth ranks, and its setup lagged behind that of its rivals.

    The ''A'' Team was often overlooked.

    It was the club''s first youth team, competing in the Lancashire League against reserve and youth teams from other clubs in North West England.

    Then there was the ''B'' Team. Established in 1955, it consisted of younger players than the ''A'' Team and competed in Division Two of the Lancashire League.

    Before the introduction of ''Under-19'' and ''Under-17'' teams in English football, teams were referred to as the ''A'' and ''B'' teams, respectively.

    This was also the case for Manchester City. It highlights just how far behind youth football in England was at the time, especially when Richard saw Manchester City dominate Europe.

    After several rounds of discussion, the group finally arrived at a draft that seemed acceptable to all parties. The reshuffling plan was finalized, and Richard''s nomination was included as part of the restructuring process.

    After a final round of minor edits, the draft was complete. The next step was to present the proposal at the upcoming meeting, where an official announcement would be made. This would ensure that every employee and player at the club was aware of the changes.

    After the meeting was complete, the other board members bid farewell, not forgetting to say a few final words:

    "Remember, you''re part of us now."

    "Take care, boy."

    "We''re counting on you to develop our youth system."

    "Kid, be careful on your way home."

    Richard nodded, feeling the weight of their words. The mix of warmth and expectation lingered as he left the room, fully aware that things had changed.

    Now, as an official director of Manchester City Football Club¡ªeven if only on paper¡ªhis responsibilities had grown significantly. In addition to his shareholding, he now held fiduciary duties to act in the club''s best interests, along with legal obligations under UK company law.

    While his role as a shareholder remained mostly passive, his position as a director required far more from him¡ªat least for now.

    With his power still fragile, he needed to tread carefully. Delivering results quickly was crucial, not only to solidify his position but also to avoid potential legal pitfalls such as breaching the Company Directors'' Disqualification Act or the Insolvency Act.

    Normally, as long as he avoided repeated violations of company law or any involvement in fraudulent activities, he would be safe. But with his knowledge of the future and the coming wave of football''s globalization, he wasn''t taking any chances.

    Football was becoming increasingly competitive and expensive. It wouldn''t be surprising if boardroom conflicts arose¡ªand if that happened, he would likely be the first scapegoat.

    Even if he followed the rules, there was no guarantee they wouldn''t use the club''s performance against him, twisting the results into a justification for removing him. After all, his appointment as a director was already built on shaky ground.

    Still, being a director came with certain advantages. He now had access to the club''s management structure, financial reports, and internal operations at a much deeper level.

    While browsing through the Articles¡ªthe club''s internal rulebook outlining powers and responsibilities¡ªhis eyes landed on a crucial document: the Register of Members and Directors.

    This record listed all top executives, past and present, along with their full names, service addresses, and details of their appointments or resignations.

    As he scanned the document, a critical piece of information made him sit up straight.

    It revealed just how much power was concentrated at the top. Swales and Cussons alone controlled over 57% of the shares combined.

    Richard picked up his draft copy and carefully calculated the numbers, fully aware of how delicate his position was.

    The total number of shares amounted to 2,060, distributed as follows:

    <table style="border-collapse: collapse" border="1">

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Peter Swales</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">    Chairman  </td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">619 shares (30.05%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Simon Cussons</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Vice-Chairman</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">566 shares (27.48%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Joe Smith</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Presidents</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">366 shares (17.77%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Albert Alexander</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">"honorary" President</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">251 shares (12.18%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Eric Alexander</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Vice Presidents</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">87 shares (4.22%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">John Humphreys </td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Vice Presidents</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">46 shares (2.23%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Sidney Rose</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Vice Presidents</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">43 shares (2.09%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Chris Muir </td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Vice Presidents</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">40 shares (1.94%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Ian Niven possesses</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Director</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">21 shares (1.02%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Robert Harris holds </td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Director</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">20 shares (0.97%)</td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Richard Maddox</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">Director</td>

    <td style="width: 33.3336%; text-align: center">1 Shares (0.05% )</td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    Manchester City, at this time, was still a public company¡ªthough not a listed one. This meant its shares were privately held by a small group of investors and not traded on the stock exchange.

    As a result, power remained tightly controlled within an inner circle, free from the scrutiny and regulations imposed on publicly listed companies.

    After finishing his review, Richard shifted his focus to the club''s recent performances.

    Manchester City had recently competed in the prestigious Colombina Tournament in Huelva, Andalusia. They managed to defeat Barcelona on penalties but then lost the final¡ªalso on penalties¡ªto Huelva.

    City had started the league season with a promising 3-1 victory over Wimbledon''s infamous ''Crazy Gang.''

    That was followed by a respectable 0-0 draw against Liverpool at Anfield, but then a disappointing 1-0 defeat to Tottenham.

    Now, after 11 fixtures, Manchester City had won just 1 match, drawn 4, and lost 6¡ªa deeply concerning run of form.

    Manager Billy McNeill and Assistant Manager Jimmy Frizzell were under mounting pressure, with performances at Maine Road leaving fans and board members frustrated about the club''s direction.

 Citys A-Team

    The year 1986 marked the beginning of a new era in English football, especially in Manchester, where the city''s fierce rivalry was about to take on a whole new dimension.

    While Manchester City struggled with inconsistent performances both on and off the pitch, their neighbor, Manchester United, was about to embark on a transformative period.

    This was the year Sir Alex Ferguson took charge of Manchester United, a managerial appointment that would change the course of the club''s history forever.

    After reviewing the club''s articles, Ms. Heysen, the senior secretary, gently knocked on Richard''s office door before stepping in.

    "Mr. Richard, the youth team is about to finish their training," she informed him. "It might be a good time to introduce yourself."

    Richard looked up from the scattered papers. "Give me a minute," he replied, quickly organizing the documents and handing them over to Ms. Heysen with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Ms. Heysen. I appreciate the heads-up."

    As they walked through the narrow corridors, Richard couldn''t help but ask about Manchester City''s youth setup¡ªTeam A and Team B¡ªhoping to get a complete picture of how things were run.

    Ms. Heysen, who had been with the club for years, smiled knowingly. "Team A follows a pretty disciplined schedule. They train..."

    She went on to explain the details, and Richard felt a touch of sadness hearing it. English football, especially for clubs without the financial resources, could be grueling. Clubs like Manchester City, underperforming and struggling, were a prime example.

    As they continued down the corridor, they spotted a man carrying a large basket filled with freshly cleaned jerseys and training kits. The sight made Ms. Heysen''s eyes light up.

    "Mr. Rouse! Wait a moment!" she called, raising her hand.

    The man, startled, came to an abrupt stop. Seeing the club secretary, he tilted his head curiously, the heavy basket resting against his hip.

    Ms. Heysen, with Richard following behind, quickly caught up. "Mr. Rouse, are you heading to the dressing room?"

    "Yes, I am," he replied, adjusting the basket for better balance.

    "Perfect," she said with a warm smile. "Let me introduce you. Richard, this is Jimmy Rouse, our dressing room caretaker. Jimmy, meet Richard Maddox, the new youth coach."

    Rouse wiped his hands on his shirt before extending one to Richard. Richard shook it firmly, feeling the callouses of someone who had spent years working for the club.

    "Pleasure to meet you, Richard. Welcome to the club," Jimmy said with a friendly grin.

    "Thanks. Happy to be here," Richard replied, returning the smile.

    Ms. Heysen clasped her hands together, satisfied. "I''ll leave you two to it. Mr. Rouse will show you around from here." She gave Richard an encouraging nod before disappearing down the corridor.

    For a brief moment, Richard stood still, unsure of what to say next. But Mr. Rouse''s warm, easygoing demeanor quickly broke the ice.

    "Come on, lad. Let me show you where all the real magic happens," he grinned, nodding toward the dressing rooms.

    As they walked, Richard felt himself begin to relax. The conversation flowed easily, especially as they discussed the current state of the club and the youth setup.

    Manchester City used Maine Road stadium for everything ¡ª matches, training, and for both the first team and the youth squads.

    The issue was glaringly clear: the first team took priority. Their matches and training sessions were scheduled first, and only once they were done could the youth team use the facilities. On days when first-team players stayed longer, the youth players had to wait even more.

    It was a different story when the oil money started to flow. But right now, the current Manchester City simply couldn''t afford to build a separate training complex for the youth squads, leaving them to work around the first team''s schedule¡ªa tough reality for any young footballer.

    "Alright, Richard, this is where I''ll leave you," Mr. Rouse said, stopping just outside the entrance to the training ground. "I''ve brought you as far as I can."

    Richard smiled warmly. "Thank you very much, Mr. Rouse."

    Mr. Rouse chuckled, waving his hand dismissively. "Ah, just call me Jimmy," he said, adjusting the basket before heading down the corridor.

    Richard raised his head, gazing at the pitch-black night sky as the sound of the rain pattering down filled the air. He shifted his eyes back to the scene in front of him. He stood beside a lush, green football field, its grass glistening under the glow of the floodlights.

    ''Ah¡­ Manchester,'' he thought. ''When will this rain ever stop?''

    Richard rubbed his hands together to warm them against the damp chill before pulling the hood of his City sky-blue raincoat over his head to shield himself from the persistent drizzle.

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    On the field, he noticed two middle-aged men deep in discussion, surrounded by more than ten young football players who listened attentively, hanging on to every word.

    One of the men was none other than Tony Book, a true Manchester City legend. Nicknamed "Skip," he had captained the club during the iconic 1967/68 season, leading the team and playing every single match.

    Beside him stood Glyn Pardoe, another respected figure¡ªa loyal servant to City both as a player and later as a youth coach.

    Both Book and Pardoe had been with the club since the early 1960s and joined the youth staff in the early 1980s, solidifying their places as key figures within the structure. Now, they were the current Team A manager and assistant manager, respectively.

    "Alright, that''s it for today. Dismissed!" Book called out to the team, signaling the end of training.

    As he and Pardoe turned to leave, they noticed someone approaching from the sidelines. Both men exchanged puzzled glances.

    ''Is he late?'' Book wondered. ''No, that''s impossible. Wait¡­ who is this?''

    As far as they knew, there had been no notice from the scouting department about any new player joining, which only deepened their confusion.

    Unaware of their thoughts, Richard strode forward, extending his hand in greeting.

    "Manager Book, Assistant Manager Pardoe, good day. My name is Richard Maddox. I''m the new youth coach."

    The two men blinked, momentarily speechless. ''A new staff member?'' Pardoe thought. ''Shouldn''t we have been told first?''

    Then, as if a memory had just clicked into place, Pardoe nudged Book''s elbow and whispered, "Wasn''t there a rumor about a new coach joining? The one we heard about yesterday?"

    Book''s expression changed as the realization dawned. That''s right¡ªthere had been talk about a new coach, a former player joining the youth setup. He thought that was just a rumor¡­ but wasn''t he a bit too young?

    Still, it was rude to keep someone waiting, so both men stepped forward and offered a handshake.

    "Have you just joined?" Book asked, his tone polite but curious.

    "Yes, I have," Richard replied, shaking both their hands.

    "Well then, welcome to Manchester City," Book said, giving a slight nod.

    "Thank you. It''s great to be here," Richard replied, though an awkward silence quickly settled over the group.

    None of them seemed sure what to say next. Pardoe, breaking the tension, spoke up. "I heard you used to play?"

    "Yes," Richard replied with a small smile. "I played for Sheffield Wednesday."

    Book and Pardoe exchanged a quick look, their interest piqued. Sheffield Wednesday had been one of their old First Division opponents.

    "Sheffield Wednesday, eh?" Book said, raising an eyebrow. "Didn''t expect that. But¡­ if you don''t mind me asking, why are you here coaching instead of playing? You look pretty young."

    Richard hesitated for a moment before answering, his smile tinged with something bittersweet. "Yeah¡­ I''m retired."

    "Retired?"

    Book and Pardoe traded bewildered looks of shock. The guy in front of them barely looked twenty¡ªhow could he already be retired?

    "Wait, what was your name again?"

    Book''s brow furrowed as if something had just clicked in his mind.

    "Richard Maddox," Richard replied.

    "Richard¡­ Maddox¡­ Sheffield Wednesday¡­" Book murmured, rubbing his chin, trying to place the familiar name.

    It wasn''t until Pardoe suddenly blurted out, his voice filled with realization, "The one who fractured his skull?" that it all came rushing back.

    Richard gave a quiet, confirming nod.

    "No way!" Pardoe exclaimed, initially shocked, but then his voice shifted to something livelier, more engaged¡ªcompletely different from his earlier indifferent tone.

    After all, back in 1970, he had also broken his right leg so badly that doctors feared they might have to amputate it. The thought had terrified him. But after two years of relentless effort and sacrifice, he managed to recover and return to the pitch.

    He could relate deeply to Richard''s pain¡ªit felt like an unspoken camaraderie between players who had both been through "Rehab United."

    "So, you''re that Richard Maddox," Book added gently, his eyes filled with sympathy.

    A prodigy, someone they all expected to become a star. But instead, his career had ended far too soon, in the most heartbreaking way.

    Soon, the three of them found themselves deep in conversation, the initial awkwardness fading away.

    They talked about football, the highs and lows of the game, dealing with serious injuries, and the spoken and unspoken rules of Manchester City''s A-team.

    "It''s strange," Richard mused. "One moment, you''re dreaming of lifting trophies, and the next, you''re in a hospital bed wondering if you''ll ever kick a ball again."

    Pardoe nodded in understanding. "I know that feeling too well. After my leg injury, I thought it was all over. The hardest part wasn''t the pain¡ªit was the fear. Fear of losing everything you worked for."

    Book chimed in, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Injuries can break you, but they can also build you. It''s about what you do next that counts. You being here, Richard, proves that."

    A small smile crept onto Richard''s face. "Thanks, I''m trying."

    After a moment of shared silence, they arrived at the office.

    It was modest and simple¡ªa shared space with four desks lined up close together. Papers were scattered across the tabletops, and a couple of aging filing cabinets stood against the walls, their drawers slightly ajar and filled with documents.

    "This is the office?" Richard asked, glancing around.

    Book chuckled at his reaction. "Yep, this is it. Not much, is it?"

    Richard waved his hand, clarifying that wasn''t what he meant. "No, I mean¡ªit works. This desk''s empty, right? Can I sit here?"

    He was surprised. The office wasn''t just cramped; several desks were empty. Only three had papers scattered on top. ''So, only three people work here?'' he thought. With me, that makes four.

    "Yes, go ahead. That desk''s free," Pardoe replied, settling into his chair. "We''re a tight-knit team. Not many resources, but we''ve got heart. Most of the club''s budget goes to the first team. Youth setups like ours¡­ well, we make do with less."

    Richard nodded thoughtfully.

    After a moment of silence, Pardoe asked, "Do you want to become a professional coach?"

    The question took Richard by surprise.

    "Haha, it''s not hard to guess. For someone who loves football, if you can''t play anymore, you either jump into coaching or end up talking about the game instead of playing it. But in the end, we all stay close to football."

    Richard pondered for a moment. "Is it difficult?"

    Pardoe brushed it off with a casual wave. "Since you''re an ex-pro, not really. It''s just about gaining experience¡ªmanaging, coaching¡ªand finishing the courses to get your badge. With your background, the club could fast-track you to get certified quickly."

    "Hearing this, Richard grew curious. ''Before I made my debut at Sheffield, my coach at that time mentioned something about the youth award module. Is that the way to go?''"

    "That''s for first-timers," Tony Book chimed in, placing a stack of documents on Richard''s desk. "If your performance is good, within 12 to 15 months, you could be managing the youth team on your own. And in two or three years, you might even be coaching a professional team."

    "Oh," Richard murmured, not responding right away. Instead, he opened the documents in front of him, which outlined the current A team.

    As he skimmed through them, a thought crossed his mind: ''Wouldn''t it be easier to just hire Pep directly and watch the team dominate the match from a sky box?''

 Tactical Scout

    Manchester City: Steve Crompton (GK), Steve Mills, Andy Hinchcliffe, Ian Brightwell, Steve Redmond, Andy Thackeray, David White, Paul Moulden, Paul Lake, Ian Scott, David Boyd.

    Sub: Steve Macauley.

    Richard was speechless looking at the list. He raised his head, eyes scanning the names again, his voice barely above a whisper, "Are they the only ones in the A-team now?"

    Book, feeling just as helpless, raised his hands in defeat. "Yeah, it''s beyond our control. The club''s in a tough spot right now."

    He sank into the chair, then a sigh escaping him. "We can''t count on the club anymore, not with most of the funds getting swallowed up by transfers every summer."

    Richard frowned, thinking about it from the perspective of someone looking ahead.

    If the club continued on this path, he realized, Manchester City wouldn''t be competitive in the next two decades. No, in fact, Manchester City will fall behind the top teams for at least the next two decades¡ªat least, until Sheikh Mansour arrives.

    If they wanted to change the current trajectory, they needed to start running the club like a business. Relying solely on the existing funding model wasn''t a viable solution, especially for short-term growth.

    So, what revenue streams could a club tap into? The answer was clear: player scarcity effect.

    The formation of the English Premier League in 1992-93 marked the beginning of an era of fierce competition, not only on the pitch but off it as well.

    Clubs found themselves trapped in an ongoing cycle of spending, trying to keep up with rising player wages and the pressure to attract the best talent.

    As the competition for players grew, fueled by the Bosman Ruling in 1995¡ªwhich allowed players to become free agents after their contracts expired and removed restrictions on foreign players¡ªthe financial landscape changed dramatically.

    Football clubs suddenly had access to a much wider pool of talent, but this also meant they had to outbid each other for top-tier players, often leading to astronomical transfer fees and soaring wage demands.

    With player costs escalating, clubs began to feel the squeeze. Attendance figures plateaued, and while television deals were lucrative, they weren''t enough to cover the rising financial demands of running a club.

    This is where the business side of football became crucial. Yes, of course. To stay competitive, clubs began exploring new revenue streams.

    Sponsorships, merchandising, broadcasting rights¡ªyou name it¡ªbecame the lifeblood of many teams as they raced to secure additional funds to stay afloat amidst rising player salaries and transfer fees.

    Still, as far as he knew, all those revenue streams typically came in the form of deal packages with terms and conditions.

    There were requirements the club had to meet¡ªlike qualifying for the Champions League, winning domestic titles, or leveraging a star player to enhance the brand''s appeal and attract bigger sponsorships.

    In the end, Richard racked his brain and came up with only one answer: human traffi¡ªWait, no, scratch that. ''I mean buying and selling players.''

    As someone with knowledge of the future, what else did he need, aside from using that advantage to secure talent as early as possible?

    What was the most profitable way to run a football club?

    What was the quickest, most cost-effective way to generate money?

    For current football clubs, buying and selling players can indeed generate massive profits, but the problem is, it''s not always the most consistent or reliable revenue stream.

    That''s different for him, however.

    Just think about it¡ªbuy a player who''s still a diamond in the rough, spend less than a million pounds, and then flip him for twenty, fifty, or even a hundred million.

    And you can do it twice a year. Doesn''t that sound like the most profitable strategy ever?

    Forget the rest, this is the future of football!

    "Becoming a scout could be a good choice..."

    "What?"

    Book frowned, taken aback by Richard''s sudden bluntness.

    Richard was also snapped back from his thought. He hadn''t noticed the others around him, so he quickly shook his head. "No, I mean... I guess becoming a scout is also a good option for me."

    "Aren''t you aiming to be a coach?"

    "Can I be both a coach and a scout at the same time?"

    "Well... yes and no. There''s no rule against it, but if you want to be a coach, you have to commit. The roles can overlap, and balancing scouting with coaching duties can be really demanding.

    "There are also confidentiality concerns," Pardoe chimed in. "If a coach is scouting players from other teams, they might have to be discreet to avoid any conflicts."

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    But Richard wasn''t giving up. "Isn''t there another way? The roles seem pretty similar, don''t they? From a professional standpoint, finding talent and coaching them go hand in hand."

    For many football fans, being a football scout is a dream job. Not only do you get paid to watch football, but it''s also exciting to attempt to predict which players would make a good signing for your club.

    "Well..."

    Book and Pardoe nodded silently. Honestly, he wasn''t the first to think this way. They had considered it too, but in the end, both roles were too demanding to manage simultaneously. While the club didn''t specifically forbid it, balancing both jobs would still be a challenge.

    Richard, however, had already thought it through. Back in the Pre-Bosman Era, when the football transfer system was dominated by player contracts and transfer fees, player movement was strictly controlled by the clubs.

    His main concern was likely rooted in the ethical implications surrounding the discovery, recommendation, and poaching of players. There were also numerous rules to consider, including FA policies, contractual obligations, potential role conflicts, and FIFA regulations.

    Ultimately, to avoid any ethical dilemmas, he could easily seek clarification from the club and the staff he is working with to ensure there are no conflicts of interest or breaches of contractual obligations. Well, it would be a simple matter for him to do so.

    "Actually, I don''t recommend this, though, especially if you''re thinking of joining my team," Book said, wanting to make his point clear. "I mean, listen carefully¡ªif you want to take on dual roles, how can I be sure that you''ll be able to work effectively as a coach?"

    Sensing the tension, Pardoe interjected, "Or here''s another idea, Richard: How about you take a look at your contract first? Are you sure there''s no breach of contract there?"

    "Actually, when I was recruited, what the higher-ups wanted most was for me to replicate the way Sheffield identified me back then. Also with my understanding of tactics. I mean..." Richard paused, then thought of something.

    ''Wait, actually, being a scout and a coach, isn''t being a tactical scout just the same thing?''

    A tactical scout is a type of scout who focuses not only on identifying talented players but also on evaluating how players fit into specific tactical systems or styles of play. Or they could also study the opponent''s tactics, not just focusing on the players.

    Simply put, tactical scouts do more in-depth research and analysis. This allows him more time to learn coaching management, search for players who will become expensive and access the club''s databases at the same time. Isn''t that killing three birds with one stone?

    Scouting in the 1980s was very different from modern scouting. Since agents weren''t as popular, most players at the time were represented by their family members. This made the scout''s job to reach out, so most of the time, club databases stored information like addresses and family situations.

    Excited, Richard slapped the table and stood up. "How about this¡ªI could start as a volunteer or part-time first, then see where it leads me. Think about it¡ªit might be better for me not to disturb the team in the middle of the season, right? Later, whatever role suits me, I can just resign from the other one. Isn''t that a good idea?"

    Book and Pardoe exchanged a glance, silently communicating through their eyes. If things went this way, they would certainly have no problem with it. They didn''t mind it; in fact, they preferred it!

    Bringing in a new coach often shifts the entire dynamic of the staff and the team¡ªaffecting training methods, tactics, and player management. This could lead to a reassessment of roles and responsibilities within the staff.

    Still, they couldn''t be too obvious about pushing him in that direction, right?

    "But this is just between us, right? We haven''t talked to the scouting team yet. I mean, they haven''t agreed to anything, have they?" Pardoe asked, his face tinged with uncertainty.

    "Don''t worry," Richard replied confidently, patting his chest. "I''ll talk to them. You just need to introduce me."

    Eventually, an agreement was reached.

    Tony, Glyn, and Richard found themselves sitting on the sidelines of the lush green field, gazing out at the empty red stands.

    Three cleaners moved methodically through the seats, sweeping up debris, while a few turf maintenance workers in the distance trimmed the grass, ensuring the pitch was in perfect condition for the upcoming showdown between the two Manchester clubs next week.

    The three of them waited patiently for the current chief scout to arrive at six o''clock. It was a September evening, and although the hour was growing late, the summer sun still lingered in the sky.

    The Eastern and Western horizons painted two completely different scenes. On one side, the night sky was speckled with the first hints of starlight, while the other glowed with a delicate sunset, its colors stretching thin like chiffon across the horizon.

    The two worlds met in the middle, blending into a surreal, almost dreamlike canvas¡ªan evening suspended between reality and fantasy.

    The team currently had only two full-time scouts, both of whom were constantly on the road, searching for talented young players across Britain and doing their best to recruit them for the youth training camp at Maine Road.

    One was the chief scout, while the other focused mainly on player area analysis. There was no one else to assist them with the workload.

    When the person they had been waiting for finally arrived, the three of them wasted no time and went straight to the point.

    "Volunteer?" Ken Barnes raised an eyebrow, giving the three of them a questioning look, his face filled with doubt.

    "Yes," Richard replied eagerly, nodding. "If I could also work part-time as a scout, even better. You don''t need to pay me¡ªjust let me tag along, observe, and learn. That''s all I''m asking."

    ''Who is this young man?'' Barnes thought, eyeing his two colleagues with skepticism.

    Ken Barnes, Manchester City''s current chief scout and a member of the 50s Cup-winning team, studied Richard closely, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

    "Hmm¡­" Barnes rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It''s not every day someone offers to work for free just to learn. But tagging along isn''t as simple as it sounds. Scouting is more than just watching matches¡ªit takes skill, instinct, and experience."

    Had Richard come alone and made such a bold request, Barnes would have dismissed it on the spot. But since he had arrived with the manager Book and assistant manager Pardoe, it felt like a silent endorsement, and he knew he had to be tactful.

    It was a quiet misunderstanding between the three parties, but for Richard, the situation was working in his favor.

    Richard smiled slightly. "I understand scouting isn''t easy, but I''m willing to start small¡ªlocal youth matches, lower leagues. No, in fact, I won''t aim for the first or second divisions. I want to focus solely on grassroots."

    At first, Barnes hadn''t taken him too seriously, but hearing this made his expression grow serious. "You said you only want to scout at the grassroots level?"

    "Yes, just teach me how to create the report card and how to access the databases, and everything will be fine on my own."

    Standing beside Barnes was another scout, Ted Davies¡ªthe kind of man who wore multiple hats at the club.

    Academy scout, first-team scout, tactical analyst¡ªyou name it, Ted did it. He was stretched thin, the weight of his many roles showing in the tired lines on his face.

    When Ted Davies heard there might be new blood joining, a wave of hope washed over him. He and Barnes had just spent the day visiting three local schools, searching for homegrown talent, and the exhaustion was starting to show.

    If someone could take that load off his shoulders¡­ He shot a hopeful glance at Barnes, silently wishing the chief would give his approval.

 Citys Day

    Time passed quickly, and along the way, many significant events unfolded. One of the most transformative was the British government and the London Stock Exchange''s decision to revolutionize the London securities market in October.

    This overhaul reshaped everything¡ªfrom the market''s structure to who could participate and how traders were governed.

    The rapid pace and scale of these changes earned it the nickname "Big Bang," and its impact was nothing short of dramatic.

    As the extent of the transformation became clear, the City of London''s re-emergence started to take shape.

    Unlike in the past, this time there was solid evidence of progress, with governance reflecting a firmer stance on the city''s regeneration.

    The Big Bang introduced sweeping reforms: it ended fixed commissions, allowed mergers and takeovers by removing the separation between dealers and advisors, and opened London''s market to international banks.

    These changes brought a wave of competition and dramatically altered London''s financial landscape.

    Large banks quickly overtook traditional firms, while medium and smaller companies hesitated, unsure of how to adapt. Meanwhile, on the consumer side, the liberalization of the mortgage market made borrowing easier, leading to a significant rise in household debt.

    Financial institutions offered increasingly attractive and varied mortgage products, encouraging consumers to take on more debt and fueling a surge in spending and investment in the housing market.

    Sensing an opportunity, large financial corporations wasted no time capitalizing on these changes.

    Smaller and medium-sized firms, which initially adopted a wait-and-see stance, also didn''t want to be left behind, contributing to the rapid rise in property prices.

    With the economy booming, the government, eager to ride the wave, pushed for even more expansion.

    Politicians rushed to claim credit for the economic success, while those left behind scrambled to find ways to align themselves with the achievements.

    Tax cuts, decreased interest rates, and relaxed credit conditions were introduced one by one, each without proper measurement, further fueling consumer spending and investment.

    January 31, 1987 ¡ª just a month after the New Year, Richard arrived early at the Islington Housing Council. The reason was simple: Stuart, who had managed all of his building purchases in Islington, had requested a meeting.

    As he entered, two sharply dressed gentlemen were already waiting. They stood up, greeted him warmly, and shook his hand. Without much delay, Stuart got straight to the point ¡ª these two gentlemen were interested in buying his buildings.

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    "Mr. Richard, it''s a pleasure to finally meet you. First, let me offer my condolences for your injury. My name is Taylor, from Barclays," one of them said with a polite smile.

    "Mr. Taylor, good morning," Richard replied, returning the handshake.

    The second man stepped forward. "My condolences as well, Mr. Richard. I''m Philip, from Lloyds Banking Group."

    "Mr. Philip, good morning," Richard responded, nodding appreciatively.

    As they discussed and negotiated, Stuart wiped the cold sweat trickling down his forehead. Despite the fall weather bringing cooler temperatures compared to summer, he couldn''t help but sweat. He hadn''t expected Islington''s property market to boom like this!

    "If I had known¡­" he sighed, unable to stop the wave of regret washing over him.

    Another hour passed, and Richard shook hands with the two gentlemen.

    "Mr. Taylor, Mr. Philip, it''s been a pleasure doing business with you."

    "Likewise, Mr. Richard," Taylor replied before adding, "By the way, if you don''t mind us asking, we''ve heard that you still own several buildings in this area. Would you be interested in discussing any potential deals with us?"

    Stuart''s heart skipped a beat. If they were reaching out via the Islington Council, it meant that they or he exactly was acting as an intermediary, which also meant he''d earn a commission and achievements.

    He couldn''t help but glance anxiously at Richard. But, of course, Richard was fully aware of this. With a polite smile, he declined.

    Mr. Taylor and Mr. Philip weren''t surprised by his response¡ªit was exactly what they had expected. They had only been testing the waters. Though slightly disappointed, it wasn''t enough to ruin their day. Instead, they handed over their business cards, offering their services

    "If you ever need assistance with banking or investments, don''t hesitate to reach out," Taylor said.

    "The same from me, Mr. Richard," Philip added, offering his card as well.

    Richard accepted both cards with a nod and assured them, "I''ll make sure to contact you first if I have any future investment plans."

    After finishing with the two bankers, Richard quickly thanked Stuart, bid him farewell, and hurriedly left the council.

    He needed to get to Manchester as soon as possible. That was also why the two bankers had reached out to him through the council rather than directly¡ªhe was rarely in one place for long.

    It had become a routine for him¡ªever since he became part of City, he was constantly traveling back and forth between Manchester and London, and it was starting to take its toll.

    He began thinking about renting a place. Now that he had some money, maybe it was time to rent something cheap in Manchester.

    Arriving at Manchester Piccadilly station, Richard quickly got into a cab heading toward Maine Road.

    As the taxi weaved through the busy streets, he leaned back, exhaustion catching up with him. Still, there was a buzz of excitement in his chest. Unable to hold the news in, he pulled out his phone and called his mother, Anna.

    "Mom, can you go to the bank and check my account? I sold the buildings today," he said, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the hint of pride in his voice.

    "The buildings? You sold them? All of them?" There was a brief pause before she replied in surprise.

    "Of course not," he chuckled. "I sold two¡ªthe ones on Upper St."

    "Oh? How much did you sell them for?" she asked, still not fully realizing the significance.

    Not wanting to spoil the surprise, Richard grinned. "Just please help me check it, Mom. Alright? I have a match to attend. Bye, Mom."

    "Good luck, then. And don''t forget to eat something proper today!"

    "I won''t, Mom. Thanks. I''ll call you later."

    They hung up, and Richard let out a deep breath, feeling a bit lighter. The cab pulled up near Maine Road, and Richard paid the driver before stepping out.

    Crowds swarmed the streets¡ªwaves of sky blue and deep red flooded the area around the stadium.

    Full Members'' Cup Quarter-Final: Manchester City vs. Ipswich Town!

 Relegated

    Full Members'' Cup was the second edition of the tournament created to compensate for the ban on English clubs from European football following the Heysel Stadium disaster.

    Since Manchester City was playing at home, they wore their iconic sky blue kit, while Ipswich took the field in their maroon away jerseys. The energy in the air was electric, and Richard could feel the anticipation building as he watched fans making their way toward the stadium entrance.

    Richard didn''t know exactly how Manchester City would fare this season.

    Their first-team manager, Billy McNeill, had quit last September, just a month after the English First Division had started, to take over at Aston Villa. His position was filled by his assistant manager, Jimmy Frizzell.

    Their performance?

    Enough to make the board despair.

    In the EFL Cup fourth-round, they were knocked out by Arsenal with a 3-1 defeat.

    The FA Cup third-round, which concluded just two weeks ago, also saw them eliminated by their city rivals, Manchester United, with a 1-0 loss.

    In the First Division, while their city rivals are comfortably mid-table, they''re battling relegation!

    The funny part is Aston Villa''s performance under ex-City manager Billy McNeill. They''re also fighting relegation alongside City.

    Some even say the battle for the top spot in the relegation zone is a showdown between former colleagues Billy McNeill and Jimmy Frizzell.

    City: Suckling, Gidman, Wilson, Clements, McCarthy, Grealish, Simpson, McNab, Varadi, Lake, Barnes ¨C Subs Redmond, Scott

    Ipswich: Cooper, Zondervan, McCall, Atkins, Dozzell, Cranson, Humes, Brennan, Deehan, Wilson, Gleghorn ¨C Subs Yallop, Cole

    Richard adjusted his scarf tighter around his neck as he made his way up the steps of Maine Road, the chill of a late January afternoon biting through his coat.

    Today, he clutched a paper ticket like any other supporter, weaving through the crowd before finally settling into a worn-out seat amidst a sea of sky-blue scarves.

    ''It''s weird,'' he thought. No matter how many times he came to matches in this era, the atmosphere always felt... different.

    The cold concrete beneath his feet, the scent of meat pies mingling with cigarette smoke in the brisk air, and the raucous chatter of fans all around him¡ªit was a sensory overload, raw and authentic.

    The pre-match rituals of old-school football and the modern game were worlds apart, and he could feel it deeply.

    Here, everything felt more raw, spontaneous, and entirely fan-driven. The atmosphere was born in the stands¡ªconstant chanting and singing, crowds waving scarves and flags, and the occasional flare lighting up the terraces. It was messy, loud, and imperfect¡ªbut that was the charm.

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    It was a stark contrast to the view from modern football, where the sports itself had become a spectacle. Clubs used PA systems, light shows, and jumbotron screens to play hype videos before kick-off. Fans still sang, of course, but the chants were often led by designated ultras or carefully pre-arranged routines.

    The atmosphere felt more orchestrated. And the flares? Those were either heavily regulated or outright banned.

    Even the pre-match coverage was different. It was simple¡ªa brief segment showing the line-ups before jumping straight into the action.

    Now, there were hours of build-up¡ªpundits dissecting tactics, making predictions, conducting player interviews, and broadcasting live shots of warm-ups.

    The player entrances had also changed. Here, he could see teams simply walking out side by side with the referee¡ªno mascots, no elaborate displays.

    Managers exchanged relaxed handshakes, if at all. There were no players strolling onto the pitch hand-in-hand with child mascots, standing behind anti-racism banners before kick-off.

    And then there were the tifo displays. Now they were spontaneous¡ªfans holding up scarves or homemade banners. It was heartfelt but chaotic. In the modern game, tifos had become massive, choreographed spectacles, sometimes involving thousands of fans unveiling professional-level artwork that could cover entire stands.

    For Richard himself, the modern game had its perks¡ªthe technology, the global reach¡ªbut there was something special about these moments. Something pure.

    The referee''s whistle echoed through Maine Road, pulling Richard back into the present. For all its changes, football was still football. And for now, that was enough.

    21st Minute ¨C City Strikes FirstRichard barely had time to settle before the first moment of magic. A long ball floated from the back, cutting through Ipswich''s midfield. Imre Varadi, City''s number nine, read it perfectly, slipping between two defenders. One bounce, then a fierce drive low past the keeper. The terrace around erupted¡ªhats thrown in the air, beer flying, strangers hugging. Maine Road at its best.

    24th Minute ¨C Ipswich Answers BackBut City''s joy was short-lived. Ipswich pressed forward almost immediately. A quick series of passes on the right flank left City''s defense scrambling. The ball was squared low across the box, and Ian Wilson met it first-time, guiding it past the outstretched arms of Suckling.

    "GOALLLL!!!!!"

    "BOOOOO!!!!"

    The roar erupted like a thunderclap, but the response from the home crowd was instant and venomous.

    It was unclear whether the boos were directed at Ipswich or City players for them failing to deliver better results.

    The sound of triumphant chants rippled through the stadium, while a deafening chorus of boos echoed like a tidal wave.

    46th Minute ¨C Varadi AgainThe second half began just as the first had ended¡ªchaotic and relentless. Barely a minute in, City pushed forward with intent. A looping cross from the left found Varadi again, leaping high between two defenders. His header was perfectly placed, arcing over the keeper into the net. Maine Road exploded in euphoria once more.

    Fans surged forward, some nearly spilling onto the pitch. Richard laughed aloud, caught up in the moment, forgetting himself entirely. It was pure, childlike joy.

    50th & 54th Minutes ¨C Ipswich''s ComebackBut football, cruel as ever, had other plans. Ipswich, refusing to fold, pressed on. From a corner in the 50th minute, the ball ricocheted off bodies before falling kindly to Tony Humes, who smashed it into the roof of the net. The away fans were delirious now.

    City seemed rattled, their earlier dominance slipping. Just four minutes later, calamity struck.

    A mistimed tackle inside the box sent an Ipswich player sprawling. The referee''s whistle echoed¡ªa penalty. Kevin Brennan stepped up, the stadium holding its breath. Suckling dived left; the ball went right. Ipswich led 3-2.

    The home crowd fell into a heavy silence, the kind that only football can summon¡ªa mix of frustration and disbelief.

    The Final Whistle.

    As the referee''s final whistle rang out, sealing City''s fate, fans around Richard were already making their way to the exits, muttering frustrations or offering half-hearted consolation to their family.

    The opposition, however, was different.

    "NA NA NA NAA... IPSWICH..."

    Their chants echoed through Maine Road, twisting the knife a little deeper into the hearts of the home crowd.

 The Youth Enter the Stage

    Manchester City''s hopes of a return to Wembley were dashed as Ipswich edged out the Blues 3-2 at Maine Road in the Full Members Cup, deepening the gloom that had settled over the club.

    Off the pitch, major changes were unfolding for the second half of the season. New manager Jimmy Frizzell, entrusted with the task of steering City clear of relegation, made bold moves to reshape the squad.

    One of his first significant decisions was to accept an offer from Chelsea for Clive Wilson. However, as part of the deal, Wilson would remain a City player until the end of the season.

    Using most of the transfer fee, Frizzell secured striker Paul Stewart from Blackpool for ¡ê200,000¡ªa signing that brought hope but came too late for the Ipswich clash, as Stewart wasn''t registered in time to play.

    Without Stewart leading the line, City slumped to yet another defeat, leaving them third from bottom with just a quarter of the season remaining. The situation worsened as City suffered a humiliating 4-0 defeat at Leicester, followed by a goalless draw at Aston Villa.

    Goals had dried up, confidence was low, and relegation seemed inevitable. After relentless draws and disappointing results, now City could almost be certain.

    With only four games left, they needed a miracle¡ªand for a brief moment, it looked like they might just find one. But football has a way of offering hope when all seems lost.

    The Blues finally broke their winless streak, beating Arsenal 3-0 at Maine Road in a stunning performance. This was their first win since the January defeat to Ipswich Town in the Full Members Cup.

    That was followed by a hard-fought 0-0 draw away to table-topping Everton and a narrow 1-0 victory at home over Nottingham Forest. Suddenly, survival seemed within reach. The final day of the season saw City travel to the Boleyn Ground, needing results elsewhere to go their way.

    The Blues sat second from bottom on 39 points, with Charlton and Leicester just above them on 41. It was out of their hands, but hope still lingered.

    In the end, the mathematics didn''t matter.

    West Ham beat City 2-0, sealing their fate.

    The Blues were relegated along with Aston Villa¡ªironically managed by Billy McNeill, City''s former boss. McNeill''s unfortunate legacy was cemented that season, having managed two top-tier sides that were relegated in the same season.

    Oxford United ¨C 46 pts

    Charlton Athletic ¨C 44 pts

    Leicester City ¨C 42 pts

    Manchester City ¨C 39 pts

    Aston Villa ¨C 36 pts

    1986¨C87 Manchester City F.C. relegated to the Second Division.

    This relegation didn''t faze Richard, nor did it trouble his senior colleagues Ted Davies and Glyn Pardoe, or even his direct superiors, Tony Book and Ken Barnes. The reason?

    Manchester City''s youth team was preparing for something far greater¡ªthe chance to face Manchester United in the 1986 FA Youth Cup Final.

    It was the first-ever All-Manchester FA Youth Cup Final, a historic clash between the city''s two biggest clubs at the youth level. While it wasn''t the first all-Manchester FA final, this showdown carried a special weight.

    The disappointing performance by the main squad had left the fans disheartened. Now, with the young talent stepping into the spotlight, hope flickered once more.

    The youth team carried the dreams of the club and its supporters, offering a chance at redemption amidst the gloom of relegation.

    The match would be played over two legs: the first at Old Trafford and the second at Maine Road.

    Richard joined Tony Book, Glyn Pardoe, Jimmy Rouse, and John Collins. Remember when he first arrived at the office for the first time?

    There were four desks lined up in close quarters, papers scattered on them.

    These desks belonged to the four staff members of the Manchester City youth team: Tony Book, the manager; Glyn Pardoe, the assistant; Jimmy Rouse, the dressing room caretaker; and the last one, John Collins, another youth coach.

    When Richard arrived, he had been on sick leave and missed the chance to meet them right away. But now, the two had become colleagues. There was also another colleague from the scouting department, although Richard often found himself working closely with Ken Barnes and Ted Davies.

    Richard stood on the sidelines. Turning his gaze, he noticed United''s side.

    Arms crossed, he watched as his players gathered around, no doubt Eric Harrison, their manager, offering his own set of pre-match talk. He didn''t know what they were saying on their side, but it didn''t matter. He turned his attention back to his team.

    "I don''t think you need me to say anything more, do you? Do you all know what I like?"

    "Victory!" Redmond growled, and his teammates immediately agreed loudly.

    "Very good! Manchester United is not weak, surely, but we are also very strong. Do you want to disappoint your fans, family, and everyone who''s watching this game?"

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    Although the players were shaking their heads, the excited looks on their faces were obvious.

    "That''s right! The United boys didn''t think of it either! Go and give them a surprise, lads!"

    "City! City! Victory!" The players roared together in a huddle and ran out to the field.

    Manchester United: Gary Walsh, Tony Gill, Lee Martin, Ian Scott, Steve Gardner (capt), Jon Bottomley, Aidan Murphy, Mark Todd, Dennis Cronin, David Wilson, Paul Harvey.

    Manager Eric Harrison.

    Manchester City: Steve Crompton, Steve Mills, Andy Hinchcliffe, Ian Brightwell, Steve Redmond (capt), Andy Thackeray, David White, Paul Moulden, Paul Lake, Ian Scott, David Boyd.

    Manager: Tony Book

    Referee: Vic Callow

    Attendance: 7,602

    After the start of the match, both teams played cautiously. Many of their usually successful coordinated plays turned into misses, likely due to the unsettling sight of the overwhelming crowd gathered along the sidelines, making it hard for the youngsters to calm their nerves.

    Redmond and Gardner, both captains, did their best to settle the nerves of their teammates, constantly urging them to focus and stay composed.

    As the first half wore on, the match became less about brilliance and more about resilience. Neither team managed to break the deadlock, and signs of frustration began to show.

    As the whistle blew for the end of the first half, the score remained 0-0. The players trudged off the pitch, heads down, fully aware that the battle was far from over. Whoever found their rhythm first in the second half would have the best chance of breaking the deadlock.

    The second half kicked off, and once again, young Manchester United showed their class. Their ability to remain calm and composed under pressure was impressive.

    In the 49th minute, Aidan Murphy, Manchester United''s silencer, received a long pass from captain Gardner and found a pocket of space just outside the box. With a quick glance and a precise strike, he sent the ball flying past the City goalkeeper, breaking the deadlock.

    Old Trafford erupted as United took the lead 1-0.

    Murphy''s goal was a testament to United''s poise and quality in such a high-stakes match. City now had to dig deep if they hoped to stay in the tie.

    Even Book couldn''t stay quiet. "Moulden! The left!" he began to roar, giving instructions.

    Manchester United settled into a more relaxed rhythm. The pace of their attack slowed as they passed the ball around in the backfield. Meanwhile, the increasingly frustrated City players surged forward, hoping to capitalize on any mistakes they could exploit.

    "What are you doing?! ATTACK!!" Eric Harrison, United manager shouted from the sideline as he saw his team losing their intensity.

    Winning 1-0 at Old Trafford was no reason to relax. After all, there was still the second leg to come at Maine Road.

    Both managers urged their players to push forward, and the tempo quickly picked up again. Aidan Murphy, who had scored earlier, made an off-ball run down the right wing, replicating the exact same scene that led to the opening goal.

    This time, however, City''s players had anticipated the move. left-back Steve Mills positioned himself, ready for the challenge. However As Murphy charged forward, City''s left midfielder, Andy Thackeray, trailed behind him, trying desperately to catch up and block him from the back.

    Thackeray lunged from behind, tackling Murphy and sending both players tumbling to the ground. As they tried to get back on their feet, Murphy, still fuming from the rough tackle, instinctively nudged Thackeray. Fueled by adrenaline, Thackeray, though momentarily stunned, wasn''t one to back down. He squared up to Murphy, and the crowd erupted¡ªa fight was brewing.

    WOAH!

    No one expected such drama. The atmosphere on the pitch grew chaotic, with tension at an all-time high as Aidan Murphy and Andy Thackeray clashed. Pushing and shoving ensued, their frustrations boiling over. Teammates rushed in to separate the two, signaling for them to stop.

    Suddenly, a sharp whistle sliced through the air. The main referee blew his whistle forcefully. "Oi, enough!" he shouted, rushing over and stepping between the players.

    "Everyone, back off! Now!" His voice rang out, stern and commanding. "You two¡ªout!" he declared, raising his hand and showing a red card.

    Murphy and Thackeray exchanged one last, heated glare before being pulled apart by their teammates and the officials.

    "Calm down!" Manager Book shouted at Thackeray. "This is football, not a street fight. Get it together!"

    The other party could only scowl and storm off toward the dressing room. Richard, noticing the situation immediately, stepped forward, offering to lend a hand.

    "Coach, I got this," he said.

    Book couldn''t divert his attention from the game, so Pardoe, his assistant. Sometimes they would sit down briefly to discuss tactics before making any strategic changes.

    With this, the acting coach fell to Collins, as he often served as the bridge between Book and Pardoe, communicating with the officials and looking out for any emergencies that might arise

    It was Richard who stepped in to calm Thackeray down. He followed him from behind, sensing the turmoil within the young midfielder, and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

    "Hey, it happens," Richard said gently. "I know you''re upset, but you need to keep your head in the game. We''ve got another leg, and we can still turn this around."

    Thackeray looked up, his eyes red with frustration. "I just¡­ I lost my cool. I let the team down."

    "No," Richard replied firmly. "You didn''t let anyone down. We''re all in this together, and there''s still a chance to fix things. Focus on the second leg. It''s not over until the final whistle blows."

    "Can I still play in the second leg?"

    Richard paused for a moment. If this were the real FA Cup, it would be impossible, he thought. But since this was the youth cup, both clubs could likely appeal the red cards. After all, no one wanted to leave a scar on these young players.

    Richard sighed, glancing at Thackeray. "I don''t know."

    Hearing this, Thackeray looked dejected, his shoulders slumping.

    "But," Richard continued, "there must be some leeway," he said and continued, "especially if we believe it was too harsh. We can appeal the red card, and I believe Manchester United will definitely make an appeal too. If we handle this right, there''s a good chance you''ll be cleared to play in the second leg."

    Thackeray''s eyes brightened with hope. "You think it could work?"

    Richard nodded. "Based on my experience, yes."

    With that, Thackeray began to calm down. If it had been Book or Pardoe trying to talk to him, he might not have opened up. But Richard, freshly retired and not much older than him, offered a different kind of connection, making communication feel easier for both.

    "GOAAAALLL!!!"

    Unknowingly, a sudden roar echoed through the stadium, and both of them looked at each other.

    Thackeray''s nerves spiked, and though Richard felt it too, he was anxious inside but knew better than to let it show.

    "I''ll go check," Richard said, not waiting for a response as he hurried off.

    The waiting felt unbearable. Thackeray''s mind raced¡ªthis moment felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

    If United scored again, City would be trailing 2-0. Even though both teams were down to ten men, the guilt of letting his teammates down gnawed at him.

    Unable to sit still, Thackeray paced back and forth, his heart pounding as he waited for Richard''s return.

    TAP TAP TAP

    The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the hall. Thackeray''s heart skipped a beat.

    Richard came running, breathless but beaming with excitement. "Huff... huff... PAUL SCORED! It''s 1-1 now!"

 The Season is Over

    Maine Road, 29 April 1986

    Manchester City: Steve Crompton, Steve Mills, Andy Hinchcliffe, Ian Brightwell, Steve Redmond (capt), Andy Thackeray, David White, Paul Moulden, Paul Lake, Ian Scott, David Boyd.

    Manager: Tony Book

    Manchester United: Gary Walsh, Tony Gill, Lee Martin, Ian Scott, Steve Gardner (capt), Paul Harvey, Aidan Murphy, Mark Todd, Dennis Cronin, Jon Bottomley, Karl Goddard.

    Manager Eric Harrison.

    Referee: Vic Callow

    Attendance: 18,158

    The response to this occasion was staggering¡ª18,158 people attended, which meant the total gate receipts would exceed ¡ê25,000. While the match never reached the classic standard of the first leg, it still offered plenty of "woaahs" and "aaaahs" for the enthusiastic audience.

    Moreover, based on this alone, you could see how desperate the City fans were. With the first-team squad relegated, all their hopes now rested on the shoulders of the young lads¡ªa beacon of optimism, a chance for redemption, and perhaps a glimpse of a brighter future for the club.

    "Nobody''s going to do it for you. You have to find your own solace, your own drive, your own ambition, your own inner strength, because the moment''s arriving for the greatest game of your f*ckin lives." Tony Book finally showed his menace.

    He didn''t care anymore.

    Maine Road. This is his victory!

    Glyn Pardoe and John Collins stood behind him, and further back were Richard Maddox, Jimmy Rouse¡ªthe dressing room caretaker¡ªeven Ken Barnes and Ted Davies, the scouts, were present. Almost everyone here on the team was a result of their talent-hunting efforts.

    "You think they''re better than you? You think they deserve it more than you?" he barked, pointing toward the door, as if their rivals stood just beyond it. "No! Not today. This is your house. This is your moment."

    The players sat motionless, eyes locked on him, their breathing heavy. The tension in the room crackled like electricity. They could see their manager''s fierce eyes, veins bulging on his neck as adrenaline coursed through him.

    "Nobody handed you anything. You earned this." *BANG!* Book slammed the locker. "Out there," he growled, "are 18,000 fans waiting to see who wants it more. They don''t care about mistakes, or what''s happened before. All they care about is this match. Your friends, your family, your fans... they''re all watching."

    He paused, letting his words sink in as he scanned the room.

    "Tell them¡ªthat you will not be forgotten. That no matter what happens, this is only the beginning. This trophy? It''s the first. But will it end here? NO! There are still more trophies waiting for you. Send them a message through this match!"

    His voice dropped, low and dangerous.

    "That they just faced the most dangerous f***** team they''ve ever seen. Now go. Write your story."

    A heavy silence hung in the air¡ªthen one clap. Then another. Suddenly, the entire room erupted, fists pounding lockers, voices shouting, the noise deafening.

    "LET''S GO!"

    "LET''S F*CKIN DESTROY THEM!*"

    "COME ON, BOYS! THIS IS OURS!"

    They charged out of the dressing room, fired up, ready to make history.

    Before the whistle blew, both teams were already lined up in their positions. Andy Thackeray and Aidan Murphy locked eyes across the pitch, exchanging a knowing look before both snorted. Despite their heated clash in the first leg, here they were again¡ªboth having managed to play in the second leg after successful appeals from their respective clubs.

    The officials and clubs understood the bigger picture. Youth competitions weren''t just about winning trophies; they were about development, growth, and second chances. The red cards from the first leg had been a blemish, but everyone involved knew that punishing young players too harshly could hinder their progress.

    PHWEEEEE!

    The sharp blast of the referee''s whistle cut through the roar of the crowd, signaling the start of the match. In an instant, the stadium erupted with cheers, drums, and chants, the tension melting into pure adrenaline on the pitch.

    As early as the 2nd minute, the Bonny Blues staked their claim to win the competition for the very first time in history. Paul Moulden, with his devastating routine of twists and turns, corkscrewed through United''s defense deep inside the penalty area on the right flank.

    His hither-and-thither jink opened up space, and his cross looped over the goalmouth, where David Boyd rose to meet it with a firm header. This time, there was no stopping it¡ªthe ball threatened Gary Walsh, who stretched to his limit, fingertips grazing the air, but it wasn''t enough.

    "GOAAALLL!!! A perfect setup from City¡ªMoulden with some dazzling footwork down the right, floating it right into the danger zone, and David Boyd rose like a rocket! A bullet header past Gary Walsh¡ªno chance for the keeper!"

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    It was a thrilling send-off for City as the team officials roared and cheered, already celebrating as if they had secured the trophy. Only Richard remained calm. It was just the 2nd minute¡ªthey still had to survive another 88.

    Sure enough, as the whistle blew and the game resumed, the City officials shifted from elation to anxiety. It felt like sitting on pins and needles. Some perched at the very edge of their seats, while others couldn''t sit still, pacing back and forth, nerves fraying with every passing second.

    Paul Moulden continued to lead by example, just as he had throughout the competition. Operating from wide positions, he was the spark in City''s attack. Andy Thackeray, sent off in the first leg, was now seeking redemption.

    He provided a solid presence in midfield, showing composure and determination. But the real standout was the unexpected hero at the back¡ªIan Brightwell. The heart of City''s defense played with a fearless, cavalier spirit, commanding the backline and snuffing out United''s advances.

    The match became a relentless back-and-forth, with both United and City trading attacks, neither side willing to back down. The tension was palpable¡ªevery pass, every tackle, every shot carried the weight of the final.

    In the 6th minute, United launched an attack, but fortunately for City, Brightwell managed to clear a menacing cross from Goddard.

    By the 13th minute, United''s Ian Scott blocked a long-range shot from Moulden. The ball deflected and landed at Aidan Murphy''s feet, who then made a blistering run down the flank before sending a beautiful cross into the center. Unfortunately, Goddard just missed connecting with an outstretched leg, and City''s goalkeeper Crompton managed to get his arm on the ball before launching a long punt upfield.

    There were four serious moments when City nearly lost their lead:

    18th minute: A poor goal kick from Crompton put City in trouble, forcing Hinchcliffe to grapple desperately to stop Wilson from breaking through. City''s full-back was booked for spinning his opponent around.

    30th minute: United Dennis Cronin squandered a golden opportunity inside the penalty area after a clever chip from Goddard, slicing his shot wide of the post.

    37th minute: Steve Mills, City''s full-back, cleared the ball off the line after a deadly shot from Wilson following a Cronin corner.

    38th minute: Just a minute later, Mills once again performed heroics, heading the ball off the line to deny Wilson after a dangerous pass from Murphy.

    City eventually hit back in the 40th minute after enduring United''s constant pressure. It was summed up by a remarkable moment from City''s center-back Ian Brightwell, who made a rampaging 40-yard run that tore United''s defense apart. Brightwell capped it off with a blistering 25-yard strike, but the outstanding United goalkeeper, Gary Walsh, managed to tip it over the bar.

    "HOLY!" Richard muttered, eyes wide as he watched Walsh leap into action, tipping Brightwell''s blistering shot over the bar. It was a stunning save¡ªone that still kept United in the game.

    Eric Harrison, United''s youth manager, who had already risen from his seat, clenched his fists, a mix of relief and awe washing over him. "That was close¡­ way too close," he muttered, glancing at the City staff, whose faces reflected pure disappointment.

    PHWEEET!

    The referee''s whistle echoed around the stadium, signaling the end of the first half. Players from both sides exhaled deeply, some bending over with hands on their knees, catching their breath before heading back to the dressing rooms. The crowd buzzed with anticipation¡ªthere was still another half to play, and everything was still up for grabs.

    In the second half, the first ten minutes saw United and City return to their initial cautious approach, both teams feeling each other out before United began to settle and grow more aggressive.

    City found their left winger, Goddard, a perplexing customer as he shrugged off United''s Lee Martin to control Moulden''s pass and fired a shot that slammed into the side netting. Moments later, Goddard''s powerful drive was stopped at the foot of the near post by Walsh.

    After the scare, City captain Redmond rallied his team, leading them into a period of dominance as the remaining minutes ticked away. Yet, United still managed a few threatening shots that forced Crompton onto his heels, though he remained solid¡ªproven by his record of conceding only six goals in nine ties.

    Fittingly, the match saw a classic finish in the 86th minute.

    Moulden, City''s ever-dangerous attacker, played a deadly ball through to White bursting through the middle. Moulden struck fiercely, but Gary Walsh defiant made another brilliant save. Yet, Moulden''s sharp instincts had him charging onto the loose ball, calmly steering it low into the net from six yards out.

    "GOOAAAALLL, PAUL MOULDEN!! Instincts sharper than ever! He followed up the rebound like a true predator, pouncing on the loose ball, leaving Gary Walsh with no chance this time!"

    The crowd erupted, the stadium a sea of blue and white flags waving wildly.

    For the first time, there was no way back for United, and everyone on the pitch knew it.

    In a nutshell, the probability had almost shown from the very beginning that City would likely win the match¡ªthey had the strength to complement their style. It wasn''t the vintage Young Blues of the 1950s, but it was good enough. It was worthy enough to win the trophy, especially after the dismal performances by City''s first team.

    In the director''s box, smiles were spreading wide across the faces of the City directors and board members. For once, after a season of struggles for the first team, there was a glimmer of hope¡ªa reason to believe in the club''s future.

    For the next few minutes, down on the touchline, Book, Pardoe, and Collins stood at the edge of the technical area, tense but ready. Their eyes were fixed on the referee, waiting for the final signal.

    PHWEEEEEET!

    For a split second, there was pure silence¡ªa moment of disbelief¡ªbefore an explosion of noise erupted.

    Cheers filled the air as the young City players threw their arms skyward, some collapsing to the ground in joy, while others sprinted wildly across the pitch.

    Tony Book, the manager pumped his fist and without hesitation broke into a run, joined by Glyn Pardoe his assistant and John Collins, the coach, all racing toward the celebrating players.

    On the sidelines, Richard let out a triumphant yell, throwing his arms around Jimmy Rouse, the dressing room caretaker, who had tears streaming down his face.

    Redmond, the captain, led his team to receive the trophy, cheered by City''s ecstatic fans. There were scenes to remember. However, amid all the happy, smiling faces, one figure could only watch from afar.

    Andy Thackeray.

    He had refused the honor of collecting a medal¡ªa punishment he imposed on himself after his dismissal in the first leg. Despite the FA allowing him to play in the second leg, the disciplinary rules still applied.

    It was a painful and sad sight. City staff consoled the young Thackeray, especially Richard.

    The punishment felt too severe to be imposed on any player who had battled his heart out for the cause. This scar would probably never leave the young Thackeray.

    Thankfully, the sad sight didn''t last long. Redmond soon pulled Thackeray forward and handed him the trophy. Thackeray looked at Redmond, who nodded in encouragement.

    As the players assembled for their lap of honor, Thackeray raised the trophy high in his hands, and the other players jumped and roared in excitement. Richard sighed in relief, though a hint of regret remained on his face.

    ''I could have lifted the trophy too,'' the thought flickered in his mind for a moment before he shook his head to dismiss it quickly.