Dostic League Champions (1996–97 Season)
1. Premier League – Manchester United
2. La Liga (Spain) – Real Madrid
3. Serie A (Italy) – Juventus
4. Bundesliga (Germany) – Bayern Munich
5. Ligue 1 (France) – AS Monaco
The dostic cup has concluded, aning only European competitions are still ongoing. In the UEFA Champions League, the final will see Borussia Dortmund (Germany) face off against Juventus (Italy).
Dortmund failed to win a third consecutive Bundesliga title, finishing third—eight points behind champions Bayern Munich. However, they made up for it by reaching the Champions League final. If they win, it will mark the first major European trophy in the club’s history.
On the international stage, qualification for the 1998 FIFA World Cup was ongoing. Key nations such as England, France, Germany, Italy, and the Netherlands were battling for spots in the tournant, set to be held in France.
After wrapping up a recap of the 1996/1997 season, a piece of news about forr City player Roberto Carlos gave Richard a mont of hesitation.
Last season, Roberto Carlos made the move to Inter Milan in Serie A, playing for the Nerazzurri. He made an imdiate impact, scoring a stunning 30-yard free-kick on his debut in a 1–0 win over Vicenza. However, his overall season at Inter was underwhelming, with the club finishing only seventh in the league.
Richard knew the issue all too well. Inter’s coach, Roy Hodgson, insisted on playing Roberto Carlos as a winger, while the Brazilian preferred his natural position at left-back. It was this mismatch that made his ti in Italy difficult.
Richard had already warned him to be honest about his intentions—but Roberto Carlos had been tempted by the allure of playing in Serie A.
"Hmmm," Richard muttered, rubbing his chin in deep thought.
"Are you thinking about bringing Roberto back?" Marina asked, unable to hold back, as she was the one who brought the news to Richard’s office.
The rumors said that Real Madrid had already submitted a bid for Roberto Carlos. Still, Richard believed that if City joined the race, he had a real shot at securing the Brazilian’s signature once again.
But... he shook his head slowly.
"What about Okocha and Nakata? Have their international caps t our foreign player criteria yet?"
For a non-European (non-EU) footballer to be registered and granted a work permit to play in England, the Ho Office had strict criteria. These rules were enforced to ensure that non-EU players were of a "high enough standard" to benefit the English ga.
Typically, a player needed to have played in at least 75% of their country’s competitive international matches (not including friendlies) over the previous two years, and for a country ranked in the top 70 of the FIFA World Rankings at the ti of application. If a player didn’t et this requirent, the club could still appeal to a special Exceptions Panel, but approval wasn’t guaranteed.
For Jay-Jay Okocha, Nigeria’s strong FIFA ranking and his consistent appearances for the national team ant he t the requirents easily. His work permit was secure, and he did not count against Manchester City’s limited foreign player quota.
Hidetoshi Nakata, however, posed a different challenge. Though undeniably talented, Japan’s lower FIFA ranking and Nakata’s relatively few competitive international appearances put his status in doubt. On paper, he didn’t et the Ho Office’s automatic criteria.
Still, Manchester City were determined. Through Marina Granovskaia, the club formally submitted an appeal to the Departnt for Education and Employnt (DfEE), with supporting docunts from both the Football Association and the club’s technical departnt. They argued that:
1. Nakata had already been playing for Manchester City for several months.
2. His contribution on and off the pitch had been significant.
3. His presence helped raise the profile of the club in Asia.
4. While he did not et the standard percentage of caps, he was widely considered one of Japan’s top erging talents.
5. Most importantly, the club emphasized that Nakata was already registered and only counted as a foreigner due to his nationality—sothing they sought to change without affecting his playing eligibility.
"Though Nakata hasn’t yet reached the 75% cap requirent, this is due to his age and Japan’s delayed recognition of his talent. He’s already a standout in the J.League and was Japan’s best perforr in the Olympic qualifiers. His inclusion would not only enhance City’s midfield creativity but also help expand the English ga comrcially into the Asian market."
Richard rembered that, in 1999, Manchester United had used the sa process to sign Quinton Fortune, who also didn’t et the automatic threshold. The club successfully argued that Fortune had exceptional potential and unique qualities—and the panel approved the application.
"Yes," Marina said, glancing up from the faxed letter with a rare smile. "They approved it."
Richard leaned back in his chair. With this, Manchester City’s foreign player quota was now down to two—aning the club could still recruit two more foreign players.
"What about Jens and Robbie?" he asked.
Just a few days earlier, while he was buried in paperwork, Marina had walked into his office and inford him that both Jens Lehmann and Robbie Savage were growing increasingly dissatisfied with how the club was handling their situations.
For Lehmann, the concern stemd from one undeniable fact: Gianluigi Buffon was slowly but surely stealing his spot.
The tipping point ca during the FA Cup and League Cup finals—two of the biggest matches of the season—where Lehmann found himself watching from the bench as the young Italian took his place between the posts. It wasn’t just a tactical decision anymore; it was a clear signal. And Lehmann, a seasoned professional, was starting to worry about his future at the club.
On the other hand, Robbie Savage was dealing with a different kind of problem—one rooted not in selection, but in personal conflict. His relationship with Lilian Thuram had taken a sharp downturn. What started as a minor disagreent during training escalated into a full-blown altercation, with the two needing to be separated by staff.
Thanks to this ongoing conflict, in nearly every match, either Savage or Thuram had to be left out of the squad. This gave O’Neill a constant headache, as he considered both players crucial to the club’s future plans.
"Can you talk to them one last ti? It would be best if you could convince them. I’ll also speak to Martin," Richard said.
Marina nodded as she heard the instruction.
Richard exhaled slowly. "Thank you for your hard work," he said before rising from his seat.
Today’s work was done.
As the Champions League final approached, Richard had no imdiate plans for new investnts. The Ferdinand case had spiraled out of control due to circumstances beyond his control.
To be honest, he wanted to keep the current squad together—but he knew that was impossible. Still, he aid to retain as much of the club’s core as possible.
As the final match drew near, Richard boarded his private jet bound for Munich, Germany.
The Champions League final wasn’t just a spectacle—it was a scouting ground, a political arena, and a glimpse into the future of European football. Richard wasn’t going rely to watch a match. In fact, he had received a personal invitation.
As the jet soared into the late afternoon sky, he leaned back in his seat, flipping through player dossiers and tactical reports, his mind already racing with possibilities. Upon landing in Munich, he wasted no ti—heading straight for the iconic Olympiastadion, where the eyes of the footballing world would soon converge.
As a club owner, Richard wants to make friends—not only to broaden his connections in the football world, but also to create opportunities for collaboration that benefit the club’s developnt.
Arsenal’s David Dein, Manchester United’s Martin Edwards, Tottenham Hotspur’s Alan Sugar, Barcelona’s Josep Lluís Núñez, AC Milan’s Silvio Berlusconi, and Bayern Munich’s Franz Beckenbauer.
When a group of directors and chairn gather, what do they talk about? Naturally—football.
Richard had received a personal invitation from David Dein of Arsenal. It was one of those exclusive, behind-closed-doors etings where the power players of English football quietly shaped the ga’s future. Among the attendees, the only two Richard was truly familiar with were David Dein and Martin Edwards of Manchester United.
As he arrived, David Dein was the first to greet him, smiling warmly.
"Richard! Glad you could make it," he said, extending his hand.
Richard shook it firmly. "Thank you for the invitation, David."
He then turned to Martin Edwards. "Martin," he said with a nod and a handshake.
"Good to see you again," Martin Edwards replied, gesturing to an empty seat at the table. "Congratulations on the League Cup victory."
Richard smiled. "I should be the one congratulating you—another Premier League title for Manchester United."
One by one, Richard was introduced to the other key figures around the table—so curious, others reserved. But within minutes, the atmosphere began to thaw. The room buzzed with quiet laughter, subtle negotiations, and good-natured jabs about transfers, refereeing controversies, and the ever-rising stakes of TV rights. Soon, the conversation shifted as they waited for the match to begin.
"I have a different opinion, though," Richard said calmly.
He wasn’t the type to simply nod along with everything a more experienced ntor said. Instead, he challenged them, offering, "From a chemistry or physics perspective, one plus one might not actually equal two. Players don’t always perform with the sa efficiency under identical tactics, especially when comparing ho and away matches."
He continued, "At ho, the crowd puts pressure on the visiting team while lifting their own. The stadium size, the pitch surface, even the way the ball rolls—all of these factors affect a player’s perception and rhythm. That’s why away teams often underperform compared to their ho form. In other words, the ho team benefits from rest and familiarity, while the visiting team faces a set of physical and ntal challenges from the mont they travel."
"Is that so? Hahaha!" Beckenbauer laughed at Richard’s confident answer.
It was this refusal to act like a passive owner that made Richard stand out. He could engage in candid, thought-provoking conversations with football’s elite—never intimidated, always thoughtful.
Berlusconi then spoke. "I heard that almost all of Manchester City’s transfers revolve around young players. Why do you favor them so much? Can you tell why?"
Unlike his AC Milan philosophy—which preferred established stars—Berlusconi was genuinely curious about City’s preference for youth. What surprised him even more was how City had actually managed to win silverware with these younger players.
Richard thought for a mont before answering the question."To be honest, as you all know, I co from a football background. I used to play, but sothing happened before I could build a proper career," he said, offering a wry smile. "My age and lack of professional playing experience are still my biggest weaknesses. Just imagine telling a 27-year-old forward where to run. If he’s in a good mood, he might laugh it off. But if he’s not... he might snap, ’What do you know? Get lost!’"
"Isn’t it more difficult to manage them?" Berlusconi added. "I an—they’re still so young. You know what I an."
Richard nodded, then shook his head with a small smile. "For , that’s actually the best ti—because we can mold them. Whether they’re wingers or wide midfielders, they have to co back and help defend. It’s not about turning them into defenders, but they need to position themselves properly, take up a defensive stance, compress the opponent’s attacking space, cut through passing lines, and block the ball holder’s options."
Beckenbauer nodded in agreent. As a forr player, he understood exactly what Richard ant. "He’s right. If your full-backs are highly effective in attack, it might deter the opponent from pushing forward too aggressively. But you still need at least one defensive midfielder with strong awareness—example soone like Dunga in the Brazil team. Players like that are rare. They need defensive skill, tactical awareness, and experience."
Martin Edwards chid in, offering a counterpoint. "Franz, I can’t fully agree. I’m not saying that star players don’t make a difference, but we often see technically gifted players dribble endlessly before passing—and by that ti, the defense is already set. That’s a major issue. I advocate for quick, simple play. If a player can accelerate and break the line, that’s fine. But if he just keeps the ball at his feet, spinning and tricking defenders without moving forward—it may look flashy and get cheers, but it wastes precious ti. Two, maybe five seconds. The entire transition from defense to attack should take less than ten seconds. If a player holds onto the ball too long, they let the defense regroup. It kills montum."
"That approach is risky," Núñez countered. "If you set up a double midfield with two attacking players, they might be dangerous going forward. But if you lose the ball, your central area is wide open. One counter-attack, and your backline is exposed."
They debated passionately, the intensity of their discussion montarily making them forget the Champions League final unfolding beneath them.
"Haha, that’s good—we’re all still full of spirit," David Dein said confidently, standing at the front of the small, oak-paneled conference room. The low murmur of conversation faded as he raised his glass and began to speak.
"I still rember the first ti I t Richard," he said with a smile, eyes scanning the room of chairn, directors, and executives. "He struck as... different. Not just sharp—but visionary. The kind of mind that doesn’t just follow the ga but rewrites it."
A few chuckles of agreent echoed around the room.
"He’s a trailblazer," Dein continued, "always bringing in remarkable ideas that at first seem impossible—until they start working. And the achievents he’s brought to Manchester City over the past two years? They speak for themselves. Honestly, don’t you all know he was the one who discovered our Ian Wright?"
That comnt caused a shift in the room. Conversations stalled. Eyebrows lifted. Expressions turned from amused to surprised.
Who didn’t know Ian Wright? He scored 30 goals in all competitions—his second-best tally for Arsenal—and was closing in on the club’s all-ti top scorer record, held by Cliff Bastin.
Richard quickly waved his hand at Dein, signaling him to stop the flattery. He never enjoyed being praised—it made him uncomfortable, even a little embarrassed.
As the Champions League final kicked off and the conversation flowed between sips of wine and murmurs about politics, economics, and football, Richard gradually began to realize the true reason behind this gathering.
There was sothing else—sothing deeper at play.
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