"What’s wrong?" Richard tried to ask Marina, but he sounded odd, his words slurring slightly as he looked at her.
"No... it’s just that..." Marina hesitated, then blinked at him. "Are you drunk?"
"...What?"
"I an... are you forgetting who our opponent was in the quarter-finals of the Champions League yesterday? Richard, I an it—are you drunk? Rivaldo is already at Barcelona!"
Richard froze.
SLAP!
His hand shot to his forehead as if to physically erase the rookie mistake he had just made. With a deep sigh, he let the frustration go. Perhaps it was ti to let go of the dream of reuniting the Trio R at Manchester City.
"I guess I’m just too tired right now. Probably need a holiday," he admitted, his voice heavy.
Marina nodded sympathetically. "Yes, you’re right. You definitely need a holiday."
Richard let out a breath, realizing he had been overthinking football—and life—a bit too much.
After the U-17 match ended, Richard imdiately picked up his father and others, and they went straight to the airport to fly to Switzerland.
"Hey Richard," his father suddenly called.
"What’s wrong, Dad?"
"Take a look at this," his father said as he handed him a newspaper he had been reading.
Curious, Richard looked at it. The news was about the Super League eting he had attended—the once-secret eting had now been leaked to the dia.
Sure enough, upon hearing about Europe’s top clubs plotting a rebellion, UEFA imdiately contacted the owners of those clubs. However, since they had pre-ford alliances and shared a common stance, UEFA was left with no options.
Richard expected that UEFA would begin drafting revisions to the Champions League rules for the next season. It was impossible to make changes for the 98/99 season due to lack of ti. He noted the club owners who attended the eting yesterday; for now, they had probably pressured UEFA to secure more inco and profit.
Unknown to them, UEFA would take a shortcut. The Champions League schedule after this beca bizarre—more matches, more broadcasting inco, and higher bonuses—but it put the elite clubs in a quagmire, as they could never juggle multiple competitions effectively. The end result of these poorly managed multiple campaigns was likely to be disastrous.
"Forget it," Richard shook his head, returning the newspaper to his father.
After a taxing season managing Manchester City and grappling with the complexities of the football world, Richard decided to take a well-deserved break. Switzerland, with its serene landscapes and rich cultural tapestry, seed like the perfect retreat.
After arriving at Zurich International Airport, they noticed that the terminal had undergone significant expansion in celebration of its 50th anniversary. Leaving the airport, they went straight to their hotel, dropped off their luggage, and imdiately set out to attend the World Rowing Cup III held at Rotsee.
The atmosphere at Rotsee was lively—cheers, cara flashes, and the rhythmic splash of oars cutting through the calm water. Richard found himself genuinely enjoying the mont, letting the stress of recent weeks fade away.
Then—RING!
His phone buzzed in his pocket. Glancing at the caller ID, he saw the na miss Heysen.
"Richard," Her voice ca through, slightly distorted by the noise around him. "UEFA just faxed an official summons. It looks like they’re calling a eting about the Super League situation."
Of course, Richard ignored the summons. In fact, he was the one who had leaked the agenda to Lennart in the first place—so why bother attending an invitation whose outco he already knew?
He briefly explained the situation to her. Once the call ended, he exhaled softly and slipped the phone back toward his pocket.
RING~
The device buzzed again. Richard glanced at the screen—this ti, it was Marina Granovskaia.
He answered the call imdiately. "What’s wrong?"
If Marina was calling him directly, it had to be sothing serious. During his holiday, Richard had already delegated all transfer-related matters to her. As long as it didn’t involve the players he had personally blocked from being sold, she had full authority to manage negotiations as she saw fit.
For her to call now ant only one thing—sothing unexpected had co up.
"Richard," Marina’s voice ca through, steady but laced with concern. "Just now, Joan ca to see —he says he wants to leave."
Richard straightened up, his relaxed posture instantly fading. "Leave? What do you an, leave?"
Wasn’t he practically a first-choice player last season? Yes, Zambrotta was injured, but his minutes were consistent—he started almost every ga. Why the sudden urge to leave?
"He... said he can’t handle the weather," Marina admitted softly.
Only after hearing Marina’s explanation did Richard fall silent.
Capdevila’s reasons for wanting to leave weren’t about competition or playing ti—it was life itself in Manchester.
Outside of football, he found little joy. The grey skies, the cold drizzle, the unfamiliar rhythm of the city—it all wore him down. He missed the warmth of Spain, the sunlight, the easy laughter of ho.
Richard couldn’t really argue. In fact, he understood it all too well. And when Marina ntioned that Capdevila’s desired destination was Deportivo La Coruña—not the glamorous Real Madrid or Barcelona, both of whom had shown interest—it made sense. If his goal had been prestige, Madrid would’ve been the obvious choice. But everyone knew dethroning Roberto Carlos was a fool’s dream. No, this wasn’t about ambition. It was about belonging.
Richard tapped his fingers lightly against his thigh, lost in thought for a mont.
"What about Martin?" he finally asked. "What’s his take on it?"
Marina’s voice ca calmly through the line. "I already spoke to him. He said it can’t be helped. If a player truly can’t adapt—especially to the weather and lifestyle—then forcing him to stay will only make things worse. Martin understands that."
Richard exhaled slowly. His premonition had been right.
In this transfer window, La Liga clubs were flush with cash—an aftershock of the broadcasting rights war that had flooded the league with new money. Teams were eager to strengthen their squads while the tide was high.
But Richard knew it wouldn’t last. Once Real Madrid and Barcelona began selling their TV rights independently, the smaller clubs’ revenues would nosedive, and this brief golden age of spending would co to an abrupt end.
Deportivo La Coruña was among the most aggressive clubs in the transfer market this sumr. Their ambition was clear—they had appointed Javier Irureta as manager, signaling a new era, and wasted no ti reinforcing the squad with a series of sharp signings.
Pauleta, the prolific striker from Salamanca; Pablo and Roro, two solid dostic talents; and now, potentially, Capdevila—all were part of a well-calculated plan. Deportivo wasn’t just buying players; they were building a foundation.
If Irureta could blend these personalities and styles into a cohesive unit, Richard thought, this team might not only challenge Spain’s giants—but even redefine the balance of power in La Liga altogether. Of course, he knew such dominance would only last for a few years.
"Reject it," Richard said after a brief mont of thought, his tone calm but firm. "Instead, arrange a loan deal. Give him a year—let him clear his head, get used to playing back ho. If he still wants to leave after that, we’ll talk again. Also, hold off on finalizing his transfer to Deportivo for now. I don’t believe they’re the only ones interested in his signature."
After finishing his call with Marina, Richard continued his holiday with his parents.
Throughout the journey, Richard, along with his father and mother, took ti to imrse themselves in Switzerland’s natural beauty. They hiked in the Swiss Alps, visited tranquil lakes, and indulged in the country’s peaceful solitude, using the experience to recharge.
After a few days enjoying their holiday, Richard and his parents were ready to return ho. They were packing their bags and preparing for the flight when suddenly his phone rang again.
Richard glanced at the caller ID and was surprised to see Vince McMahon’s na flashing on the screen. Without hesitation, he picked up.
"Hello, Vince?" he answered.
"Richard, I hope I’m not catching you at a bad ti. I’ve been waiting to speak with you."
Richard’s brow furrowed. "I’m actually just about to head back ho from Switzerland. Is this urgent?"
"Where are you heading after this?"
"After this, I’m probably going to London first, to drop off my parents. Then I’ll head to Manchester," Richard replied, glancing at his watch.
"Then let’s et up in London first. I’ll text you the address."
"You’re in London?"
"Yeah, what a coincidence—I just ca back from Cambridge. Well, I have so business to take care of there."
Richard and Vince McMahon had always maintained close contact, especially since Richard owned 30% of WWF (PPV). Vince held him in high regard and thought highly of him.
This respect grew even more after Richard shared ideas to make WWF storylines edgier, more adult-oriented, and focused on the rise of antihero characters. This combination drew significant mainstream dia attention, helping make 1998 one of the most influential years in professional wrestling history.
Since then, Vince McMahon placed high expectations on Richard’s input, even though he was not a full investor in WWF. His opinions and creative insights had beco highly valued, shaping the direction of the company.
After finishing the phone call, his mother ca over, a hint of concern in her eyes. "Is there sothing urgent?
Richard just smiled softly and shook his head. "No, it’s nothing," he said, keeping his tone light.
After arriving in London, Richard spent a day settling in, catching up on ssages, and resting from the long journey. The next morning, he set off promptly to the address Vince McMahon had sent him.
When he arrived, Richard was montarily speechless.
The location had been transford into an elegant venue, filled with the soft glow of chandeliers and the quiet hum of conversation. It turned out to be a promotional cocktail party hosted by F1 in London, complete with displays of cars, banners, and dia personnel capturing every angle.
The mont Richard stepped inside, Vince McMahon approached him with a broad, welcoming smile.
"Richard! Glad you could make it," Vince said, extending his hand warmly.
Richard shook his hand, still taking in the surroundings. "I... wasn’t expecting all this," he admitted.
Vince chuckled and nudged Richard lightly. "You know, tonight isn’t just about the glitz—it’s about connections, opportunities, and so important discussions. By the way, let introduce you to soone."
At that mont, a short, elderly man with silver hair approached Richard and extended his hand.
"Bernie Ecclestone. I am... it’s a pleasure to see you here,"
Richard found himself montarily silent at the introduction. He knew exactly who this man was—who wouldn’t?
Bernie Ecclestone was the comrcial head of Formula 1, the legendary figure whose influence shaped the entire sport. Not only that, he was the chief of Formula One Managent (FOM), controlling nearly every aspect of the business side of F1: broadcasting rights, marketing, sponsorships, race scheduling.
Why is he looking for him?
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