After dropping the bombshell of the release list on the coaches and staff, Richard didn’t sit idle.
He still had two days until they submitted the draft.
Rebuilding wasn’t just about cutting players—for every departure, a replacent was needed. But finding the right players wasn’t easy.
His first target...?
Richard leaned back in his chair, sifting through his mory. Nas, stats, performances—talented stars, promising prospects, hidden gems available for a bargain.
Of course, the candidates had to et a specific criterion—especially a player who could realistically consider joining his second-division team.
Richard sat at his desk, deep in thought. After a mont, he picked up a newspaper, hoping to find so inspiration.
"The World Cup..." The bold headline signaled the start of football’s biggest tournant.
As his eyes scanned the page, his expression hardened. His mouth twitched slightly—sothing in the article had caught his attention.
Headlines: Ronaldo Nazário – The Young Star Inspiring a Nation Beyond Football
"Football unites us, but so does our responsibility as citizens. Just as we dream of lifting the World Cup, we should also dream of a better Brazil. That starts with voting," Ronaldo declared, his words t with resounding applause.
Of course, it was Ronaldo.
As part of an initiative aid at encouraging young Brazilians to vote, the Brazilian Electoral Court, in collaboration with national dia, had appointed Ronaldo as a spokesperson. The campaign sought to engage first-ti voters and increase civic participation among the country’s youth.
At just 17 years old, Ronaldo Nazário was already being hailed as Brazil’s next football superstar. Selected for the 1994 World Cup squad, the young forward had captivated the nation with his dazzling performances for Cruzeiro. But now, he had taken on an unexpected role—a spokesperson for the Brazilian elections.
Richard felt helpless. This wasn’t new—Brazil had a history of using footballers for political agendas.
Frustrated? Absolutely.
Football should be football. Politics should be politics.
His instinct was to pull Ronaldo out of the situation, to protect him from the distractions and potential consequences. But the timing couldn’t have been worse.
Brazilian football was on the rise. Relationships with clubs, agents, and governing bodies were fragile. One wrong move could burn bridges with powerful figures—sothing Richard could not afford.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. He knew better than to make enemies in South Arican football politics. Who knows what will happen in the future?
"Forget it..." he muttered, shaking his head. There was nothing he could do.
The Next Page... and Richard Nearly Tore the Newspaper Apart.
Headline: Sol Campbell – The First Star to Leave the Premier League
The latest football headline wasn’t about a record-breaking transfer or an unbelievable goal—it was about Sol Campbell making history.
For the first ti, a high-profile English player left the Premier League for a lower-league club—a move that sent shockwaves through English football.
"Was this purely a footballing decision? Or was there more beneath the surface?" the dia speculated.
The press wasted no ti piecing together the controversy. Many pointed back to an infamous scuffle with Derby County, suggesting it had sparked the fallout. Others claid the issue ran far deeper than a heated clash on the pitch.
Rumors swirled of a growing rift between Campbell and Tottenham’s top brass. So sources even hinted at internal conflict involving the chairman, manager, and legal team, which ultimately led to Campbell being frozen out of the squad.
Banished to the youth squad, stripped of his authority, and left in limbo, Campbell finally submitted a transfer request. But there was one problem—no club dared to make an offer.
With his case still under scrutiny and tensions rising within Tottenham, teams hesitated. Nobody wanted to risk a legal battle or a dia frenzy.
With no concrete offers, the tabloids ran wild. The most sensational claim?
That Richard Maddox—a manager known for his bold and often reckless decisions—was willing to take a chance on Campbell if he agreed to join Manchester City.
For now, it was nothing more than speculation. But with Campbell’s career at a crossroads, anything seed possible.
One thing was certain: his ti at Tottenham was over, and he had beco the first Premier League player to step down to a lower league.
"Sigh... I’m going to get a headache if I keep reading this newspaper." Richard exhaled, rubbing his temples before setting the paper down.
The endless headlines, the speculations, the drama—it was exhausting.
Setting aside the newspaper, he set his sights on the newly introduced Transfer Matching System. Of course, the na was different—TMS itself would only erge around 2010—but the concept was already in place. It wasn’t as advanced as future systems, but the foundation was clear.
This was a centralized database where clubs could check player availability. Leagues required clubs to submit official transfer or loan lists to the league office, which could then share this information internally with other clubs.
It functioned as an internal system where clubs could inquire about available players through league connections. These lists were not publicly available but were shared with interested clubs, scouts, and agents.
Unsurprisingly, so clubs still leaked or officially announced transfer-listed players in the press to attract buyers. In fact, in modern football, clubs often do this to drive up player prices. Still, for now, this kind of concept was still novel—more structured, efficient, and comrcially driven than previous transfer systems.
"Hmm..." Richard quickly skimd through the nas.
Most were ruled out almost imdiately. Still, a few remained. His first priority was sorting through Premier League players nearing retirent—experienced veterans who could lead his team.
Among them, one na stood out—a na Richard hadn’t expected to see.
"Mike Phelan?" he muttered.
Best known for his long-standing role as Sir Alex Ferguson’s assistant at Manchester United and his later coaching stints, Phelan remained a key figure even after Ferguson’s retirent. He went on to serve as an assistant to Ole Gunnar Solskjær, Ralf Rangnick, and Michael Carrick as well.
"This guy... wasn’t he supposed to be Ferguson’s right-hand man in the future?"
A late bloor in the Premier League, once respected, now overlooked.
Forgotten by everyone—including himself.
A player on the verge of retirent.
His current status?
Free agent.
Freshly released by Manchester United—a detail that could pose an issue. But for City in the second division? The rivalry was probably a joke at this point, right?
"Still, I couldn’t approach him recklessly," Richard mused.
Richard made direct contact with Mike Phelan. After all, he was a free agent—there was nothing stopping him.
And Richard was right.
Mike Phelan, who had been preparing to retire and wrap up his career, was caught completely off guard by the unexpected eting request.
"They want to sign ? Manchester City? Second division?"
Phelan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Yet, deep inside, a small spark of hope flickered.
At 31, he still had a year or two left in him. But after spending the last two seasons mostly on the bench, it was easy to feel like his playing days were already over.
By 1993, his appearances at Manchester United had dwindled due to the rise of younger talents like Andrei Kanchelskis, Paul Ince, Ryan Giggs, and Lee Sharpe. He hadn’t even made enough league appearances to earn a Premier League winner’s dal, and he wasn’t included in the squad for the FA Cup final victory over Chelsea.
This season, United had offered him a one-year contract extension—but the role remained the sa. A squad player. A backup. A na on the bench.
He had been prepared to accept it, just as he had the previous season. But what ultimately hardened his resolve to reject the offer was the fact that he had been issued the number 23 shirt—the sa one that would soon be worn by Phil Neville.
Which ant—was it a mistake by the staff? Or a subtle way of pushing him out?
It didn’t matter.
What mattered now was that it was a clear sign—his ti at the club was coming to an end.
He had already prepared for retirent—earning his coaching license and planning his transition to the other side of football. But he hadn’t expected Manchester City to approach him so suddenly.
Maybe they hadn’t heard about his plans. Staring at the man across from him, Phelan let out a deep sigh. He had enough on his plate without wasting ti on what seed like a pointless eting.
"I didn’t play at all last season."
"I know," Richard replied casually, completely unfazed.
Phelan’s brow furrowed.
"You—"
"I need a benchwarr—soone to fill the hogrown quota and et the minimum squad requirents," Richard bluntly said, serious.
"..."
Phelan fell silent. He lowered his gaze and took a slow sip of tea. The hot black liquid tasted bitter.
Blunt—but at least honest.
Better than when an agent or club official said all the right words upfront, only to later break their promises with excuses like "there’s nothing we can do," "we have no power," or whatever else they ca up with.
Indeed, for Richard too, it was better this way. Since he hadn’t truly envisioned Phelan as a player in the first place, he pressed on.
"But—"
Phelan looked up, eting Richard’s steady, unreadable gaze.
"You’re already preparing to step into coaching, aren’t you?"
Phelan frowned at this. "And?"
It wasn’t unusual for footballers to get their coaching licenses and transition into managent after retirent. In fact, it was the natural next step for many.
So Richard’s words didn’t surprise him—but he was curious where this was going.
"I’m going to be honest with you—I’ve already chosen a manager, and he’s bringing his own staff to City. But as you know, managers co and go, and so does their staff. What I want to do right now is build stability—sothing that lasts beyond just one manager. When a manager leaves, there needs to be soone who truly understands City from the inside, knows how the club operates, and can carry forward its philosophy."
Phelan nodded. This was nothing new—almost every team did it.
"So, I want to build my own team within the coaching staff," Richard continued. "Not just to oversee the squad but to establish a long-term group that understands the club from the inside. A team that can help monitor the players, keep an eye on potential conflicts, and give a heads-up if soone’s form starts to drop."
"You want to be your watchman?" Phelan asked, raising an eyebrow.
Richard clicked his tongue. "Watchman sounds a bit too harsh, don’t you think? Look, it’s better this way. Rather than retiring now at 31, isn’t it better for you to add another year or two? If your goal is to beco a manager, then it’s wiser to start in the lower leagues first—learn the basics, you know? Instead of jumping straight into a big club."
He paused for a mont, choosing his words carefully. "Besides, you’ll have ti to wait for your coaching license to be approved, right? Then, wouldn’t that put us on the sa page?"
Phelan’s mouth tightened in thought before he finally spoke. "I understand where you’re coming from, but... what’s in it for ? I an, if I applied elsewhere, I’d probably get a better offer, right?"
No matter what the advantages were, City was still in the third tier. There was a higher chance that a bigger club—maybe even United—would accept him since he had just left them, offering him a far better career trajectory than joining City.
"Freedom to experint. Not with the first team, of course, but with the youth squad. Sure, the new manager will bring in his own youth coaches, but we’ll still need people. To be blunt, I’m overhauling the entire staff setup. That’s why I’m offering you this—a chance to learn and grow with City. It’s not glamorous, but at least you won’t be restricted here."
"You’re planning to fire your entire staff?" Phelan asked, surprised. ’This guy’s insane.’
Richard nodded, his expression turning serious. "Do you really think I’d keep the sa staff that let City get relegated twice? And let’s not forget the sex abuse scandal. There’s no reason to keep
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