Chapter 474: Chapter 474

The game started with Chelsea controlling the midfield. The Di Matteo–Wise pairing brought more experience and technical strength than Manchester City’s Pirlo–Makélélé duo, especially in terms of ball possession.

This forced Manchester City to pull back into a defensive stance, while Chelsea focused their attacks on the wings. Since it was their first match after quarantine, City’s players seemed to need time to adapt to the pace of the game.

From the VIP box, the youngest spectator, Sadie Carpenter, leaned forward, watching intently. Sitting behind Richard, she asked, "Do you still think Chelsea aren’t strong enough to challenge Manchester City?"

The first ten minutes had her on edge—Chelsea’s aggressive offense was putting immense pressure on Manchester City’s defense. Richard smiled without answering, but Marina, sitting next to Sadie, turned around and grinned. "Do you really believe what he told the reporters? That was all for Chelsea to hear."

Everyone in City’s core staff knew Richard’s strategy: provoke Chelsea by targeting the Ken Bates controversy. Anyone who overheard it could understand why it was said, especially seeing Chelsea dominate possession early on.

Sadie frowned. "What do you mean?"

Marina pointed to the pitch. "Don’t be fooled by Chelsea’s strong start. Our tactics are designed for this—they want the opposition to come at them."

Richard added with a smile, "Provocation works every time."

Chelsea was star-studded and imposing, but it was impossible to ignore that Richard’s Manchester City had already won the Champions League at such a young age. That alone was enough to make rivals envious. On top of that, he continued to sneer at his old nemesis—how could Chelsea calmly accept that?

Chelsea’s squad had an average age five years older than Manchester City’s lineup. Naturally, they were going to throw everything at City in an attempt to crush them.

Sadie, still puzzled, asked, "But we couldn’t even beat Coventry with the same lineup and tactics."

Richard straightened slightly, leaned back, and spoke casually. "This system isn’t particularly strong when breaking down a defense head-on. Its real power lies in counter-attacks—and for that, you need space. It relies on quick surges down the wings and midfielders making late runs into the box. Against Coventry, their defense was static, compressing space and stifling our players. We still needed time to fine-tune it. But today, against Chelsea, watch closely—we’ll have more opportunities than we did against Coventry. As long as we transition cleanly from defense to attack and make accurate outlet passes, Chelsea won’t intercept on the first attempt. Once that happens, our counter-attack will overwhelm their backline in no time."

Sadie listened intently, nodding as her eyes remained glued to the game.

Manchester City’s defense, after withstanding twenty minutes of relentless pressure from Chelsea, had held firm without conceding a goal. This resilience gave the players a much-needed boost of confidence.

With their mindset steadier, they defended with greater composure, and their counter-attacks became sharper and more precise. Gradually, they found their rhythm, settling into the flow of their counter-attacking game.

One reason Richard was confident that Manchester City would win this match was Vialli’s decision to field the Casiraghi–Flo duo instead of Zola–Flo. The two strike partnerships had very different styles, and that difference played into City’s hands.

Chelsea’s attacking strategy is straightforward. They exploit the wings whenever possible, and when that fails, they rely on the towering Casiraghi and Flo up front. If they manage to control the ball, they create a screen for Poyet and Goldbæk.

If it were up to him, he would have preferred the Zola–Flo pairing. In tight spaces, Zola has the ability to change the game.

Casiraghi and Flo are both excellent: quick, tall, powerful, physically strong, and deadly in the air. But Manchester City’s defense had been specifically prepared for them. Cannavaro and Thuram were effectively marking the duo, excelling in aerial challenges and nullifying Chelsea’s direct attacks.

If Zola had played instead, the dynamic would have been very different. Flo would likely drop back to receive passes, allowing Chelsea’s attacking pivot to come into play. Zola’s creativity, technical skill, and ability to operate between the lines—often acting as a second striker or attacking midfielder—would have made him a far more dangerous presence.

Meanwhile, Makélélé stuck close to Goldbæk, disrupting passes from Chelsea’s left midfielders to their forwards, while Lampard tracked Poyet. By the twenty-fifth minute, Manchester City had built a layered defensive fortress. Even when one-on-one duels in midfield were lost, Cannavaro was there as the last line of defense, with Buffon covering an enormous area of the goal. Chelsea’s early dominance in possession could not be converted into goals.

Chelsea worked tirelessly to maintain possession, carefully circulating the ball to avoid turnovers. On the surface, it looked as if they were in control, especially in attack, but they hesitated to commit too many players forward for fear of being caught out by Manchester City’s counter-attacks.

Playing with fewer men in offense demanded exceptional individual skill—and City’s defenders were more than up to the task. One-on-one duels were consistently won, interceptions were sharp, and pressing was precise. As a result, Chelsea struggled to create any truly dangerous opportunities.

Once Manchester City had fully consolidated their defensive shape, the forwards began to push higher, tightening their formation and increasing their intensity. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, at the thirty-minute mark, the team exploded into action.

This was exactly what Richard had anticipated.

In building the second generation of the Blues, he didn’t want to force the team into a high-tempo game from the outset. Instead, he preferred a methodical approach—gradually building momentum, hitting opponents in waves, and letting the attack unfold when the conditions were right.

Ashley Cole retreated sharply into the box, intercepting a clever through ball from Poyet to Wise. Without hesitation, he spun on the ball and delivered a precise, direct pass down the left wing to Larsson.

As Larsson received it, the Manchester City fans in the stands erupted.

"Welcome back, The King! Welcome back, The King!"

Larsson took control, moving forward with swift, purposeful dribbles. His role had changed slightly in this system; he wasn’t just a finisher anymore. Now, he acted as both a conduit for the attack and a constant threat, exploiting spaces, drawing defenders, and creating openings for his teammates. Thıs content belongs to novel_fіre.net

His gaze was unwavering, locked on the goal ahead, as if the entire pitch had narrowed into a single, inevitable path: forward. Every step, every touch, carried intent, precision, and the silent promise of something spectacular about to happen.

Just then, the VIP room door was knocked, and it opened to reveal Dave Fevre. Behind him, Ronaldinho, one of Manchester City’s young rising stars, quietly followed.

Richard, who had seen him frown and leave the match briefly, couldn’t help but ask, "Has the result come out?"

First Ronaldo, and now Ronaldinho. Fortunately for Ronaldinho, it was still early, and he had immediately mentioned the discomfort in his groin.

This allowed Richard to act without delay. The moment Ronaldinho noticed Richard watching him so intently, the Brazilian star went silent.

And who could blame him?

As it was already said, yesterday, Ronaldinho had mentioned a discomfort in his groin area. The moment Richard heard it, he immediately forbade him from training and sent him for further medical check up and examination.

At first, Ronaldinho insisted that he was okay. He brushed off the discomfort as something he had dealt with since playing for Brazil at the 1997 U‑17 World Championship in Egypt.

But, ’It’s been a year already!’ Richard thought, incredulous.

Hearing this, he couldn’t help but curse under his breath at the Brazilian medical team. Balancing the workload between club and country was already delicate enough, and learning that Ronaldinho had been carrying this discomfort only added to Richard’s frustration.

Richard never doubted his players when they were called up to the national team even in youth, but hearing that the supposed national team—with supposedly the best medical staff—had simply allowed Ronaldinho to play despite his discomfort made him deeply upset.

Richard feared the worst because Ronaldinho had mentioned discomfort in his groin. Could this pain be chronic, possibly career-threatening? Pubalgia—often called a "sports hernia" or athletic pubalgia—is notoriously tricky.

In the modern era, some young talents have been suddenly sidelined by exactly this kind of injury, their rising trajectories abruptly halted—from Lionel Messi and Sergio Ramos to young superstars like Lamine Yamal, Nico Williams, and Franco Mastantuono.

He didn’t know for certain, but the frequency of such chronic injuries had made medical professionals cautious. Some doctors had even issued stern warnings about the long-term consequences if left untreated.

That was for the future, but for now, the players and medical staff probably just nodded along or treated it as a minor injury.

For Richard, however, it was enough to make his mind race. The stakes were high—not just for today’s match, but for the future of this prodigious talent.

Dave Fevre cleared his throat. "We can say that there are multiple factors causing this pain in the pubis. It could be related to his growth stage—changes in body mechanics and certain muscles being strained as he develops."

"Is that so?" Richard frowned, processing the information. "So, what’s the solution?"

"Sir, I... I feel better now, and I can play—"

Ronaldinho stopped mid-sentence when he noticed Richard staring at him.

He coughed nervously. "I’ll just watch the match, then," he said, quietly excusing himself and leaving Richard and Fevre alone.

After watching the young Brazilian leave, Richard turned to Fevre. "Tell me honestly—can it be completely cured? 100%?"

Fevre shook his head. "It’s not something that can be solved overnight. But if you really want Ronaldinho to play, we could probably give him a painkiller so he—"

"Impossible!" Richard interrupted firmly.

"He’s progressing well—that’s what matters. I’m always going to protect and support him. He’s young, talented, and has a fantastic future. We’ll continue on this path. He’ll need preventive and compensatory training to maximize his chances of playing at the highest level. As long as Ronaldinho feels any discomfort, I’ll ask O’Neill to sideline him. After all, he’s still young, and there’s plenty of time."

Richard’s was decisive. Protecting this prodigy wasn’t just about the match today—it was about safeguarding a career, ensuring that the young star could flourish without being rushed or jeopardized by short-term decisions.

He then remembered a time when he was still wandering in his soul form, back when his mortal body had been in a coma. Sometimes, during high-stakes matches—El Clásico or the Derby della Madonnina—fans would expect Ronaldinho to appear and dazzle them with his magic. But time after time, he wouldn’t be on the bench, and from the stands, they’d hear it was due to an "unknown injury."

’Could this be the same kind of injury?’ Richard wondered silently.

He didn’t know for certain. But one thing he was sure of: he would not take the risk. As long as you still feel the discomfort, you will not be allowed to play!