Chapter 486: Chapter 486
Toure shifted the topic.
Another player from the French Language Gang, right-back Sagna, also chimed in with a smile:
"Toure is right. He’s willing to uphold justice and have Nasri publicly apologize in front of the whole team. I think that’s enough to punish Nasri. Other claims are quite excessive. We should be kind to young people like Nasri who make mistakes. After all, who among us hasn’t made mistakes when young? I believe Tang can understand Nasri."
Sagna is a diligent black defender who usually doesn’t talk much.
However, thanks to his excellent overall ability, he has long held the starting position of right-back for Manchester City.
Before joining Manchester City, he played for years at Arsenal, becoming a notable hero in the Premier League.
His words carry some weight in the locker room, and since Nasri is also his teammate from the French national team, Sagna intended to give Nasri a hand, so he wouldn’t fall too hard.
After speaking, Sagna nudged Bony, who was sitting to his right, indicating he should say something too.
Yet Bony remained silent, his face sullen as if he were holding something back.
Seeing the atmosphere gradually ease, the leader of the English Language Gang, Joe Hart, felt it was time for him to say a few words, to gloss things over~
This was what he did best.
But just as he was about to speak, a loud and irritable shout echoed in his ears, instantly choking the words back into his throat!
Bony stood up with a whoosh, "I disagree. The club should immediately terminate Nasri’s contract and kick him out of the team. What are we waiting for the winter transfer or the end of the season for?!"
Upon hearing this, Tang Long immediately kicked Kolarov in the foot;
Kolarov also stood up with a whoosh!
Standing at 187 cm tall, with long legs, his sudden rise sent the chair behind him flying, crashing to the floor with a clang.
"Bony is right! Scum like Nasri doesn’t deserve to play for Manchester City. I don’t want to be his teammate for even a moment!"
Ranocchia stood up, arms crossed over his chest, swaying slightly, and laughed:
"I don’t want to be teammates with Nasri either, what if he sneaks to my doorstep one day to take secret photos?"
Bony turning against them on the spot was a strategy he had prearranged with Tang Long.
Bony was the first to inform Tang Long about Nasri secretly taking photos;
From the moment he leaked the information, he had resolved to break away from the French Language Gang and cling tightly to Tang Long!
After all, in this team, as a striker, the one who could help him the most was not Toure, not Nasri, not Sagna, nor Klichy—it could only be attacking midfielder Tang Long!
Bony’s sudden defection left the two senior players, Toure and Sagna, in shock!
They stared dumbfounded at this Côte d’Ivoire kid, their faces full of disbelief, anger, confusion, and a myriad of complex expressions.
The French Language Gang had an internal conflict, what a joke.
Agüero didn’t know the full details, but he was also quite amused.
"Hahaha, listen to this, listen to this," Agüero put his hands on his hips and looked around. "It seems even the French Language Gang has people who understand the bigger picture! I think Bony made a very good point, and I agree the club should immediately terminate Nasri’s contract. I’ll call CEO Belgistan tomorrow because I’m also afraid of being secretly photographed by him!"
"What about the rest of you? Please raise your hand if you are willing to be secretly photographed by Nasri. As for me, I won’t raise mine."
A sudden betrayal from within made them a laughingstock.
Even the usually calm Toure couldn’t hold it in, swinging his big hand like a clamp, grabbing Bony’s neck.
"Traitor! Bony, you traitor!"
Standing over 190 cm, Yaya Toure’s coal-black hands clasped tightly, making Bony gasp for breath, his eyes about to roll back in their sockets.
Fortunately, with the strength of a former center-back, Kompany, using his arms like a bull’s, held back Yaya Toure.
"Toure, this is my house! My wife and kids are still sleeping upstairs. If you want to teach the kid a lesson, take it outside! Let him go, give me some face."
Had it been five years earlier, when Toure first came to Manchester City at his physical peak, Kompany might not have been stronger than him;
But now, at 32, Toure’s body has declined.
After silently holding out for a while, realizing he couldn’t defeat Kompany, he released his grip;
Unhappy, he sat sullenly in his chair, saying nothing.
As the team’s leader, every word Kompany spoke next didn’t carry any negotiations, but more like a final declaration.
"It’s okay if you can’t play well, but having a rotten character is not! Nasri is one such player whose game isn’t good and whose character is bad. He’s not fit to serve Manchester City, not even for a minute."
"For all those present, I believe this clause was in your contracts with the club."
"If a player intentionally causes significant reputational damage to the club, the club has the right to terminate the player’s contract and seek additional financial compensation!"
"This incident of secretly photographing teammates, does it meet this criteria? I think so."
"Miss Grace is also our team doctor and the Mayor of Manchester’s daughter. Her reputation will be damaged too!"
"The Abu Dhabi Consortium has always valued good business relations with the UK government, and unfortunately, Nasri has collided with this gun."
"Tomorrow, I’ll go with Agüero to report the ins and outs of this matter, along with video evidence, to Mr. Belgistan. Whatever decision he makes is his business, but as players, we need to have our stance!"
Kompany paused, "Hart, what do you think?"
Joe Hart understood that Captain Kompany was about to start a vote. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⁂𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢⁂𝔫𝔢𝔱
Realizing Kompany was firmly siding with the Spanish Language Gang and the Italian Language Gang, intending to join forces to boycott the French Language Gang’s Nasri, Joe Hart concluded that from this moment on, Nasri no longer had a future at Manchester City.
He nodded solemnly, "Alright, I’ll report to Belgistan with you."
The night wind picked up.
The wind rustled through the maples in the forest.
Bony tightened his black trench coat, squatting at the door, and only after hearing Toure’s muttered curses as he left with Sagna did he breathe a sigh of relief.
"Tang, I’ve done everything I can do," he turned to give Tang Long a hug, "Today was tough, I won’t have any connections with the French Language Gang from now on."
"Bony, times ahead will be tougher, but don’t worry. As long as I’m around, I guarantee you’ll continue at Manchester City because you always score goals."
Meanwhile, Agüero was driving Silva, speeding down the country road at midnight.
His Mercedes G63AMG, pressed to the floor multiple times, his mood as excited as the roaring V8 engine.
Silva, however, showed no sign of excitement, his expression filled with worry.
"Sergio, so many people sending letters to force the club to terminate a player’s contract... I’ve played soccer for over ten years and never encountered this. Aren’t we going too far?"
"Too far? We need to go too far! I’ve long been annoyed by those French speakers, tonight was just too satisfying, hahaha! Even more satisfying than scoring a hat-trick!"
The ground at the doorway was covered with crisscross tire tracks.
The yard returned to its tranquility.
Occasionally, the chirping of crickets could be heard.
Kompany, hands behind his back, pushed open the sliding door and wandered into the courtyard, walking for a long while, his mind heavy with thoughts.
He walked for over an hour.
Until the night wind blew stronger, Kompany’s dark blue pajamas fluttered high, and the cricket chorus vanished into the howling wind.
He looked up at the bright moon in the sky.
The Belgian touched his bald head, shining like the moon, and softly cursed:
"Shit! Managing the locker room is exhausting, harder than playing, and we’ve got a match against Juventus midweek, can we do it? When I retire, I’m going to travel the world. Nothing will make me become a coach!"