Football Dynasty-Chapter 213: The Most Important Match

Another three fixtures came and went just like that. As for Roberson’s performance—well, it wasn’t too bad. But for Richard, the results were far from ideal.

First, there was a 1–0 home defeat to Leeds United—the league cup, out.

Then came a 0–0 draw away at Huddersfield Town.

A brief moment of relief followed with a 2–0 win over Grimsby Town.

But that was quickly dampened by yet another goalless draw, this time against Sunderland.

So, you can imagine how nervous Richard must be—just one win, two draws, and one loss in the last four matches.

The pressure is clearly building.

At the end of the day, it was Derby County and Crystal Palace who managed to secure promotion, while Stoke City, Manchester City, Ipswich Town, and Charlton Athletic were left to battle it out in the playoff stage.

1️⃣ Derby County – 99 pts - (Promotion)

2️⃣ Crystal Palace – 96 pts - (Promotion)

3️⃣ Stoke City – 91 pts - (Qualification for play-offs)

4️⃣ Manchester City – 87 pts - (Qualification for play-offs)

5️⃣ Ipswich Town – 86 pts - (Qualification for play-offs)

5️⃣ Charlton Athletic – 80 pts- (Qualification for play-offs)

In the office, Richard called Robertson in early in the morning—before training had even begun.

"How’s O’Neill’s condition?"

"The doctor said he’s doing well," Robertson replied. "He’ll probably need about twelve weeks before he can resume low-impact activities though."

That means he’ll be back early next season. Richard sighed in relief at that. It’s not that he underestimated the current caretaker manager’s style, but if it were O’Neill... well, he knew how O’Neill did things. But John Robertson?

Richard shook his head inwardly at the thought.

O’Neill was known for building strong team spirit, getting the best out of limited resources, and creating a real "siege mentality."

In other words, he was an excellent motivator and man-manager, and he often relied on a core group of experienced players. You could clearly see how much he depended on players like the Brazilian trio, Larsson, Shevchenko, Lennon, and McNamara in every match.

"Why don’t you try Henry in your next match?"

Robertson was taken aback and shook his head. ’Henry? He can’t score,’ he wanted to say, but Richard didn’t let him speak.

The moment Richard saw Robertson shake his head, knowing what was on his mind, he groaned, "Why? Too weak for English football? Just like you and O’Neill said?"

Holy moly!

Richard truly wanted to slap this guy’s big forehead, but he calmed himself down and gave his reasoning, "But he knows how to assist, right? For current City, who lack creativity, Henry is the first choice to feed the striker. We can’t expect Lennon to handle everything!"

Usually, it was Ronaldo who handled everything, charging into the opponent like a beast. But since he was injured, Neil Lennon has had to take over all the creativity in midfield. Even then, there are limits to what he can do.

’Neil Lennon is not Bruno Fernandes!’ he wanted to yell but managed to stop himself just in time.

"Listen," Richard finally gave his final advice. "You’re on your own. You’re not Martin O’Neill. Do you want to stay forever in O’Neill’s shadow? Don’t you want to one day manage your own team? How old are you now?"

The moment Robertson heard that, his expression changed, but Richard didn’t care.

Seeing his silence, Richard waved his hand and dismissed him.

Three days passed, and in those three days, Richard was busy.

First, he had already instructed Fay to cover the hospital costs for the victims of the tragedy that occurred between Millwall and Manchester City.

"The kid," Richard said over the phone, "you said he’s from a working-class family?"

"Yes. His father is a street cleaner, and his mother is a housewife."

Richard closed his eyes, a wave of emotion washing over him. The situation was all too familiar—his own father had been a street cleaner, and his mother, a housewife. It was like looking into a mirror of his past.

After a deep breath, Richard quietly said, "Help that family. Do whatever you can, and Rover Group will cover his education through college. Coordinate with Mullally on this."

"Wait... you’re not serious, are you? Richa—"

The line was already dead.

Richard dropped his phone and could only stare at the ceiling.

The next day, the long-awaited moment finally arrived.

Playoff first leg: Charlton Athletic.

No one expected Charlton Athletic to break into the top six of the First Division, but everyone had to admit their success was thanks to the new chairman, Richard Murray, who appointed Alan Curbishley as the sole manager of Charlton.

Carl Morran and a group of over 100 fans arrived outside The Valley stadium like an army, all dressed in City’s sky blue kits.

They entered through the visiting team’s entrance and stood in formation in the away stands. As is customary in matches like this, home and away supporters were kept apart.

The Charlton fans watched nervously as Morran and his crew prepared for the encounter.

These are City hooligans who cause chaos at The Den!

Well, it was a harsh accusation—but no one seemed to care about the truth.

It was no surprise that the home fans were on guard, ready to retaliate against any provocation from City. But to their surprise, they only saw the young men busy in the stands, seemingly preparing something.

"Don’t tell me they want to bomb this place?" one Charlton fan clad in red muttered.

SLAP!

What he got was a slap on the back of his head.

"What’s wrong with you?! Stop watching James Bond already—you’ve seen it enough times for goodness’ sake!"

"Hey, shut up you two before I shut your mouths—and look over there!"

Both bantering fans quickly stopped as they were scolded by a stranger nearby. Though dissatisfied with him, they still politely followed the stranger’s hand and were stunned to see what he saw.

A banner.

A fucking huge banner.

"Holy shit!"

"No matter where you go, I follow you everywhere~"

Their voices echoed throughout The Valley stadium.

But what stunned them most was seeing the "I FOLLOW YOU EVERYWHERE" banner.

Before long, though, Charlton fans started singing back, and the pre-game banter between the two fan bases clearly kicked off. But everything went smoothly—no violence happened, and they began to relax.

Let them sing and display their banners—as long as they didn’t cause trouble and watched the match peacefully, everything would be fine.

Before the whistle blew, Robertson had already studied Charlton’s starting eleven and confirmed it matched his pre-match predictions.

This was typical of Alan Curbishley’s approach—he made the most of his available resources, but his tactics rarely allowed for surprises in formation or lineup.

Charlton lacked strong midfield players but had a solid defense, which forced Curbishley to field a five-defender setup. He shifted his wingers into more central roles, giving them the freedom to maneuver in the attacking third.

From the start of the match, Richard stood in the stands, hands in his pockets, watching intently.

No Henry.

Even Thuram was benched.

Richard shook his head at this.

How stubborn this guy is.

And sure enough, as the game began, neither City nor Charlton launched an immediate attack. The ball mostly moved back and forth in both halves, and the pace was slow, suggesting it wouldn’t be a particularly thrilling match.

But then—disaster struck.

As the first half neared its end, Charlton organized another attack. Charlton Midfielder Peter Garland passed the ball to Kevin Nicholls, who calmly controlled it. Without waiting for McNamara to close in, he sent a long diagonal ball to the left wing.

There, Carl Leaburn brought the ball down with a beautiful chest trap.

Robbie Savage rushed in from the side, while Gallas moved to block his path ahead.

"Let him be!!" Richard couldn’t help but shout as he saw Robbie Savage gearing up for a tackle.

Given how emotionally unstable Savage could be, a sense of foreboding rose within Richard.

PHWEEEE!!

"Damn it!" Richard cursed.

From the stands, he could clearly see what had happened.

Gallas was already in front, blocking Leaburn. Ferdinand had begun tracking diagonally to cover Bradley Allen, Charlton’s other striker. Meanwhile, Cafu and Roberto Carlos were already racing back to cover their respective zones.

Which meant... everything was under control. It was a one-on-one situation—there was no need for that reckless challenge.

Carl Leaburn stepped up to take the penalty. The stadium buzzed with anticipation, and Richard closed his eyes, silently praying.

GOAL!

The Valley erupted in cheers as Leaburn wheeled away in celebration, pumping his fists and shouting with joy. He ran to the corner flag, arms outstretched, before sliding on his knees in front of the Charlton faithful. His teammates quickly swarmed him.

"You have to say, it was a poor decision by Savage to jump in like that—Charlton didn’t even have a clear opening until that reckless tackle. Now City are trailing, and Manchester City has a lot to think about in that dressing room." the commentator said.

Richard could only sit in silence. He then picked up his phone and called someone.

Domènec Torrent, who was watching with the City staff, picked up his phone when he saw it was Richard calling. He quickly answered.

But when he heard the first question, he was stunned.

"Do you have any experience managing a senior team?"

He was speechless hearing this.