Chapter 142: A Dominant City & A Statement of Victory

Everton won the FA Cup with a 1–0 victory over Manchester United at Wembley Stadium.

The Football League Cup Final between Liverpool and Bolton Wanderers was won by Liverpool, with two goals scored by Steve McManaman. His standout performance earned him the Alan Hardaker Trophy as Man of the Match.

In the FA Premier League, the title race was set for a dramatic finale—much like in the Second Division—with two decisive matches set to determine whether the champions would be Manchester United or Blackburn Rovers.

"Sir, journalist friends, I’m sorry, but you can’t enter!"

The group of reporters stopped in their tracks, stunned. They exchanged glances before turning questioning eyes toward the security guard at Maine Road.

One of them stepped forward hesitantly. "We’re sorry, sir. We just want to ask Mr. O’Neill a few questions. It won’t interfere with the team’s training."

Though polite, their request was met with a firm shake of the head. The security guard’s demeanor didn’t waver.

"I’m sorry, gentlemen, but today’s training session is being held behind closed doors. No one is allowed near the pitch or to observe from the sidelines. If you wish to interview the coach, he’ll make himself available after the session."

"So, we’re just expected to wait around for him?" one reporter snapped, frustration clearly mounting.

That was Daniel Ford from

The Sun

—the same journalist who had interviewed Richard back when he’d just been discharged from the hospital (Chapter 8, "Interview").

The security guard didn’t flinch. He kept his tone measured but firm. "You’re welcome to wait in the designated media area. Coffee’s fresh, and the press officer will let you know the moment Coach O’Neill is ready."

Of course, as an experienced journalist from

The Sun

, giving up wasn’t in his nature. He decided to throw out some bait.

"Is this Mr. O’Neill’s way of asserting dominance?" Ford prodded, unwilling to back down.

The guard frowned, uneasy. But then he remembered exactly who had given the order. That settled it.

The security guard offered a diplomatic smile. "That’s entirely up to you."

The Sun

, which had once maintained a good relationship with Richard, had long since been blacklisted due to their increasingly intrusive reporting and sensationalized headlines about Ronaldo. Trust, once broken, wasn’t so easily repaired.

Without another word, Ford turned on his heel, his coat flaring slightly as he strode off.

A few more journalists followed suit, mumbling to each other about deadlines and lost exclusives.

By the time O’Neill finished the morning training session and made his way to the office, only two journalists remained—a female reporter from

Mirror Sport

and Alan Hansen from the BBC.

(Chapter 35: Day One with Pundit Richard — Alan Hansen (BBC))

"Karren Brady, a reporter from

Mirror Sport

," the young woman said as she rose to shake O’Neill’s hand. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

O’Neill surveyed the empty room with a wry smile. "You two are the only ones who stayed? That’s some dedication."

He wasn’t aware of Richard’s hidden instruction to allow only these two media outlets for the interview. Essentially, Richard’s message to him was, "You can accept it or ignore them," but O’Neill knew better how important it was to maintain a good relationship with the media.

After all, a manager’s job depends on performance—and at a club like City, this was definitely not his first and certainly not his last—so it was in his best interest to stay on good terms with the press.

"Martin O’Neill ," the coach introduced himself, noting the reporter’s earnest demeanor. "Go ahead. What would you like to know?"

Both reporters took out their notebooks and pens, their movements brisk and professional.

"16 matches, and in two months, you’ve gone from 5th to 2nd place, now fighting for the top spot. What’s your take on the situation?"

"What else? We fight... fight to the end."

"Do you genuinely believe you can overtake Brentford?"

O’Neill’s smile widened. "Can you guarantee that what I’m about to say will be published in the Mirror Sport or BBC tomorrow?"

Karren Brady, as a regular reporter, naturally couldn’t give the promised guarantee. But Alan Hansen, being a senior reporter and editor, considered the question before nodding confidently. "Yes, I promise."

Satisfied, O’Neill straightened up. "I’ve told my players they’ve already done their job by getting us into a position where people don’t believe we can challenge. If anyone doubts them, they don’t know what it takes to play for this club. The real pressure is on those who think they’re already there."

And so, for the next fifteen minutes, O’Neill had already played his mind games.

Time passed, and the interview was done.

As BBC’s Alan Hansen climbed into a taxi, Karren remained in the parking lot, waiting for her own ride. She was still staring at the hastily scrawled note in her notebook, trying to make sense of it all.

"Miss Karren?"

The sudden voice caught her off guard. She turned around, and to her surprise, she was greeted by the sight of Richard, smiling at her.

Richard extended his hand, "Mark already told me it was his apprentice who would be coming here. So, I’m curious—what kind of person managed to persuade him to step aside?"

Just like Daniel Ford from

The Sun

, Mark Henshaw from

Mirror Sport

had also interviewed Richard when he left the hospital (Chapter 8, "Interview").

The difference now was that Mark, having aged, had passed on the responsibility to his apprentice—Karren.

After a brief moment of being taken aback, Karren composed herself and smiled, shaking his hand. "I guess I’ve just been doing my best to prove myself. It’s not an easy role to fill, but I’m here to get the job done, just like everyone else."

Though her response seemed polite and professional, the underlying message was clear: ’

You’re wrong about me. I’m not an easy woman. Whatever reason the youngest British billionaire has for greeting me personally, it won’t change anything. I’m a reporter here, just like anyone else.’

Richard chuckled softly, not particularly concerned about her thoughts. He then reached for his business card and handed it to Karren.

"My position as Director of Media and Public Affairs is still open. Let me know if you’re interested," he said before turning to walk away.

Karren stood frozen, staring at the card, almost in disbelief. Her hand trembled as she took in the words written on it.

’Manchester City Director of Media and Public Affairs?’

Behind her, Richard continued walking, with O’Neill following closely behind. As they passed by, O’Neill glanced at him, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.

"Are you interested in her?"

Richard’s mouth twitched slightly before he responded, "No," he said decisively.

"Then why did you suddenly offer her the job?"

"Why? Because I want to offer her the job."

"But you’ve only just met her."

"Sometimes, it’s not about the history you share with someone. It’s about seeing potential, even after just a brief conversation. She has that potential. Just like all the players I’ve recruited—they’ve all passed through my eyes first," he said, before turning and continuing his walk.

O’Neill stood still for a moment, deep in thought, watching Richard’s back as he walked away. Of course, that was all nonsense from Richard. The real reason was that he knew exactly who Karren Brady was.

’The future appointed vice-chairman of West Ham United, who went toe to toe with Tottenham’s Daniel Levy over a fraud case.’

But in the end, it was up to her whether she chose to accept his offer.

As O’Neill’s footsteps approached, Richard shifted the focus and asked, "What about Colchester?"

"No worries, the squad is ready," O’Neill replied without missing a beat.

Fixture 45: Manchester City vs Colchester United F.C.

Colchester was supposed to be an easy opponent, especially considering that this season, after their promotion from the fourth-tier league, they had already changed managers three times due to poor results.

Two months ago, the U’s looked well placed to claim a play-off position, but with just two points earned from the last nine games, Colchester had eventually dropped to 10th, twelve points adrift of the play-off spots

Before the match, Robertson walked in and sat across from him. "You’ve seen the reports?" he asked.

O’Neill didn’t even glance up. His eyes remained fixed on the tactical board.

"Is it about Colchester?" he replied flatly.

"No, it’s about—"

"Then don’t bother," O’Neill cut him off, voice cold. "Focus."

Robertson hesitated. His lips parted, as if he wanted to say more—but instead, he sighed and surrendered to silence.

Without another word, he slid the newspaper into the drawer of the desk. But in his haste—or perhaps reluctance—the drawer didn’t fully close.

It remained slightly ajar. A sliver of newsprint peeked out, just enough to catch the eye.

And if anyone happened to glance closely, they would’ve read the headlines still visible on the pink pages of Italy’s most renowned sports dailies:

Corriere dello Sport:

An unnamed Inter executive was quoted as saying the club admires 21-year-old Brazilian left-back Roberto Carlos.

"We’re short on left-backs at the moment, relying only on Paolo Tramezzani. But we’ll see in the future—after all, he’s currently playing for another club."

La Gazzetta dello Sport:

Sources close to AS Roma have confirmed the club’s growing interest in Brazilian full-back Cafu.

"It’s all speculation. We don’t play four in the back, but everything is still in Mazzone’s hands."

PHWEEE!!

Kickoff – First Half Begins

Colchester came out flying in the opening minutes—playing with real aggression, as if it were a do-or-die mission. They looked determined to catch City off guard and sneak in an early goal before sitting deep.

Their winger tried to slip a ball into the box, but Gallas read it brilliantly—intercepting and quickly playing it into Cafu.

Cafu took one touch and surged forward.

Ronaldo, Solskjaer, and Roberto Carlos burst into space on the left.

The crowd at Layer Road held its breath—sensing danger.

Cafu picked his moment and slid a perfect pass through the middle—Solskjaer was in!

He sprinted into the box, one-on-one with the keeper.

He opened up his body... and calmly slotted it into the bottom corner!

GOAL!

0 – 1 to Manchester City!

The rest of the match was far more comfortable for City.

They pushed high up the pitch, pinning Colchester back and controlling possession with ease. The hosts’ early aggression quickly faded—they were no longer allowed to play in their comfort zone. City simply didn’t let them out.

21st minute: Ian Ferguson unleashed a thunderous strike from distance—Colchester’s keeper got down quickly and made a brilliant save.

25th minute: A dangerous free kick for City. Roberto Carlos stepped up and launched a rocket—it rattled the crossbar!

29th minute: Ronaldo weaved inside from the left and curled a beautiful shot—OFF THE POST!

Over the span of 10 minutes, City dominated, peppering the goal with wave after wave of attacks.

From the touchline, O’Neill bellowed, trying to rally his side:

"Stay compact! Keep frustrating them!"

Richard, sitting in the stands, turned to Miss Heysen, who was on the phone with someone.

"How is it?" he asked.

Miss Heysen shook her head and replied, "Brentford has taken the lead. It’s already 1-0 over Blackpool."

Finally, in the 44th minute, that moment came.

Cafu delivered a pinpoint cross into the box.

Solskjær ghosted in at the back post like an assassin, lost his marker, and calmly headed it past the Colchester keeper.

"Easy for City now, they already lead by 2 goals!" the commentator exclaimed.

Colchester United 0 – 2 to Manchester City

"Richard! Richard! It’s a goal—a GOAL!!" Miss Heysen shrieked beside him, suddenly yanking on his arm repeatedly making Richard annoyed.

"I know, I know—"

"It’s a goal!" she insisted.

"Yes, I

know

. Solskjær just scored!"

"No! Not City—

Brentford!

Brentford just conceded a goal to Brighton!"

"..."

Richard froze mid-blink.

He and Miss Heysen were now sitting among a packed crowd of other fans—and

everyone

had heard her.

All heads slowly turned.

Dozens of eyes now locked onto Miss Heysen like she had just announced the apocalypse.

PHWEEE!!

The final whistle blew.

The scoreline stayed at 0–2 for Manchester City.

The players clapped and waved toward the stands—toward the corner where the City fans were gathered.

But...

Something was off. Everyone noticed it.

The fans... weren’t cheering.

They were standing. Silent. Their backs turned to the pitch.

"Why are they... turning away from us?" Solskjær muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

Even the Colchester players—who had already accepted their fate—looked confused as they exchanged greetings and jerseys with the City players.

One second.

Two seconds.

Six seconds.

And then—

BOOM.

The City section erupted in wild celebration. Richard, who had been nervously chewing gum at first, spat it out mid-roar, jumped from his seat like a man possessed, and began pumping both fists in the air—before he suddenly stopped, noticing a security guard slowly creeping toward him, walkie-talkie in hand, whispering:

"We’ve got a wild one in Row 7."

Others were just as confused, as only a small section of the stands began celebrating late—until a man suddenly ripped off his shirt, spun it like a helicopter, and yelled: "BRENTFORD DREW WITH BRIGHTON!!!"

Solskjær, Campbell, and Ferdinand all sprinted toward the stand and hugged the fans, who greeted them with kisses.

Campbell instinctively lifted the nearest person into the air like Rafiki holding Simba—only to realize, in horror, that it was the referee.

"S-sorry, ref—"

But the referee just shook his head before showing him the yellow card.

Campbell sighed, then immediately started complaining as he looked around for the person he actually wanted to lift.

And then he saw him.

The 17-year-old Gallas, usually quiet, had slipped into the stands for the first time since joining City—and was now joining the celebration, roaring like a maniac.