At the time of his arrival at City, Hidetoshi Nakata was the only Japanese international plying his trade outside the J.Leagueâa rarity that drew significant attention. Naturally, the move was met with a frenzy from both the Japanese and local media.
Even though he had yet to make an official appearance for City, training footage, glimpses from the bench, and even brief interactions were enough to spark conversation among Japanese fans. But Nakata never let the hype distract him. Despite being on the fringes of the main squad, his work ethic never wavered.
And this competition?
It was his chance to prove himself.
Japan stunned the world by defeating tournament favorites Brazil 1â0 in their opening group match at the 1996 Olympics.
Brazil had arrived with a star-studded U-23 squad, boasting names like Rivaldo, Bebeto, Roberto Carlos, and Dida. Yet somehow, the giants were felled by a disciplined and fearless Japanese side.
Richard was stunned by the resultâuntil it suddenly clicked.
âThe Miracle of Miami!â
One of Japanâs most famous football victories.
How could he forget that!
Japanese football had been steadily on the rise, but the 1996 Olympics marked a turning point. It was the moment the Samurai Blue began their meteoric ascentâand stunning Brazil was just the beginning.
Richard shook his headânot for Japan or for Nakata, but for Brazil. If only they had picked Ronaldo.
In fact, the whole situation left him genuinely puzzled.
Originally, just days before the tournament began, the Brazilian Football Confederation (CBF) formally contacted Manchester City, inquiring about the availability of Ronaldo for Olympic duty.
The timing was strangely coincidental.
Just as France made the last-minute decision not to call up Henry and Trezeguet for the Olympics, the CBF submitted a formal inquiry, and Richard assumed that Ronaldo would naturally want to represent his country, Brazil, on such a grand stage. So, when Brazilâs request arrived, Richard was prepared to let him go.
The Olympic stage seemed like the perfect platform for a player of his talent and as Cityâs rising talisman, Richard made his position clear: "Weâll release himâbut only if he plays meaningful minutes. No benchwarmers. No token appearances."
Unexpectedly, when the second letter from Brazil arrived at Maine Road, word came from MĂĄrio Zagallo.
Brazil, it turned out, were leaning heavily toward Caio Ribeiroâthe 1995 FIFA World Youth Championship Golden Ball winnerâalongside LuizĂŁo and Bebeto to lead Brazilâs front three for the tournament.
Ronaldo, despite his strong club form, was being considered only as a backup.
That didnât sit well with Richard. The moment the final letter arrived, he forwarded it to Robertson and immediately addressed the issue with Ronaldo, who was understandably disappointed.
Ronaldo didnât say anything, but Richard had already made the decision for himâhe wasnât going to let Ronaldo be used as an Olympic mascot, a crowd-puller to sit on the bench. If Brazil wouldnât commit to giving him proper playing time, he wouldnât go at all.
Of course, Ronaldo still chose to go for Brazil, hoping to bond with his fellow countrymen. But by the time he expressed his desire to join the squad, City had already replied to the CBF, and the roster was fullâhis spot had been given to MĂĄrio Jardel instead.
Naturally, Manchester Cityâs decision irked some Brazilian fans, who were disappointed with the clubâs choice to hold on to Ronaldo.
Now, hearing that Brazil had just been stunned by Japan, Richard was genuinely curious. In the original timeline, Ronaldo was chosen by Zagallo to represent Brazil.
Though he only made limited appearances in that tournament, Richard couldnât help but wonderâwould this butterfly effect change everything?
Would it affect Brazilâs entire Olympic campaign... or perhaps even the tournament as a whole?
Just as Richard stood deep in thought, a sudden roar from the crowd snapped him back to reality.
Something was happening.
The action had erupted on the pitch.
The Ukrainian took one touch, scanned the field, and spotted a darting Neil Lennon on the right flank. With a crisp pass, he released it into Lennonâs strideâand immediately began sprinting diagonally into the box, intending to link up with the play.
Lennon didnât hesitate. He controlled the ball smoothly, took a quick glance inside, and sent it right backâcurling a grounded pass into Shevchenkoâs path just outside the penalty area.
Shielding the ball with his body, Shevchenko waited for the right momentâhis eyes scanning the final third with icy focus.
And there he wasâHenry, darting into the perfect pocket of space.
Without hesitation, Shevchenko lifted a dangerous lob toward the far side of the box. It was perfectly weightedâhigh, curling, and just out of reach. Forestâs Steve Chettle leapt desperately to intercept, but his outstretched head missed the ball by inches.
Henry had timed his run to perfection, shaking off his marker with a sudden burst of speed. The goal was wide open. He lunged forward, meeting the ball mid-air with a committed header.
But something was off.
The angle. Instead of burying it in the net, the ball skimmed off his forehead and veered toward the back post.
And Henryâmomentum uncheckedâcrashed violently into it.
BANG!
The sound echoed around the stadium.
The stadium collectively winced as Henryâs body crashed into the upright. He dropped to the ground instantly, blood trickling from his forehead. Gasps erupted from the crowd. Players stopped. Even the Forest defenders froze in place, wide-eyed.
No one celebrated. No one protested. Everyone just watched in disbelief as Henry collapsed to the turf, clutching his bloodied forehead.
Shevchenko and Lennon abandoned all thoughts of celebration, rushing to his side. Other City players followed, forming a circle around the fallen Frenchman as the medical team sprinted onto the pitch.
Lying thereâdazed, breathless, and bleedingâHenry blinked up at the blurry faces hovering above him. Confused and disoriented, he murmured in broken English:
"Did I score?"
The question, so innocent and surreal, left his teammates stunned into silence.
In the stands, the crowd was caught somewhere between laughter and heartbreak.
Just a week ago, it had been Henrik Larsson, stretchered off with a serious injury. And nowâHenry too?
Lennon crouched beside Henry, his hand firmly pressed on the forwardâs shoulder, trying to keep him calm.
"The medics will be here soon. Just hang in there, alright?" he said, voice low but steady.
Henry blinked up at him, blood dripping from his forehead, and asked again in a dazed voice: "Did I score?"
The simple question left everyone speechless.
Shevchenko knelt beside him too, checking his eyes quickly for any signs of a concussion. With a slight smirk, he held up three fingers.
"How many fingers?"
Henry squinted, trying to focus.
"Umm... three?"
Shevchenko chuckled. "Then congratulations. Youâre officially the fastest player to score and get injured at the same time."
Hearing this, Henryâdespite the painâgrinned with a flash of excitement.
Soon, a sharp voice rang out from the sidelines, "Move! Move!"
The medical team, outfitted in baggy navy tracksuits with large white crosses on the back, charged onto the pitch. One carried a bulky first-aid kit, another a foldable stretcher. Their radios crackled as instructions came from the touchline.
They pushed through the crowd of players, who instinctively parted, concern etched on their faces.
"Whereâs the hit?" one medic asked, kneeling beside Henry.
"Head injuryâcollision with the post!" Lennon reported quickly.
Another medic was already checking Henryâs pupils with a small flashlight, while a third gently dabbed the blood from his forehead with gauze, trying to locate the source of the cut. One reached for a roll of bandages, preparing a temporary wrap.
Henry, lying back on the cool turf, winced but kept his gaze steady. His cheeks were flushed, but he remained coherent.
"Do you know where you are?"
"Eh... Maine Road," Henry muttered, his voice groggy.
"Who are we playing?"
"Forest... Nottingham Forest."
The lead medic exchanged a quick nod with his assistantâhe was lucid enough.
Steve Walford and Terry Gennoe stood on the sidelines, having already sent Trezeguet to warm up; now that City had scored, they anticipated Nottingham Forest would start pressing aggressively.
As Henry was carried off on a stretcher, both coaches approached and gave him a thumbs-up before joining the crowd in applause.
Yet, under their breath, they muttered, "What a stroke of bad luck."
Ronaldo couldnât play due to the CBF, Larsson was injured, and now Henry is out too.