Chapter 465: Mourinho Asking a Favor

Middlesbrough, usually so disciplined and compact, suddenly looked shaken and uncertain. And the cruel irony?

This was only Manchester City’s rotated lineup — not even their strongest XI.

Henry’s sharp movement and clinical finishing had exposed the flaw perfectly. And as O’Neill watched him jog back to the center circle, he couldn’t help but smile.

The plan was working — flawlessly.

In the second half, after taking a one-goal lead, Mourinho called over the on-field captain, Zambrotta, and whispered something in his ear.

PHWEEEEE~

As the referee’s whistle signaled the restart, Materazzi immediately dropped back, shouting to his teammates, "Everyone fall deeper! Robert, you especially — get back and help Ashley on this side!"

It had been a week since a virus outbreak hit Manchester City’s squad, and only Pires and Henry had recovered enough to be declared fit for the match.

Despite Middlesbrough fielding their strongest lineup, it didn’t mean they were dominating the game. They were a team with a very distinct identity — strong in certain areas, but clearly flawed in others.

Last season, they finished ninth in the Premier League, yet their attacking record was far from impressive. They scored just 33 goals in 38 matches, not even breaking into the top ten for goals scored. However, their defensive solidity was remarkable — they ranked third in clean sheets, behind only Manchester City and Arsenal. Defense, not attack, was their foundation.

Curiously, Middlesbrough actually scored more goals away from home than at the Riverside.

Was it because they were stronger on the road?

Absolutely not.

As a traditional powerhouse, they often played cautiously at home, focusing on shutting down opponents rather than entertaining. But when playing away, their counterattacking style found the space it needed to flourish.

Now, O’Neill had spotted the pattern — and decided to turn it against them. He instructed his players to drop deep, drawing Middlesbrough forward, and wait patiently for the moment to strike back on the counterattack.

Manchester City were setting the trap.

Sure enough, when the final whistle blew, the night ended in heartbreak for the home side.

When the score was still 0–0, Middlesbrough could patiently wait for chances to counterattack — but once they fell behind 1–0, things changed completely.

Like it or not, they had to chase the game.

And when Manchester City deliberately invited them forward, Bryan Robson didn’t hesitate to take the bait. He pushed his lines higher, urging his players to press and commit numbers in attack.

Full-time: Middlesbrough 0 – 3 Manchester City.

The scoreline was as ruthless as it was telling.

After Henry’s opener in the first half, David Trezeguet took center stage — delivering a classic striker’s performance. His first goal came early in the second half, a towering header from Ashley Cole’s looping cross that left Mark Schwarzer rooted to the spot.

The third was pure instinct. Henry once again broke free down the left flank, cutting inside before threading a low pass across the face of goal. Trezeguet, ever the predator, was there at the near post to tap it in.

After the match, Richard lingered briefly, watching the post-match press conference for the away team.

"Middlesbrough have performed excellently. At the start of the season, they were seen as relegation candidates despite their good results last year, but Robson’s hard work and leadership have turned things around impressively. Manchester City won today because we controlled the game better and created more chances — this result isn’t down to Robson’s shortcomings. It’s also important to note that our investment in the squad over the past two years has been far greater than Middlesbrough’s."

O’Neill tone was professional — no arrogance, just honesty.

Then came the player of the match interview. The cameras switched to Thierry Henry, still in his kit, sweat glistening under the bright lights. He had scored one and assisted another — a performance that reminded everyone just how vital he was to City’s attack.

"Thierry, how does it feel to be named Man of the Match after coming back from quarantine?" the reporter asked, microphone held out.

Henry smiled faintly, catching his breath before answering.

"It feels great — not just for me, but for the team. Being away because of the virus was tough; I couldn’t train, couldn’t even be around the lads. So today, I just wanted to give everything. The support from the fans, my teammates, the staff — it helped me a lot."

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Richard couldn’t help but nod in approval.After wrapping up the post-match duties, he hurriedly made his way back toward the car park, planning to drive straight home to Manchester.

But just as he was about to start the engine, his phone buzzed — an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

He hesitated for a second before answering. "Hello, Richard Maddox speaking. Who’s this?"

A familiar voice came through, slightly uncertain. "Mr. Richard, it’s me... José."

"José?" Richard frowned. It took him a second to recognize the voice — it was Mourinho.

He was surprised; normally, if there was anything to discuss, it went through O’Neill. Assistant coaches rarely contacted him directly, so he never even saved Mourinho’s number.

On the other end of the line, Mourinho paused, as if weighing his words. Then, in a low voice, he said,"Sir, could we meet for a moment? There’s something I need to tell you — something important."

Richard sighed, glancing at the time. "Can’t you just tell me over the phone?"

"I was planning to, but... to be honest, it’s urgent. And it’s better if I say it face-to-face."

Richard fell silent for a moment, thinking. Through the car window, he noticed a small coffee shop across the street —

Pomme Coffee House

, just in front of Riverside Stadium.

"Do you know the café across from the stadium? Pomme Coffee House?"

"Yes, sir. I know it."

"Good. I’ll wait for you there."

"Understood, sir. I’ll be there right away."

Richard was already seated in the café when he spotted Mourinho hurrying across the street, coat flapping behind him in the evening breeze.

The young assistant pushed through the door, slightly out of breath, and quickly made his way to Richard’s table.

"Why are you running?" Richard asked, gesturing toward the empty seat opposite him. "Relax, José. Sit down."

Mourinho nodded, trying to catch his breath as he sat. For a moment, he said nothing — just looked around, as if making sure no one was listening. Then, lowering his voice, he began,"Sir... do you still remember the staff I once recommended to you?"

Richard raised an eyebrow, puzzled by the sudden question. But after a moment’s thought, the names began to surface in his mind —

Baltemar Brito, Rui Faria, André Villas-Boas,

and

Silvino Louro

, the goalkeeping coach.

He nodded slowly. "Of course. What about them?"

Mourinho’s expression turned serious. "I called because... I wanted to ask you a favor, sir."

Richard leaned back slightly, curious. "Oh? What kind of favor?"

"Is Manchester City currently looking for a first-team coach?" Mourinho asked cautiously.

Richard frowned a little. "I don’t think that’s my area to decide. Why don’t you talk to Martin instead?"

Mourinho shook his head firmly. "I already did. That’s not possible for now. But... what about a scouting position? I heard Manchester City is still looking for scouts, right?"

Richard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm..."

He wasn’t wrong. In fact, Richard was planning to form a dedicated scouting team together with Ramm Mylvaganam from Prozone.

The team would focus on observing and scouting league opponents, as well as analyzing upcoming challengers — including their players’ conditions, tactical strengths, and weaknesses. At least three days before each match, Richard wanted the club to receive a detailed report, coordinated through his high-performance department.

"Sir, I’d like to recommend someone to you," Mourinho began carefully, his tone unusually earnest. "I really hope you’ll consider him. He’s a bit young, but with your approach to management, I don’t think that’ll be a problem."

Richard pictured someone in his mind — one of Mourinho’s long-time assistants or perhaps the fitness coach who would later become inseparable from him, notably at FC Porto and Chelsea FC.

He chuckled and said, "Who is it? Baltemar Brito or Rui Faria? But a scout? Are you sure they’d want to be scouts?"

"Ah? No, it’s not them. That’s not who I’m talking about."

"Then who is it?"

"André Villas-Boas."

"...Huh?"

Richard blinked, stunned for a moment. "Wait — isn’t he the one who just took the job as

technical director

for the British Virgin Islands national team?"

Naturally, since Mourinho was the one recommending him, Richard had already done his homework.

Mourinho nodded. "Yes, but that position isn’t exactly what it sounds like. It’s more of a symbolic role — a way for him to gain some experience abroad. Actually, it was Sir Bobby Robson who asked me to help find him a proper opportunity if one came up, especially in England."

"Sir Bobby Robson?" Richard raised an eyebrow.

This season, Bobby Robson’s return to Eindhoven was seen as a firefighting mission — a move to steady things at the club. With the summer transfer window open, PSV had fallen into turmoil. Key players like Zenden and Cocu had been snapped up by Barcelona, leaving major gaps in the squad. Since then, Robson had been patching things up, trying to keep the team afloat. It wasn’t easy, even for someone like him.

Naturally, Sir Bobby Robson, José Mourinho, and André Villas-Boas were all part of the same backroom staff during their time together In Porto.

"Actually, it all started with Mr. Jim Fleeting," Mourinho explained. "He contacted Sir Bobby Robson before recommending me to someone at Manchester City, and then they reached out to me."

"Jim Fleeting? You mean the Director of Football Development for the Scottish Football Association?" Richard asked.

Mourinho nodded.

"How did you know him?"

"Ah, he was the one overseeing coach training at the National Sports Centre in Largs. Both André and I were there taking our UEFA coaching qualifications. He supervised part of our coursework — a very sharp man, always pushing us to think beyond the drills. I suppose he remembered us."

"So that’s how it is," Richard said, nodding as he accepted the explanation.

For a moment, he sat in silence, his mind drifted.

Looking back with the benefit of hindsight, André Villas-Boas truly was an extraordinary figure.

Objectively speaking, few could match his rise. Though his career with Europe’s top clubs hadn’t yielded lasting success, the mere fact that he had reached those heights at such a young age was astonishing. To think—a man with no professional playing experience, once just a teenager analyzing games and taking notes under Sir Bobby Robson—would one day stand on the touchlines of Chelsea and Tottenham, and even go on to become the president of FC Porto—was truly remarkable.

"Villas-Boas, huh? Alright, I got it," Richard said, leaning back in his chair. "Have him send his application first. We’ve got plenty of people applying here, and things are running smoothly — so let’s keep it formal."

Mourinho’s face brightened with relief. "Great, I’ll have him submit everything to City then."

Manchester City was actively recruiting, and the applications poured in.

Coaches and scouts from mid-tier Premier League clubs were eager to make the jump, though most approached cautiously, using intermediaries to avoid attention. Going directly could spark whispers of disloyalty, and no one wanted their ambitions tainted by accusations of betrayal.