No one had expected Manchester City’s wingers—Henry and Shevchenko—to work together so seamlessly to deceive Charlton Athletic’s defense.

    Although City’s previous matches had shown their tendency to attack from the flanks, it was usually through Cafu or Roberto Carlos. In the First Division, when wingers participated in the attacks, it was mostly to create space or support the main striker.

    The primary threat still came from wide areas. But never before had two wingers connected directly in such a way.

    Manchester City had just shown the public that they were now playing Premier League-level football.

    Tactically, Premier League teams had already started moving away from the traditional striker role—no longer relying solely on a target man or poacher to stay in the penalty box.

    Take Manchester United under Alex Ferguson, the current leaders of the Premier League—they didn’t just whip crosses into the box from the wings. Instead, they often relied on wide-ranging, precise long passes or intricate combinations around the box as their main attacking strategies.

    Later, more and more teams would adopt this kind of tactics. But in the rough-and-tumble world of the First Division, such tactical sophistication was rare—simply because the overall skill level of the players was lower.

    Even Robertson was taken aback by what had just unfolded. He had never expected that playing Henry would have such an immediate and profound impact. It was the entire attacking unit working in perfect sync.

    With the score tied 1–1, Robertson urged his players to stay composed. He knew that a draw at Valley Stadium was as good as taking the lead—because the second leg would be played at Maine Road.

    PHWEEEE!!!

    "That’s the final whistle! What a spectacular match we’ve just witnessed tonight! A dramatic ending — and who could forget that goal from Thierry Henry? Absolutely bizarre, almost comical! Mark, what’s your take on that?"

    Mark, the co-commentator who had doubted Henry earlier, gritted his teeth as he answered, "Naturally, I didn’t expect that at all. I still think it was a fluke — just pure luck. Right place, right time. It wasn’t... intentional."

    "Oh, is that so? What if he does it again in the second leg?"

    "...Hundred pounds?"

    "Hundred pounds it is! You all heard that! Mark’s putting money on the line! If Henry scores again in the second leg — someone’s wallet might be a little lighter!"

    The moment Richard heard the final whistle, he immediately grabbed his coat and left Valley Stadium.

    The next match would determine whether City could make the final playoff or not.

    Inside his Porsche, just before starting the engine, Richard made a quick call — his first, to Carl Moran of the Blazing Squad.

    The moment the call connected, a voice on the other end responded crisply, "Sir!"

    Richard leaned back slightly, satisfied.

    Throughout the grueling 90 minutes, Morran’s squad had rallied with relentless energy, pushing City forward and keeping the players sharp, fired up by their unwavering support.

    "Good job," Richard said simply, but with unmistakable approval in his tone.

    Hearing the praise, Mark Moran couldn’t help but smile.

    "Thank you, sir."

    After putting the phone down, Richard started his Porsche and drove toward Maine Road.

    RING~

    Just as Richard’s foot hovered over the gas pedal, his phone rang again, slicing through the stillness of the moment. He glanced at the screen—Dave Fevre.

    He answered quickly.

    "Dave, this is Richard."

    "Thank god you picked up," Fevre replied, relief palpable in his tone.

    Richard frowned. "What’s going on?"

    "Are you still at Charlton?" Fevre asked urgently.

    "Yeah, I’m still at Valley Stadium. Why?"

    There was a brief pause on the line. Then Fevre said, "Can we meet? Just for a moment. I want to introduce someone to you."

    Richard was taken aback by this.

    "Alright. Where should we meet?"

    Fevre gave him the location of a small café not far from the stadium.

    "I’ll be there soon," Richard said, ending the call.

    Without wasting another moment, he shifted the car into gear and pulled out of the parking lot.

    The drive was short, and within minutes, Richard arrived at the café. He stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly. His eyes scanned the room—and there he was. Dave Fevre, sitting at a small table near the window.

    Richard walked over and greeted him, "Aren’t you supposed to be with the team? The match just ended, and isn’t the head physio supposed to be with the players to make sure nothing’s wrong post-game?"

    "Don’t worry," Fevre said with a small chuckle, waving a hand dismissively. "Andreas agreed to cover for me today. It’s nothing urgent—just a quick meeting. Sit down. There’s someone I want you to meet."

    Only then did Richard remember—Dave had mentioned wanting to introduce someone to him.

    The man they had been talking about stepped forward respectfully and extended his hand toward Richard.

    "Mr. Maddox, very pleased to meet you. My name is Ramm Mylvaganam."

    "Yes, nice to meet you too," Richard replied, immediately shaking his hand.

    Curiosity got the better of him as he looked at the man and let his intrusive thought slip out: "By the way, sir, are you Indian?"

    It came off a little disrespectful, though Richard didn’t mean it that way. From what he knew, many top global companies—especially in tech—had Indian CEOs. So he was merely curious; perhaps there was something surprising in this situation.

    Mylvaganam chuckled. "Many people ask me that, but my family is currently living quite well in Sri Lanka. I’m only in the UK to further my education."

    So, he was of Tamil origin. Richard couldn’t help but feel a mix of sympathy and respect toward this man—far from home and family. But Richard also didn’t judge people by their background; he understood that those who had faced pressure or endured hardship often developed an extraordinary drive.

    Sometimes, they didn’t just give 100%—they gave 1000%.

    "Ramm is my friend from when I worked at Wigan," Fevre added. "He’s a consultant at Mars now. Yesterday, he contacted me and asked to meet you. At first, I was going to say you’re busy, but when I heard his reason for wanting to speak with you, I figured you’d probably want to hear it too. So, I could only call to make a bet."

    Now Richard was truly curious. He turned to Mylvaganam, waiting for his explanation.

    Mylvaganam coughed lightly, looking slightly embarrassed before leaning in toward them."To be honest, it wasn’t me—it was actually Dave who brought it up. He mentioned that his current club is on the verge of being promoted to the Premier League and wants to find a way to stay there."

    "..."

    Seeing both Richard and Fevre fall silent only made Mylvaganam more self-conscious.Noticing this, Fevre sighed and decided to support his old friend. He turned to Richard.

    "Do you know what he asked me?"

    Richard shook his head.

    "He asked, ’How do you monitor the performance of your players?’"

    "..."

    "Isn’t it your dream to build a dedicated performance analysis division for the team?"

    The moment Richard heard that, his expression shifted—he instantly became serious before he managed to hold back and instead smiled. "Simple. I know who’s good, bad, and ugly, so I don’t need to do stuff like that."

    "Is that so?"

    Fevre then couldn’t help but jump in. "Ramm, what do you have in mind?"

    At that point, Mylvaganam explained, "In business, we focus on understanding people and how they work. Because if you don’t know what you’ve got and how they function, you can’t decide how to train them."

    "Indeed," Richard replied simply.

    After that, it was this simple conversation that led to the self-described "chocolate salesman gone wrong" giving a business lesson to billionaire Richard—making even Fevre’s mouth twitch.

    "I felt the only way football clubs were going to collect this data was to tag players on the field and convert their movements into job descriptions. At that point, you know what you expect the player to do and can train them accordingly."

    Richard frowned at the word "data," as he himself was very sensitive about it. No one noticed this, and Mylvaganam himself continued his rambling.

    "Mr. Maddox, what if I told you there was a way to streamline the process and provide Manchester City with more accessible footage? What if there was a way to deliver accurate performance data at a time when GPS tracking was basic and inaccurate to the point of being useless?"

    Richard knew the limitations of current technology—GPS could only track within about 10 meters.

    But then he heard Mylvaganam say, "What if I have a way to track a ball that’s only 35 centimeters wide? Please take a look at this, sir." Before handing Richard a document.

    ’So, it’s all about pitching business, right?’ Richard thought inwardly as he grabbed the document

    With an embarrassed expression, Mylvaganam said, "Not everyone was that interested. Some thought it was just a fad that would disappear soon. I tried as much as I could to convince those who were open, but there wasn’t any point in trying to push water uphill."

    "Oh, have you already offered this to other clubs?"

    "Yes, I have. This software was used by Derby County this season. But despite their interest, Derby didn’t want to pay for it. They said it was unproven and still in its infancy."

    "Manchester United’s Alex Ferguson, to be honest, was quite happy about it, but their chief executive, David Gill, took the same attitude as Derby toward investing in this product. They said they didn’t know enough about the system, so they weren’t going to pay me for it — at least, not straight away."

    With a sigh, Mylvaganam said dejectedly.

    ’Interesting. Even Alex Ferguson was interested in this?’ Richard asked, then opened the document and read the name of the software based on Mylvaganam’s introduction.

    The name of the product was ’Professional Zone,’ which was very unfamiliar to Richard despite his extensive experience in football.

    Richard let out a quiet sigh—just another business pitch. What is it now? he thought. He reached for his glass of orange juice, ready to down it in one go, when Mylvaganam continued, almost casually:

    "I plan to call the product Prozone. It’ll be easier for people to refer to."

    The moment Richard heard the word Prozone, he choked and spluttered his orange juice.

    "What… what did you just say?"

    "Oh, it’ll be easier to refer to."

    "No, no—before that."

    "Prozone?"

    "You mean... you created Prozone?"

    Because Richard knew Prozone (also known as Prozone Sports) was a sports performance analysis company that became famous for pioneering the use of data analytics in football.

    It was one of the first to introduce detailed statistical and video analysis to professional football, including video tracking, player movement and positioning data, as well as fitness and work-rate analysis.

    Liverpool famously invested heavily in this area. Otherwise, in the future, when the club’s top executives had three candidates in mind to replace Brendan Rodgers: 1) Eddie Howe, 2) Carlo Ancelotti, and 3) Jürgen Klopp.

    Yes, Klopp was literally number three or even hadn’t yet managed to catch the attention of Liverpool’s top executives.

    So why was Klopp suddenly chosen?

    It’s a very famous story, considering the success Klopp brought to Liverpool. Richard knew exactly the answer, because it wasn’t far from Prozone.

    SLAP! Sёarch* The novёlF~ire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    Richard slapped his forehead. No wonder Derby County suddenly got so good so fast and were tipped to become the First Division champions. They had been using this technology all along.

    How stupid of them not to be willing to pay for it!