The match against Charlton was an absolute thriller!

    The media was buzzing nonstop about Manchester City’s incredible comeback—first falling behind, then clawing their way back to level the score, turning the game into a true rollercoaster of emotions.

    Fans everywhere were on the edge of their seats, witnessing a display of grit and determination that perfectly captured the spirit of football. Headlines praised City’s never-say-die attitude, highlighting how the team refused to give up even when the odds were stacked against them.

    This match didn’t just secure points—it reignited belief and showed the world that Manchester City was ready to fight for promotion until the very last whistle.

    Time passed quickly, and before anyone knew it, the big day had finally arrived—the final showdown. Sёar?h the Novёl?ire.n(e)t website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

    Today was the playoff final: Manchester City vs. Ipswich Town.

    Ipswich, after cruising past Stoke City with another confident 2–0 win, had already secured a commanding 5–0 aggregate to book their place at Wembley.

    Fans were already speculating—if City had struggled so much to get past Charlton Athletic, how would they cope against a strong Ipswich side?

    By 3 p.m., Wembley Stadium was buzzing with tension, and traffic had begun to clog the northbound routes from Manchester to North London.

    The reason? Manchester City supporters were pouring into northwest London, all headed for Wembley Stadium.

    With a capacity of over sixty thousand, the venue was destined to sell out. Tickets allocated to both clubs had vanished quickly, and not even inflated prices from scalpers could deter the most determined fans—especially the passionate City faithful, desperate to be part of the occasion.

    The night before the big match, Richard returned to his parents’ home in London and spent the evening there—quiet, reflective.

    "Are you really going to forbid your own parents from watching your club possibly win promotion?" his father, Bryan, asked, unable to hide his disappointment.

    Richard explained helplessly, "After what just happened with Manchester City in East London? No way."

    He was still haunted by what had happened at The Den.

    "Just stay with Harry and Sarah today. Don’t worry about me."

    "We know, we know—your father’s just teasing you," Anna, his mother, said gently before kissing Richard on the forehead as he bid farewell and headed out.

    For the first time, Richard boarded the team bus alongside the Manchester City squad.

    As the buses pulled into Wembley, he gazed out the window to see a sea of blue—fans everywhere. Even those without tickets had gathered, eager to support their team from the closest distance possible.

    The moment Richard spotted the famous Wembley cable, he stood up and sharply clapped his hands once, instantly capturing everyone’s attention.

    "For this occasion, please don’t look at me as the owner of the club, but as the head of your performance team. And as for why I’ve gathered everyone here, please listen carefully."

    Richard then set his phone to loudspeaker, making sure everyone could hear.

    Suddenly, a cough sounded from the phone before a voice said, "Test, one, two. Can everyone hear me?"

    Only then did everyone on the bus realize—it was Martin O’Neill!

    "Yes, we can hear you, Martin," Richard replied.

    "Thank you." O’Neill coughed again before continuing, "I don’t want to talk too much or put pressure on you, but I want to apologize first, as I cannot be with you today."

    He paused, catching his breath before continuing.

    "Do you want the championship?"

    There was silence.

    "Do you want the championship or not? Why is no one answering my question?!"

    Hearing his scolding, without hesitation, all the players responded, "Yes!"

    "Good! Now listen to me," O’Neill said.

    "If you want to lose and throw away everything you’ve worked for this season, keep playing the way you did against Charlton. That’s exactly what you’re going to do." Then he added, "Get out there and play like you want to win this. Like you want promotion. Like it means something. You’re waiting for them to make a move so you can react—but the bad news is, you’re playing poorly, and you’re already 1–0 down."

    Everyone looked confused hearing this.

    "So here’s what you’re going to do. Play like you’re already behind by a goal. You’ve got 45 minutes to decide whether you want to stay in this division or move up to play with the big boys. Now go out and show me what you’ve got. I’ll be waiting for you from here. GO!"

    Click.

    Then the phone went dead.

    Everyone exchanged glances. What the heck was that?

    Thankfully, no one thought twice, because with a soft hiss, the bus came to a stop, and the doors swung open.

    Richard was the first to stand as he put the phone back into his pocket, then nodded toward Robertson and the others.

    "Get off the bus."

    Everyone soon hurried off the bus, and Richard clearly separated from the group as he made his way to the VIP section to watch the match from there.

    "Welcome to Wembley Stadium! On this sunny afternoon, we are about to find out who will claim the final promotion spot alongside Derby County and Crystal Palace this season. Motson, Crocker, what are your thoughts on today’s match?"

    "Well, it’s truly unfortunate because Manchester City, who were favorites to win, had to face a 10-point deduction and now must fight hard to secure their place in the playoffs..."

    Soon, the commentators began their analysis.

    "The players are already lined up for a photo opportunity, and shortly, we’ll be introducing the starting lineups."

    "Today’s Ipswich Town starting lineup features a familiar 4-4-2 formation: goalkeeper Craig Forrest; defenders Tony Mowbray, Claus Thomsen, Gus Uhlenbeek, and Mauricio Taricco; midfielders Geraint Williams, Mick Stockwell, Paul Mason, and Simon Milton; and forwards Ian Marshall and Alex Mathie, who have already scored 38 goals this season!"

    "In contrast, Manchester City’s lineup looks a bit different with their 4-3-3 formation. In goal is Richard Wright instead of Lehmann, followed by Cafu, Lilian Thuram, William Gallas, and Roberto Carlos in defense. The midfield features Mark Van Bommel, Neil Lennon, and Jackie McNamara. Up front are Thierry Henry, Henrik Larsson, and Andriy Shevchenko."

    "What an incredible day…" Richard couldn’t help but mutter as he scanned everything with his eyes, taking in the atmosphere of Wembley.

    Indeed, what an incredible day it would turn out to be—surreal, perhaps, is a better word.

    Grandfathers, fathers, family members, and children alike filled the stands, their countless eyes not just watching a game but carrying a legacy of hopes and dreams passed down through generations.

    After both captains shook hands and made the sign, it was determined that City would take the kickoff first.

    Ipswich Town’s midfield and defense consisted of seasoned players; although they might not be standout stars, they definitely played at a low-level Premier League standard.

    In terms of forwards, one was Ian Marshall, a typical striker capable of scoring with both headers and kicks, though lacking in other skills and relying heavily on service from teammates. He partnered with Alex Mathie, known for his ability to link play and deliver precise passes.

    From Richard’s point of view, there was a clear reason why Ipswich Town could compete in the First Division. It was related to their style of play, which suddenly changed midway through the season.

    PHWEEEE!

    As the match kicked off, Richard observed the unfolding action on the pitch, his brows furrowing slightly.

    Ipswich Town indeed fell back into a compact defense with a strong structure. It seemed they intended to rely on counter-attacks to snatch the promotion ticket here.

    The four midfielders guarded the area just outside their penalty box, refraining from hasty challenges, while the four defenders held a staggered line.

    Gus Uhlenbeek and Mauricio Taricco—the Dutch and Argentinian—played more like deep-lying defenders, ready to guard against Cafu’s late runs or penetrating passes aiming to breach their defensive line.

    This defensive strategy wasn’t particularly innovative or advanced; one could even describe it as retro, resembling the early Italian "catenaccio" style. Like Mediterranean fishermen, it wasn’t just one but two who cast their nets into the sea to maximize their catch, ensuring that no fish slipped away.

    In a chain defense, the role of the deep-lying center-back was akin to that second net, intercepting any loose balls or attacking players that broke through the first line.

    Manchester City’s attack was colorful at first, demonstrating patience. However, after several penetrations were thwarted by the packed defense, their formation began to push forward inadvertently, with more players joining the attack, culminating in a siege of Ipswich Town’s half.

    The stands erupted with cheers as City’s fans sensed victory was within reach.

    But Richard felt a cold sweat beading on his forehead; something didn’t feel right.

    From the beginning, it seemed Ipswich adopted a defensive stance, unafraid of City’s relentless assault.

    Richard couldn’t help but glance at Robertson and sigh in relief. It seemed he realized this too, as he could hear the other side yelling and shouting repeatedly without pause.

    Still, with City’s attack pushing aggressively, their defense began to appear vulnerable. Even with three players ensuring coverage, could Van Bommel, Lennon, and McNamara really cover the entire backline?

    No—wait.

    Neil Lennon!

    As someone who could be described as the playmaker, or the only source of creativity in midfield, he was expected to sometimes drop back—and it seemed this was precisely what Ipswich wanted.

    They targeted Neil Lennon from the very beginning!

    Manchester City had possession, but it was going nowhere.

    The ball moved from Gallas to Thuram, shifted mostly to Cafu, then back to Thuram—there was no penetration.

    Although Ipswich wasn’t pressing too high, they were disciplined, closing every passing lane and forcing City to recycle possession over and over again.

    Everyone could see it—his team wasn’t moving the ball quickly enough. Was he nervous or what?

    Every pass took a second too long. Every turn was met with immediate pressure.

    Then came the mistake.

    Neil Lennon, normally so composed, dropped deeper to receive a pass from Van Bommel.

    Too slow, however.

    Two players had already targeted Lennon as their prey.

    Lennon was just about to take a touch, turning slightly to scan for options—

    when Uhlenbeek pounced.

    The Ipswich midfielder closed the space in a flash, sticking out a foot and poking the ball away.

    Lennon barely had time to react before the counterattack was already in motion.

    The moment Uhlenbeek won the ball, he immediately played a sharp forward pass into Mauricio Taricco’s feet.

    Manchester City were caught off balance—Thuram and Gallas had stepped forward, leaving space behind them.

    Taricco took a single touch, angled his body toward goal, and fired.

    Every City player barely had time to process it before the ball whipped past Richard Wright and slammed into the bottom corner.

    GOAL!!!