CHAPTER 276: THIERRY, ARE YOU OKAY?

At the time of his arrival at City, Hidetoshi Nakata was the only Japanese international plying his trade outside the J.League—a 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 1–0 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 result—until it suddenly clicked.

’The Miracle of Miami!’

One of Japan’s 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 ascent—and stunning Brazil was just the beginning.

Richard shook his head—not 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 Brazil’s 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 City’s rising talisman, Richard made his position clear: "We’ll release him—but 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 Mário Zagallo.

Brazil, it turned out, were leaning heavily toward Caio Ribeiro—the 1995 FIFA World Youth Championship Golden Ball winner—alongside Luizão and Bebeto to lead Brazil’s front three for the tournament.

Ronaldo, despite his strong club form, was being considered only as a backup.

That didn’t 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 didn’t say anything, but Richard had already made the decision for him—he wasn’t going to let Ronaldo be used as an Olympic mascot, a crowd-puller to sit on the bench. If Brazil wouldn’t commit to giving him proper playing time, he wouldn’t 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 full—his spot had been given to Mário Jardel instead.

Naturally, Manchester City’s decision irked some Brazilian fans, who were disappointed with the club’s 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 couldn’t help but wonder—would this butterfly effect change everything?

Would it affect Brazil’s 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 Lennon’s stride—and immediately began sprinting diagonally into the box, intending to link up with the play.

Lennon didn’t hesitate. He controlled the ball smoothly, took a quick glance inside, and sent it right back—curling a grounded pass into Shevchenko’s path just outside the penalty area.

Shielding the ball with his body, Shevchenko waited for the right moment—his eyes scanning the final third with icy focus.

And there he was—Henry, darting into the perfect pocket of space.

Without hesitation, Shevchenko lifted a dangerous lob toward the far side of the box. It was perfectly weighted—high, curling, and just out of reach. Forest’s 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 Henry—momentum unchecked—crashed violently into it.

BANG!

The sound echoed around the stadium.

The stadium collectively winced as Henry’s 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 there—dazed, breathless, and bleeding—Henry 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 now—Henry too?

Lennon crouched beside Henry, his hand firmly pressed on the forward’s 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. You’re officially the fastest player to score and get injured at the same time."

Hearing this, Henry—despite the pain—grinned 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.

"Where’s the hit?" one medic asked, kneeling beside Henry.

"Head injury—collision with the post!" Lennon reported quickly.

Another medic was already checking Henry’s 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 assistant—he 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 couldn’t play due to the CBF, Larsson was injured, and now Henry is out too.