CHAPTER 336: THE PREDATOR REVOLUTION

Scottish football, known for its short passing game, has roots deeply embedded in the miners’ culture of unity. Richard’s invitation to Celtic was aimed at allowing Manchester City to experience this cohesive Scottish style of football.

However, as August approached, Richard was forced to cancel the friendlies against Monaco and Deportivo La Coruña. Results from the team’s training sessions showed that the players were simply too worn out—especially the non-English ones.

Aside from a few who had participated in Scotland’s summer fixtures, most of the squad had just returned from the Copa América, leaving no time for proper rest. Richard realized he had failed to account for the fact that, this year, Brazil would dominate the Copa América—and go on to win the tournament.

Brazil emerged as champions, becoming the first team to hold both the Copa América and the World Cup at the same time.

The moment the Copa América concluded, Richard was already notified that the coaching staff and other players had begun preparing to welcome back the returning squad—especially Ronaldo, who had proven himself to be one of the most lethal strikers in the tournament.

5 goals!

Just one behind Luis Hernández of Mexico.

Soon, the first van had already come toward Maine Road, but it wasn’t Ronaldo.

"Welcome back!" O’Neill grinned as he threw his arms around Javier Zanetti—the first of Manchester City’s South American contingent to arrive back at Maine Road.

The Argentine full-back, still wearing his club tracksuit and a pair of dark sunglasses, returned the embrace with a quiet nod and a tired smile.

Though Argentina hadn’t lifted the trophy, their performance in the 1997 Copa América was nothing short of commendable. Managed by Daniel Passarella, the Albiceleste had fielded a squad brimming with talent—Claudio López, Gallardo, Batistuta, and of course, Zanetti—who had quietly become one of the tournament’s most reliable defensive presences.

But their run came to an abrupt halt in the quarter-finals, where they fell to a relentless Peruvian side with a score of 1–2. The disappointment was palpable, but the team’s overall display had earned widespread respect.

Just then, a van pulled up in front of Maine Road, and the door slid open. Ronaldo—the tournament’s second-highest scorer—had finally arrived, stepping down into the grey drizzle of Manchester.

Unlike Zanetti, who had returned in full Manchester City tracksuit, Ronaldo wasn’t dressed like a footballer at all.

He stepped out in a tailored Armani trench coat, sleek black slacks, and polished leather shoes that clearly weren’t designed for soggy northern pavement. A dark turtleneck clung to his frame—understated, but unmistakably expensive. He looked less like he was arriving for preseason and more like he was stepping onto a Milan runway.

A few academy staff broke into polite applause. Even the groundskeepers peeked out from behind the tunnel, eager to catch a glimpse of the man who had lit up the summer.

Richard stepped forward, grinning as he extended his hand.

"Good job."

Ronaldo took it with a firm shake, his eyes flicking up to the overcast sky. "Cold."

"You’ll get used to it. Is that why you’re already wearing your Armani coat?"

Usually, to sponsor a football player, a company or individual enters into a sponsorship agreement with the player or their representative, offering financial or in-kind support in exchange for brand exposure and promotional benefits. This could involve shirt sponsorship, digital integration, or even in-stadium advertising, depending on the terms.

It’s essentially an exchange between a brand (the sponsor) and a sports entity (the player, team, or club). In Richard and Armani’s case, the deal was a form of product placement: providing players with branded clothing, equipment, or gear to wear publicly.

Ronaldo’s side of the deal was represented by his family, while Manchester City—through Richard—oversaw and facilitated the arrangement.

Ronaldo chuckled—a deep, easy laugh. "I just hope the training kit looks better than last year’s."

Richard smirked. "You’ll be the one making it look good."

He turned to the staff, raising his voice. "And someone get this man an umbrella! This is no way to treat the champion!"

That broke the last of the stiffness. Laughter rippled through the group—coaches, staff, even a few players who had lingered to see the arrival. The mood lifted, and just like that, Ronaldo was home.

One by one, the group began moving inside, the rhythm of preseason settling back into motion—now with a little more swagger.

CLAP!

The sharp sound echoed through the tunnel just as the players were making their way toward the dressing room. Richard had clapped his hands together, drawing everyone’s attention.

"Wait a minute, guys," he called out.

The players slowed to a stop, glancing at one another, confused. No one knew what was going on—except for a few who had already been in on the secret: O’Neill, Mourinho, and a couple of senior staff members who simply leaned back against the wall, smiling knowingly.

Moments later, a group of staff emerged from the corridor, each one carrying large cardboard boxes. The players’ curiosity instantly spiked.

The boxes were carefully set down in a neat row, and Richard stepped forward, hands behind his back.

"Gentlemen," he began, eyes scanning the group. "Some of you’ve just returned from one of the most demanding international tournaments in the world. Some of you brought home medals. All of you brought pride."

He nodded toward the boxes.

"As we head into the new season, you all know this won’t be just another domestic campaign. You’ll be facing clubs from Spain, Germany, Italy, Holland. Famous stadiums, hostile crowds, different styles of play. It won’t be easy. The pace is different. The pressure is heavier. And the eyes watching you? They’re more unforgiving."

He paused.

"But that’s exactly where this club belongs."

A few nods. A stir among the players.

"So... new season, new gear."

The staff opened the boxes—and there they were: brand new, customized football boots for each player. One by one, the players came forward, collecting their boots like kids on Christmas morning.

Sleek, modern designs—each pair of boots laid out neatly, bearing the player’s initials or squad number. Some featured subtle detailing in national colors. Others had personal touches stitched near the heel: mottos, birth years, even symbols.

As the players picked them up, admiring the craftsmanship, someone finally noticed the branding.

"...Wait, what brand is this?"

The boots looked familiar in shape and structure, but the three-striped mark? None of them had seen that symbol before.

Curious murmurs spread across the room.

Richard watched their reactions, a grin playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I introduce you to the Adidas Predator!"

He held up a pair for all to see.

"A groundbreaking innovation—notice the ridged toe box? That’s designed to enhance ball control, especially when striking or spinning the ball. Next season, this is what you’ll be wearing."

Though the ’90s were known for their distinctive fashion, the decade also marked a turning point in technological advancement. From Adidas’s iconic teal and white EQT Volunteer Jacket—which signaled a new era for the brand—to the recent launch of the Adidas Predator, it was a time of bold innovation and progress.

After Richard took over Adidas, the company went low-profile for a while—but that didn’t mean they weren’t doing anything. In fact, Adidas underwent significant changes in ownership, branding, and product development behind the scenes.

His plan was simple: start with Manchester City.

With world-class athletes joining the Adidas family and new apparel and footwear designs in the pipeline, Richard had major plans in store for the company.

Of course, he didn’t know everything. Even as the true owner of the apparel company, Richard understood that foresight had its limits. His advantage wasn’t omniscience—it was alignment. His role was to ensure that Adidas’s trajectory still followed the future he remembered.

What he could do now was sort and curate—filtering through every idea, every proposal, every prototype. He wasn’t there to micromanage or reinvent the wheel. He was there to quietly steer the ship away from concepts that would flop, and toward the innovations that history had already proven successful.

A failed design? Canceled.

A delayed release? Brought forward.

A sponsorship that would backfire? Cut before it began.

He wasn’t rewriting the future—just making sure Adidas didn’t forget its part in it.

For example, the current redesign of the iconic Three Stripes mark.

It seemed like a small, cosmetic change—just a slight adjustment to the angle, a modernized spacing, a minimalistic rework. But to Richard, it was a signal flare.

Initially, some designers proposed ideas like the Trefoil, the mountain-shaped Performance logo, and the linear wordmark—but Richard rejected them. Instead, he approved the Three Stripes logo designed by Creative Director Peter Moore.

"Adidas?"

Every player who heard the name did a double take, clearly caught off guard.

Only then did it begin to click.

Wait a second... only then did they realize—their big boss was the owner of Adidas.

How enviable.