CHAPTER 451: FIRST LOSS

Okocha didn’t run wildly like he sometimes did after scoring. This time, he stopped right where he was — chest heaving, eyes blazing — and turned toward the left flank.

His teammates swarmed him, all shouting, laughing, and pulling at his jersey. But Okocha’s gaze never left him.

Ronaldinho.

Then Okocha raised his right arm.

Not to the fans. Not to the bench. He pointed — straight at Ronaldinho.

A grin spread across his face, wide and genuine — the kind that said everything without words.

That’s you, his expression said. That was your play.

Ronaldinho blinked, realizing. Then, slowly, he broke into a smile — that unmistakable, boyish grin that would someday light up stadiums all over the world.

Okocha jogged toward him, and when they met near the halfway line, he pulled the younger player into a tight embrace. The crowd roared louder, sensing the emotion in the moment — the passing of something unseen but powerful.

Richard watched from above and smiled as he saw the scene unfold.

It was no secret that Okocha and Ronaldinho shared a close bond — a kind of bromance, both on and perhaps even off the pitch at Manchester City. Richard didn’t know the full details, but he often heard bits and pieces from the staff in the dressing room.

The truth about their relationship was somewhat hazy, with myths often overtaking facts.

In reality, when young Ronaldinho first arrived, he struggled to adapt — not just to the food and culture, but to an entirely new city and country. England was a far cry from home. Even worse, he found it difficult to transition from futsal to full eleven-a-side football. It was Okocha who took the time to guide him — patiently, consistently — and the rest, as they say, is history.

"Hmm," Richard murmured, rubbing his chin as a thought formed in his mind about how to establish the club’s academy philosophy.

With that, he picked up his notebook again and began to write.

Usually, every professional club has a clear hierarchy: senior players, established first-team members, fringe players, and academy players. From there, clubs often allow young prospects to train with the first team for exposure.

That’s when these relationships naturally start to form.

The senior player leads by example — showing how to prepare, how to recover, how to handle being dropped, and how to read the game tactically. They’ll correct small mistakes — positioning, timing, body shape — but without ever embarrassing the younger player.

This relationship benefits both sides. The young player gains confidence, understanding, and support in a highly competitive environment. The senior player often rediscovers joy and purpose — passing on experience and keeping the squad united. The club gains stronger cohesion between age groups — crucial for long-term success.

Richard intended to replicate that. What he had just witnessed between Okocha and Ronaldinho wasn’t just a touching moment — it was a blueprint, a living example of what the club’s academy philosophy could be built around: mentorship, guidance, and shared growth between generations.

So he began jotting down ideas.

In the dying minutes of the match, Manchester City launched yet another spectacular attack.

Stanković made a driving run down the middle, linking up beautifully with Ronaldinho. But this time, Tottenham’s defense was ready — tighter, more disciplined, determined not to be humiliated again.

Ronaldinho, however, was not so easily contained. With a quick feint and a half-turn, he slipped past his marker, found just enough space on the edge of the box, and let fly from a 45-degree angle.

The shot was stunning.

The ball sliced through the air with no spin at all, an arrow aimed straight for the top-right corner. Ian Walker, Tottenham’s goalkeeper — already worn out from City’s relentless assaults — sprang into action. He stretched, fully airborne, and managed to punch the ball away just before it crossed the line.

A wave of relief swept through the crowd at White Hart Lane. Walker’s desperate save sent the ball spinning out to the far side of the box.

Tottenham’s defenders scrambled back toward the six-yard area. But Okocha was already there. He brought the ball down with a gorgeous first touch — smooth, controlled — and with a quick flick of his boot, bent a trivela cross toward the left side, where Ronaldo was waiting.

Ronaldo met it in mid-air and struck.

BANG!

Richard shot up from his seat, fists clenched. "F**k!"

The entire stadium gasped. The ball crashed off the post, rattling the frame.

But it wasn’t over.

The rebound rolled dangerously across the goalmouth. Stephen Carr tried to clear but misjudged it, tripping over his own goalkeeper as Walker lunged forward to punch the ball away. The two collided in chaos — and the ball bounced twice on the goal line.

Ronaldinho pounced.

He slid in and shot low — perfectly placed — but Walker, still reacting on pure instinct, lunged again. He didn’t get a hand to it, but his thigh blocked the shot, deflecting it away at the very last moment.

White Hart Lane erupted — half in relief, half in disbelief.

The ball ricocheted outside the box, falling right toward Hidetoshi Nakata, who was already waiting. As Tottenham’s defenders rushed at him, Nakata adjusted his footing and swung his leg in a powerful volley.

"Hidetoshi Nakata!" the commentator roared.

But instead of glory, disaster struck — his standing foot slipped on the wet turf, and the shot ballooned high into the night sky, sailing harmlessly into the stands.

"One shot, two shots, three shots!" Andy Gray shouted. "Martin, that’s Manchester City’s fifteenth attempt of the second half — and still no goal!"

Martin Tyler sighed. "Incredible, Andy. Their football’s been electric — fluid, confident, relentless. Yet somehow, the ball refuses to cross the line. With only two minutes left on the clock, it’s hard to see a way back for City now."

For the rest of the match, Ronaldinho basically danced around the pitch like a magician — dribbling, feinting, and shooting as he weaved past his markers with ease. His touch was so natural that even one of the finest dribblers of his generation, David Ginola, seemed to pale in comparison.

Unfortunately, despite all his brilliance, every one of Ronaldinho’s attempts was denied. And for the first time at White Hart Lane, Manchester City were defeated by Tottenham Hotspur.

PHWEEEE~

Full-time: Tottenham Hotspur 2 – 1 Manchester City

As the referee’s whistle echoed across White Hart Lane, Ronaldinho dropped to his knees on the damp grass, his chest rising and falling as exhaustion and disbelief washed over him.

The Brazilian stayed there for a moment, hands resting on his thighs, head bowed. Around him, Tottenham players cheered and embraced one another, while the home crowd roared in triumph. He had danced past defenders, created openings, and come within inches of scoring — but luck had refused to side with him tonight.

So many chances.So many shots.And yet — no result.

When he finally stood, sweat and rain mixed on his face. Okocha jogged over, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Keep your head up, kid," he said quietly. "Nights like this make you stronger."

Ronaldinho nodded slowly, still catching his breath, his eyes fixed on the scoreboard. The defeat stung — but somewhere deep inside, a spark burned brighter than ever.

Richard didn’t stay long. He immediately left his VIP room and headed straight to the City away locker room.

When O’Neill saw him, he immediately began to complain.

"This kid has unparalleled talent, but if he keeps playing like that, his future doesn’t look bright."

Of course, Richard dismissed the remark right away. He patted O’Neill on the shoulder and said, "Well, that depends on how you teach him."

It’s natural for talented young players to hold onto the ball longer — especially Brazilian players. The coach’s responsibility is to correct those habits and help them use their talent effectively.

Tottenham played smart this time, especially in the final minutes of the match. At first, they focused on marking Ronaldo, but after conceding such an embarrassing goal, they naturally took things more seriously — particularly against the newcomer who had set up their opponent’s first goal.

Perhaps due to limited playing time, Ronaldinho — who kept receiving passes from his teammates and trying to dribble past defenders to score again — repeatedly found his efforts thwarted. He was consistently blocked by Tottenham’s low block, as they worked together to shut down every ball that came into their final third.

After O’Neill returned to comfort his players, Mourinho — still brushing raindrops off his coat after nearly slipping on the touchline — made his way toward Richard. He stopped a few paces away, hesitant but curious.

"Sir," he began carefully, "I heard you’re the one who discovered Roberto Carlos, Cafu, Ronaldo... and now Ronaldinho?"

Richard looked up, a little surprised by the question, then gave a small nod.

Mourinho studied him for a moment. "Did you see many players like him back in Brazil?"

"Yeah," Richard said slowly. "Why?"

"It’s just..." Mourinho glanced back at the pitch, where the City players were trudging off in the rain. "I’ve noticed something about your Brazilian players. Technically, they’re superb — close control, creativity, flair — but their crossing, especially from the flanks, is very poor."

Richard gave a half-smile. "Well, that’s part of our system too. We ask our wingers to cut inside more often than cross."

Even as he said it, he knew what Mourinho was really getting at.

Ronaldinho had been dazzling — brilliant on the ball, unpredictable, and confident — but his decision-making in wide areas was still raw. He didn’t deliver a single cross all game, preferring to take defenders on or thread impossible passes through tight spaces. When it worked, it was magic. When it didn’t, it looked naïve.

Those last few minutes told the story. Three golden chances: two wild shots, one moment that begged for a cross. Each time, Tottenham’s defense held firm, and each miss seemed to chip away at Ronaldinho’s spirit. Richard could almost feel the disappointment radiating off the boy.

"Do you have something in mind?" Richard asked quietly.

Mourinho nodded. "It’s about positioning. You can’t judge him just by technique. Look at Overmars at Arsenal — fast, clever, great dribbler. But put him in the wrong area, and even he can’t slice through defenders."

He paused, then added with a faint smile, "But Ronaldinho’s passing — that’s different. It’s lethal. If we use it right... he doesn’t need to cross. He can create from anywhere."

Richard couldn’t help but admire Mourinho’s quick thinking. The young assistant had a sharp football mind — analytical, fearless, always dissecting every movement on the pitch. Still, Richard neither agreed nor disagreed with his assessment.

He knew what Mourinho’s approach meant.

If the assistant coach had come directly to him — bypassing O’Neill — it was a subtle sign that the head coach didn’t share the same opinion. Mourinho wasn’t defying authority, but he was looking for support, maybe hoping Richard would intervene.

But Richard wasn’t about to overstep. Not this time.

He had already done more than enough by convincing O’Neill to give Ronaldinho a few minutes in this match. The boy’s debut had been a gamble — one that almost paid off. To interfere again, especially in matters of lineup and tactics, would only stir unnecessary tension among the coaching staff.

So Richard simply folded his arms, gave Mourinho a knowing look, and said nothing.

Because he had something far more pressing to deal with — an emergency that couldn’t wait!

Food poisoning? A viral outbreak?

No one was sure yet, but Richard knew he had to deal with it directly. It was time for Manchester City to take a hard look at their food, nutrition, and overall hygiene standards.