CHAPTER 454: ANOTHER DERBY

Since the start of 1998, Manchester City seemed to undergo changes almost daily — a new logo, innovative promotional campaigns, fresh club banners, the addition of a dedicated chef and nutritionist to their player/staff, and even Moonbeam, a lively alien mascot with shiny blue lycra skin, large ears, and square eyes who brightened the sidelines during home games.

After a disappointing loss and a frustrating draw, the entire Manchester City squad packed their bags early and checked into a hotel near Maine Road to prepare for their third match of the season—against none other than Manchester United.

Richard cursed the Premier League schedule under his breath. First Tottenham, then Liverpool, and now United.

For this crucial match, O’Neill reverted to a 4-4-2 formation. The shift from the previous 4-3-3 setup offered better balance—allowing City to adopt a more conservative shape while giving the full-backs greater freedom to move forward. The wingers, meanwhile, were tasked with driving the attack down the flanks, providing both width and unpredictability.

Before kickoff, O’Neill regarded Manchester United as their most direct rival in the title race. In the buildup to this much-anticipated clash, the pre-match press conference was electric. Reporters packed the room, cameras flashing, microphones thrust forward.

A journalist asked sharply, "What do you make of Manchester United’s draw at home against Leicester City? Do you still consider them a genuine rival to Manchester City?"

O’Neill’s mouth twitched. He could tell exactly what the reporter was trying to do. Still, he responded before the question could stir trouble.

"United underestimated their opponents," he said. "They failed to notice how much Leicester City have strengthened this season. When you take your opponents lightly, you must be ready to face the consequences. That being said, one result doesn’t define a team’s true strength. Judging United as weak just because they couldn’t beat Leicester would be foolish—and dangerous for our own mindset."

"Does that same logic apply to Manchester City?"

"... "If we ever start believing we’re stronger than we really are, someone will be waiting to remind us otherwise."

O’Neill didn’t wait for the next question. He rose from his seat, gave a curt nod to the moderator, and walked straight toward the exit.

On the afternoon of Manchester City’s clash with Manchester United, City fans began arriving early, eager to witness the first home derby of the new season.

The air buzzed with anticipation — the supporters were ready to unleash the excitement they had bottled up and desperate to see City claim their first victory this season over their noisy neighbours. Frustration from the previous two matches had built up, and today felt like the perfect time to let it all out.

During the summer, the small Maine Road stadium had undergone a modest renovation — nothing major, just a careful touch-up to tidy and refresh the old ground. Although plans were already in motion for the club’s move to a new stadium in two years’ time, every match at Maine Road still carried a special significance.

The venue might have been compact, but it embodied the very soul of Manchester City — close-knit, passionate, and unmistakably blue.

Now, Maine Road looked both small and exquisite. The west stands were a sea of blue, while the main stand featured a massive "MANCHESTER CITY" inscription printed against a deep blue backdrop, creating a striking visual centerpiece. Richard also hadn’t forgotten to replace the pitch with first class quality grass — a vibrant, lush green that immediately caught the eye.

Today, there was hardly any red in the stands — just a sea of blue. The Red Devils had brought fewer than two thousand fans, who were confined to a distant corner of the stadium.

Before the match began, the crowd broke into a newly composed chant celebrating City’s Champions League victory, led by the blazing supporters’ section waving their new golden eagle banners and flags.

Along the side of the main stand hung a massive curtain depicting the famous big-eared Champions League trophy, flanked by half-body portraits of Manchester City’s star players.

Of course, the purpose was obvious — to provoke Manchester United.

Fans of all ages held up homemade signs and wore the club’s new home kits, much to the delight of the team’s sponsors. Thanks to Adidas and Rover joining as official partners, City’s commercial value had soared ahead of the new season. Jersey sales had already surpassed one million within just a month.

Near the pitch, the club mascot Moonbeam entertained the crowd, dancing and interacting playfully with fans.

When Richard entered the director’s box, the entire stadium rose to applaud him, expressing their gratitude for everything he had done for the club.

Unlike most stadiums, Maine Road’s director’s box was open, allowing the players to see Richard clearly. To them, he wasn’t just a club owner — he was the man who had turned Manchester City into a true force in English football, restoring pride and passion to the fans.

That pride — that sense of belonging — was what football was supposed to be about. Manchester City had managed to capture that spirit once, and now City had it too: a club where the supporters could finally find joy and pride in every match.

Richard had arrived early, not because he needed to fire up the players — they weren’t racehorses that required a whip to run — but simply to soak in the atmosphere.

With time to spare before kickoff, Richard either chatted casually with Marina or his lawyer Adam Lewis in the stands, or greeted fans, signing autographs and posing for photos, trying to accommodate as many as he could.

"Sir Richard, help me out!"

Richard had just finished signing an autograph when he suddenly froze. Someone was calling out to him — loudly, and in a voice that sounded oddly familiar.

He glanced around, scanning the nearby rows of fans, but saw no one. Then his eyes fell on a sight that left him speechless.

There, near the edge of the pitch, the mascot Moonbeam was standing with his oversized blue head tilted awkwardly to one side. A toddler, held tightly in his father’s arms, had both hands clamped around the mascot’s long, floppy ears — and refused to let go.

The nearby fans burst into laughter at the adorable scene, while Richard couldn’t help but call out, "Didier?"

After all, who else in the Manchester City academy had that deep, booming voice?

Moreover, according to their U-17 manager, Drogba had nearly come to blows recently after a rough tackle from Scott Parker during training — and he had joked that his punishment might involve "community service."

Apparently, he hadn’t been joking.

"Sir, help me out!" came the muffled plea from inside the alien costume. "I don’t want to hurt the kid — please get him off me!"

The voice definitely belonged to Drogba.

Thanks to Drogba’s very reluctant performances during trials and training, Richard eventually decided to call him in for a direct conversation. Although the talk didn’t immediately solve the problem, it at least brought Richard and Drogba closer, marking the beginning of a more personal bond between them.

Instead of helping immediately, Richard turned to the young couple beside the mascot, smiling kindly. "Your son seems to really love our new mascot," he said.

The father laughed. "He loves grabbing things — and he never lets go once he does."

The mother, her face full of excitement, added, "Mr. Maddox, today’s his birthday — he just turned three! Could you sign his City jersey for him?"

"Of course," Richard said warmly.

He took the pen from her and stood up from the director’s box, walking over to the family. After a brief pause, he said, "Please wait just a moment."

Unbeknownst to him, the entire scene was being recorded by the stadium cameras and broadcast live across the television feed.

As Richard walked toward the players’ tunnel, Drogba’s desperate voice followed him:"Boss! Don’t just leave me here!"

A minute later, Richard returned — this time holding a small football. With a smile, he asked,"What’s your little boy’s name?"

"Harry, Harry Kane," the mother replied proudly.

"..."

Richard was stunned but managed to recover quickly. He nodded, then carefully wrote on the ball: ’Wishing Harry a joyful and healthy life! — Richard Maddox’

He gently wobbled the ball in front of the toddler, Harry Kane, who immediately reached out for it with wide, curious eyes. The instant his tiny hands let go of Moonbeam’s ears, Drogba wasted no time—he shuffled backward in quick, cautious steps, escaping the toddler’s grasp to the sound of roaring laughter from the crowd.

"Mr. Maddox, thank you so much," the mother said, beaming.

"No, thank you," Richard replied, smiling. "Seeing Harry here today honestly makes me happy."

Especially seeing you here attending the Manchester City match. He signed the oversized jersey, handed it back, and waved goodbye to the family before returning toward the dugout — still smiling.

There was something profoundly satisfying about that small moment — seeing a young couple bring their child to the stadium, sharing laughter, pride, and joy. Three years ago — maybe even just four or five — such a scene would have been unthinkable. Back then, it wasn’t just children who stayed away. Even teenagers risked trouble if they came to a match. The stands had been a place of tension and violence.

Now, they were a place of families, laughter, and hope.

And Harry Kane!

Thankfully, he couldn’t be signed yet — otherwise, Richard would have already invited them for discussing it. Just as Richard returned to the director’s box, one of his bodyguards leaned in and whispered something in his ear.

Richard’s brows arched slightly, but he gave a small nod.

Moments later, Martin Edwards, the long-standing chairman of Manchester United, appeared at the entrance to the box, accompanied by a sharply dressed man with thin-rimmed glasses and a confident stride — Peter Kenyon, United’s newly appointed Chief Executive.

Richard rose from his seat with a polite smile as the two men approached.

"Mr. Maddox," Martin greeted warmly, extending his hand. "It’s been a while. You’ve certainly made City the talk of the City last season."

Richard shook his hand firmly. "We’re just getting started, Martin. Always good to see familiar faces from across town."

Martin gestured to his companion. "This is Peter Kenyon — our new Chief Executive. I believe you two haven’t met yet."

Kenyon smiled, offering his hand. "Mr. Maddox, I’ve heard quite a lot about you. Quite the revolution you’ve sparked here at City."

Richard returned the handshake with a measured grin.

For a few moments, the three exchanged polite small talk — football finances, television rights, and the ever-growing attention around Manchester clubs. But beneath the civility, there was a quiet sense of rivalry.

Richard could feel it clearly: this wasn’t just a friendly visit. Manchester United were watching City closely — perhaps a little too closely.

As the City and United players lined up for the coin toss, the chants inside Maine Road hadn’t stopped for a moment.

Down on the pitch, Roy Keane stood opposite Ronaldo at the center circle, the two captains exchanging focused glances. The referee flipped the coin high into the air, its metallic glint briefly catching the light before landing in his palm.

The outcome hardly mattered — both teams were already locked in mentally. Around them, the chants grew even louder, the rhythm of drums and clapping merging into one continuous beat that made conversation impossible.

"By the way, Richard."

The moment Martin Edwards said that, Richard knew their serious conversation was about to begin.