Football Dynasty

Chapter 175: Roman, this is Football!

"It’s the partying issue again!"

O’Neill was furious.

No wonder City were a mess against Stoke — even after all their brilliance in the previous two matches, they couldn’t break the deadlock.

Seven of their players had just gotten home an hour before the match against Stoke City!

And not only that — they made things worse by dragging 17-year-old Rio Ferdinand out to party with them!

Fuming, O’Neill marched down the hallway and knocked hard on Richard’s office door.

"How do you even know all this?" Richard asked, surprised as he looked at the list of players O’Neill had brought.

Ronaldo, Roberto Carlos, Jamie Pollock, Graham Fenton, Steve Lomas, Henrik Larsson, Rio Ferdinand.

"It’s from Jimmy," O’Neill said.

"Oh," was all Richard could manage as he rubbed his temples.

If it came from Jimmy Rouse — the kit manager — then it was probably true. After all, the players were currently living with him in the dormitory the club had rented for their foreign signings.

"What about the media?"

"Thankfully, no one followed them once they got into the dormitory," O’Neill replied.

Hearing that, Richard let out a relieved sigh.

To be honest, there’s nothing he can do about this issue right now. The main problem is the new regulation across all of England allowing pubs to remain open throughout Sunday afternoon for the first time.

Probably they’re just testing the waters.

For him, it was about letting the players unwind after back-to-back 90-minute matches, but for O’Neill, they were undisciplined. He wasn’t wrong though, especially since they had only just arrived and were preparing just an hour before kickoff.

"No worries. You take care of the team first. As for this problem, leave it to me," Richard said reassuringly, making O’Neill nod.

After O’Neill left the office, Richard called Marina and Miss Heysen, asking them to handle the issue.

They agreed without hesitation. Richard also requested that they not be too harsh — just a light reminder and perhaps a small penalty to set an example.

The problem many South American footballers face in Europe lies in the drastic change of lifestyle and environment.

Nightlife, parties, women — and not to mention the tremendous pressure on their shoulders to perform at the highest level. Life in Europe is far more glamorous, easily addictive, and it’s all too common for players to get carried away.

Those who are able to adapt tend to thrive and live up to their potential. But sadly, some — like in this case — fail to cope and fall short of greatness. And that, truly, is heartbreaking.

"By the way, Mr. Abramovich will arrive in five minutes," Marina suddenly said.

"Ah, yes." Richard nodded, preparing to welcome the Russian boss.

It was about the Zenit St. Petersburg issue.

After some small talk with the Russian, Richard gave his answer directly —to reject Abramovich’s offer without hesitation!

"I know what you want... but I can’t," Richard sighed, leaning back in his chair.

For the past two days, he had been searching for any excuse to say yes.

He liked the ambition. He respected the vision. And part of him—however small—was genuinely tempted.

But deep down, something didn’t sit right.

Especially with what he knew about the future.

His consultations with Lewis only reinforced his unease.

"Don’t put your money in Russia," Lewis had warned. "Not now."

The concerns were clear: weak democratic institutions, constant shifts in political leadership, and virtually no legal protection for foreign investors.

Boris Yeltsin was still in power, but his administration was shaky—constantly challenged by hardliners, overwhelmed by unpopular economic reforms, and struggling to manage a country on the brink of unrest.

Russia was still stumbling through its chaotic transition from a Soviet command economy to a free market. The system wasn’t ready—and Richard knew it.

Abramovich kept talking, but Richard’s mind was already made up.

The risk was too great. The timing, all wrong.

"Why don’t you just buy the club yourself?" Richard asked.

"As I said before, I’m not into football," Abramovich replied crisply.

Though slightly disappointed, he respected Richard’s decision.

This made Richard feel a bit bad toward his business partner, so he paused for a moment before saying, "How about this — earlier you said you were looking for funding for loans-for-shares auctions for an oil company, right? What’s the company called again?"

"Sibneft?"

"That’s right!" Richard nodded along and then asked, "How much is the company worth? And how much funding do you need to acquire Sibneft?"

"About $100 million, and I probably need around $50 million," came the reply.

"Then let’s do this instead," Richard said. "Instead of acquiring Zenit, I’ll invest in you to acquire Sibneft. Each of us will put in $50 million for half the company. But just like with Evraz, my bid must be made through your Millhouse Capital so no one knows I’m behind it."

Though Millhouse Capital was owned by Abramovich, the newly established company currently operated in London, providing a layer of protection for his investments—whether in Evrazholding or Sibneft—against any future instability or potential isolation facing Russia

More importantly, both Evrazholding and Sibneft were still private companies, not state-owned enterprises, which meant the political entanglements that often came with government-controlled firms wouldn’t get in his way.

"Why?" Abramovich asked suspiciously. ’Why is he so sensitive about this? Is investing in Russia really that risky?’

Hearing the question, Richard’s mouth twitched. Of course, he didn’t say what was on his mind. Instead, he continued, "Sibneft will acquire Zenit instead of me. Later, I’ll help you manage the club behind the scenes."

Abramovich sighed, still shaking his head. "As I said before, I’m not into football. I’m too busy—"

"No, you’re not!" Richard cut him off suddenly, knocking on the table repeateadly. "Come on, do you really think managing a football club is that busy? A lot of people buy clubs just to treat them like toys. What kind of busy-ness do you actually get from owning one? You can always delegate the work to professionals!"

After noticing his hesitation, Richard stood up and glanced at his watch.

"Let’s go — follow me. Let’s watch the Manchester City match that’s about to start. I’ll show you why they’re so obsessed with football."

Being at a match isn’t just about watching a game; football isn’t just a pastime — it’s an identity. It’s feeling the heartbeat of the crowd, the roar that rises like thunder when a team scores, and the collective gasp when the tension builds.

The stadium becomes a living, breathing entity, pulsing with hope, despair, and unshakable loyalty. And for club owners, that passion is both a blessing and a responsibility. They’re not just investors or businessmen; they become custodians of this spirit, entrusted with nurturing the dreams of millions.

"You’ll hear us score goal after goal," Richard said to Abramovich, filling him with anticipation as they settled into the director’s box.

Manchester City vs Burnley.

"GOAAALLL!!! Ronaldo! He shoots and scores! What a beautiful strike!"

Maine Road Stadium erupted with cheers and applause. Richard was very familiar with these sounds, but for businessman Roman Abramovich, it was his first time experiencing them. It was as if his eyes had just opened to a whole new world.

Like a mini cult.

Just like his ambition to become a ruler—otherwise, why else would he work so hard to build relationships with Russian leaders?

But politics was dangerous. With daily uncertainty, he had to ensure his safety from one day to the next.

Abramovich looked at Richard’s face—completely intoxicated by the sea of cheers.

’This is football?’ he thought to himself before turning his gaze in one direction.

In a corner of the field, a group of players wearing City’s sky blue jerseys clustered around Ronaldo, celebrating their first goal of the match with pure joy and energy.

With the help of their talented squad, City easily took control of the match’s tempo and dominated possession. Burnley could only chase the ball back and forth in a futile effort, wasting both stamina and morale.

"See those players over there?" Richard said, pointing toward Ronaldo, Roberto Carlos, and Cafu.

"They’re players I personally handpicked from Brazil. Do you know how proud I feel watching them play so well? When you scout and bring in players like these, you don’t just get footballers—you get artists on the pitch. And that’s what makes the difference." _{𝖓𝔬𝔳𝔭𝔲𝔟.𝖈𝖔𝔪}

Abramovich simply nodded. There were things he understood, and others he didn’t. But for now, he knew one thing—it seemed that being in charge of a football club wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

"But why do I often see you busier with your football club than with your other businesses? How profitable is owning a football club, really? What about the yearly expenses? How long does it usually take to break even, and what do you mostly focus on?"

’As expected from a businessman,’ Richard thought to himself, feeling pleased that Abramovich was starting to show some interest.

"Don’t use me as your benchmark. I’m a hands-on person—I like to get involved myself because this is my field. Did you forget that I’m a former footballer? That’s why you can’t just follow me. For example, look at other clubs; they usually have a board of advisors and bunch of directors in charge of each department. But at City, I take control of everything."

"Is that so?" Abramovich nodded, accepting Richard’s explanation.

Full-Time: Manchester City 1–0 Burnley.

For the next match, three days later, Richard personally gave Abramovich a free pass to watch Manchester City take on Watford.

This was the last match of September.

"You know," Richard said, "if City wins this match, it means we’ve swept all the games in August and September. As the man in charge, aren’t you proud to see your team achieving results like this?"

Abramovich, seated beside him wearing black glasses, didn’t answer at first. Then he looked toward Richard. "But Zenit is still competing in the Russian First League."

"And what about that?" Richard replied. "Look, I bought City when they were relegated to Second Division—which means the third tier of English football! This is what you call starting from the bottom, so you can build your way up."

Suddenly, their conversation was cut short by the voice of the commentator.

"Ronaldo gains possession of the ball outside the penalty area and dribbles past! Will it be 2–0? Yes! Ronaldo scores again! Manchester City now leads 2–0!"

After a brief celebration, Richard turned back to Abramovich, a grin still on his face. Then, almost casually, he began telling him the story of Bernard Tapie in France—how Tapie prioritized his football club over his other businesses.

Abramovich was taken aback.

"He actually chose his football club over his business?" he asked, visibly stunned.

From everything he knew, owning a football club meant losing money. It was a money-burning machine.

No matter how much he racked his brain, he couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly pour millions—or even let go of a business they had built from scratch—into something so unprofitable.

"Of course," Richard said matter-of-factly. "That’s why owning Zenit won’t be a loss for you. You’ll just be the face of the club—professionals will handle everything else. And if you ever need advice, you can always come straight to me. Isn’t that a win-win for both of us?"

"..."

Hearing Richard speak with such conviction—so casually, as if the emotional returns outweighed the financial costs—he found himself questioning everything.

For the first time, he was... intrigued. Not convinced yet, but no longer dismissive.

For the rest of the match, the two didn’t speak—but the cheers surrounding them were truly electric.

Watching the swift and agile Ronaldo effortlessly break past Watford’s clumsy defensive line again and again, Abramovich felt something stir deep inside him.

As City’s players casually passed the ball around—Cafu even throwing in a cheeky backheel pass right in front of the home crowd, sparking an instant explosion of excitement in the stands—he listened to the chants, the laughter, and the joy radiating from the City fans.

Various thoughts swirled in his mind.

’Is this what I’ve been looking for all this time?’

It wasn’t about logic anymore. It was about passion, influence, legacy.

And perhaps, for someone like him—constantly surrounded by power struggles and shifting alliances—football offered something politics and business couldn’t:

A crowd that would cheer your name not out of fear, but love.

"Let’s do it then," Abramovich suddenly said as he looked toward the pitch. Then he turned to Richard. "But you know, it’s not fair if we both put in $50 million each while you remain passive and I handle everything."

Richard’s mouth twitched at hearing this. With no other choice, he added another $50 million, bringing his total investment to $100 million in what would become the third-largest oil producer in Russia.