Chapter 561: A Risk Worth Taking
He squinted groggily and spotted Yvonne creeping over to his bedside, her hand extending toward the phone on the nightstand. Catching his eye, she sighed gently and said, "Whoever it is, calling at the crack of dawn... You should really get some more sleep."
"What's the time?"
"Almost eight o'clock."
"It's that late? Give me the phone."
Rolling onto his back, Aldrich rubbed his face with both hands. He still felt the remnants of sleep but didn't want to go back to bed. It was Sunday, and his team would be hosting Arsenal that afternoon.
He had already overslept by more than an hour compared to his usual schedule.
Managing both club and national team duties was proving exhausting, even more than he had anticipated. For once, he found himself yearning for a break like an office worker dreaming of vacation time.
Unfortunately, the Premier League didn't offer a winter break. Rest would have to wait until next summer.
Yvonne handed him the phone and said, "Breakfast is ready. This morning, I'll take Earl to the hospital for a checkup. He seemed a little unwell earlier, but if everything's fine, I'll bring them to the stadium this afternoon to cheer for you."
The phone was still ringing as Aldrich asked anxiously, "What's wrong with Earl?"
"He was coughing earlier, but he's better now. Don't worry; you can rest a bit longer. I'll head out soon and take him to the hospital. First, though, I'll drop Bert off at your parents' place."
Scratching his head as Yvonne left the bedroom, Aldrich glanced at the phone, which was already ringing for the second time.
It was Andrew.
Odd timing—Andrew was usually still asleep at this hour.
"Not even eight o'clock, and you're up? What do you want?"
"Eight? Oh, my bad. I'm not in London; it's already noon where I am."
"WTF! Where the hell are you now?"
"Which city in the world has the most beautiful women?"
"Why not just get Ukrainian citizenship and settle down there for good?"
"Heh, I've got a lunch meeting later, but I thought I'd call you first to get the important stuff out of the way. Here's the news: that Brazilian player, the 18-year-old... What's his name again? Hang on, let me check. Oh, Ricardo Izecson dos Santos Leite. Millwall doesn't need to keep an eye on him anymore, and neither should you."
Aldrich, still half-dazed, blurted out, "Which player are you talking about?"
That long-winded Brazilian name was enough to make anyone's head spin. Aldrich couldn't recall Millwall ever scouting anyone named Ricardo-what's-his-name.
"Come on, man. Don't tell me you're still half-asleep. It's the kid from São Paulo. Last summer, Millwall secretly made an offer—initially £5 million. They wouldn't sell. You kept raising the bid, and at £8 million, São Paulo finally agreed. But the player himself refused negotiations. It's only been a few months, and you've already forgotten? Or is it that Millwall has completely lost interest after the failed transfer? If that's the case, you should've told me earlier, so I wouldn't waste resources assigning someone to track him regularly."
Andrew's complaint snapped Aldrich awake.
He suddenly realized who Andrew was referring to.
Kaká!
Aldrich pushed himself up in bed, just about to speak, but Andrew had already hung up.
Shaking his head, Aldrich immediately called back.
"What's the matter?" Andrew picked up.
"You didn't finish your sentence earlier!"
"Oh, please. You couldn't even name the player. What more is there to talk about?"
"Forget that. What did you mean when you said Millwall doesn't need to bother with him anymore? Did some big European club swoop in? Don't tell me it's AC Milan. That doesn't add up. He didn't feature in any official matches last season, and by summer, this season wasn't looking any better. Unless… did he play during the closing stages of the Brasileirão over the past couple of months?"
"Play in a match? You're dreaming. He'll probably never even make his debut in his career."
"Huh? What are you talking about? What happened to him?"
"He had an accident. He broke his spine while diving. His spine, you get that? Do you understand how crucial the spine is to a person?"
"Holy crap! What a lucky day!"
"Are you stupid or something?"
"Come back, help me out. Go to Brazil yourself. Wait, wait, let me think this through. I need to figure out how to handle his transfer."
"Transfer? Who's buying?"
"Millwall's buying."
"You've lost your mind. Buying a player with a spinal injury? He might not even walk normally again, let alone play football. Worst-case scenario, he could end up paralyzed. Why would you want him on the team? Hoping for a tragedy where a player dies on the pitch?"
After a moment of silence, Aldrich responded firmly, "I can't leave right now. You'll represent me and go to São Paulo. I'll have Adam join you to show the club's sincerity. Meanwhile, I'll arrange the best spinal specialists in London for him. Before you leave, the club must first communicate with São Paulo's management officially. Call me once you're there."
"Are you burning money for fun?"
"I have my reasons. Just make it happen, and I'll gift you a Ferrari when I'm back."
"Fine, since you don't value money, I'll gladly accept."
After hanging up, Aldrich immediately called Adam, instructing him to take the club's negotiation team and medical staff to São Paulo. He briefly explained the situation and had the club resend the initial summer bid for Kaká: £5 million.
The second call went to the medical department. He didn't bother with details, giving clear and concise orders.
"Find me the best spinal specialist in the world!"
A morning that had seemed rather unpromising turned into a surprising opportunity for Aldrich.
After getting up, taking a shower, and having breakfast, he headed to the club. With a match scheduled for the afternoon, the players were arriving later in the day, and everyone would have lunch together at the club before preparing for the league game.
When Aldrich arrived at the club, staff informed him that São Paulo had promptly responded to their bid, asking for £6 million.
Aldrich chuckled as soon as he heard the news.
He'd offered £5 million. To outsiders, it looked like his second try.
But what about São Paulo?
If they agreed right away, it would raise suspicion.
But due to Kaká's unexpected injury, they couldn't risk pushing Millwall away with a too high counteroffer.
£6 million was £2 million less than the £8 million settled in the summer. That might not seem huge, but it was a significant difference for a Brazilian club, always known for their cheap deals.
But circumstances had changed.
In the summer, Millwall was cautious and rational in their transfers. Now, with the transfer window closed, clubs couldn't finalize deals immediately. São Paulo wanted to act quickly, finalize the agreement, and conceal Kaká's injury. By January, when the winter window opened, as long as Kaká had mostly recovered, they could ship him off to England and complete the deal.
São Paulo's response was clear: the transfer fee was £6 million, but Millwall had to pay £2 million upfront, with the remaining £4 million due when the winter transfer window opened and the player was officially transferred.
In essence, Millwall had to pay £2 million immediately and sign a contract with São Paulo.
Without this clause, both parties would have room to back out—São Paulo could decide not to sell in January or raise the price.
Aldrich was pleased with the addition of this term. It seemed São Paulo was worried Millwall might back out!
Little did they know Aldrich was even more concerned about them changing their minds!
He immediately instructed Adam to head to Brazil and finalize the contract with São Paulo. As long as the player agreed, Millwall would pay the £2 million immediately to seal the deal.
After lunch at the club, Aldrich returned to his office and began typing a letter to Kaká.
Although Andrew and Adam were representing him and Millwall, Aldrich wanted to personally express his sincerity.
"Dear Kaká,
When you were under 18, Millwall's scouts in South America had already noticed you. I've watched your video clips, studied your skills, and analyzed your immense potential. You were a remarkable discovery, and Millwall tried hard to sign you back then. We missed our first chance to collaborate.
Now, I know you're injured and going through a tough phase, but I believe your resilience will see you through. Join Millwall. Here, we have the best doctors to ensure your health and the finest coaching team to help you grow.
Come to the Lion King Stadium, where our fans will cheer and celebrate your skills. I am a coach who relentlessly pursues victory, and I hope my players can proudly say after retirement: 'I've won five, six, or seven Premier League titles, and I've lifted the Champions League trophy once, twice, or even more.'
Kaká, I look forward to seeing you shine on Europe's biggest stage. Millwall's jersey is ready for you.
Wishing you a speedy recovery,
Aldrich
Aldrich sent the letter to Andrew's email with a follow-up text instructing him to print it and hand it to Kaká during their visit.
With that done, Aldrich took a nap on the office sofa until his assistant coach, Jensen, knocked on the door, waking him up. He washed his face, adjusted his attire, and called Yvonne to check on Earl's condition.
Earl had only a mild cold. After a morning visit to the hospital for an injection and some medicine, he was full of energy again after a few hours of sleep. Yvonne took him to join Arthur and the others, and they were now driving to the Lion King Stadium.
Aldrich felt relieved. Gathering his focus, he joined the team as they headed to the stadium to prepare for the match.
It was a London derby—a critical battle in the title race.
The FA's scheduling, as always, was infuriating.
Having such a high-stakes and intense match immediately after the FIFA international break was bound to affect the quality of play.
Both Millwall and Arsenal were packed with international players.
The fans, however, were as enthusiastic as ever.
Aldrich's control over Millwall and the England national team made The Lions' supporters even more full of themselves than before.
The Lions didn't just dominate the English top-flight; their manager now controlled the very fate of the national team.
Can they get any more badass?
As Aldridge walked into the Lions Stadium to greet Wenger before the game, the professor complained, clearly annoyed. "You have a close relationship with the FA, why don't you discuss with them about postponing this game? Or do you think it's in your interest to play Arsenal now?"
"Benefits? What benefits? I'd rather not have to deal with such a high-stakes match right after a FIFA break. But the FA? They'll never accept my suggestion—they don't want to stir up any trouble."
Wenger immediately understood.
He had previously criticized the FA's scheduling and even attempted to request a reschedule, but the FA had declined, claiming impartiality and fairness.
Adjusting the schedule to ensure better match quality wasn't impossible, especially for such high-profile games. After all, everyone wanted to see a thrilling contest, not a dull display by a group of FIFA-virus-stricken stars.
But because Aldrich was now the England manager, Millwall's fixtures were out of the question for rescheduling. Any changes would undoubtedly lead to accusations of favoritism toward the Lions.
Such a move would invite a storm of criticism—especially since, just a day earlier, Manchester United had hosted Leeds United in another marquee matchup. Last season's runners-up versus the fourth-placed team, and fierce rivals at that!
And yet, there were no complaints from them. Arsenal and Millwall even had an extra day to rest.
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