After winning the league championship, Millwall enjoyed two days of vacation. That night, the team's three captains organized a grand party and invited all the players and their families to attend.
Aldrich chose to attend a gathering hosted by Carter, which seemed more like an elite social event filled with handsome men and beautiful women. From the outside, there was no sign of debauchery, but who knows what goes on behind closed doors?
Standing by the window with a drink in hand and a cigarette in the other, Aldrich noticed Carter doing the same—one arm resting casually on the windowsill as they faced each other.
"How come Yvonne isn't here tonight?"
Aldrich took a drag and let the smoke curl away, answering without reservation, "I'm avoiding her. Things are getting hard to control."
After over a year of friendship, Aldrich and Carter were now able to speak openly with each other. Both understood the importance of discretion among friends, which was part of why Carter had become well-liked in social circles—he was reliable and had a stellar reputation.
Carter laughed and turned his head, surveying the banquet hall. His gaze lingered on some gorgeous women who kept glancing their way. "You're quite the target for many here. It seems Yvonne will be the one to win you over in the end."
"I'm not sure; maybe it's just the nature of men. To be honest, I've been abstinent for nearly a year."
Feeling the weight of many other gazes fixed on him, Aldrich had come to the balcony for some quiet.
Carter was startled and shocked. "You mean you don't even masturbate?"
Aldrich shrugged casually. "Just every three days."
"Only once every three days? Do you know how often our financial traders masturbate?"
"Huh?"
"Three times a day! They say the financial market is too stimulating, and emotions can swing wildly, so they have to keep themselves fired up or just forget everything for a moment of relaxation."
"If I have to take the team out every day and play at least two games a day, I'm probably going to have to pamper myself three times a day," Aldridge joked.
Carter burst into laughter, the sound drawing the attention of others who were curious about what had them so amused.
Even though many in the room knew Aldrich, most didn't have a close enough relationship with him to engage in anything beyond formal pleasantries.
Carter gazed out at the city lights and smiled. "Do you still have the drive?"
"I do. But I can feel my focus isn't entirely on football anymore, or perhaps my motivation isn't as strong as it was five years ago."
"What if you were to coach the England national team? Would that reignite your passion?"
Laughing lightly, Aldrich replied, "I doubt there's much chance of that happening."
"Coppell's national team is performing poorly in the Euro qualifiers; there's a lot of pressure on him. As a fan, I'm not optimistic. England hardly has any great coaches available to step up."
"They could hire a foreign coach; there are plenty of great trainers out there."
"Not a chance! We're talking about England here. The British are innately proud and wouldn't allow a foreigner to lead. That's just ridiculous."
Aldrich thought for a moment. If he remembered correctly, didn't England later hire Eriksson as their coach? He wasn't English, right? However, with a sigh, he found peace in this knowledge.
Of course, history would reflect that, but the process may not be so straightforward. Having lived in England for years and immersed in its football culture, he knew that post-2000, England's arrogance had worn thin; they certainly were not behaving like aristocrats anymore.
There are almost no excellent local coaches, and a truly talented coach like Bobby Robson is unlikely to come back because he has already coached the national team.
"Whatever. It's not really my problem."
"What are your plans for summer? Will you travel like last year?"
"Not this time. I'm planning to buy a house in Liverpool. Melanie is due to give birth around August, and I need to be there for her."
Carter suddenly realized. "Oh, that's why you're avoiding Yvonne?"
Aldrich nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "I don't care what others think of me, but at this moment, if I get too... carried away, I'll regret it later. Thankfully, there are only seven days left in the season."
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
"A boy. Two of them."
"Twins?"
"Yeah."
"Congratulations."
"I wish they were a boy and a girl."
Talking about his upcoming kids softened Aldrich's expression.
However, Carter seemed to playfully stir the pot and asked, "What about after she gives birth?"
Aldrich paused, contemplating. "I don't know. Before I came here, she called me and mentioned that she'd be making another record with three other girls to test the market. The kids will stay in Liverpool with her parents. I can visit anytime, but damn, it feels like I'm a father hiding in the shadows. But I can't bargain with her. It would definitely end badly, and nobody would be happy."
"If you were a woman, you'd probably feel the same way. If you had your child, wouldn't you want them at home? It's not like you're looking to marry her."
"It's not that I don't want to marry her; it's that I want a real wife, not just someone I see once a month."
"Ha! Guess being famous complicates everything. Let's not dwell on this; it seems only to make you more upset. By the way, I heard your brother in America made some great investments. How much did he invest in that company last year?"
Aldrich recalled that every time he met Barnett, they would talk about his ventures in the United States.
"I think it's around 500,000 dollars. He's using a scattergun investment approach there; as long as it's related to the internet and has a creative angle, his company generously invests, attracting many entrepreneurs who come seeking funding."
Since Barnett established his investment strategy a few years back, Aldrich realized he only needed to invest, like with Microsoft, without managing the company or worrying about finding talent; just invest in the right places, and profits would roll in. Perhaps that initial $500,000 investment would exceed $3 billion in ten or twenty years.
Carter suddenly lowered his voice. "Three months ago, the first internet bank opened. Do you think this will be the future trend?"
"Definitely! The internet will continue to grow rapidly. As people become more reliant on computers and the internet, they'll naturally start buying online. Look at our club's merchandise sales; the trend reflects this. The only difference is that currently, it's more order-based. Members have to deposit money into the club's account and wait for confirmation before we ship their items. If members can just sit in front of a computer and transfer money directly via an internet bank, it would not only be efficient but make everything easier. Many customers abandon buying our merchandise simply due to the hassle of going to the bank. We're waiting for the internet banking system to mature, after which we'll find a partner."
Carter nodded approvingly.
They chatted casually for over an hour, and before parting, Carter handed Aldrich a bottle of fine wine, and Aldrich returned the favor with a signed team jersey.
Aldrich drove home alone.
Upon arriving, he unexpectedly found Ronaldinho sitting on the doorstep, absorbed in his phone. At first, Aldrich assumed he was texting someone, only to see he was playing a simple mobile game and posting impressive scores. Clearly, he was skilled.
"Boss, I need to talk to you."
Ronaldinho put away his phone and stood up, his expression serious under the moonlight.
Aldrich was startled. Could he be wanting a transfer?
Aldrich's brow furrowed as he unlocked the door, flicking on the light and placing the wine from Carter on the shoe rack. However, his mood soured, as such serious expressions from players like Ronaldinho usually signaled a transfer discussion.
Ronaldinho took a seat while Aldrich settled into an armchair, propping his head on one hand. Once he steadied his feelings, he coldly said, "Go ahead, what is it?"
Ronaldinho turned to face Aldrich directly, speaking in a low tone. "Boss, I'm sorry. We won the league, and our opponent in the FA Cup final isn't too tough. I'm sure we can win the FA Cup too, but I can't feel happy about it, really. I can't sleep, thoughts of missing that penalty in Munich keep replaying in my head. I've undone all the hard work the team put in. We could have gone to the Camp Nou in two weeks, could have secured the treble, defended our UEFA Champions League title, and it's all my fault..."
As he reached the finale, Ronaldinho's voice trembled, nearly breaking.
Aldrich was left flabbergasted.
It was all just a misunderstanding.
Ronaldinho did not ask for a transfer.
In fact, his words moved Aldrich deeply.
It had been over half a month since the loss in Munich, yet Ronaldinho still couldn't let it go, filled with self-blame.
He certainly had no need to come before Aldrich to playact; every word, every syllable was drenched in genuine emotion, pain etched across his face, and Aldrich was certain of this.
How strong must his sense of responsibility be?
Having spent three years in the youth academy and now the first team, Ronaldinho harbored great expectations alongside his own aspirations.
Yet perhaps the weight of these expectations brought too much pressure.
Aldrich stared silently at Ronaldinho, not saying a word.
Seeing Aldrich remain silent, Ronaldinho turned to look and found Aldrich smiling.
"Boss, you..."
"Let me ask you something. Do you know which team in Europe was last called a great dynasty?"
Ronaldinho thought for a moment and replied, "AC Milan."
"And do you know how many championships AC Milan won during the eight years under Sacchi and Capello?"
Ronaldinho shook his head.
Aldrich smiled. "Sixteen, and that includes cups like the UEFA Super Cup and the Intercontinental Cup, which I don't consider significant. How many trophies has Millwall won in the past four years?"
Ronaldinho began to calculate in his head.
"Thirteen..."
"Don't include the European Super Cup or Intercontinental Cup—those don't count."
"Eight titles. There's also the FA Cup final to play this season."
Aldrich leaned closer to Ronaldinho, grinning. "Even I can't demand that you all must claim the treble this season, that you need to defend the Champions League title. You've set your sights too high, Ronaldinho! But your commitment to winning surprises me. I have to give you credit for it. I hope you hold onto this passion until the day you retire."
Ronaldinho gazed at Aldrich in confusion.
He truly didn't get it.
Why wasn't Aldrich angry in the slightest?
It even appeared that he felt no disappointment whatsoever!