When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 189 The moment of decision
On July 9, 2004, waves crashed against the beach of Vila Mora on the Algarve Gold Coast in Portugal.

Cristiano Ronaldo lay under a parasol, a radio beside him crackling with news: "French starlet Roy is poised to join the Premier League for a record fee."

He abruptly reached out and turned off the radio.

The memory of the semi-finals lingers like the Mediterranean heatwave.

That damned Frenchman not only beat Porto to win the Champions League final, but now he's personally sent Portugal out of the European Championship with three goals.

What's even more infuriating is that local radio stations in Funchal are playing Roy's transfer rumors on repeat, as if all of Portugal can't forget the boy who broke their hearts.

Although he scored a goal himself, everyone only remembered Roy's crazy performance.

Mendes' phone call this morning was all about Roy: "Sir Ferguson admires him," "Manchester United offered him a record-breaking contract," "You two are going to be teammates."
"Cristiano, it's time for lunch."

The voice of her mother, Mrs. Dolores, came from behind her.

He mumbled a reply, grabbed a towel, and headed towards the hotel.

Hugo, the older brother, was reading the newspaper by the pool. He unfolded the sports section of "The Athletic" newspaper, pointed to a large photo of Roy, and asked, "What's this kid like in real life?"

Cristiano Ronaldo glanced at the newspaper but remained silent.

Katya, the second sister, leaned over and whistled, "God really favored people when creating them; this Frenchman looks like a movie star."

Cristiano Ronaldo felt a mix of emotions he couldn't quite describe.

Roy is about the same age as him, but he has already won the treble, the European Championship, nearly seventy goals in a year, and the Golden Boy award.

All of Europe is talking about this French genius, while he himself is just a young kid called "Little Ronaldo".

If Roy really comes to Manchester United, the team will immediately become a top contender for the title.

This Frenchman can pass and shoot, and with Van Nistelrooy's finishing ability, other Premier League teams simply can't defend against him.

But a problem arises: a star of Roy's caliber must be the core player, and all tactics must revolve around him.

The strict hierarchy in the locker room was suffocating. Van Nistelrooy was the undisputed king of the penalty area. If Roy were to come, his Champions League and European Championship MVP titles alone would be enough to secure him a starting position.

As for himself? He has Giggs as a formidable opponent on the left flank, and forget about the attacking midfield position; Ronaldinho's skill and reputation speak for themselves.

With less possession of the ball and less right to shoot, even one's status in the locker room will be downgraded.

He could picture himself sitting on the bench, and he could almost hear the roar of fans chanting Roy's name.

This feeling of being completely crushed is a hundred times worse than the night we lost in the European Cup.

On the training field, you have to be mindful of others' moods.

They're the same age, but he's a Golden Boy winner, a top scorer in the Champions League and the European Championship, while I can only be his junior.

What's even more frustrating is that even if he's not convinced, he has to admit that Roy is indeed a cut above him.

The feeling of wanting to win the championship through him, yet being unwilling to play a supporting role, is like having a thorn stuck in your throat—you can't swallow it or spit it out.

Strangely enough, the thought of fighting alongside such an opponent made his veins feel slightly hot.

The feeling was like standing on the edge of a cliff, both afraid of falling and unable to resist the urge to jump.

That morning, Roy and Mendes' black Mercedes slowly drove into the Carrington training ground.

Sir Alex Ferguson, unusually dressed in formal attire, had been waiting in front of the training building for quite some time.

Last summer he wanted to bring Roy to Old Trafford, when the Frenchman was just Monaco's rising star.

Just a year ago, Roy was merely Ferguson's "Beckham successor".

Today, this young man who once turned down Manchester United has proven his worth in the most brutal way.

In the two legs of the Champions League semi-final, he surgically dismantled Arsenal's unbeaten defense throughout the season. When Wenger's team arrived at the Stade Louis II with the aura of an unbeaten Premier League season, their myth of the Gunners was shattered by an even more frenzied attacking onslaught.

In the final, they will face Porto, the team that eliminated Manchester United.

With 17 Champions League goals, he broke a record that had stood for many years.

At the European Championship, when Henry only scored 3 goals, Roy's 10 goals were like 10 heavy hammer blows, paving the way for France to win the championship.

The data doesn't lie. At an age when Henry needed the whole team to feed him the ball, Roy was already able to carry the entire team forward.

At a dinner in Lisbon last year, Ferguson realized that Roy was a different breed.

At that time, Ferguson mentally labeled Roy as a shrewd businessman.

This kid, at just 19, already has a complete understanding of football. The pitch is the stage, the club is the springboard, and honors are the bargaining chips.

He doesn't care about any "childhood dreams," he only cares about the numbers: Arsenal is burdened with debt from the new stadium and will struggle to breathe for the next ten years, so he won't consider it.

Manchester United has deep pockets and can afford to pay him top salaries and buy top teammates.

He even thoroughly studied how Platini won the Ballon d'Or, and knew what kind of platform and data he needed.

This kind of player is as cold and ruthless as a machine, but that's exactly the kind of machine Manchester United needs.

They don't let emotions cloud their judgment, nor do they fret about gains or losses; their only focus is on goals and trophies.

While other young people were still getting excited about jerseys from top clubs, this kid was already able to analyze the financial statements of various clubs with great clarity.

The veteran coach has seen too many geniuses, but he has never seen anyone like Roy who plans his career like a precision project.

He knew that this kind of ruthless and clear-headed player was exactly the kind of tough character Manchester United needed most in their quest for the Champions League.

"Welcome to the Carrington Training Base."

Ferguson's voice was deeper than usual, and he pronounced each word exceptionally clearly.

This is no longer a polite invitation to young players last summer, but a formal call to stars who have already been crowned kings of Europe.

The ensuing meeting lasted for nearly four hours, during which the three cups of black tea on the office coffee table were refilled repeatedly, but no one ever tasted them.

(In British negotiation culture, refilling tea is a basic courtesy. Even if no one drinks it, staff will still come in every 20 minutes to refill it, following the established procedure.)
Ferguson stared at the professional team across the coffee table, his brow furrowing involuntarily.

Mendes' fingers moved quickly between the pages of the contract, making a soft rustling sound.

German lawyer Schröder pushed up his glasses and reviewed the details of each clause, occasionally marking the edges with a pen.

What was most surprising was that they even brought an actuary with them. He had a laptop and calculator spread out in front of him, meticulously calculating the financial impact of various salary structures and bonus schemes.

Ferguson sat across from them, watching this overly professional negotiation team, and realized that this transfer negotiation had completely gone beyond the scope of traditional football transfers.

He picked up the now-cold black tea and took a sip, suddenly feeling that his club's transfer negotiations had turned into a merger and acquisition deal for a listed company.

Roy leaned back quietly on the sofa, his hands folded on his knees.

Whenever Ferguson's gaze swept over him, he would give a shy smile.

His smile was as innocent as that of a college student just out of school, a stark contrast to the tense and professional team opposite him.

He occasionally looked down and fiddled with his cuffs, as if this negotiation, worth hundreds of millions, had nothing to do with him, and he was just an ordinary young man visiting a friend's house.

Ferguson suddenly realized that this kind of player was really good.

Simple, direct, and unpretentious, it's much more worry-free than those big brands that are always throwing tantrums.

Roy never holds back on the field, playing every game like it's a final.

But he wouldn't take a penny less than he was entitled to.

For every pound of salary paid to this kind of player, he can deliver two pounds of value; as for image rights and commercial revenue, they've already calculated that they'll earn back three times that amount.

Ferguson would rather have ten of these "businessmen players" than those talented club-goers.

At least they understand that the best advertisement is a goal.

During the negotiations, the security chief at the Carrington training base had to temporarily deploy six additional guards.

More than forty journalists had gathered outside the fence of the training ground, including the European editors of L'Équipe and Kicker.

Manchester United's press officer issued a brief statement every hour: "Talks are ongoing and there is no further information at this time."

But traders in the City of London noticed that Manchester United's parent company shares experienced unusual volatility during the midday session, with trading volume reaching three times the usual level.

All senior staff in the club's finance department were required to stand by, and the accounting team was in the adjacent conference room ready to calculate the financial feasibility of different salary structures.

Manchester TV's live broadcast van remained on standby, with the director holding two contingency plans: one for a special program if the transfer succeeded, and the other for an emergency statement in case negotiations broke down.

Ferguson's personal assistant declined inquiries from board members three times, but according to regulations, the club secretary must send encrypted emails every forty minutes to major shareholders such as British Sky Broadcasting, the Martin Edwards family, and the Glazer family of New York to report on the progress.

After the negotiations concluded, Roy stood up, straightened his suit, and thanked Ferguson and David Gill with standard British etiquette.

His eyes visibly lit up when Jill offered to show him the Hall of Fame.

Walking among the trophy display cases, this shrewd young man, who was at the negotiating table, suddenly became talkative, able to accurately recall the year each trophy was won.

“Sir Charlton’s header,” he said, pointing to a black-and-white photograph in the display case.

"And that goal by Best dribbling past three players was true art."

Moving on to the Premier League era, his finger pointed precisely to the first championship trophy: "Cantona's volley against Sheffield Wednesday in '93 changed the entire landscape of the Premier League."

As he passed the treble winners' exhibition area, he almost pressed his face against the glass to examine it closely: "Dwight Yorke and Andy Cole scored 53 goals together that season, only 3 of which were penalties, and the rest were all goals from open play. Where can you find such a strike partnership now?"

Roy stood in front of the 99 Champions League display case, his finger lightly tracing the famous photo of the substitutes.

"Sheringham, Solskjaer, Blomqvist."

He called out each name one by one, as if reading a list of old friends, "Scoring two goals in the last three minutes, that's the true spirit of Manchester United."

His voice suddenly became fervent, "Nowadays, many teams park the bus when they're leading and give up when they're trailing—but Manchester United always attacks, always believes they can turn things around. I watched it live in France when I was a kid, and that shot by Giggs in stoppage time..."

He suddenly stopped, smiled sheepishly, and said, "Sorry, I'm being too long-winded. But this kind of football is worthy of the Old Trafford pitch."

As he passed Sir Busby's statue, he stopped and murmured, "This is a true legend."

Jill listened from the side, secretly pleased.

This kid knows Manchester United like a seasoned fan; this transfer looks like it's a done deal.

Before dinner, Manchester United made a special reservation at Manchester's best Michelin-starred restaurant.

But when Jill made the arrangement, Roy smiled and shook his head: "Thank you for your kindness, but being able to have a simple meal in a box at Old Trafford is more precious to me than any Michelin star."

As the waiter pushed the food cart in, he was peering over the glass at the stadium, where the grass gleamed like jade under the lights.

Exquisite dishes were laid out on the long table in the private room, but no one was in a hurry to use their knives and forks.

At this moment, the passion of football enthusiasts is more important than business negotiations.

As Roy's black Mercedes convoy drove away from Old Trafford, Gil finally couldn't help but reveal a victor's smile, loosening his tie: "Roy has Manchester United blood in his veins, the transfer is a sure thing."

"Bullshit! He didn't even flinch at the negotiating table."

"I've seen people who are greedy for money, fame-seeking, and demanding of privileges, but not like him."

Ferguson twirled his fingers near his temple. "Never seen this before."

He put down his glass and shook his head at Jill: "Negotiations with Roy are so comfortable. He makes perfect sense and never argues. But here's the problem: he accepts all our terms without batting an eye."

"The Hall of Fame, history, and fan sentiment have no effect on him. He is polite and courteous, but he has already calculated every single clause in his mind. We can't even gain the slightest advantage in negotiations."

Jill flipped through the draft contract: "At least he promised to give me a reply within a few days."

Ferguson sneered: "That translates to him saying he's waiting for offers from other clubs."

He strode toward the door, then suddenly turned back as if remembering something: "Oh right, call me a car to the airport. I need to go to the Netherlands for Fanny's wedding."

As soon as the car door closed, Mendes rolled down the window and took a few deep breaths of the cold air.

He loosened his tie and stared blankly at the receding lights of Dream Theater in the rearview mirror.

He had never fought such an easy battle in his career.

Manchester United's bottom line is like a deflated balloon; from image rights to release clauses, it automatically drops a notch with each round of negotiations.

In the back seat, Roy was checking text messages on his phone, the blue light from the screen reflecting the half-smile on his lips.

Mendes suddenly realized that his only role as the top agent tonight was to remain silent as Manchester United's management kept making concessions.

Now, holding Manchester United's terms in hand, they should go and have a serious talk with the other two clubs. At Manchester Airport's cargo area, three customs clearance records for personal belongings from Monaco suddenly became the focus of attention.

Three crates bearing Monaco's logistics label are undergoing routine inspection; inside are nothing more than cigars and antique clocks ordered by a Monte Carlo tycoon.

But the moment the Reuters airport reporter saw the keyword "Monaco," he immediately thought of star player Roy, who was in negotiations in Manchester.

Although the shipment manifest clearly states that the consignee is "JB Holdings".

Twelve minutes later, the vague news flash popped up in the trading floor of the City of London via the Bloomberg terminal.

Goldman Sachs analysts reflexively placed buy orders as soon as they read the headline, sending Manchester United's share price soaring 1.8%, its biggest monthly gain.

A young trader at a Chicago hedge fund even called his boss: "The mysterious shipment from Monaco must be Roy's personal belongings that he sent in advance!"

The frenzy sparked by three boxes of cigars only came to an abrupt end when the club's spokesperson reluctantly clarified the situation that evening.

On July 10, Van Nistelrooy married his fiancée Slatz in his hometown of Geffen, Netherlands.

The wedding venue was decorated with Dutch-style ribbons, and a Rolls-Royce adorned with red and white roses carried the newlyweds to the church.

Local shop owners spontaneously plastered their shop windows with auspicious slogans.

Ferguson's appearance surprised the reporters present.

The Manchester United manager not only attended the banquet in person, but also joked during his speech: "This kid is more obedient in the kitchen than in the penalty area."

Dutch national team assistant coach Van Hanegem and Van Nistelrooy's teammates raised their glasses, and Olympic champion Hoogenband also came to congratulate them.

It's worth mentioning that Van Nistelrooy, as a good friend, once invited Beckham to his wedding. However, Ferguson, who had a long-standing grudge against Beckham, expressed strong dissatisfaction and even threatened Van Nistelrooy that he would never go to the Netherlands if Beckham showed up at the wedding.

Ultimately, out of consideration for Ferguson, Van Nistelrooy had to abandon his plan to invite Beckham.

On July 10, Roy made a low-key appearance in London. Contrary to outside speculation, his trip was not to negotiate with Chelsea, but rather to attend the F1 British Grand Prix at Silverstone Circuit at the personal invitation of the Ferrari team and Schumacher.

Silverstone Circuit, located in central England, was originally a military airfield during World War II. It first hosted the British Grand Prix in 1948 and became the first venue for the Formula 1 World Championship in 1950.

这条单圈5.141公里的赛道历经变迁：1955-1964年间与Aintree赛道轮流办赛，1964-1987年又与Brands Hatch赛道交替举办，最终在1987年成为英国大奖赛的固定举办地。

As the birthplace of the British motorsport industry, Silverstone remains one of the world's most densely packed race tracks.

Roy, wearing a baseball cap, sat in the VIP stands, his eyes fixed on the track.

As Schumacher's red Ferrari roared past, he leaned forward slightly.

On lap 15, when Schumacher overtook Raikkonen using a late pit stop strategy, Roy gave a slight nod.

In the final stages of the race, as Schumacher steadily maintained his lead and crossed the finish line, Roy stood up and applauded before quietly leaving the track.

After the race, Roy attended Ferrari's private victory party.

He stood discreetly by the champagne tower, holding a glass of mineral water, occasionally exchanging a few words with Schumacher and team manager Todt.

When the photographer raised his camera, he quietly retreated to the edge of the crowd.

Halfway through the party, Roy politely said goodbye to the host and drove away in a black car into the night.

On the evening of July 10, Real Madrid's official website suddenly released an announcement, and Florentino Pérez's personal spokesperson also confirmed to the media that Roy, a product of Real Madrid's youth academy and who was sold to Monaco a season and a half ago, the newly crowned Champions League and European Championship double top scorer, was flying to Madrid on the club's private jet.

The announcement was deliberately low-key, but the timing was intriguing.

The following day, July 11, was the election day for the Real Madrid president. When the special plane landed at Madrid-Barajas Airport, the polling station outside the Bernabéu Stadium was undergoing final preparations, and staff were counting the ballot boxes to be used the next day.

On the tarmac, Florentino's personal assistant stood at the front holding a sign to greet the passengers, while the flashing camera lights could be faintly seen behind the terminal glass.

The news caused an instant uproar throughout the city.

Fans in the bar put down their glasses and stared at the flight information reported on the news; some had already started singing the team song.

At the newsstands on the street, people were scrambling to buy evening papers, and the front page prominently featured that familiar name.

That striker who was once abandoned by his club is now one of the most sought-after strikers in Europe.

On Real Madrid fan forums, posts are being refreshed at a rate of dozens per second: "He's back!" "This is the best campaign manifesto!" "Vote tomorrow, pick him up today, is there even a need for an election?"

The crowds grew larger and larger in the square near the Bernabéu.

Some people waved scarves, some lit fireworks, and many more simply listened to the radio, waiting for the latest news.

None of them saw his lonely figure as he left, but they remembered his amazing performance at the Bernabéu.

Facing a star-studded lineup dubbed the "Galactic Battleship," he toyed with three players like children, completing his hat trick with a deft chip shot.

After scoring, he stood in the center of the Bernabéu pitch and, in the deathly silence of the entire stadium, slowly raised his hands, making a gesture as if crowning himself.

This scene became the most classic moment of the season, and also the most painful scar in the hearts of Real Madrid fans.

When the Barcelona president announced during the European Championship that he would spare no expense to acquire him, the entire city of Madrid held its breath.

Real Madrid fans breathed a sigh of relief only after the statement "I will never join Barcelona" was reported through the media.

Now, this once-abandoned child, this king who has proven himself elsewhere, returns on the eve of the election, which carries more weight than any campaign promise.

The coronation ceremony was being replayed on the TV in a street-side bar. Older fans watched until their eyes welled up with tears, while younger fans couldn't wait to start singing a modified version of the cheering song.

At the ticket window, several young people had already started discussing season tickets for the new season.

Outside the polling station, staff silently counted the ballot boxes, their ears filled with cheers from afar.

That night, the entire city was convinced that tomorrow's election was a foregone conclusion, because the best way to campaign is never through slogans, but through action.

On July 11, the Real Madrid presidential election was held in Madrid as scheduled.

Long queues began forming outside the Bernabéu Stadium at 9 a.m.

Florentino was the first to vote, accompanied by his wife, and the crowd erupted in enthusiastic applause.

As the vote progressed, his advantage became increasingly apparent.

In the end, out of a total of 23401 valid votes, Florentino Pérez won re-election with an overwhelming 22933 votes and 98% of the vote.

The entire voting process was orderly, but the result was a foregone conclusion.

While other candidates were still delivering their campaign manifestos, Florentino's vote count on the ballot board had already surged ahead of the competition.

In the evening, Marca announced Florentino's victory ahead of schedule, but many fans still came to cast their final vote for him.

At 21 p.m. that evening, when the election commission officially announced the results, Florentino simply stated: "Starting tomorrow, we will continue to build the greatest team in the world."

This statement was interpreted as a signal of a series of high-profile signings, and everyone knew it.

The talented striker who arrived in Madrid on the eve of the election is Florentino's primary target after his re-election.

Real Madrid fans are convinced that Roy's return is only a matter of time.

As Real Madrid members cast their votes at the Bernabéu, Roy's VIP pick-up staff were holding up signs that read "Chen Lan" in the VIP lounge at Madrid Airport.

The flight arrived on time.

As soon as the hatch opened, 11-year-old Rowan burst out like a small cannonball, clutching a basketball tightly in his arms.

Following closely behind was her younger sister, Romi, who skipped and hopped, the hair tie in her braid swinging with each step.

The little girl rolled her eyes mischievously, her face beaming with excitement at the prospect of escaping her mother's control.

Chen Lan and Nicholas Heathlen were walking at the very back.

Heathlen dragged a large suitcase in one hand, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

The staff quickly stepped forward to take the luggage, and Heathlen loosened his tie, took out his phone and sent Roy a text message: "Arrived safely."

Romi couldn't wait to climb into the waiting van and make faces at her mother through the window.

Meanwhile, Rowan stared out the window the whole time, his fingers constantly stroking the basketball, as if he could already see the Real Madrid basketball youth academy court.

As the convoy slowly drove into the courtyard of a white villa in the Salamanca district, the Marca reporter, who had been waiting for some time, was the first to raise his telephoto lens.

When Roy appeared at the villa entrance to greet his family, the sound of camera shutters immediately filled the air.

The photographer from AS was so excited he almost dropped his camera.

This scene says it all: he bought property in Madrid, brought his whole family to settle there, and even sent his younger brother to Real Madrid's youth academy.

The live broadcast trucks from various media outlets immediately transmitted the footage back to the editorial department, with the headlines all reading "Welcome Home".

Even Reuters' correspondent in Spain started drafting English news briefs; everyone understood that this was the most straightforward official announcement.

As soon as the ornate iron gate opened, Rowan grabbed a basketball and rushed to the basketball court in the backyard.

Roy stood on the porch, watching his mother and younger siblings approach.

“The master bedroom is for you,” Roy said, leading Chen Lan into the spacious bedroom. “The balcony faces south and has excellent natural light.”

He then pushed open the door to the next room: "This is Rowan's room. It's close to the court, which is convenient for his training."

At this moment, Romi tugged at her brother's sleeve, her eyes already brimming with tears: "What about me?"

Her voice was choked with sobs, and her little hands were tightly gripping Roy's sleeve.

"You'll live with me."

Roy knelt down and wiped away his sister's tears.

Romi sobbed, saying, "I can't bear to part with Mom," but then quietly snuggled even tighter into her brother's arms.

Her tears were still on her face, but she couldn't help but smile.

That sly, laughing-crying expression was exactly the same as Roy's signature sly smile on the field.

The little girl stole a glance at her mother who was packing her luggage, then snuggled closer to her brother, looking just like a kitten that had stolen a fish.

Roy pinched his sister's nose, and the two siblings smiled at each other, their eyes sparkling with the same mischievous light.

In the days before the internet was widespread, the news spread like wildfire through radio, television, and newspapers.

The Sina Sports newsroom was brightly lit at 3 a.m.

The editor on duty stared at the photo coming out of the fax machine and immediately decided to replace the prepared headline.

The next morning, when fans turned on their computers, they were greeted by the headline on the homepage: "Ferguson's Ace! Roy's Return Helps Real Madrid President Win Re-election with a High Number of Votes."

The accompanying photo shows Roy smiling in front of his villa in Madrid, with the caption: "The former outcast has returned as a king, and the Galacticos have their strongest puzzle piece."

The article states: "Florentino resolved his old grudge with Roy in the smartest way possible, not by apologizing, but by creating new history with him. While other candidates were still giving speeches and campaigning, this construction tycoon had already proven with his actions that only he could bring the world's best player back to the Bernabéu. Now, Real Madrid with Roy will make all of Europe tremble."

At the end of the article, the editor specially bolded a line: "Remember that boy who crowned himself after wearing a hat at the Bernabéu? Now, he is really going to reign supreme here."

The editors of the sports department at the Tokyo-based Asahi Shimbun stayed up all night, repeatedly checking every detail of the faxed photos.

The next day, the front page prominently featured the bold headline: "Lord Roy, Triumphant Return from Madrid."

The report described him as "the triumphant return of a modern warrior."

Japan's NHK television network interrupted its morning drama broadcast to urgently air this news.

In the studio, the veteran commentator's voice trembled: "This player, known as the 'young martial god protected by Bishamonten,' has finally reached the pinnacle of European football."

Young girls crowded around the Real Madrid jersey pre-sale advertisement in front of the specialty store in Akihabara.

Fans holding banners that read "Roy-sama Support Group" attracted onlookers in front of Shibuya Station.

Beneath a giant advertising screen in Dotonbori, Osaka, a group of fans dressed in replica samurai hakama sat upright, leading foreign tourists to mistakenly believe they were participating in a traditional ceremony.

Most notably, fans were already waiting in front of the Spanish Embassy in Tokyo with hand-painted banners that read "Welcome to Madrid" as early as dawn.

On the streets of Madrid, fans crowded in front of newsstands to buy the freshly printed evening paper.

Long queues formed at public phone booths outside the Bernabéu Stadium, filled with fans inquiring about season ticket reservations.

In Barcelona, ​​the headlines of local newspapers were still focused on Rijkaard's tactical reforms, with only Catalan radio quietly broadcasting a brief news item in the midnight slot: "Another superstar has been recruited by Real Madrid."

(I'll write Decision Two in the next chapter; I simply can't finish it.)

(End of this chapter)