When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 193 The 19-Year-Old London Conqueror

At 11:30 p.m. on July 18, 2004, the tarmac at London Heathrow Airport was illuminated by blinding flashes of light.

Chelsea's private jet slowly taxied to its parking position, and as soon as the cabin door opened, British media cameras immediately pointed at the gangway.

Roy was the first to come out, his tall figure standing out in the night.

The night breeze brushed against his angular face, his black hair fluttered slightly, and his deep black eyes calmly swept over the dark mass of reporters in front of him.

He was calm and composed, with a steady gait, exuding a powerful aura that could not be ignored.

Agent Mendes followed closely behind, whispering a reminder: "Don't stop, get in the car."

Claire followed Roy with brisk steps, her tall figure standing out in the crowd.

His assistant, Heath, stood protectively to the side, blocking the microphones that kept being thrust at him.

British media captured Roy being followed by Chelsea legend Zola, who was clearly surprised by his joining the team.

Reporters turned their cameras to him, but Zola simply nodded calmly, seemingly used to such scenes.

Romy's girlfriend, Leticia Casta, walked out hand in hand. Flashbulbs kept going off, but the little girl was not scared at all. Instead, she excitedly stood on tiptoe and waved to the crowd.

Her innocent smile and lively actions immediately attracted the attention of several media outlets, and the cameras turned to this bold and adorable little girl.

L'Équipe reporter Duluk walked at the back, observing the frenzy of the British media with great interest.

Chelsea's pick-up team had been waiting for some time. Several security guards in black quickly separated the reporters and guided Roy and his entourage toward the VIP passage.

“The car is just ahead,” a club official said, hurrying forward. “Mr. Mourinho will see you in person tomorrow morning.”

Roy nodded and got into the black sedan that had been waiting.

Once the car door closed, the noise was shut out.

He let out a long sigh and looked out the window.

The London night was deep and vast, and Roy's gaze was firm, his heart filled with calm and confidence.

This is his new battlefield.

Laughter still echoed in the hotel in Lima, Peru.

Brazil had just thrashed Mexico 4-0, and Maicon witnessed this Copa America victory from the bench.

Adriano scored twice, leading the top scorer chart with 5 goals, and also assisted Oliveira's goal.

He returned to his room after showering and was drying his hair when his phone suddenly vibrated.

"Hey?"

Maicon pressed a towel against his wet, bald head and casually answered the phone.

"Maicon! It's done!"

The agent's voice boomed like thunder, "Chelsea's final offer of €1400 million has been accepted by Monaco!"

Maicon's hand trembled, and the towel fell to the ground.

He opened his mouth, unable to speak for a moment.

More than six months ago, when Cruzeiro sold him to Monaco for 300 million euros, he was just an unknown Brazilian full-back.

Now his net worth has more than quadrupled!

"you sure?"

His voice trembled slightly.

"Absolutely true!"

The agent exclaimed excitedly, "Monaco has accepted the offer! Your luck is incredible! You won the treble in just half a season, and now you're going to the Premier League!"

He paused, and Roy's young yet composed face appeared before his eyes.

That kid is only nineteen, but he seems like a born winner.

During his six months in Monaco, as long as he was with him, champions seemed to grow legs and crawl into his arms.

Maicon sat on the edge of the bed, recalling Roy's brotherly care for him in Monaco, and how they would now reunite at Stamford Bridge.

Although he was three years, two months and ten days older than Roy.

"When...when will the contract be signed?"

He heard himself ask.

"We'll arrange a medical check-up after the Copa America!"

The agent spoke rapidly, "You focus on finishing the match first. I'm ready to fly directly to London."

After hanging up the phone, Maicon walked to the window.

The Lima night sky was dotted with stars, just like his thoughts flickering at this moment.

From Brazil to Monaco, and then to Chelsea, the past six months have felt like a dream.

Meanwhile, Evra irritably turned off the TV and threw his phone onto the sofa.

Roy's agent, Federico Pastorello, just sent me a message saying that Roy will officially sign with Chelsea tomorrow.

"So what about my transfer?"

He dialed the number directly, his tone laced with anger, "I've told the media a million times that I want to go to England, and my partnership with Roy is being touted as a match made in heaven. Why hasn't Chelsea made a move yet?"

Evra has been making a lot of pronouncements in the media lately.

Every time a reporter shoved a microphone at him, he would always say something like, "It's time to embrace new challenges," or praise how exciting the atmosphere of English football is.

When the conversation got excited, he emphasized, "Roy and I have amazing chemistry on the left wing. We can know where the other is going even with our eyes closed."

The reality is that Chelsea only spoke with his agent a few times before nothing came of it.

Manchester United, on the other hand, showed the most sincerity.

Sir Alex Ferguson even called him personally, and the old man spoke sincerely on the phone, saying that Manchester United needed a good left-winger like him.

Every time his agent mentions Manchester United's offer, Evra pretends not to hear—in the past, he would have jumped up to celebrate, but now all he can think about is how to reunite with Roy at Chelsea.

As soon as he hung up the phone, he heard Roy's voice from the locker room: "Patrice, let's do a rap!"

On the morning of July 19, 2004, just as dawn was breaking, Roy woke up.

He got up quietly, put on his workout clothes, and went straight to the hotel gym.

In the empty gym, only the hum of the treadmills echoed.

Roy was panting heavily, beads of sweat sliding down his face.

He grabbed a towel and wiped his face, then stood in front of the mirror and began to do stretching exercises seriously.

Today is a big day, and he needs to make sure he's in perfect physical condition.

After finishing his training, he went straight to the pool.

The cool water instantly enveloped his entire body, and he stretched out his arms, drawing smooth arcs in the water.

After swimming a few laps, he leaned against the edge of the pool to rest for a while.

Just then, a hotel staff member smiled and handed over a towel: "Sir, your performance in the European Cup was fantastic! May I ask for your autograph?"

Roy smiled, took the pen, signed his name on the towel, and then took a photo with the other person.

Sunlight shone on his wet hair, and he squinted at his watch.

There are still two hours until departure.

When Roy opened the door, Leticia was leaning against the window, sipping her coffee.

Her black Dior slip dress clung to her curves, the straps so thin they looked like they might slip off at any moment.

Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow on her bare shoulders.

"A new dress?"

Roy reached for the jam, his fingertips brushing against the silk fabric around her waist.

Leticia twirled around, her skirt blooming like a black rose: "The sample garment that was delivered last night."

She suddenly leaned closer, the diamond studs on her earlobes dazzlingly bright. "Do you think this length is suitable for a box at Stamford Bridge?"

She gently lifted the hem of her skirt with her fingertips, revealing her slender calves.

Roy's gaze, however, fell on the bed.

Three crisply pressed suits were neatly arranged, each with a matching handkerchief.

He frowned and loosened the collar of his training uniform: "Chelsea don't care if I'm impeccably dressed. Abramovich and Mourinho only care how many goals I score in August."

He grabbed his most expensive dark blue suit and threw it onto the chair. "I'm not going to a wedding."

Leticia pouted, stepping barefoot across the Italian handmade carpet, her high heels still askew beside the bed: "But the L'Équipe photographer will be waiting in the players' tunnel."

She picked up the discarded suit and lightly dusted off non-existent dust. "All of France is waiting to see what their new idol will wear on his first day in the Premier League."

Roy scratched his head, walked to the wardrobe, and pulled out a simple white shirt and black casual pants: "This is my style. West London fans want strikers who can score goals, not runway models."

Leticia sighed and hung the suit back on the hanger: "At least wear a tie?"

She picked up a dark blue striped tie and held it up to his chest. "Just this once, for those reporters waiting for the headlines."

Roy nodded and agreed.

Leticia's expectations for this signing far exceed Roy's.

Over the past few months, she has thoroughly enjoyed being the partner of a top star.

In the European Championship, Roy was involved in four goals that eliminated the host country, drawing the world's attention to her screaming on the sidelines.

On a full-page color page in the French newspaper Paris Match, Roy, the 19-year-old prodigy hailed by the French media as "France's new generation of superstars," is shown passionately embracing and kissing Letizia.

During this period, she suddenly became the focus of attention for major European media outlets.

Wherever she goes, cameras are always pointed at her—in the stadium stands, at the corner café, even at the convenience store downstairs in her apartment building. Journalists from all over the world seem to be interested in every detail of her, from her clothes to her every smile, everything is magnified in the public eye. This ubiquitous attention both enjoys and bothers her, as if she is living under the watchful eyes of countless people.

Ironically, Letizia easily obtained all the exposure that Victoria painstakingly orchestrated during the European Championship.

She didn't need to pose for photos or create buzz; just standing naturally next to Roy would draw a flood of flashes. A strong sense of crisis welled up inside her.

Roy playing in England would certainly attract the attention of countless English women. Countless women would want to take his place—the bar girls who would pretend to accidentally spill wine on him, the rich girls who would deliberately unbutton two buttons in the players' tunnel, not to mention the socialites who specifically target football stars.

Who knows what tricks they might use?
She absolutely refused to let Roy go, not only because of Roy's personal charm, but also because being Roy's partner would bring her tremendous exposure and boost to her career.
Roy waved gently in front of her with a warm smile, indicating that she could leave.

They traveled by car to Chelsea's Harrington training ground, followed closely by British media vehicles.

When they arrived at the training ground entrance, the area was already crowded with reporters and Chelsea fans, many of whom were holding autograph books and eagerly waiting.

Roy looked around the rudimentary training ground, taking in the mottled iron fence and the uneven grass.

Compared to Monaco's modern Latirby training center, this place looks like an amateur stadium.

Zola noticed his gaze, shrugged with a wry smile, and said, "Pretty shabby, huh? It was even more outrageous when I first came here; this place was rented from the university."

Roy didn't reply, but his furrowed brows said it all.

Several young youth training players were carrying training bags and trudging through the muddy path, their shoes covered in grass clippings and mud.

Zola squinted at the muddy training field: "When Desailly first came, his shoes sank halfway into the grass as soon as he stepped on it."

"My God, I just came from Milanello, where the grass blades are measured with a ruler!"

He mimicked the wide-eyed look of a Frenchman, pointing to a moldy corner of the locker room and asking me, "You call this a professional club?" Ha! I had to tell him that this godforsaken place is also used for university students' physical education classes on Wednesday afternoons!

Now, Russian owners plan to build a training ground for Chelsea FC in Cobham, which will be the most advanced football training center in all of Europe.

The training base will be equipped with world-class facilities, including multiple standard football fields, an indoor training hall, a state-of-the-art rehabilitation center, a high-tech gym, a tactical analysis room, player apartments, and a modern medical center.

In addition, a dedicated youth training academy will be built to help young players develop.

The completion of this training base will greatly enhance Chelsea Football Club's brand value and global influence.

As one of the top training centers in Europe, it not only symbolizes the club's ambition but also sends a clear signal to the world – Chelsea is committed to building state-of-the-art football infrastructure to provide the best development environment for players.

Roy followed Chelsea staff into the Harrington training ground.

Mourinho was already waiting in his office. Upon seeing Roy, he put down his work and stood up to shake hands.

Their eyes met, and the air seemed to still carry the lingering scent of the Champions League final.

Welcome to Chelsea.

Mourinho stated bluntly, "There are no fancy promises here, only the goal of winning."

Roy nodded: "That suits me perfectly."

Mourinho smiled slightly and pointed to the schedule posted on the wall: "Manchester United is in the first round of the Premier League. There's no time to get used to it. Are you ready?"

“Anytime is fine,” Roy replied.

After a brief conversation, Mourinho patted him on the shoulder: "Go get your medical check-up first, the team doctor is waiting for you."

Roy followed the team doctor into the medical examination room, where his height, weight, blood pressure, and heart rate were measured.

Next, he lay down and had an electrocardiogram (ECG). Electrodes were attached to his chest, and the machine hummed as it recorded his heartbeat.

Blood tests were conducted to check various indicators.

The team doctor had him do several stretching exercises to check his joint flexibility, and then scanned his muscles to confirm that there were no underlying injuries.

Finally, there is a short-distance running and jumping test, which is a simple assessment of explosive power and coordination.

In less than an hour, the team doctor finished compiling the data, nodded and said, "No problem, the review will be completed soon."

As soon as the medical examination report came out, CEO Kenyon personally appeared at the door of the medical room.

As Kenyon took the medical report, his fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the folder, his face beaming with a smile: "Fantastic, Roy, all the indicators are perfect. I knew that a world-class star like you would be in impeccable physical condition."

He affectionately put his arm around Roy's shoulder, his voice filled with barely concealed excitement: "Come on, my dear son, let me show you your new home. We've specially prepared the best dressing room for you, right in the center. You'll be our undisputed core."

Roy smiled and shook his head: "You flatter me, Mr. Kenyon. It's an honor to wear Chelsea's number 10, and I will prove myself worthy of this number with my performance."

Kenyon gently pushed open the frosted glass door of the locker room, and the afternoon sunlight fell precisely on the locker in the center like a spotlight.

The cabinet doors were fully open, and the interior walls were polished to a shine, with even the wood grain clearly visible.

A brand-new blue jersey with the number 10 hangs quietly on the central hook. The pure cotton fabric gleams softly in the sunlight, and each stitch of the white number embroidery on the chest sparkles with tiny silver light.

The unclaimed jersey swayed gently in the breeze from the air conditioner, as if waiting for its destined owner.

Roy walked slowly forward, his fingertips gently tracing the number on the front of his jersey, the fabric having the crisp feel unique to new clothes.

He withdrew his hand and turned to look at Kenyon.

“Mr. Abramovich has prepared afternoon tea in the drawing room at Stamford Bridge,” Kenyon said with a smile. “After you have your tea and refreshments, we will formally sign the contract tonight.”

At 7 p.m., the press conference room at Stamford Bridge was brightly lit, with dozens of camera flashes going off one after another.

Roy sat upright at a long table covered with a blue tablecloth, his slender fingers gently stroking the contract documents in front of him.

His expression was calm, his eyes were deep, and he appeared particularly focused when he bowed his head to sign, but whenever he looked up at the camera, a restrained smile would involuntarily appear on his lips.

Club president Abramovich stood behind him, his arms crossed in front of him, a faint smile on his face.

CEO Kenyon and head coach Mourinho stood on either side of him. Mourinho had his hands in his pockets and watched Roy sign the papers intently, occasionally exchanging a few words in hushed tones with his agent Mendes beside him.

Mendes, dressed in a suit and tie, wore a professional smile and nodded in response from time to time.

The press conference room was packed with reporters, their cameras clicking incessantly, lenses focused on Roy's every move.

When Roy signed his name on the last page, the flashes from the cameras in the press conference room suddenly intensified.

Abramovich took a half step forward, his broad hand gently resting on Roy's shoulder.

Mourinho then stepped forward at the opportune moment, whispered something in Roy's ear as they shook hands, which made Roy smile knowingly.

Mendes stood a little further away, subtly adjusting his suit cuffs, but his slightly raised chin betrayed his inner satisfaction.

Reporters below the stage took photos in quick succession, their flashes illuminating the entire press conference hall.

After signing the contract, Roy gently closed the folder, officially becoming a member of Chelsea.

He adjusted the microphone height, a genuine smile on his face, and began to speak:
"First of all, I want to thank Chelsea Football Club for their trust in me. It is a great honor for me to wear this blue jersey."

He paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the reporters below the stage.

"Stamford Bridge is a great stadium, a football mecca in London's West End that has stood since 1877, witnessing more than a century of changes in English football. In London, the city that gave birth to modern football, Chelsea is like a jewel on the banks of the Thames, carrying a unique football culture. When I was a child, I would sometimes watch English league football matches on TV. Those rainy afternoons, the blue flags fluttering in the stands of Stamford Bridge, and the old songs sung by the fans are all deeply imprinted in my memory. Now, being able to wear the blue jersey and step onto this pitch, becoming a part of the history of this century-old club, this feeling excites me more than winning any trophy."

Roy skillfully avoided direct praise of Chelsea's history, instead placing the club within the grand narrative of English football.

Instead of resorting to the cliché of declaring himself a Chelsea fan since childhood, he subtly expressed his identification with the London club through shared memories of English football culture.

The English media responded to this statement with knowing smiles.

The reporters' pens became lighter, jotting down comments like "appropriate" and "intelligent" in their notebooks.

Such a response made them feel comfortable; it was neither an exaggerated compliment nor a cold or distant one.

The football editors have already started brainstorming headlines, figuring out how to present this perfect expression to the readers.

The commentators secretly applauded, saying that this was exactly the kind of speech they expected to hear from top players—one that respected tradition while retaining their individuality.

A tacit understanding permeated the entire press room, as if everyone breathed a sigh of relief, finally no longer having to listen to those monotonous declarations of "childhood dreams".

“I would like to express my special thanks to Mr. Abramovich and the coaching staff for their appreciation of me. Coach Mourinho’s achievements at Porto are admirable. He won the Portuguese league for two consecutive years and also led the team to win the UEFA Cup.”

He deliberately chose this safer approach, cleverly avoiding the Champions League match that both sides still vividly remember.

After all, just a few months ago, it was his Monaco team that eliminated Mourinho's Porto in the Champions League final.

“I particularly admire his emphasis on defensive organization. In modern football, there are very few coaches who can build such a solid defensive system while maintaining a sharp counter-attack. I believe I can play to my strengths in such a system, whether as a point of attack on the wing or as the first line of defense in counter-attacks.”

"The thought of working with Coach Mourinho fills me with excitement. Desailly was like an older brother to me in the national team, and his professionalism has always influenced me. Makelele and Gallas are familiar teammates, and we already have a strong understanding. As for Cech, Robben, and Lampard, playing against them has left a deep impression on me. Cech's reaction time in saves is astonishing, Robben's dribbling is simply unpredictable, and Lampard's all-around performance is truly remarkable. I've heard Drogba is also joining; I experienced his impact firsthand in the previous two seasons. The thought of playing alongside such a group of top players is exhilarating. I believe we will definitely create something special at this club."

“I know Chelsea fans are looking forward to victory, which is why I’m here. I will repay their trust with my performance on the pitch and win more trophies for the team.”

At the end, Roy gave a genuine smile:

"Right now, all I can think about is playing football at Stamford Bridge. Just thinking about it gets my blood pumping. Thank you all for your support. I believe we'll see each other on the pitch soon."

"I will repay this expectation with my best performance."

After Roy finished speaking, the audience erupted in enthusiastic applause.

Abramovich, Mourinho, Kenyon, and Mendes were all present to witness this moment, each with their own plans in mind.

This revitalized Chelsea team is about to usher in a new era, and the future of Stamford Bridge is being rewritten.

After the signing ceremony, Abramovich got into his car, and Kenyon immediately reported on the latest situation of the jersey sponsor.

“Our contract with Umbro was signed in 1997 and was originally scheduled to expire in 2006, so there are still two years left.”

Kenyon flipped through the documents and said, "Umbro pays £500 million a year, and the remaining contract is worth about £1000 million. But now Nike wants to take over, and the negotiations are not going smoothly."

He paused for a moment, then continued to explain: "If we were to terminate the contract now, we would not only have to pay Umbro the remaining 1000 million in sponsorship fees, but also compensate them for their marketing and inventory losses, which would amount to about 300 to 500 million. According to industry practice, the penalty for breach of contract is usually 1.5 to 2 times the remaining value of the contract, so Nike would have to pay at least 1500 to 2000 million pounds to settle the matter."

After listening, Abu tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest of his chair, looked out the window, and a shrewd glint flashed in his eyes as he quickly calculated the gains and losses of the deal in his mind.

The first benefits of signing Roy have already emerged. As Nike's top football ambassador, Roy's commercial value and potential have surpassed those of Henry and Ronaldinho. Nike is willing to pay a premium for his team and is building a global marketing campaign around "Roy + Chelsea".

Although Roy has complete control over his image rights and Chelsea cannot directly share in his commercial revenue, his very existence is an intangible asset.

His incredible performances in the Champions League, along with the controversies and legendary stories surrounding him, have made Monaco's path to victory dramatic.

Now, these accolades will transfer to Chelsea, and his legendary status will boost the commercial value of his teammates, as well as enhance the club's overall image and appeal.

In other words, although Roy's image rights cannot be taken away, the attention and buzz he brings can make the sponsorship contracts of other Chelsea players more valuable, and the club will naturally benefit indirectly.

After listening to Kenyon's analysis, Abu nodded decisively: "Go contact Nike. As long as they reach an agreement with Umbro on time, we'll switch immediately."

肯扬马上补充道：“时间很紧，耐克最迟7月31号得付清违约金，差不多1500到2000万英镑。7月20号我们先秘密签合同，25号前耐克把钱打给茵宝，这样亚洲工厂才能赶在8月5号前把新球衣空运过来。”

"We officially announced the change of sponsor on August 6th, and the new jerseys went on sale on the 10th. They can wear them for the first league match on the 15th. But if Nike delays payment until August, and Umbro issues a ban, our players may have to wear training clothes on the field."

Abramovich waved his hand: "Let them pay more, but it has to be done on time. Tell Nike I want to see their hook on the Chelsea shirt for the opening game."

After thinking for a moment, he asked again:
"What if those fans cause a commotion? After all, they've been wearing Umbro's blue striped jerseys for so many years."

Kenyon was prepared: "We'll have Nike keep the classic blue stripe design, just change the logo to a swoosh. We'll also hold a 'Umbro Era Farewell Commemoration Event,' giving the first 1000 fans who buy a new jersey a limited edition Umbro commemorative scarf."

He added, "We can also work with Nike to have Roy wear a special edition jersey in the first game, which will then be auctioned off for charity afterward. Fans want nostalgia, and we'll give them that nostalgia, but with a different logo."

(End of this chapter)