Making History

"In the second leg of the Champions League semi-finals, Monaco was beaten 0-2 by the Lions at the Stade Louis II. Ouch! What a heartbreaker for Monaco - they had every reason to hang their heads tonight! When you look at this game, Millwall really deserved this win. They displayed a rock-solid defense and counterattacked at lightning speed to beat Monaco to a pulp. Overlooked by many, Hall worked his magic and led Millwall to their first ever Champions League final next month! Guess what? They will go head-to-head with the legendary Real Madrid, a team that has won six Champions League titles! One team is making their debut, while the other are experts at it! Millwall will surely want to replicate Nottingham Forest's miracle, while Madrid will be keen to return to glory after thirty-two years. What a showdown awaits us! Mark the date on your calendar!"

As the final whistle blew, Millwall's substitutes dashed onto the pitch, celebrating the joy of reaching the final with their starting players.

Aldrich let out a breath, closed his eyes to gather his thoughts, then opened them and strode over to Tigana.

"Congratulations! Next month, it's off to the Netherlands. Honestly, I envy you and feel a bit frustrated, but you've truly earned my respect."

Tigana maintained his composure, warmly wishing Aldrich well.

Aldrich humbly replied, "I simply played my cards right."

Tigana shook his head, smiling silently; the outcome was clear, and there was no need to make excuses for his defeat.

After shaking hands post-match, Aldrich turned to look at the field, where the jubilant players from Millwall were celebrating, while the Monaco players wore glum expressions.

It felt almost like last year's events replaying themselves.

In the semifinals, they eliminated the French rivals and then headed to the Netherlands for the final.

The only difference was the venue; last year it was Rotterdam, this year it was Amsterdam.

Before the match began, during the handshake line, Henry had a chat with Trezeguet.

The two long-time teammates from the national youth team faced the match with a victorious mindset.

"Remember to check your mailbox next month," Trezeguet said before the match.

Henry paused, surprised. "Why?"

"I'll send you tickets for the Champions League final, plus I'll cover round-trip flights from France. You handle your own food and accommodation."

Trezeguet joked as he walked away shamelessly. As Henry processed this, he called out, "I'll take the plane ticket, but you keep the final ticket for yourself. Don't forget to bring your camera to snap some shots of me out on the pitch!"

Their exchange brought smiles to teammates from both sides, and as the match kicked off, both teams threw themselves into the battle head-on.

At the end of the game, Monaco retired. Henry lay on the grass in defeat, looking at the night sky, recalling the opportunity to face the goalkeeper one-on-one in the first round, and his heart was filled with regret and special regret.

Why hadn't he been faster?

Why?

If only he'd moved a bit quicker, Southgate might not have had a chance to foul him, or perhaps he would have collapsed inside the box, resulting in a red card for the opponent and a penalty for Monaco!

If Monaco had managed to win the first leg away against Millwall, returning home, they would have been in a strong position, putting more pressure on Millwall to attack, allowing Monaco to counter and exploit their speed advantage even further!

"Hey, get up! You should thank the home fans. The boss insists we do this after every away game; it's a club tradition. Monaco should do the same."

Henry opened his eyes to find Trezeguet, shirtless, bending down with his hand extended to him. They shook hands, and Trezeguet hoisted Henry up from the ground. With heartfelt sincerity, Henry sighed, "I really envy you—off to the final! If luck is on your side, you might even become Champions League winners."

Trezeguet smiled broadly and replied, "What do you mean by 'if luck is on our side'? Good luck means we'll be Champions League winners; bad luck means we'll still be Champions League winners!"

Henry chuckled softly, "I'm not sure where your confidence comes from; after all, our final opponent is Real Madrid."

"We don't care who our final opponent is. Confidence? Maybe!"

Trezeguet couldn't help but gaze over at Aldrich, who was hugging Butt on the other side of the field.

Henry followed his gaze, focusing on Aldrich's back—the extraordinary young manager who was a year older than him. Oh, if he could win the Champions League, he would no longer just be remarkable; he'd be a legendary manager!

Suddenly it dawned on him that his agent had mentioned that Millwall had shown interest in him last summer. Though formal negotiations between clubs never occurred, there were hints of discussions between the managers and agents. Monaco had turned down Millwall's advances because Tigana didn't want to let him go.

What he didn't know was that Aldrich had pursued him three times. The first was in the summer of '94, when Wenger refused to let him go while Aldrich signed Thuram from Monaco. The second was six months later, when Aldrich again sought to acquire Henry after Wenger's departure; Monaco rejected that offer too. The third time was last summer during their private conversations.

Before having an agent, Henry's channels for information were closed off, while Aldrich was known for his discreet approach in the transfer market. He never resorted to media platforms to court players, respecting club relationships—hence, whether recruiting or transferring players, Millwall operated with a strong sense of mystery and unpredictability. Speculations would arise during transfer windows, but they rarely aligned with reality.

Trezeguet hugged Henry before turning to thank the fans who had come to support them.

Henry watched his friend walk away, feeling a sudden wave of mixed emotions.

In terms of football backgrounds, Henry, who hailed from Clairefontaine, was a child of privilege, while Trezeguet had risen from the streets of Argentina, having played for lower-tier teams before joining Millwall.

Yet, in those four years at Millwall, Trezeguet had made rapid progress and was now on a promising trajectory, having laid a solid foundation in terms of skills, fitness, and match awareness.

He had also collected a plethora of trophies, dominating the domestic scene in England and adding accolades in European competitions, now boldly stepping towards the pinnacle of club honors...

At the post-match press conference, Aldrich arrived late. Today's victory was significant, and he had lingered on the pitch longer than usual with his players, while celebrations erupted in the locker room.

French journalists in attendance felt down, while media from other countries were elated, and Fleet Street was ready to celebrate Millwall's triumph!

This marked the first time since the 1985 Heysel disaster that an English team had reached the Champions League final!

After suffering a five-year ban from European competitions, English clubs faced challenges in the group stages and had struggled to make an impact. Last year, Manchester United reached the Champions League semifinals, and this year Millwall made it to the final, illustrating a clear upward trend.

After a thirteen-year absence, England was finally able to contend for the highest honor in European club football!

Veteran journalists from Fleet Street couldn't hide their emotions, astonished that Millwall—a team once notorious just four years ago—now carried the banner for English football in Europe.

This triggered fond memories for many.

England had once ruled Europe without question, its clubs dominating an era much like Italy has in recent years. From 1975 to 1985, English clubs reached the Champions League final eight times, winning seven titles and finishing as runners-up on two occasions, setting an unprecedented record.

In reflecting on these memories, a number of Fleet Street journalists felt buoyed by confidence, convinced that the dark days for English football were behind them, and it was time to declare England's return to prominence in European football!

The press conference turned into a heated debate and mutual mocking among the journalists.

English reporters boasted that the Premier League would mount a challenge for the title of Europe's top league, citing clear evidence in improved European performances and referencing the dominance of past English clubs in Europe.

This prompted a strong reaction from the French journalists.

"You won a match, and you're already parading around—how conceited."

They emphasized Real Madrid's record of five consecutive titles and their eleven Champions League finals, claiming those achievements were comparable to what English clubs managed from 1970 to the mid-1980s.

Fleet Street journalists shot back: "The Champions League began in the 1950s as a glorified friendly tournament. Real Madrid's five titles were impressive, but what have they done since? They made it to one final in thirty years and lost to Liverpool. In the recent thirty-year history of European football, Real Madrid has merely been a notable La Liga club."

As tensions rose between the French and English journalists, onlookers found the press conference highly entertaining, watching the rival journalists pick at each other.

Aldrich stayed silent as the two sides argued. Taking advantage of a pause, he asked, "Can I leave now?"

"Not yet! Mr. Hall, what do you think?"

Everyone wanted Aldrich's opinion on the debate.

Aldrich glanced at the press officer present, who didn't seem keen to let him go, despite exceeding the designated time.

He reluctantly spoke up: "I have a friend who is rather vain. In the summer, she discovered a lovely dress in a boutique window and couldn't stop talking about how beautiful she would look in it. I told her, 'But you haven't tried it on yet.' Later, I bought that dress for her, and when she wore it, I genuinely told her she looked beautiful. Gentlemen, farewell."

Aldrich stood up and left the podium.

There was a moment of silence in the room, which lasted about half a minute before chuckles began to bubble up among the international reporters, gradually growing louder.

Fleet Street's journalists, however, looked pale.

Damn, Aldrich throwing shade!

This young manager was quickly proving infuriating, delivering indirect but pointed remarks.

Was he not just calling out Fleet Street journalists for their delusions?

International reporters nodded in agreement: this young manager knew what was up—glory had not yet been secured, so why boast?

Aldrich actually didn't mind Fleet Street's brashness; they represented English football's voice, which was in line with their national character—arrogant and proud. After suffering through thirteen years of frustration, it was natural they'd want to vent off a little steam, even if they went overboard.

Yet he understood the need to remain grounded. The Premier League's resurgence was indeed a reality, but it was still far from the strength needed to challenge the top leagues in Europe.

It was still a phase of catching up, and actual domination on a European scale was more than seven years ahead, after which, from 2004 onward, English clubs would see many reach the Champions League quarter-finals, semi-finals, and finals the most in history. Despite Barcelona claiming three titles, the overall strength of the Premier League was evident while Europe was entering a new era dominated by financial power.

Aldrich's Millwall may have altered history, but he knew they couldn't represent the entire Premier League's strength. He had merely harnessed his innovative vision to build a super-team well ahead of time, not that the overall standard or competitiveness of the Premier League had reached a qualitative leap.

As Aldrich boarded the bus to the airport, Jensen had been sitting next to him, but today, Yvonne had taken his place. She leaned threateningly close, glaring at Aldrich while hissing through clenched teeth, "Do you really have a friend who's so full of herself? I don't remember that at all!"

With that, she ruthlessly stomped on Aldrich's foot...