Chapter 16: Defeating Ferguson

"I finally understand your persistence."

As Yang Cheng was called back to the coaching bench by the fourth official, Brian Kidd flashed a knowing smile.

Having played football since childhood, won the Champions League with Manchester United, and spent decades coaching, Brian Kidd recognized the significance of this match—not just for the team but for the entire Chinese community in Bayswater.

Three points? That was too small a measure.

This game was worth far more than that.

For the first time, the Chinese in Bayswater had united in adversity, fighting back with two consecutive goals.

Win or lose, it no longer mattered.

What mattered was that after this match, Yang Cheng's team would reach new heights—not just in skill and tactics but in morale and confidence.

"I told you Modrić would become a world-class midfielder."

Yang Cheng's voice carried unwavering conviction.

It was hard to say if Brian Kidd was the best judge in the world, but he already recognized Modrić's value—not just to Bayswater's Chinese team but to any team.

Technical ability? Vision? Passing? Tempo control?

No.

The rarest thing about Modrić was his composure under pressure. Even in the tightest situations, he could escape the press and find a pass.

Players like him had always been scarce in football history.

Of course, he wasn't fully matured yet. His physique still needed development.

But Yang Cheng had spotted this talent early on. That was why they used the special "genius clause" to sign him, even when others doubted him.

Even when he made frequent mistakes, they defied public opinion to keep him in the starting lineup.

And today, Modrić had repaid that trust—with growth, progress, and brilliance.

Brian Kidd couldn't help but admire Yang Cheng's vision.

"The connection between Ribéry and Modrić just now was remarkable."

In Yang Cheng's system, Ribéry's incisive dribbling in the final third and Modrić's ball control in midfield were the tactical backbone.

Jonathan Steed, the team's top scorer this season, and Martin Roland, the most creative playmaker, were important but not irreplaceable.

They were supporting pieces.

"If only we had a stronger right winger and better full-backs, especially on the right side… we'd be unstoppable."

Brian Kidd chuckled at Yang Cheng's words.

That was the reality of lower-league football—there were always limitations in squad selection.

A Hard-Fought Draw

The match ended 3-3.

Bayswater's Chinese team had failed to secure a win at home against Brighton, but a draw was still a respectable result.

As Yang Cheng greeted his players, Brighton's head coach, Steve Coppell, approached Brian Kidd.

Both had Manchester United ties and were familiar with each other.

Coppell's biggest question was simple—why had Brian Kidd, a man of his stature, chosen to be an assistant coach in a third-division club?

If he were the head coach, it might have been understandable.

But an assistant? That seemed beneath him.

"They pay well," Brian Kidd said matter-of-factly.

Coppell wasn't convinced. Instead, he glanced at Yang Cheng.

This match had revealed a lot.

Despite the draw, Bayswater had controlled the game.

What stood out the most was their crisp passing and fluid movement—something rarely seen in English football.

"He reminds me of Wenger at Arsenal… but more aggressive," Coppell remarked.

Brian Kidd followed his gaze, watching Yang Cheng in the stands, thanking the fans alongside his players. A small smile appeared.

"He might be able to bring me what I've been looking for. That's why I'm here."

Coppell was momentarily stunned before giving Yang Cheng another deep look. He sighed.

"Then I wish you luck."

He understood exactly what Brian Kidd wanted.

In fact, it was what many Manchester United-affiliated coaches—and English football as a whole—desired.

But Brian Kidd carried something extra.

A lingering grudge.

For those who had come through Manchester United, Ferguson was an untouchable monument.

Defeating Ferguson was their lifelong pursuit.

And also, their greatest tribute.

---

Stamford Bridge gleamed under the floodlights.

When referee Mike Dean blew the final whistle, the dissatisfaction among Chelsea's 40,000 fans was palpable.

2-2. Chelsea had drawn at home against Blackburn.

It was only the fourth round of the Premier League, but the mood was heavy.

In the VIP box, Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich sat alongside club chairman Bruce Buck, agent Pini Zahavi, and others, watching the game unfold.

He was deeply disappointed.

This summer, Abramovich had invested nearly £120 million into the squad, signing stars like Crespo, Duff, Mutu, Verón, Makelele, Bridge, Geremi, and Joe Cole.

Yet, after four games, Chelsea had two wins and two draws—still stuck in fourth place.

Arsenal, on the other hand, had won all four of their matches and were already four points ahead.

The season was long, but Abramovich hated falling behind from the start.

"Ranieri doesn't seem like a manager who can bring victories and success."

He prided himself on reading people well.

And Ranieri simply didn't have the aura of a winner.

Pini Zahavi, ever the businessman, nodded with a smile. He had made plenty of money from Chelsea's summer transfers.

"Don't worry, Roman. I'm already looking for someone. I'll bring you the best coach in Europe."

Abramovich turned and gave Zahavi a playful smirk.

"You told me you'd handle that small-time club in the north within a month. How's that going?"

Zahavi forced a laugh.

"I didn't expect that kid to be so stubborn."

"That rich kid actually became a head coach?"

"Yes… ridiculous, isn't it?"

Not many people paid attention to lower-league football. But those who did found it unbelievable.

A 23-year-old, the owner's son, becoming the head coach?

It sounded like a joke.

"All the better," Abramovich mused. "Just focus on handling things here."

Zahavi nodded but remained deep in thought.

He had been trying to negotiate with Lin, the owner of Bayswater Chinese, but they weren't willing to talk.

But he had found another route.

A company had lent Bayswater Chinese the money they needed to survive.

That was the weak point.

---

The next morning, while European media fixated on Chelsea's struggles, Chris Hunter was called into his boss's office at Elvino Asset Management.

"Look at this."

His boss pointed at a corner of The Sun's weekend league report.

In small print, the standings for League Two were listed.

Bayswater Chinese: 15th place.

After five games, they were just another relegation candidate.

"I don't know what made you think that club could turn things around."

Chris Hunter remained silent as his boss ranted.

"I'm not here for the long term," the man snapped. "I just want my £3 million back."

Chris hesitated, almost correcting him—it was £2 million, not three. But he held his tongue.

"I'm not going to sit back and watch them fail," the boss continued. "We need to act."

Chris frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The land."

His boss's eyes gleamed with greed.

"There are plenty of buyers interested. We need to step in and make sure we get our cut."

Chris finally understood.

From the moment they had loaned the money, his boss never believed in Bayswater's survival.

This was the real plan all along.

Charge high interest on the loan.

Then, when Bayswater collapsed, sell the land for a massive profit.

Two birds, one stone.

"Stay quiet for now," the boss instructed. "Keep watching them. When the time is right, we'll strike."

Chris sighed internally.

This was why he was just an employee—and his boss was a ruthless businessman.

Absolutely cutthroat.