Football Dynasty-Chapter 562: Southgate’s Humiliation

The score of 1–0 may not seem like a big difference, but a 1–0 away win is of great significance. The home side would certainly never want to lose on their own ground—especially Aston Villa, who were determined to protect their momentum with only five Premier League fixtures remaining.

A single slip at home could undo weeks of effort, shaking confidence at the worst possible moment of the season.

In the second half, a noticeable slowdown followed the previously high tempo of Manchester City’s play. It appeared that Mourinho had decided to implement a time-wasting strategy, deliberately disrupting the rhythm of the match and making it increasingly difficult for Aston Villa to chase the deficit.

"In situations like this, psychological pressure does the work for us," Richard said calmly as he explained the scene to David Silva and his father, his eyes never leaving the pitch. "Anxiety makes them rush. Once they start forcing decisions, they collapse on their own."

Of course, England traditionally used time-wasting very differently from Spain, which relied on ball retention through possession rather than tactical fouls to break rhythm. Thankfully, Mourinho was a former Barcelona figure. Although he had only worked there as a translator, parts of his mindset were still influenced by Barcelona’s football philosophy.

At least for now. In the end, Manchester City did not look ugly but effective. Instead, they focused more on tempo manipulation. Thanks to this approach, the signs on the field were obvious. Villa’s players grew increasingly frustrated and emotionally unstable. Defenders stepped out at the wrong moments. Gaps appeared—not because City attacked more, but because Villa overcommitted.

City didn’t need to chase another goal.

They waited.

As the match approached its final stages, Aston Villa maintained their high-tempo playing style. Each player was in excellent form, with precise passing, quick ball transitions, and a clear understanding of movement and positioning.

Still, they could not breach Manchester City’s low block. City, having adjusted to the first half’s pace, began to ramp up their efforts in the second half, but their approach was clearly more controlled, progressing steadily over time.

The movement and involvement of City’s players in attack indicated a tactical shift—Zidane’s distribution became less vertical and more focused on horizontal circulation, stretching the play to create opportunities on the wings.

In the final minutes, as the match grew more intense, both teams set up compact defensive lines starting from midfield. Unlike many teams that press recklessly on an individual basis, both sides displayed top-tier defensive organization and discipline.

"English teams excel in physical and transitional defense," Richard began.

Strong one-on-one defending, aggressive duels, and quick recovery runs after losing the ball—defense in England often starts after the transition, not before it.

He then continued, "Spanish teams excel in positional and possession-based defense."

They defend through ball control, high technical security, and pressing to recover possession quickly. Compactness is created through short passing distances. They defend by not allowing the opponent to attack.

"What about Italy?" David then asked.

Of course, as the most popular league at the moment, it was natural for him to bring it up.

"Hmmm." Richard rubbed his chin. "Serie A teams excel in chain defense."

Indeed—compact lines, collective shifting, zonal responsibility, and minimal gaps between units. That was why their defense was considered the best: they defend as a system, not as individuals.

"Last season," Richard said, his voice calm but confident, "do you know that across more than fifty matches, we conceded only twelve goals?"

He paused, letting the number sink in.

"That wasn’t because we won every duel or overwhelmed opponents physically," he continued. "It was because our defense emphasized coordinated, collective positioning, not reckless one-on-one aggression. We closed spaces before they even appeared. We left no gaps for the opponent to exploit."

Richard lifted his hand and pointed toward the screen.

"See our number two there?"

Cannavaro.

In the screen, he wasn’t charging forward. He wasn’t diving into a tackle. Instead, he took two small steps to his left, subtly narrowing the passing lane while keeping his body angled toward both the ball and the runner behind him.

"That," Richard said proudly, "is chain defense in its purest form."

With Thuram as his partner, you could say Cannavaro defended with his eyes, while Thuram defended with his body. One erased options before they existed; the other erased hope after the duel began. Together, they formed a line that never broke—only shifted.

With this, during open play, Aston Villa couldn’t create better chances and began to rely on set pieces to generate threats. In fact, Aston Villa had already missed two corner-kick opportunities by the narrowest of margins, sending waves of concern through the stands.

Back to the match—

In the 90th minute, Aston Villa earned another corner kick.

"Mark tight! Watch the near post! Second ball—second ball!"

Cannavaro immediately shouted to his teammates to stay alert; in the previous two corners, they had struggled to defend set plays due to their height disadvantage, requiring precise anticipation and positioning to curb the Villa’s attempts.

With this, City packed the box, every player alert.

The corner then was delivered fast and flat toward the near post.

Chaos.

For a split second, bodies collided. Arms flailed. The crowd inhaled as one.

Then Thuram arrived.

He didn’t clear it wildly. He leaned in, absorbed the contact, and powered the ball out of the box with his forehead—straight into space.

Every Manchester City and Aston Villa player was frozen during that moment, but it seemed that Lady Luck was on City’s side as the ball landed precisely at Pirlo’s feet.

What choice did he have?

A counter!

The moment City’s players saw this, they immediately moved.

Zidane was already in motion.

Henry sprinted past him on the left, while Pires did the same on the right.

Of course, Pirlo immediately sent the ball straight through the center. When he saw the situation, he understood that rather than the left or right, the center was where the probability of City scoring another goal was highest.

Henry was marked by Alan Wright. Pires was marked by Steve Watson. Only the center offered the greatest chance for City’s attackers to create chaos.

Zidane and Ronaldo.

At least, that was what people thought.

But just as Pirlo released his long pass, an unexpected variable appeared.

Dejan Stanković.

Unexpectedly, Stanković dropped deep from Aston Villa’s defensive line to collect the ball. This movement immediately caught the attention of Gareth Barry, who stepped forward in an attempt to stop Stanković from receiving it.

What he didn’t expect, however, was Stanković’s choice.

As the ball dropped just above his head, Stanković didn’t jump. He didn’t challenge for it at all. Instead, he simply let it pass.

"Shit!"

Only then did Gareth Barry realize the danger—the ball had slipped past him, and he had been pulled by Stanković! out of his position!

When he turned, there was no time to think. Only dread.

One versus two.

Gareth Southgate stood alone against Zidane and Ronaldo.

Zidane reached the ball first. He collected it near the edge of the defensive third, completely calm amid the chaos, his first touch cushioning the ball away from pressure.

Aston Villa’s midfield was still out of position, caught high and scrambling back after the corner.

Southgate didn’t need long to recognize the danger. If Gareth Barry had been there, he might have stepped up, delayed, retreated slowly, waiting for support to arrive. But this was different. This was one against two, and the two in front of him were Zidane and Ronaldo. So Southgate did what experienced defenders always did.

One sharp step forward, then another, closing the distance before they could settle. He knew the risk. In a one-versus-two, hesitation was death. If he allowed them time, they would pick him apart.

Seeing southdate charging, Zidane welcomed the pressure.

The ball stayed glued to his foot, his touches soft, almost lazy. He slowed—not to escape, but to invite Southgate closer. Every experienced defender knew this trap, and yet, in moments like these, there was no other choice.

Southgate committed.

"Oh—Southgate’s stepped in!"

That was the moment they were waiting for.

Zidane shifted the ball half a step to his right—nothing dramatic, just enough to make Southgate lean.

"Zidane... oh no—OH NO!"

As Southgate’s weight transferred, Zidane slid the ball cleanly through his legs.

"That’s through the legs! He’s been absolutely done there!"

A nutmeg.

Southgate spun, trying to recover, but the humiliation wasn’t finished. Did he really think it was easy for someone with his build to twist and turn that quickly after being wrong-footed?

Physics betrayed him. For a defender with his build, a sudden pivot after committing weight forward was never easy. His studs scraped the turf. His center of gravity lagged behind his intention.

He stumbled—then tripped.

Now, his balance completely gone.

"Oh my word—Zidane’s done him there! That is outrageous! Nutmeg and gone—Southgate is beaten!"

The crowd gasped.

The ball was already rolling forward between Southgate’s legs as Ronaldo burst, eyes scanning the space ahead.

Now everything depended on Michael Oakes, Aston Villa’s goalkeeper. When he saw Southgate beaten so decisively, he knew it was all on him. He rushed out aggressively—he had to.

Ronaldo was the final destination.

But how easy is it to take the ball from an alien’s feet?

"Ronaldo’s in... surely—OH! WHAT A FINISH!"

Ronaldo received the pass, cushioning it effortlessly. With a single flick, he lifted the ball perfectly over Oakes, just out of reach as the goalkeeper stretched desperately upward, his fingertips grasping at nothing.

Pure style from Manchester City.

It was as if they had made Aston Villa doubt every decision they had taken in the last ten seconds. By the time anyone realized the duel was over, Ronaldo was already clear, the defense shattered, the ending inevitable.

With a delicate touch—no look, no pause—Ronaldo carried the ball forward and glided past Aston Villa’s goal with ease.

"You simply cannot defend that! Zidane opens the door, Ronaldo slams it shut, and Aston Villa are torn apart! Look at the composure—look at the audacity!"

BOOM!

"GOAAALLL!"

After Stanković struck first, Manchester City didn’t give Aston Villa even a moment to recover. Before the echoes of the celebration had faded, City hit them again—cold, precise, and utterly ruthless.

The second goal felt heavier than the first. Villa had pushed, committed bodies forward, chased the equalizer with urgency—and City punished that ambition without mercy.

At 2–0, the match slipped firmly into Manchester City’s grasp, effectively sealing the result in the 35th Premier League fixture of the season. The away end erupted, while Villa Park fell into a stunned silence, the realization sinking in that momentum, belief, and points had all been taken from them in a matter of minutes.

"Dad!"

"I know, I know." Mr. Jimenez waved his hand, a faint smile forming as he noticed how his son’s eyes were glued to the pitch after the second goal.

If the first goal had impressed him with Dejan Stanković’s physical power and timing, the second had convinced him of something deeper. That wasn’t just athleticism.

It was structure. Intelligence. Intent.

Even he had to admit it.

That second goal was pure art.

"So then, Mr. Richard," Mr. Jimenez asked after a brief pause, "when do you think David will go to Manchester?"

Richard didn’t answer immediately. He kept his eyes on the field, as if measuring the right moment.

"The sooner, the better," he said

"What about San Fernando?" he asked. "David still has commitments there."

"Don’t worry." Richard waved a hand calmly. "Marina has already handled the paperwork. As long as you agree, everything will be fine."

Richard had already studied the Spanish contract system. A kid like David Silva could not sign a professional contract. Instead, children were registered with a club through the regional football federation. It was not an employment contract—parents or guardians signed on the child’s behalf.

He finally turned to face Mr. Jimenez directly.

"If you trust me with David’s talent," Richard said evenly, "then it’s better for him to move now, while his habits are still forming. We’ll take care of the ticket and the logistics. You won’t have to worry about that."

Mr. Jimenez frowned slightly. "So you’re going straight to Manchester?"

"Not yet."

Richard shook his head.

"Before Manchester, there’s one more piece missing."

"Eh?" David blinked, startled, but his curiosity immediately surfaced.

Richard walked toward the window, looking out at the floodlights.

"Barcelona," he said quietly.

Silence followed.

Then Richard turned back, meeting both their gazes.

"We’ll go to Barcelona first," he continued. "There’s someone there David needs to see—someone whose style completes the picture."

He allowed himself the faintest smile.

"To finish the puzzle."

’Cesc Fàbregas—here I come!’