Football Dynasty-Chapter 564: Change of Plans

After a week of setbacks in Barcelona, Richard faced constant rejections. Sitting in a coffee shop not far from Camp Nou, he rested his chin on his hand and sighed deeply.

David Silva sipped his juice and, seeing how hard Richard had been hit by the failures, couldn’t help taking a jab.

"Haha, Barcelona aren’t even paying attention to you!"

Richard rubbed his temples and sighed. "It’s entirely expected. I was mentally prepared for this before I came; it’s just... the contrast is too stark."

In reality, Richard knew his target was different this time. Even though he was only eleven years old, it should have been easier than the David Silva case.

It was said that his first coach, Señor Blai, was extremely protective of him — especially judging from the papers spread out in front of Richard. It was Fàbregas’ profile within La Masia.

"Six goals as a volante..."

That was very unexpected.

A volante — a defensive midfielder — yet he was already a prolific scorer, netting more than five goals in just a year after arriving from CE Mataró.

That was why Fàbregas was being protected so carefully. He was on Barcelona’s priority development list. And since he was only eleven years old, he wasn’t a professional player. That meant any decision would come down to his guardians.

Richard stared again at the information Marina had gathered.

His parents were divorced, which meant he was now under guardianship. Señor Blai, his La Masia coach, was acting as a protective figure in his life, making the situation even more complicated.

Richard sighed again.

Yes, he was still very young — and the truth was, not only Barcelona. Teams like Barcelona, Real Madrid, and Valencia locked down their academies tightly.

During this period, Spain was overflowing with emerging talent. The Spanish youth national teams were enjoying one of their strongest cycles, with the mid-90s generation producing players who would go on to define European football over the next decade. Many of them were already tied to prestigious academies like Barcelona’s La Masia, Real Madrid’s cantera, and Valencia’s youth system.

Richard had been overly ambitious trying to recruit directly from these pipelines, and the result was a string of frustrating failures. But not every Spanish club was unwilling to sell — they simply demanded outrageous fees.

For example, when Barcelona allowed a young academy prospect to leave for what seemed like a respectable fee at the time, it was considered smart business. In 1998, paying over a million pounds for an unproven teenager was already viewed as a gamble. Most of these players had talent, but none had yet proven they could survive at the highest level. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

Two or three years later, however, the market would explode. Those same players would see their value multiply several times over, turning what once looked like sensible deals into legendary miscalculations.

The same case applied to Joan Capdevila.

When Richard approached Tàrrega, negotiations always began at no less than a million pounds — and that was only for players the club was willing to part with.

If the offer involved rare prospects like a young Xavi, Raúl, or Casillas, he would gladly pay — but those names were untouchable. And even if they weren’t, the price would be seven or eight times higher.

In the end, Capdevila was bought only after Richard threatened to walk away from the deal. For half a million pounds, Tàrrega was satisfied.

What three million pounds usually bought in Spain were players with uncertain ceilings — talented, yes, but far from guaranteed stars. Richard wasn’t foolish enough to burn money on hype alone. If he was going to spend that kind of cash, he wanted certainty. Otherwise, he might as well enjoy the money himself and call it an investment in peace of mind.

Of course he wanted to pay for Fàbregas, but it was blocked by Señor Blai, who Richard suspected had already become a guardian figure at this critical moment after Fàbregas’ parents’ divorce. Moreover, Richard’s mouth twitched as he read another note:

"Fàbregas idolised Barcelona’s captain and number four, Pep Guardiola..."

Another problem.

Richard changed direction in his thinking, searching for another way to reach Fàbregas. He stared across the street toward Camp Nou, the massive stadium looming in the distance as he racked his brain for a solution.

"Hey, over here!"

Richard blinked, startled out of his thoughts.

In front of the coffee shop, a group of kids were kicking a ball around, their laughter echoing across the pavement.

"You want to play?"

Richard turned and saw David Silva watching them with quiet intensity. The boy hadn’t touched his drink in minutes. His eyes followed every movement of the ball, his body leaning forward unconsciously, as if he were already inside the game.

David hesitated for half a second before shaking his head. "I’ll just watch," he murmured.

"Sure, sure," Richard said before he looked back at the game.

The ball escaped the circle and rolled freely across the pavement again, stopping a few meters away like an open invitation.

After probably ten minutes of watching the little game, Richard and David Silva were finally done with their small breakfast.

"Let’s go."

They both left the coffee shop, leaving behind empty glasses of coffee and milk.

As they stood, they couldn’t take their eyes off the kids playing football nearby.

A small boy dribbled a worn football. He couldn’t have been older than seven. His shoes were too big, his control messy, but his determination was absolute. He chased the ball with the seriousness of a professional, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth as if Camp Nou itself were watching him.

BANG!

He kicked the ball, and it rolled straight toward Richard’s feet.

Instinctively, Richard stepped forward to reach for it. But the boy chasing the ball arrived first. When he saw Richard’s foot stretching toward the ball, his eyes lit up.

The boy stepped lightly to the side, shifted his weight, pivoted on one foot, and in a single fluid motion passed the ball softly between his legs.

Instantly, the ball was gone.

The boy grinned, shouted a quick "¡Gracias!" and sprinted away.

"Hahaha!" David Silva laughed so hard. "That kid just nutmegged you! He was waiting for you!"

"..."

However, Richard seemed stunned.

"That move..."

And then it hit him.

Intelligence... positioning... calm.

The kind of player you only notice when you understand the game deeply.

Barcelona’s system produced stars, yes — but it also produced blind spots. They focused on the obvious jewels, the prodigies everyone could see. Somewhere behind those shining names were players growing quietly, patiently... players no one was guarding like a treasure.

"From the start, my mindset was wrong..."

Not every future genius wore a spotlight at eleven years old.

And suddenly, Fàbregas wasn’t the only path forward.

Richard smiled faintly. Some lessons, it seemed, could only be learned the hard way.

If he couldn’t steal the crown jewel... he would steal their diamonds.

"Let’s go!" Richard immediately said.

David Silva laughed, stopped, and immediately chased after Richard, asking, "To where?"

"Of course, go for a stroll" Richard said confidently.

Richard took De Rossi on a leisurely tour through the mountains and valleys, making the trip enjoyable and easing his mindset. He thought that even if he could only recruit another potential star, it would be worth it; if not, he wouldn’t worry too much — gaining something and losing something is just part of life.

"Why not choose Italy?" David Silva then asked, leaving Richard momentarily speechless.

During this period, Italy had many outstanding young players. The mid-to-late ’90s had produced a generation that was technically gifted, tactically astute, and mentally hardened by the country’s competitive youth system. The Italian youth national teams were dominating European tournaments.

Players born in 1980, 1982, and 1984 were already making their mark in Serie A’s top academies — Juventus, AC Milan, Inter, Roma, and Parma all boasted young talent that scouts from across Europe were eager to watch.

Players like Alessandro Nesta, Simone Barone, and Marco Amelia were quietly building reputations as reliable and outstanding talents. The results were often either polite refusals or sky-high demands.

Richard’s response was simple: "Let alone Italy, even Spain is difficult."

Buffon was the prime example — already a huge success for a Serie A club. How many times more could they have earned from selling a goalkeeper?

Not to mention Pirlo later.

The story had essentially become "Brescia’s greatest mistake": a player sold for just over a million pounds suddenly saw his price tag skyrocket by at least a hundred times.

By that point, what £3 million could buy were usually players with little to no future, like Barambilla and Satero. Come on — Richard would rather take the money and enjoy life. At least he knew it was money well spent.

Rather than being squeezed for cash and viewed as an easy target, Richard avoided the big cities. Instead, he visited Barberà del Vallès, a municipality in the province of Barcelona, within the Vallès Occidental area of Catalonia, Spain.

His goal was clear — to snatch up the 10-year-old Sergio Busquets.

Playing him as a double pivot alongside Xabi Alonso? No problem at all.

While Richard was traveling with David Silva, he knew that the FA Cup semi-finals had seen Manchester City eliminate Derby County, Arsenal, Newcastle United, and Tottenham Hotspur.

And the draw they got...

Newcastle United!

Hearing the draw result from Miss Heysen on the phone, Richard wasn’t sure whether he should be happy or not.

To be honest, he would have preferred to face Arsenal first and then Tottenham or Newcastle in the final, so the pressure wouldn’t be doubled if they had to meet Arsenal early. He wondered whether the FA had deliberately structured the draw to create a London derby in the semi-finals, or if it was just pure chance.

Either way, Richard knew one thing: Manchester City would have to be ready for a tough, high-stakes match.