The next day, Richard arrived at Maine Road a little late. As usual, he made his way straight to his office, half-distracted and still nursing his morning coffee.
BANG!
The sudden, echoing sound of something slamming against the stadium wall made him jump. He froze mid-step, blinking.
"At this hour?"
He checked his watch. Training should've wrapped up by now. Actually—scratch that. Wasn't O'Neill the one who gave the players a day off to prepare for the match against Blackburn?
There shouldn't be anyone here.
Frowning, Richard followed the source of the noise, the echo of another powerful thump guiding his steps toward the training pitch.
As he turned the corner, his eyes widened.
There they were—John Terry, Paul Robinson, and David Trezeguet—taking turns hammering shots at goal like it was mid-season. Fully geared, dripping with sweat, and completely locked in—deep in practice mode.
"What the hell?" Richard muttered under his breath.
