Football Dynasty-Chapter 188: Ole’s Top Form

O’Neill had just settled into his office after the morning session when there was a quiet knock at the door.

It was Solskjær.

He stepped in, closing the door gently behind him. They didn’t speak at first—just sat there, side by side in the small sitting area, the silence stretching between them.

Finally, O’Neill exhaled and looked over.

"Ole," he said softly. "You want to go to Manchester United, don’t you?"

Solskjær lowered his gaze. "It’s not that simple, Boss," he said quietly. "It’s not about United. It’s about... here. I’ve been coming off the bench for a year. I know what I can do—whether it’s on the wing or up front. But it feels like you don’t see me as a starter."

O’Neill didn’t respond right away. He just stared into his cup, the steam curling up and fading.

He got it.

Solskjær wasn’t asking for praise. He was asking for belief—for trust. And the truth was, he had every right to.

Twenty-three years old, in top form.

But so were the others. Larsson was flying. Ronaldo, solid as ever.

Originally, this hadn’t been an issue for Solskjær. With the team’s 4-4-2 setup, he still had a shot at starting. But he’d noticed something recently—O’Neill seemed to have high hopes for Shevchenko. And let’s not forget Trezeguet.

In a perfect world, you’d play them all. But football doesn’t work like that.

There’s only so much time. Only so many chances.

And players—players notice things. Who gets paired up in training. Who gets pulled aside for a word. Who’s in the manager’s plans—and who’s not.

Solskjær wasn’t blind. He’d seen Shevchenko growing—faster, stronger, more in tune with the team. He could feel the shift.

It wasn’t personal. But it was real, at least for him.

Finally, O’Neill stood, walked over, and embraced him.

He whispered, "Ole, you’re a top player. I’ve never lied to you. When Richard told me you’d be one of the best, I’ll admit—I doubted it. But now I understand why he pushed so hard to bring you into the squad this season."

Solskjær looked surprised—but O’Neill continued, gently but firmly.

"Go. Walk into Old Trafford with your head held high. Tell everyone your name. Build your legacy. I’ll always support you. And if one day you want to come back—you’ll always be welcome here. Don’t worry about the fans. They’ll understand."

Listening to this, Solskjær nodded slowly, taking in every word.

The next day, before the morning session, O’Neill never brought up the conversation he had the day before with Solskjær.

He stood before his squad, eyes scanning the determined faces of his players. The atmosphere was tense but focused.

"Listen up, lads," he began, voice steady but firm. "We’ve got two tough fixtures coming up before the year’s out—Huddersfield and Portsmouth. Both are hard-working teams."

He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.

"We can’t afford to underestimate them. These matches won’t be easy. But remember this: we’ve got quality, skill, and the hunger to push ourselves further. If we stick to the plan, keep our heads, and work as one, we can come through these games stronger."

He clapped his hands once, a signal of resolve. "Let’s finish the year on a high. Focus, fight, and leave everything out on that pitch. Together, we can do it."

The players nodded, the fire rekindled. The challenge was clear—but so was their determination.

While O’Neill was busy preparing for the match, the Manchester City CEO’s office was buzzing with activity.

United was trying to poach City’s players—and it wasn’t just Solskjær.

After watching Solskjær’s game, Martin Edwards had set his sights on players like Cafu, Roberto Carlos, Ronaldo, and Neil Lennon. For the past few days, Marina Granovskaia had been exchanging faxes back and forth with Manchester United.

Of course, she kept Richard, who was in the United States, informed every step of the way. When Richard heard which players United wanted to sign, he was stunned.

"Are they crazy? Wanting to buy five of our players? Impossible!"

On the phone, Richard firmly rejected the offer.

The problem, as expected, was that United wanted the Brazilian trio, Neil Lennon, and Solskjær—none of whom Richard was willing to let go.

"But they raised the bid for Solskjær to three million, and Solbakken is also pushing us to accept the deal," Marina said.

"Don’t worry. They can’t do anything. All of them still have four years left on their contracts. They can’t negotiate directly with the players, and they know doing otherwise would be foolish. Has any agent from other teams contacted you?"

"Not yet," came the reply.

Richard sighed in relief, then became serious, giving clear instructions—especially about protecting City’s first-team players. He emphasized that City would under no circumstances sell them.

"They better tell their agents that before they get contacted by other teams."

"Understood."

"Good. As for Solskjær..." Richard paused for a moment before telling Marina, "Ask O’Neill if it’s possible to give playing time to the bench players. Just ask him—no pressure. If it’s not possible, then so be it. Tell Martin this is just an idea, not that he has to do it."

If possible, he also wanted to offload some players to clear space for the targets he’d already identified for the winter transfer window.

"Alright, that’s good. Thank you for your hard work."

After ending the call, Richard was deep in thought. Manchester City also needed to prepare for potential backlash.

After all, with both Manchester United and City sharing the same city, the rivalry ran deep—even if City was currently in the second tier, no one took it lightly.

Both clubs understood that transfers like this would stir up the fans, but there was some comfort in the fact that City was still behind United in the standings. So, while protests and complaints were expected, everyone knew it would mostly blow over with time.

And sure enough, before City’s match against Huddersfield Town, City rejected United’s £3 million bid, and the media quickly turned the transfer saga controversial.

"Martin, how do you respond to the claims that City might be willing to sell some of their key players, including Solskjær?"

"Martin, with the tension between Manchester United and City, do you see the rivalry escalating off the pitch as well?"

"Martin, do you expect this transfer saga to affect the players’ morale or the upcoming matches?"

O’Neill’s mouth twitched with barely concealed irritation as he listened. It was clear they weren’t here to discuss the upcoming match against Huddersfield—they wanted to dig up every detail about Solskjær’s transfer saga.

Frustration mounting at the irrelevant questions, O’Neill abruptly rose from his seat and stormed out of the press conference room.

The next fixtures against Huddersfield and Portsmouth arrived, and whether it was Solskjær’s luck or something else, both Ronaldo and Larsson suffered injuries.

Ronaldo, in training, in his eagerness to retrieve the ball, rolled his ankle—a sign of extreme fatigue causing his body and mind to be out of sync. Larsson suffered a similar injury.

The injuries weren’t severe, but both players needed rest, forcing O’Neill—reluctantly—to rely on Solskjær, Shevchenko, and Trezeguet as City’s main attacking options. Although Solskjær was set to leave, he held onto a little hope that the management would fail to reach an agreement with Manchester United.

In the match against Huddersfield Town, City were already leading 2–0 thanks to a Robbie Savage header and a long-distance shot from Keith Gillespie, allowing them to play with comfort and control.

In the second half, Solskjær came on, and O’Neill carefully laid out some tactical instructions. Solskjær listened attentively; even though he was set to leave, he still regarded O’Neill’s words as invaluable advice he could carry with him.

Huddersfield left two players up front to chase counterattacks early in the second half, but as the clock passed the 80th minute, they fully retreated, abandoning any hope of a comeback. Their focus shifted entirely to damage control—preventing further goals.

Still, having learned from Keith Gillespie’s earlier strike from distance, they adjusted their defensive line, pushing slightly higher to close down space and deny players like Gillespie and Lennon the room to unleash long-range efforts.

Upon entering the pitch, Solskjær replaced Trezeguet and worked closely with Shevchenko, coordinating in tight spaces with sharp movement and quick passing.

As the match ticked into the second minute of stoppage time, Neil Lennon—who had already unleashed three long-range efforts in the last ten minutes—looked set to try his luck again. Huddersfield’s defenders closed in quickly, anticipating another thunderous strike. But just as they lunged to block, Lennon paused.

With ice in his veins and clarity in his vision, he chose differently.

Instead of pulling the trigger, he floated a perfectly measured lobbed pass, threading it between defenders and dropping it near the left side of the penalty spot like a dart.

The Huddersfield back line froze. Both centre-backs had committed to the shot, shifting their weight forward in anticipation. But the ball arced behind them—past their reach and expectations.

Shevchenko answered that question. He had made a diagonal run from the left.

Though his timing wasn’t perfect—he only reacted once he saw the pass leave Lennon’s foot—the delivery was so unexpected that it threw off Huddersfield’s entire back line. They had been sure Lennon would shoot again, their defenders glued to their marks and unprepared for the sudden shift in play.

Goalkeeper Steve Francis lunged off his line the moment he saw Shevchenko latch onto the ball. Closing the angle fast, he spread himself wide, ready to smother the shot.

But Shevchenko wasn’t looking to be the hero.

With a calmness that belied the moment, he took a single touch to steady himself, then swept the ball across the face of goal.

Arriving right on cue was Ole Gunnar Solskjær.

He had ghosted into the box, unnoticed, unmarked—exactly where he always seemed to be when it mattered most. frёeweɓηovel.coɱ

With one composed touch, Solskjær side-footed the ball into the back of the net.

3–0.

No celebration. Just a quiet nod to Shevchenko, then a glance toward Lennon, as if to say, "That one’s for you."

O’Neill stood on the touchline, arms crossed, a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Solskjær might be on his way out—but in moments like these, he was irreplaceable.

And the fans knew it, too. As the final whistle blew seconds later, the stadium erupted—not just for the win, but for the understated brilliance of a player who never needed the spotlight to leave his mark.

"Ole... Ole... Oleeee!"

The chant echoed through Maine Road like a wave, rising from every corner of the stadium.

They had probably already heard the news—or at least the rumors. And now, with Solskjær’s goal sealing the win, the crowd erupted, not just in celebration, but in defiance.

The song wasn’t just for the goal.

It was a message.

The fans were making their voices heard—loud and clear. They weren’t just cheering for a player. They were protesting the club’s decision to sell their baby-faced assassin.

Full-time: Manchester City 3 – 0 Huddersfield Town