Money or Glory?

The exhilarating victory came to an end with Millwall amassing 11 points after five matches, securing first place in the group and advancing to the next round. The fate of the other teams wasn't Millwall's concern.

Millwall's stars made their final bows on the field, heading to the locker room for a quick celebration. The intensity of the game hadn't faded as they washed up and changed. Even after heading home, some players found sleep out of reach. They arranged to meet up and play a few rounds of snooker, determined to wind down the night on a relaxed note.

As Ronaldinho drove out of the parking lot, he lowered his window and waved at Henry, who was just about to open his car door. With a mischievous grin, he made a playful gesture, challenging him to a drag race. Henry chuckled helplessly, shaking his head, clearly uninterested in the risky game.

Once inside his car, Henry's phone rang. He answered.

"Thierry, where are you?"

"On my way to a pool hall d

"Let's meet."

"Why?"

"There's something important to discuss."

"Alright."

Noting the meeting location, Henry headed there, deep in thought.

The caller was his agent.

This was his second agent.

In the summer of '96, Henry burst onto the scene, leading France's U18 team to claim the European Youth Championship title. His stunning performance caught the attention of several European powerhouses, making it clear that he needed a professional agent to guide his career and handle the business side of things. Henry hired an agent himself, and soon, Real Madrid extended an offer, beginning negotiations with his chosen representative. Just as everything seemed to be falling into place, Monaco filed a complaint with FIFA, arguing that Henry's agent lacked the necessary FIFA credentials. At the same time, Monaco made a strong effort to keep him, introducing him to a certified agent. FIFA ruled in Monaco's favor, nullifying Henry's deal with Real Madrid, and he remained at Monaco with his new agent managing his career from then on.

On his way to meet his agent, Henry texted his teammates to let them know he wouldn't be able to make it to snooker.

The meeting took place in a hotel suite downtown.

Henry sat across from his agent.

"So, what do you want to talk about?"

"Your future."

"I don't understand. I feel great where I am now."

Henry was on track to claim the Premier League's Golden Boot, maybe even the European Golden Boot, and Millwall looked set to defend the league title. They'd also made it to the Champions League quarterfinals. What could be better than this?

His agent, always composed, looked at him intently. "I know, Thierry. You're the top scorer in the Premier League this season, and you'll surely win trophies. But is that enough for you?"

Henry frowned. "What are you getting at?"

"Don't you still have the ambition to be the world's best striker? To be ranked among the greatest forwards in history?"

"You shouldn't question my drive," Henry replied, his tone slightly annoyed. He wasn't a child who needed to prove himself to anyone, least of all to his agent.

"Then you should prove yourself in the world's top league. To be the world's best striker in the best league."

His agent's words struck Henry deeply.

He lowered his head, his fingers crossing as he placed them on his forehead. His voice was heavy with thought as he asked, "Which club are you persuading me to join?"

"Juventus. They've shown enough sincerity. But that's not the main reason. Think about it: if you join Juventus, you'll have Trezeguet there, your national team friend, and Zidane too. The World Cup-winning forward lineup, all working together. What could you not achieve?"

The argument was certainly persuasive.

Henry closed his eyes, silent for a moment, then said, "But I can win plenty of honors here at Millwall too. And Millwall's achievements in recent years haven't been any less than Juventus's."

The agent responded loudly, "Don't you get it? How important are you at Millwall? Larsson is a Ballon d'Or winner, Nedvěd is a Ballon d'Or winner, and Ronaldinho is almost seen as Hall's half-brother! You? You'll always be in their shadow! If they value you so much, why hasn't anything been mentioned about a contract after all this time, despite your excellent performance? You and Ronaldinho, that Brazilian, earn the same, but you're a world champion! What does he have? Your goal tally is more than double his!"

In the end, no matter how much praise or personal friendship was involved, no commitment carried as much weight as money in showing a club's sincerity.

Henry replied hesitantly, "Maybe the boss thinks it's not the right time to talk about money. Our focus needs to stay on the field."

"Don't be naive, Thierry. I'll tell you this: Larsson and Nedved are making a million pounds more than you in base salary—and another million in bonuses!"

Henry looked up in shock. "Really?"

The agent nodded solemnly. "Absolutely."

There was no question he wasn't lying about that—he had his sources for Millwall's internal information.

 Both Larsson and Nedvěd's weekly salaries are higher than Henry's, and each of them will receive a one-million-pound bonus this year. Southgate, too, has a million coming his way, while players like Sneijder, Materazzi, and Makélélé will receive bonuses of 800,000 pounds.

This bonus didn't just appear out of nowhere, nor is it some spur-of-the-moment decision by Millwall. It's part of the "loyalty clause" in the players' contracts, which has now started taking effect. Any player who serves Millwall for five years is entitled to a "loyalty bonus" starting in their sixth year.

However, this loyalty clause isn't just a reward for sticking around; it's tied directly to attendance. If a player hits a certain number of games each season, they receive the full amount, while anything less results in a reduced bonus.

Henry's agent hadn't disclosed the details of this bonus, nor had he pointed out that Ronaldinho and Pirlo weren't eligible for it. The agent's intentions were hard to read without a closer look; taken at face value, it was impossible to discern his true motives.

Millwall's salary structure isn't the highest in the Premier League. For instance, the player with the highest weekly wage in the Premier League right now is Manchester United's Roy Keane, who renewed his contract three months ago at 50,000 pounds a week.

Millwall's three captains represent the highest earners in the club, with each making 40,000 pounds a week. Yet, factoring in the "loyalty clause," their average weekly earnings exceed 60,000 pounds, However, bonuses aren't fixed like base salaries and come with their own risks.

Henry's weekly salary at Millwall wasn't particularly high—it could only be considered middle-tier. He earned £25,000 a week, which was a significant increase compared to his weekly wage at Monaco two years ago. Despite being the club's most expensive signing in history at the time, his contract wasn't remarkable. This was largely because, after winning the Champions League, players like Nedvěd saw substantial pay raises.

Henry felt increasingly troubled, his thoughts scattered after being swayed by his agent. Something felt off, illogical even, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly where.

If Aldrich had been there, he'd have said it bluntly to Henry: "In the summer of '98, £25,000 a week—what more were you expecting? Do you think you deserve a raise after just one season? Half of last year, you were sidelined with an injury! Come on!"

After Henry left, his agent pulled out his phone and made a call.

"I've started working on him."

"How's it going?"

"Move quickly this summer, and we'll likely have it in the bag."

"Good. I'll be waiting for your good news."

"My 400,000 fee, then?"

"He just needs to agree to the transfer, and it'll be done the same day."

"It's a deal."

The world of football shares the same traits as various other social circles—filled with shadowy conspiracies, persuasion, betrayal, and choices. Even though these tales don't alter the course of history or threaten lives, the hidden battles and unspoken rivalries still make this game far from pure.

...

That weekend, Millwall traveled away to face the Black Cats, Sunderland.

Aldrich continued his strategy of rotating his backup defenders while maintaining a strong attack lineup.

It was supposed to be a game they had in the bag, but Henry's poor performance cost them the win. He wasted at least three golden opportunities.

With only seven games left in the Premier League, Millwall's point gap with Manchester United was now down to twelve.

In the locker room after the game, Henry, having showered quickly, sat alone, head lowered, visibly frustrated.

What was he thinking?

The midweek conversation with his agent kept circling in his mind, leaving him deeply distracted.

"Hey, don't overthink the game. Sometimes it just doesn't go in, no matter how well you play," Larsson said, patting Henry on the shoulder with a reassuring smile as he walked by.

Southgate, who hadn't played in the match and spent the 90 minutes on the bench, walked over to Henry in his clean, crisp clothes and asked, "You seem preoccupied. Is everything alright?"

Henry lifted his head and mustered a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Southgate nodded, not probing further, guessing it might be something personal.

On the bus ride back, Aldrich asked Henry to sit beside him, and Jansen found another seat. Aldrich turned, studying Henry, who looked visibly downcast. Henry had been named Millwall's worst performer of the game, which puzzled Aldrich. Just days earlier, he had scored in the Champions League, and now he'd squandered several golden chances in the league. The drastic difference in his performance was one of Aldrich's biggest concerns.

Most players' form tends to dip gradually, visible through slight statistical changes. But Henry's shift was sudden, almost extreme—a rarity.

"Didn't get enough rest before the match?"

Henry shook his head.

"Are you hiding an injury?"

Henry shook his head again.

Aldrich continued, "Thierry, I don't understand. I've structured this season so that you all get at least four days between games, and you're not even playing the full 90 minutes every match. You should be in top shape right now, but out there today, you looked like you'd forgotten how to play. Now, I don't believe shouting at players magically boosts their performance. My approach is simple: if there's a problem, we solve it. If you can't handle it alone, we'll tackle it together. Nothing's too difficult."

Henry looked back at Aldrich, his voice steady. "Boss, I'm fine. I just had an off day. I promise I'll make it right in the next match."

Aldrich held his gaze for a moment before nodding. "I don't need promises, Thierry, but I trust you. The team needs you now. Whatever we hope to achieve by the end of the season, we're counting on you." He glanced away, signaling the end of their talk.

Henry stood and returned to his seat, Aldrich's words echoing in his mind.

The team is counting on him!