This is Anfield!

The Ritz Hotel often hosted gentlemen and dignitaries, so it was no surprise that Aldrich found himself seated next to Armani, the famous Italian designer. After Aldrich gestured for him to sit, Armani took the empty seat beside him. Across from them, three glamorous women—Victoria, Hallie, and Emma—bent their heads together, gasping in unison, "Armani! Oh my gosh!"

"Are you here for the ferry tour?" Aldrich asked casually.

Maintaining his composed demeanor, Aldrich was no stranger to seeing celebrities in London. If he wanted to, he could accompany his brothers to various events every day, easily infiltrating circles that blended entertainment, politics, and business.

"No, I'm here to prepare for the autumn fashion show. I came out for a meal with a few models today," Armani replied.

Following Armani's gaze, Aldrich noticed a table nearby filled with stunning young women, a few of whom shot flirtatious glances in their direction—whether to please the boss or to catch Aldrich's eye, he could only guess.

Aldrich returned his focus to Armani and nodded, "I understand, Mr. Armani. If I may be so bold, what brings you to me? Are you looking to hire them as models?"

Armani smiled, "I can't afford them. Their appearance fee alone is enough for an entire team's annual budget. I'm here to talk to you, Mr. Hall. Every time I open a newspaper in London, I see your name everywhere. Some people are born to be models, and I believe you fit that description perfectly. Standing by the football field, you hold your head high with an aura of confidence and poise that isn't typical of younger players. It exudes an indescribable charm that captivates eyes. Men will want to emulate you because it'll make them more appealing to women."

The trio of young women gasped in excitement once again, surprised that someone as prominent as Armani was aware of them.

Aldrich, however, simply raised an eyebrow and got straight to the point, "Thank you for the flattery, Mr. Armani, but you still haven't answered my question."

"How about endorsing Armani menswear?" Armani proposed.

"I don't have time for commercials, and besides, I only wear suits except in winter when I wear a coat," Aldrich responded.

"You don't need to do any advertisements. Just wearing an Armani suit every weekend, or an Armani coat in winter, will often get you in front of the cameras. Of course, if you're willing, we can provide you with casual wear for free. You can wear whatever you like in your daily life, and I believe the paparazzi in the UK would love to feature you in some tabloid headlines now and then."

Aldrich couldn't help but smile at that.

The endorsement fees for football stars were rising, thanks to advancements in broadcast technology and the promotion of football culture. Unlike movie stars, the screen presence of sports stars was guaranteed; for example, footballers appeared almost every weekend, becoming focal points regardless of their performance.

As for movie stars? TV shows aren't replayed endlessly, and the cycle for films can be too long. Not every variety show attracts a broad audience either. In the UK, football was the most popular form of entertainment, appealing to people of all ages.

Aldrich turned and pointed to the top left corner of his suit jacket, where the Millwall club badge was embroidered. "One last condition: any tailored suit or coat must have the Millwall club insignia on it."

After a moment of contemplation, Armani nodded, "That would actually make your outfit more unique and attract even more attention."

The Millwall badge represented a football club, not a clothing brand, so there were no conflicting commercial interests. Armani had no issues with that; in fact, a coach who insisted on wearing his club's emblem would be all the more appealing—especially since it set him apart.

Aldrich pulled a pen from his suit pocket, jotted down a phone number on a napkin, and handed it to Armani, "Please discuss the endorsement fee with him. Andrew Hall, my brother."

"Got it, goodbye then," Armani replied, pocketing the napkin as he stood to leave.

As soon as he walked away, Emma leaned in excitedly and asked, "Aldrich, why are you not more excited? That's Armani, Giorgio Armani!"

Aldrich took a sip of water and replied nonchalantly, "If I fawned over him, he wouldn't offer me an endorsement. What he wants is my confidence and maturity. Besides, if I ran into Maradona here, I might feel thrill, but seeing him? Sorry, I've met a few celebrities and have never been into fashion."

"You're so boring!" Emma shot back.

"Thanks, I don't like being seen as a clown in others' eyes."

"Are you calling me a clown?"

"No, I'm just past the age of idolizing others."

"You're younger than me!"

"But I'm more mature mentally than you are."

"You!"

Emma ground her teeth in frustration, while Victoria interjected playfully, "Aldrich, if you keep bickering with her, your maturity will vanish."

Aldrich nodded in agreement, "Exactly. If I keep this up, I'll be on her level. Ladies, it's getting late; I should head home for some rest. Let me call a cab for you."

As they exited the Ritz Hotel, Aldrich said goodbye to each of them. Just before parting, Melanie smiled at him and said, "I'll be waiting for you in Liverpool."

"Better not; your whole family won't be happy about it."

"Hmph, what are you so proud of? Liverpool is not Arsenal; you won't just waltz in and take the win, especially at Anfield."

"We'll see about that."

After saying farewell to the five glamorous women, Aldrich drove back home.

The next day, he received a call from Andrew, confirming the endorsement deal with Armani. They had agreed to a one-year contract at £500,000, which wasn't the least amount in this day and age. Aldrich accepted, and a couple of days later, Armani's company sent a tailor to take his measurements, then left, waiting for the custom-made clothes to be delivered.

In the second round of the Premier League, aside from Arsenal losing at the lion's den and Liverpool falling to Leeds United away, the reigning champions Blackburn also lost to Sheffield Wednesday on the road, drawing attention, while Manchester United got back on track with a win over West Ham, and Newcastle United took the top spot with two consecutive victories.

With a League Cup match against Grimsby in the following week, Aldrich planned to use the third round of the Premier League to face the reigning champion Blackburn. He placed great importance on the upcoming match at Anfield.

Starting midweek, he studied tactical strategies, repeatedly reviewing the videos of Liverpool's first two matches this season to develop corresponding game plans.

Although last season he captured the League One title, the lads had achieved almost nothing in terms of honor. After drawing with Manchester United and beating Arsenal, their training attitude had become more serious, hoping to prove themselves on the grand stage of the Premier League.

As the weekend approached, Aldrich led his team to Merseyside.

This port city possessed unique charm, but Millwall had no time to admire it. They took the coach to Anfield and warmed up before heading back to the locker room, where Aldrich remained silent until it was time to step onto the field.

Liverpool, donned in their traditional red kits, were already waiting in the player's tunnel. As Millwall's players made their entrance, Aldrich walked beside them and paused in front of a sign on the wall just before going down the stairs.

He looked up at the sign and called Lavarsen over, softly asking, "Henrik, what does it say up there?"

Lavarsen looked at the sign emblazoned with the Liverpool club badge, while the Liverpool players nearby wore smug expressions, as if to say: country bumpkin, you don't even know this?

"This is Anfield!"

Lavarsen said flatly.

Aldrich cupped his ear and muttered, "What did you say?"

"Boss, this is Anfield!"

Lavarsen repeated loudly as his teammates turned to look up at the sign.

"Indeed, this is Anfield! A great stadium, a legacy left by the legendary Bill Shankly of Liverpool. Here, they've lifted the European Cup trophy four times, and they hold the record for the most top-flight titles in England. So, Henrik, what do you think it would feel like to take home a victory from here?"

Lavarsen chuckled, "Indescribable!"

The entire Millwall team burst into laughter.

"Indescribable, indescribable! So, in ninety minutes, we will take home this indescribable feeling. This is Anfield, and I love this place. Thanks to Liverpool for building this stage. Millwall, tell me, what should we do?"

"Charge! Charge! Charge! Millwall!" 

The whole team yelled in unison—a slogan they had grown accustomed to during training.

Aldrich turned and walked down the stairs, giving Jamie Redknapp's shoulder a friendly pat as he passed the stunned Liverpool players and said with a grin, "Jamie, put on a good performance today. If you see your dad, tell him to watch today's game. Millwall will also play like this against West Ham; let him be quiet. Frank and Rio have already forgotten West Ham."

Jamie Redknapp stood there, dumbfounded and unsure of how to respond.

His father, currently managing West Ham, was Harry Redknapp, affectionately referred to as Old Redknapp to differentiate him from Jamie's name.

The Liverpool players, observing the spirited Millwall players, couldn't help but recall another London team—Wimbledon.

That was a group of thugs, and Millwall, reputedly, was a bunch of hooligans.

Damn London teams!