MTL - Restart Spain - Chapter 156 The speech of the king

Richard Maddox, a once-promising football prodigy, dreamed of becoming a star. But just as his dream was within reach, it was abruptly shattered when he banged his head on the goalpost, fracturing his skull. Forced into early retirement, Richard vanished from the public eye.People thought Richard Maddox was done for. However, no one expected that during his unconscious state, his spirit detached from his body. He drifted through time, witnessing the world of football from the perspective of a ghost. It was strange, unpleasant, yet exciting. No need for tickets or travel—he could simply fly.England, Italy, Spain, Germany—the best football countries in Europe—and even the passionate South America, the energetic Africa, and the growing Asia—Richard observed the rise and fall of football giants, all from the sidelines.However, watching football from the other side was quite different from experiencing it live. He missed the cheering, singing, and chanting with the other fans. No one could hear him now. No one could watch football with him. He was... alone.Just as Richard was about to be bored to death, his soul was sucked back, and he realized that only an entire year had passed.'Interesting,' he thought, laughing. “I could bet, invest in companies that will succeed in the future, and get rich. Bitcoin, I'm coming, baby.”but who could have guessed that Richard would dive so deep into the world of football—From owning a single share to testing the waters as a scout, trying his hand as an agent, and eventually stepping into the world of coaching, before finally diving into the realm of football club ownership.It has truly been a full spectrum of football, the highs and the lows. Join us as we welcome Richard Maddox!

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”