"You, Toure! So you knew all along, why didn’t you tell me!"
Nasri rushed to Toure’s house in a flurry. He jumped out of the car before it even stopped, shouting at Toure, who was drinking tea in the yard.
Toure’s two little daughters were playing with a golden retriever in the yard;
Seeing a red-faced white man suddenly burst in, the two were so frightened that they quickly hid behind their mother, trembling.
Toure turned his head. With a somber expression, he comforted the two kids, telling them to go inside with their mom.
"Toure, do you think you’re my big brother? You can’t do this to me; you dare to hide such an important thing from me!"
Nasri was still mumbling, before Toure’s heavy slap landed on his face, making him see stars and tumble to the ground.
The six-foot-three Toure stood in front, looking down at him. Nasri felt a mountain-like shadow enveloping him.
"You despicable thing, just doing disgraceful deeds would be one thing, but that day at Kompany’s house, you embarrassed me, an old man, in front of everyone! Nasri, you deserve it!"
Toure’s long arms grabbed Nasri like an eagle catching a chick, lifting him from the ground, and then slapped him twice again!
"With your pathetic self, you dare call yourself one of the French Four Swans?"
"What you did was dumber than a duck!"
"Didn’t you even glance at the obvious cameras at the intersection before doing something bad?"
"Wasn’t Bony also in your car that day? He sold you out, and you don’t even know, how foolish!"
Since The Sun has already exposed the whole story, Toure didn’t bother hiding anything from Nasri anymore but bluntly pointed everything out.
Listening to this, Nasri was terrified by the comments from the Spanish Language Gang, English Gang, and Italian Language Gang at Kompany’s house, and was completely dejected about his future.
With a bruised and swollen face, he suddenly knelt down with a thud in front of Toure, clasping his legs and began to wail~
"Ooo, big brother, my dear big brother Toure, please help me, next year is the European Cup, if I can’t play for Manchester City, then I’m finished!"
Nasri pleaded with Toure, hoping he’d offer some advice considering their five years together in Manchester City.
Toure looked down at Nasri’s snot-and-tear-covered face and couldn’t help but find it absurdly amusing. This update ıs available on NoveIꜰire.net
"Look at you, in this state, and still thinking about next year’s European Cup?"
"With your playing time at Manchester City, even without this mess, you probably wouldn’t even make the national team’s bench."
"Now, crying as you are, I’m guessing what you’re really worried about is the hefty salary at Manchester City; once you leave here, where will you find a 3 million British Pounds-a-year job?"
Toure sneered and mercilessly kicked Nasri’s hands away.
"Only the one who tied the bell can untie it; begging me is useless. While you still can, go kneel and cry to Tang!"
"Maybe he’ll be merciful enough to spare you!"
With that, Toure paused, helped the trembling Nasri up, wiped away his tears with his large, rough hand, and tidied his blood-stained shirt collar.
"I’ll say something nice for you to the management, after all, you’ve been with me for five years, and if nothing else, you’ve worked hard."
That’s exactly what Nasri was waiting for!
He expressed deep gratitude to Toure.
Watching Nasri leave in a sorry, hunched state, Toure secretly pondered —
There were 12 people present that night at Kompany’s house.
Captain Kompany, Spanish Language Gang members Agüero and Silva, English Gang’s Joe Hart and Sterling, Portuguese Gang’s Fernando, Italian Language Gang’s Tang Long, Kolarov, Ranocchia, and French Language Gang apart from himself, there were also Bony and Sagna.
Who exactly leaked the contents of this secret meeting?
What is the purpose of this snitch or mole doing this?
Sitting back in his chair and sipping tea, Toure sank into contemplation.
The sky over England was densely clouded, like a tightly sealed quilt, completely blocking sunlight from reaching the land of the peninsula.
Even during the day, the bright lights in Manchester City CEO Belgistan’s office remained on.
"Sorry, dear Pellegrini, we’re not intentionally keeping you in the dark. It’s just that this matter is indeed very significant, occurring just before the Champions League group match against Juventus. For the stability and unity of the team, please understand my decision."
Pellegrini sat on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, face drooping and silent.
Sitting next to him was Manchester City’s Commercial Director Belada, with a smug look on his face~
"Decisiveness brings clarity, indecision brings chaos; this is something any manager must understand."
Belada thought: "You, Belgistan, were the first Manchester City executive to know about Nasri’s filming incident. You didn’t tell me immediately, fine, but when you called me to your office to discuss this, I told you we must immediately terminate Nasri’s contract. But you hesitated for a bit of transfer fee. The matter dragged on for several days, and as expected, longer nights bring unexpected dreams. Now it’s blown up, The Sun turned the tables on you, let’s see how you end this, haha!"