Football Dynasty

Chapter 602: Building a Private Race Track?

In the fourth and fifth rounds of the Premier League, Manchester City faced opponents who were hardly considered formidable: Everton and Wimbledon.Wimbledon, in particular, had spent two of the previous three seasons hovering dangerously close to relegation, finishing just one place above the drop zone on both occasions. Fleet Street's commentary even suggested that simply surviving another Premier League season would require something close to a miracle. Spending two consecutive seasons lingering around 15th to 17th in the table was nothing short of absurd.

Their statistics painted an even bleaker picture. They were the second-lowest-scoring team in the league while also conceding the second-highest number of goals in the entire Premier League.

In other words, their defense was vulnerable, and their attack was almost nonexistent.

Football fans crave goals, exciting attacking play, and thrilling defensive battles, but Wimbledon had struggled to provide any of those. Their performances were rarely entertaining, and their survival often seemed more like a matter of circumstance than quality.

Ironically, they eventually secured their Premier League survival with two rounds to spare, finishing fourth from the bottom.

For Manchester City, however, facing such an opponent proved to be the perfect opportunity for Ronaldo to showcase his scoring ability.

Across the two matches, Ronaldo scored five goals, producing extraordinary individual performances in both games. His match ratings reflected just how dominant he was: 9.9 in one match and 9.8 in the other.

Against an opponent that had struggled all season to defend and score, Ronaldo showed absolutely no mercy.

In the early morning, Richard awoke from his dream, feeling groggy for a few moments before slowly coming to his senses. Five minutes later, he was fully awake and ready to start his day. Clad in nothing but a pair of shorts, he made his way into his private gym.

He pulled back the curtains, allowing the bright morning sunlight to flood the room. With his headphones on, he tuned in to the morning news while jogging on the treadmill. His mood lifted with each passing minute, as though a constant stream of happy thoughts were running through his mind. Before he even realized it, a faint smile had settled across his face.

After finishing his workout, Richard headed to the bathroom and took a shower. As he brushed his teeth, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of splashing coming from the swimming pool.

Curious, he glanced out the window.

The sight immediately brought a smile to his face. It was his beloved nephew, Jarred, who had just turned one.

"Jarred, good morning!"

"Aiyaa!" the little boy squealed, completely ignoring him as he happily splashed the water while his father held him securely in his arms.

After finishing up in the bathroom, Richard immediately headed to the parking garage. The place was already bustling with activity, with several people moving around and attending to their respective tasks.

"Ross," Richard called.

Ross was the family assistant Richard had hired after his father and mother decided to move into Blackburn Mews, an apartment property he owned. However, as his parents had begun traveling more frequently for vacations, Ross had gradually become more involved in assisting Richard with his daily affairs.

Today, it seemed it was time to have one of Richard's cars serviced. As soon as he arrived, Ross approached him and handed him an agreement.

"Sir, you can check the car's condition now. If everything looks good, please sign here."

Richard took the document and glanced over it before turning his attention toward the car.

For a supercar, routine servicing was rarely as simple as dropping it off at an ordinary garage. The process usually involved a detailed inspection, checking everything from the engine and transmission to the brakes, tires, suspension, electronics, and other specialized components. Given the value and complexity of the vehicle, even the smallest issue could require careful attention from a trained specialist.

Richard preferred to have his cars maintained properly, so he never minded the extra precautions.

Bending down, he lowered himself into the McLaren F1 GTR. The seat wasn't exactly comfortable, but comfort had never been the priority with a car like this. When you chased speed and performance, sacrifices had to be made elsewhere.

Richard settled into the driver's seat and wrapped his hands around the steering wheel. At idle, the 6.0-liter V12 was surprisingly restrained, its deep mechanical rumble filling the cockpit without becoming overwhelming.

Then he pressed the accelerator. The character of the car changed almost instantly.

The engine climbed through the rev range, the twelve cylinders roaring to life behind him as the exhaust note grew sharper and more ferocious. The tachometer swept past 4,000 RPM, then 5,000, the V12 screaming louder with every thousand revolutions. The acceleration pressed Richard firmly against the seat, the force of it making his grip on the steering wheel tighten.

By the time the needle passed 6,000 RPM, the sound had become almost overwhelming—a furious mechanical howl that seemed to vibrate through his entire body.

Unfortunately, it was the kind of car he could enjoy for half an hour or so, but spending several hours behind the wheel would be another matter entirely. By the time he got out, his back would probably be begging for mercy.

After the inspection was completed and everything was confirmed to be in order, Richard signed his name on the paperwork. When he was finished with the paperwork, he casually walked away from the car, only to catch sight of his Porsche 911 Carrera RS.

He stopped.

With so many sports cars sitting in his garage, there was a certain pleasure in being able to choose a different one every day. Still, lately, he had found himself preferring his Rolls-Royce. It was simply more comfortable to be driven around.

Which left all these sports cars doing little more than sitting in the garage, being maintained and serviced. And with a single routine service costing nearly £8,750, wasn't that a little wasteful?

Richard loved cars. Ever since retiring from football, he had missed the adrenaline. But here in England, the roads were governed by laws and regulations. He couldn't simply drive around at ridiculous speeds whenever he felt like it.

Seeing Richard standing there with a gloomy expression as he stared at his collection, Ross, ever the attentive assistant, smiled.

"If you enjoy sports cars so much, sir, wouldn't it be better to take one to a racing circuit?"

"Here in Manchester?" Richard shook his head. "Forget it. There isn't a proper circuit nearby. And even if there were, it's not like I could do whatever I wanted. The track isn't mine."

Ross's smile widened slightly.

"Who said you need to own the track?"

"…"

"Sir, don't you have a friend who works in Formula One?"

"…"

"Sir, what about building a private racing circuit?"

Richard stared at his assistant in a daze. Then he shook his head again.

"The track isn't a normal road. It has much higher requirements when it comes to grip, durability, wear resistance, and drainage. Everything has to be built to a much higher standard. The cost per meter can easily be several times that of an ordinary road. That's a very expensive no."

Ross raised an eyebrow. "But what if you could use it for something other than racing?"

He paused, then continued, his eyes lighting up as the idea took shape.

"A proper circuit, built to accommodate all kinds of cars and designed to meet the highest standards—perhaps even Formula One standards. Once you have a circuit, you can't exactly leave out the grandstands. You could occasionally hold races and events, give spectators somewhere to watch, and charge fees for using the venue."

He became more animated with every sentence.

"And if there are grandstands, you'll need a race-control center!"

His enthusiasm grew as he explained, barely giving Richard a chance to respond.

"A media and broadcasting center, too. Then there are all the facilities required to host actual competitions—medical facilities, a pit lane and garages, workshops and tuning centers, maintenance areas, safety barriers and run-off zones, a helipad, fuel stations and storage, parking… the list goes on."

He continued as if he hadn't noticed Richard's increasingly bewildered expression.

"Once you add everything together, it makes more sense to build the whole thing properly from the beginning. Grandstands, garages, pit buildings, medical centers, safety systems, lighting, drainage, access roads, parking areas, fuel facilities, workshops, offices, and countless other details. Think about it. You already have the cars, sir. What you don't have is somewhere to use them properly. So build a circuit that serves more than one purpose."

He smiled, thinking that he might actually be onto something.

"Start with a proper track. Something designed for high-performance cars, but not necessarily built exclusively for Formula One. It could accommodate sports cars, GT cars, touring cars, track-day vehicles, driving schools, and private testing."

"When you feel like driving, you simply go there and take a few laps. When you're not using it, you can open the circuit to members and charge them for access. You could even establish a private racing club. That way, the circuit can generate some income instead of simply sitting there and consuming money."

"Beyond the track itself, there are plenty of possibilities for additional attractions: a racing museum, a motorsport heritage center, specialist workshops, restaurants, and automotive-themed shops. The location would be crucial. It couldn't be in the middle of nowhere. A circuit might be designed for enthusiasts, but nobody wants to spend hours traveling just to reach it. Ideally, it would be close enough to a major city to attract spectators, members, and racing teams while still having enough land to avoid disturbing nearby residents."

"Eventually, you could host proper racing events. And if things go well, perhaps even establish your own racing team!"

By the time he finished, he was practically panting for breath.

Richard could only stare at him in stunned silence.

"I never knew you were this passionate about racing."

Ross scratched the back of his head.

"I may have done some research."

"Some?"

Ross smiled awkwardly.

"I like watching F1."

Richard was speechless. That wasn't what confused him, though. What puzzled Richard was that, somehow, it actually made sense!