Chapter 110: Race for the Top 4

*** Join my Patreon for Advance Chapters ( about 40 or so) and my other 3 stories Link is Below. Remove space after http. https:// www.patreon.com/c/Virtuosso777?redirect=true Leave some comments, stones and review if you like it so far. Every 200 powerstones count for a bonus chapter. *** Leeds United kicked off March in the best way possible—by lifting a trophy. With the League Cup now proudly added to their cabinet, the squad could finally shift their full focus to one clear goal: securing a Champions League spot for next season. The next big occasion came quickly. Sunday afternoon at Elland Road wasn't just a league fixture—it was a celebration. Before kickoff against Sunderland, the newly crowned League Cup champions paraded their silverware in front of a packed stadium. Over 20,000 fans filled the stands, buzzing with energy, scarves waving, and chants echoing across the ground like rolling thunder. At the center of it all was Arthur. With the trophy clutched tightly in both hands, Arthur led the squad around the pitch like a victorious general returning from battle. One by one, players followed behind, waving to fans and soaking up the adoration. The stadium announcer called out each name, and every shout from the crowd seemed louder than the last. When Arthur reached the center circle, the place erupted. Chants of "Arthur! Arthur! Leeds United's savior!" roared from all corners of the stadium. Then, from the south stand, something massive began to unfurl. A giant banner. It took a second for everyone to realize what it was. When it was finally fully stretched out, a collective gasp echoed through the crowd. It was a portrait of Arthur, fist raised, mouth open in a full-throated roar—the exact moment caught right after Ribéry's overtime goal in the League Cup final. The artist had captured the passion perfectly. Even the wild hair and dripping champagne were spot on. Arthur blinked at the massive portrait. He didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or just hide under the nearest bench. Ribéry gave him a nudge. "You look like a madman up there." Arthur grinned. "I was a madman up there." No one could blame the fans for going all-out. After all, Leeds hadn't won the League Cup since the 1967–68 season. Thirty-eight long years. Some fans had waited their entire lives to see this moment. Now, thanks to Arthur's arrival, the drought was over, and hope was flowing through the city again like never before. More than that, the dream of Champions League football was no longer just wishful thinking. It was close. So close, the fans could taste it. Then came the actual match. It was never going to be a spectacle—not after the emotional rollercoaster of the Cup final. Sunderland came to Elland Road with the modest ambition of frustrating the hosts, and for most of the game, that's exactly what they did. Stubborn defending, time-wasting, and the kind of tactical fouling that makes referees sigh. But Leeds stayed patient. In the second half, with the match stuck at 0–0, they earned a free kick just outside the box. Rivaldo, calm as ever, stepped up. The stadium held its breath. The Brazilian adjusted his socks like he had all the time in the world. Then—bang. The ball curled beautifully over the wall and into the top corner. The crowd exploded. 1–0. Leeds in front. That's all they needed. The final whistle brought a relieved cheer from the fans. It wasn't pretty, but it was enough. Another three points on the board, and even better, news soon filtered in that Tottenham had lost away to Chelsea the day before. That meant one thing: Leeds were now third in the league table. Two points clear. Arthur looked up at the scoreboard as his players clapped the fans around the pitch. Third place. League Cup winners. And still climbing. The dream was alive. *** But the good times didn't last long. Just a week after their League Cup triumph, Leeds United found themselves staring down the barrel of another fierce battle. Manchester United had arrived at Elland Road, led by the legendary Sir Alex Ferguson, and they came with a clear mission: revenge. From the opening whistle, the energy on the pitch was different. It felt like déjà vu—a rematch of the cup final just two weeks prior. Only this time, Manchester United weren't in the mood for mercy. Barely into the match, Leeds found themselves under pressure. Gareth Bale darted down the right wing with terrifying speed, burning past Leeds' left flank before swinging in a perfect low cross into the box. Radamel Falcao, always alert, made a sharp run between the centre-backs and launched himself forward. He met the ball cleanly with his head, smashing it into the bottom corner before Schmeichel had a chance to react. 1–0 to Manchester United. That goal lit a fire under the visitors. If there had been any question about their intent, it was now crystal clear. That goal wasn't just a score—it was a statement. The players, stung by their defeat in the final, now looked like a team on a mission to settle a score. For the rest of the first half, the red shirts swarmed like bees around a hive. Manchester United's attacks were relentless, wave after wave pounding against Leeds United's backline. The Leeds players struggled to get out of their own half. Every attempted pass was quickly intercepted. Any moment of hesitation was punished with an aggressive press. It was like facing a machine gun—there was no pause, no mercy. Leeds' midfield, usually composed and commanding, was suffocated. Alonso couldn't find any rhythm, Modric barely touched the ball, and even Ribéry was pinned deep, helping defend. The only reason Leeds United weren't buried by halftime was because of one man: Kasper Schmeichel. The Leeds keeper was in top form, flying to his left to tip a powerful strike from Rooney around the post, and moments later throwing himself into a low dive to deny a curling effort from Ronaldo. He punched away corners, smothered one-on-ones, and barked instructions with the authority of a veteran general. Thanks to him, Leeds somehow managed to limp into the break with only a 1–0 deficit. Fifteen minutes later, both teams returned to the pitch, and within minutes, Arthur knew something was wrong. In the 49th minute, Manchester United made a subtle tactical switch. Ryan Giggs and Cristiano Ronaldo swapped flanks. It looked innocent enough—just a change of position—but it had massive consequences. Now operating on the left, Ronaldo suddenly found more freedom. He tested Maicon and Alonso, dragging them out of position with his explosive pace and slick footwork. Then came the moment of chaos. Ronaldo took the ball near the touchline, skipped past Alonso with a quick feint, then burst inside, where Maicon tried to close him down. But he was too quick. Ronaldo turned on the jets, surged into the box, and drew Pique toward him. Pique, already having a rough game, backed off, hesitant to commit. Schmeichel rushed out to cut the angle, bracing for a shot—but Ronaldo surprised everyone. Instead of going for goal, he coolly chipped the ball across to the back post. And waiting there was Wayne Rooney. Completely unmarked, Rooney only needed a soft nod. He gently headed the ball into the gaping net. 1–1. Manchester United had equalized. Arthur stood on the touchline with a clenched jaw. He immediately turned to Simeone, gave a quick signal, and barked, "Get Silva warmed up. Fast." It was clear to everyone—Pique was struggling. He had made a few nervous errors in the first half, getting caught out of position more than once. And now, he had once again been the weak link in Ronaldo's breakthrough. Instead of stepping up and forcing Ronaldo wide, Pique had lingered inside the box, watching helplessly as Ronaldo created the goal. Arthur didn't want to risk it any further. Silva needed to come on. But before the substitution could happen—disaster struck again. Pique, still on the pitch, was once again the target. Manchester United weren't slowing down after equalizing. If anything, they had increased their intensity. Leeds couldn't breathe. Ferguson's men pressed high, harassing Alonso and Modric the moment they received the ball. Every pass was contested. Every movement was tracked. Leeds were being choked off from their own rhythm. Even Falcao, who had scored earlier, was now tracking back into his own half to collect the ball—such was the tactical discipline of United. It wasn't just an attack—they were executing a suffocating, coordinated press that left Leeds rattled. And in the midst of it all, Pique remained the weak spot. Every Manchester United attack seemed to gravitate toward him, as if they could smell blood. Arthur could only watch in frustration as the game continued to spiral. But just two minutes after Rooney's equaliser, disaster struck again—and it came straight from the boots of Piqué. Trying to play the ball out from the back, Piqué casually knocked a low, sideways pass across the defensive third. But his touch was sloppy. It lacked speed and precision. Paul Scholes, always alert and hungry, read it like a book. He pounced, intercepting the pass cleanly and instantly driving toward the penalty area. Piqué, realizing his mistake, panicked. He rushed forward, trying to win back possession before Scholes could shoot. But it was too late for a clean challenge. The only option left was to commit a foul—and that's exactly what he did. He lunged in, clipped Scholes from behind, and brought him down just outside the box. The referee didn't hesitate. Yellow card for Piqué. A dangerous free-kick for Manchester United. Arthur stood still on the sidelines, shaking his head. The momentum had shifted entirely. His team was on the back foot, and Piqué had just handed United a golden opportunity. Cristiano Ronaldo stood over the ball. He was already flying in this match—full of confidence, full of purpose. And now, with a free-kick placed perfectly for his right foot, everyone inside Elland Road could feel what was coming. The whistle blew. Ronaldo stepped up, took his trademark stance, and struck it cleanly. The ball curled over the wall with pace and precision, arrowing toward the top-right corner. Schmeichel dived at full stretch, fingertips brushing the air—but it wasn't enough. The ball smashed into the top corner. Goal. 2–1 to Manchester United. The red half of the stadium erupted. Ronaldo sprinted toward the corner flag with arms outstretched. The comeback was complete. Manchester United had turned it around in the space of five minutes. Arthur responded immediately. He knew something had to change—and fast. He brought on Kompany for the struggling Piqué, trying to add stability to the backline. Then he called for Rivaldo, looking for creativity and magic in the final third. Finally, Džeko was sent in as a target man, a battering ram up front, hoping to recreate the turnaround they had pulled off in the final two weeks ago. But across the technical area, Sir Alex Ferguson had learned from past mistakes. In that last meeting, his side had paid the price for taking their foot off the gas. This time, there was no repeat. He changed his entire substitution strategy. Instead of defending the lead, he went all in on attack. All three of his subs were offensive players, ensuring that Manchester United kept up the pressure and didn't let Leeds breathe. Even while leading, United refused to sit back. Their press stayed aggressive, their tempo relentless. Leeds tried to push back, but every move was met with resistance. The midfield continued to be harassed. Modrić and Alonso had little room to create. Ribéry had flashes of brilliance, but they were quickly snuffed out. Even Rivaldo struggled to impose himself, with United's defenders sticking to him tightly. Džeko had a few moments—winning headers, holding up the ball—but there was no breakthrough. Leeds just couldn't find the rhythm or openings they needed. Minutes passed. Then half an hour. Then forty. But the miracle Arthur and his team had pulled off just weeks ago never came. The final whistle blew. Leeds United 1, Manchester United 2. It was a tough loss at home, especially after the highs of recent weeks. And just like that, the league table shifted again. Tottenham, who had won their match this round, overtook Leeds by a single point. Leeds were now back in fourth place. Arthur wasn't too concerned about finishing third or fourth. But there was another problem—Arsenal. In their match this round, Arsenal had thrashed Fulham 4–0. They picked up all three points and cut the gap between themselves and Leeds United to just five. The Gunners were still lurking, still dangerous, and still very much in the race for a top-four finish. As the season neared its end, every match started to feel like a final. And over the next two rounds, Leeds didn't help themselves. They managed only one win out of two, while Arsenal picked up a win and a draw. That five-point cushion? It shrunk again. Slowly, steadily, the pressure mounted. Arthur understood the reality well. Leeds were benefiting from the Champions League schedule. In matchweek 31, Arsenal were up against Portsmouth—a team second from the bottom of the table. On paper, it should've been a routine win. But Arsène Wenger had one eye on Europe. With a Champions League quarter-final against Juventus coming up midweek, he rotated heavily, resting several key players. As a result, Arsenal were less sharp, less fluid. Portsmouth seized the moment, defended bravely, and managed to hold them to a 1–1 draw. That dropped two points might've been a gift for Leeds. Without that slip, the gap would've been just two. But this was how the run-in worked. Every rotation, every substitution, every tired leg counted. Now, everything pointed toward one final showdown. If things kept going this way, the last round of the season—when Leeds would travel to the Emirates to face Arsenal—could be the decider. Would Leeds hang on to that final Champions League spot? Or would Arsenal complete the late surge? Arthur knew one thing: it wasn't going to be easy.