Chapter 112: It finally happened!

The match unfolded exactly the way Arthur remembered it—almost like a perfect playback of a classic game etched into his memory. Juventus, with their star-studded lineup, came into the tie as clear favorites. Veterans, title winners, international giants—they had everything on paper. But Arsenal had something else: energy, hunger, and a teenager pulling strings in midfield like a seasoned veteran. Cesc Fàbregas. Only 19 years old, but he ran the midfield like it was his backyard. He wasn't just showing flashes of talent—he dominated. Fàbregas wasn't intimidated by the black-and-white shirts in front of him; he danced through the pressure, finding space, playing clever passes, always one step ahead of the Juventus midfield. In the first half, he found the breakthrough. A clever exchange with Alexander Hleb opened up space at the top of the box. Fàbregas didn't hesitate—he struck the ball low and hard past Gianluigi Buffon. The Emirates erupted. The kid had given Arsenal the lead. Juventus tried to respond, but they were second best all night. Arsenal didn't just defend—they hunted. Every time Juventus tried to build up play, they were pressed off the ball by a red blur. The energy was relentless. Late in the second half, it was Fàbregas again, this time turning provider. A perfectly weighted through ball split the defense, and Thierry Henry did what he always did—coolly sliding it past Buffon for 2–0. That was that. Juventus returned to Turin stunned, trailing by two goals. Arsenal had taken the fight to the giants and won convincingly. As Arthur stood watching from the VIP box, he allowed himself a slow nod. "Just like I remembered," he muttered, half to himself. Raiola, standing beside him, looked puzzled but didn't say a word. But Arthur wasn't just focused on Arsenal's past heroics. He was keeping a close eye on the Premier League title race too. The month of April had become a chess match between his Leeds United side and Arsène Wenger's Arsenal. In the 32nd round, Leeds stumbled. A frustrating away trip to Blackburn ended in a 1–1 draw. Leeds had chances but lacked sharpness in front of goal. Meanwhile, Arsenal were ruthless. At the Emirates, they tore Aston Villa apart in a stunning 5–0 demolition. That win, combined with Leeds' slip-up, narrowed the gap between them to just two points. In Round 33, things didn't improve much for Leeds. A tense home draw saw them drop more points. The crowd at Elland Road was frustrated—three draws in a row now. But fortune smiled on them that weekend. Arsenal traveled to Old Trafford and were beaten by Manchester United. Leeds stayed top and, despite the poor form, edged their lead to three points again. Round 34 brought a shift. Arsenal, managing a packed schedule, rotated their squad but still comfortably dispatched West Bromwich Albion at home. A 3–1 win meant West Brom were officially relegated—joining Sunderland in dropping to the Championship. Arthur was watching Leeds from the touchline that weekend as they visited a tricky away ground. After three draws, the pressure was mounting. But his side delivered when it mattered, grinding out a crucial 2–1 win. The relief was palpable. The dressing room afterward was buzzing, and Arthur cracked a rare smile. More than just points, that win allowed Leeds to leapfrog Spurs again, climbing to third in the table—just behind Chelsea and Arsenal. Then came Round 35. Both teams won. Arthur watched Arsenal's match closely again. This time, they were facing a tricky mid-table side, but once again, Wenger's rotation worked. He rested some key players and still managed a tidy 2–0 victory. It wasn't flashy, but it was professional. Controlled. Arthur couldn't help but admire it—even if reluctantly. "Four games in twelve days," he muttered one morning in the manager's office, scanning Arsenal's fixture list. "Two of them Champions League semi-finals... and they still haven't slowed down." He meant it as a compliment. Wenger had done something remarkable. With limited resources and heavy scheduling, he'd squeezed the absolute best out of his squad. Arsenal didn't just reach the Champions League final with a draw and a win—they kept up the chase in the Premier League at the same time, keeping the pressure on Arthur's Leeds every single week. Arthur knew what was coming. The final stretch of the season was upon them. Leeds couldn't afford any more slips. Arsenal were right behind. *** The 2005–06 Premier League season had come down to its final day—and though the title had already been wrapped up, the tension across the country was thick enough to cut with a knife. Chelsea had sealed the championship early. Their emphatic 3–0 win over Manchester United at Stamford Bridge in the previous round left no room for doubt. Blue ribbons were already tied to the trophy. But the rest of the table? That was still a battlefield. All eyes turned toward the fight for the Champions League spots—and the desperate battle at the bottom of the table to avoid relegation. Three clubs—Tottenham, Leeds United, and Arsenal—were locked in a fierce three-way contest for the final two Champions League places. And further down, Birmingham City and Portsmouth were clinging to survival with everything they had. The relegation picture was relatively simple. Portsmouth were two points clear of Birmingham, and the two teams weren't facing each other. All Portsmouth had to do was avoid defeat, and they'd stay up. No calculators needed. But the race for Europe? That was a tangled web of pressure, permutations, and pride. Arthur stood in his office at Thorp Arch, arms folded, staring at the whiteboard filled with stats, fixtures, and scribbled tactical notes. His Leeds United side had clawed their way to third in the table with 65 points. One point behind them was Tottenham. Arsenal sat in fifth, two points further back. And now, everything came down to the final matchday. The media frenzy had been relentless since the start of May. Every pundit had an opinion. Every newspaper had charts, predictions, arrows, tables, probabilities. Arthur tried to tune it all out, but even inside the training ground, it was hard to escape the noise. The buzz was louder than ever because of the added twist: Arsenal were set to face Arthur's Leeds United at the Emirates on the final day. The stakes couldn't be clearer. If Arthur's side avoided defeat against Arsenal, Leeds would be guaranteed a top-four finish and a Champions League ticket. A draw would be enough. A win? Even better. But if they lost—and Tottenham won their game—Arthur could be out of the top four entirely. Tottenham, meanwhile, had the easiest fixture on paper. They were facing West Ham, who were sitting comfortably in ninth and had nothing left to play for. No pressure, no desperation—just a routine match at Upton Park. No one expected Spurs to slip up. And then there was Arsenal. Despite being fifth, they had one golden lifeline: the Champions League final. In just over two weeks, they'd face Barcelona. If they won that, they'd be in the next season's Champions League no matter where they finished domestically. But Wenger wasn't betting the house on that. He knew the risk. It was Barcelona, after all—Ronaldinho, Eto'o, Deco, and a team built for the big stage. So Arsenal had no choice but to go full throttle against Leeds. Their hopes of finishing in the top four—and keeping their European streak alive—rested on beating Arthur's side. Arthur knew Wenger wouldn't hold back. And that made the equation simple for Leeds: survive ninety minutes without losing, and Europe was theirs. But this wasn't just any ninety minutes. It was Arsenal at home, desperate, attacking, and dangerous. And for Arthur, it meant staring down the touchline at a manager he respected, even admired—but who would be doing everything in his power to send Arthur's team crashing out of the top four. The tension had been building for days. Players were focused, silent in training. Staff were walking on eggshells. Everyone knew what was at stake. And then, on the morning of May 4th—just two days before the final round—a thunderbolt struck European football. The news didn't come from England. It exploded out of Italy. A corruption scandal, unlike anything the modern game had seen, erupted in the heart of Serie A. Italian newspapers broke the story, and within hours it spread like wildfire across the continent. Arthur saw it break on Sky Sports News after the call with Raiola—big red banner, frantic updates, panelists scrambling for words. Match-fixing. Referee assignments manipulated. Club executives involved. Juventus named directly. It was chaos. Suddenly, Italy's football integrity was in question. Titles, relegations, Champions League places—all of it thrown into uncertainty. Arthur stood frozen in front of the television, trying to process what he was seeing. Raiola had sent him a short text: "It's real. It's going to explode bigger than anyone thought." For a moment, Arthur forgot entirely about Arsenal, Tottenham, and the Premier League final day. Because if this scandal unraveled the way it seemed to be heading, European football could be facing its biggest shake-up in decades. *** Thursday, May 4, 2006 – Sunny Earlier that day Arthur arrived at the Thorp Arch training ground just before 9 a.m., as he did most mornings. The air was fresh, the sun was out, and the grounds were unusually quiet for a day packed with pressure. In three days, Leeds United would play their final match of the Premier League season—away to Arsenal. It was the biggest game of the year. A place in the Champions League was on the line. One match to decide it all. And Arthur? He had even more at stake than anyone knew. Because if Leeds finished in the top four, he'd earn a platinum reward chest from the system—a mysterious feature he still hadn't quite figured out, but one that had helped him more than once. "It's been ages since I opened one of those..." Arthur muttered to himself, rubbing his stiff shoulders as he unlocked his office door. He stepped inside, dropped his bag, and made a quick beeline for the kettle. While the water boiled, he opened his laptop, already thinking about the weekend's tactical plans. Before he could even take a sip of tea, the phone on his desk started buzzing. Arthur picked it up, barely saying a word before a booming voice erupted in his ear. "Arthur! You're a bloody fortune teller!" It was Mino Raiola. The man was practically shouting. "You knew! You knew something was coming, didn't you? That's why you warned me!" Arthur blinked. "Knew what?" "Moggi!" Raiola said, as if that explained everything. Arthur paused. His eyes flicked to the date in the bottom-right corner of his computer screen. May 4th. And just like that, it clicked. "Oh... damn. It's today." He leaned back in his chair, letting the weight of it settle in. He'd been so consumed with training, match prep, and keeping his squad calm that he completely forgot what this date meant. This was the day it all started—the day Italian football would be flipped on its head. On the other end of the call, Raiola had been up early, enjoying a rare quiet morning. He had just finished breakfast, lit his usual cigar, and settled onto the sofa with a fresh copy of Gazzetta dello Sport. That's when he saw it. Right there on the front page, sprawled across two full spreads, was the story. Juventus General Manager Luciano Moggi. Referee selector Paolo Bergamo. Hundreds of phone records. Six seasons. Corruption, influence, match-fixing. The paper had printed transcripts, quotes, and shocking levels of detail. It claimed Moggi had repeatedly bribed officials to ensure certain referees were assigned to Juventus matches—referees who could be counted on to make decisions that tilted games in Juve's favour. Raiola had scanned the whole thing in silence. By the time he reached the end, the cigar was halfway burned, hanging limply between his fingers. His stomach churned—not from the nicotine, but from the implications. If even half of this was true, Serie A was in deep trouble. He barely hesitated. He snubbed the cigar, grabbed his phone, and called Arthur straight away. "You told me this would happen," Raiola continued, now pacing. "You told me in Turin. Months ago! How in the world did you know?"