Chapter 152: City Blues

After grabbing all three points from Bordeaux midweek, Leeds United, still holding onto top spot in their Champions League group, returned to England immediately. There was no time for celebration or recovery. No rest days. Their schedule left no breathing room. On Saturday night, just days after their European fixture, Leeds were back in action at Elland Road, hosting Manchester City in the ninth round of the league. The match came sandwiched between two high-stakes competitions, and most expected some squad rotation. But Arthur had already made his stance clear: the League Cup match against Manchester United a few days later would take a backseat. The Premier League remained the focus. So, with confidence and intent, Arthur sent out his strongest lineup. In the BBC broadcast studio, Gary Lineker and Jon Champion were on commentary duty for the match. The two had debated Leeds' potential lineup before kickoff. "I'm sure Arthur will rest most of his regulars tonight," Gary had said earlier. "It'd make sense. Save energy for the United match." But when the official teams came through, Jon couldn't hold back a grin. He turned toward Lineker, a spark in his eyes. "Gary," he said cheerfully, "you might want to prepare your wallet. Looks like you'll be buying lunch tomorrow." Lineker leaned forward to read the lineup again and sighed with a smile. "You've got to be kidding. He's really gone full strength tonight." Jon nodded. "Leeds United aren't holding anything back. Arthur's going for the three points here at home. Looks like Manchester City could be in trouble." Gary gave a helpless chuckle. "I really thought he'd go toe-to-toe with United in the Cup. But it looks like Leeds are waving the white flag for that one." While the two were chatting on the broadcast, the television feed cut back to the pitch. The whistle blew, and kickoff was underway. Džeko, standing at the center circle, nudged the ball back to Joey Barton, and the game officially began. Manchester City started in possession, calmly moving the ball through midfield and looking to build on the left. But their slow tempo was punished almost immediately. Leeds were sharp. Their pressing shape was tight, and the moment City tried to advance play on the left flank, they were stopped cold. Philipp Lahm, alert and reading the pass a second before it was made, stepped into the lane and cleanly intercepted. One touch forward, and Leeds were off. As soon as Lahm stole the ball, Bale, positioned ahead of him on the left wing, and Ribery, breaking in from the right, both exploded into motion. No hesitation. They sprinted into Manchester City's half, stretching the back line before it had a chance to recover. Lahm took two more measured steps forward, then slid a crisp pass through midfield to Modrić, who had already found space behind Barton. Before City's midfield could collapse on him, Modrić saw the opportunity and made his decision. He didn't control it. He didn't pause. With one fluid swing of the boot, he launched the ball into the wide right channel—anticipating Ribery's run perfectly. It wasn't just a hopeful switch—it was a calculated, pre-planned counter. As the ball arced toward the sideline, the home fans roared. Ribery, already in full sprint, reached the ball at the edge of the final third. He cushioned it effortlessly with his right foot, absorbing the pace, and without slowing down, drove into the penalty area. Panic set in. City's back line scrambled into shape. Micah Richards, their starting right back this season, was caught out of position but managed to get back just in time to confront Ribery near the corner of the box. From inside the six-yard area, David James was shouting at full volume. "Micah! Push him to the line! Don't let him cut inside!" Richards nodded but didn't respond. He had his hands full. Since Sun Jihai had moved to Leeds, Richards had stepped up as City's undisputed starting right back. But the guy barely got to play due to Leeds having better players. Atleast he got his wages on time, if he played in a chinese club, they would probably not even pay him, being the corrupted assholes they are. Arthur was already sure he'd offload him next season once he found better options. But tonight, under the bright lights and up against a red-hot Ribery, he looked vulnerable. **** As soon as James's voice echoed through the area, Micah Richards, never lacking for pace, snapped into action. He was already closing in on Ribery, tracking the Frenchman's every move. As Ribery drifted toward the inside, Richards smartly blocked the route, cutting off any hope of him shifting onto his stronger foot. It was well-read and well-executed—classic fullback defending. But Ribery wasn't biting. In fact, he had never intended to cut inside. Just as Richards closed the angle, Ribery subtly poked the ball further down the flank, past his own stride, and then burst forward, turning on the afterburners and darting toward the byline. It was a classic Ribery move—using acceleration and timing, not flair, to beat his man. Elland Road buzzed. Inside the box, chaos was already brewing. Ibrahimovic, towering and composed, drifted toward the near post. Fernando Torres lurked centrally, dancing on the shoulder of the last man. Podolski, always sneaky in tight spaces, moved just off the blindside. Further out, Bale was hovering at the edge of the box, waiting for a rebound or cutback, and De Bruyne stood unmarked at the top of the arc, watching everything unfold like a predator eyeing its prey. Ribery took a quick glance as he reached the byline—just one look was all he needed. Then, almost rhythmically, he clipped the ball with the inside of his right foot, curling it delicately into the area. It wasn't hit with power. It was all about feel. The kind of pass that floated like it was moving in slow motion, teasing defenders and drawing them in. As the ball curled in, City's defenders scrambled to find their marks. Ibrahimovic, Torres, and Podolski jostled with their respective markers, arms tugging, feet stomping for position. But no one could get a clean jump. The ball glided just above everyone's heads—untouched—and fell perfectly into the path of Bale, who was now approaching from the edge of the box. One touch to settle. No time to think. Bale spotted De Bruyne ghosting into space just outside the area, untouched, unnoticed. Rather than take the shot himself, Bale squared the ball sharply, and De Bruyne was right there. The young Belgian took one smooth touch with the outside of his left foot to shift the ball sideways, then opened up his body. The space was narrow, but the window was there. He curled the ball delicately with the inside of his left boot, aiming just above head height and toward the far post. James was completely unsighted. With six or seven bodies clustered in front of him, he didn't even see the ball until it flashed past Ibrahimovic's head—and by then, it was far too late. The net rippled. 1–0. Just two minutes on the clock. Elland Road erupted. Fans leapt from their seats, scarves flailing in the air as the roar echoed through the stands. Arthur remained composed on the touchline, but even he cracked a small smile, hands behind his back as if to say, "Exactly as planned." Up in the studio, Jon Champion was already halfway out of his seat. "Would you believe it?! Just two minutes in, and Leeds have torn through City's defense like paper!" Gary Lineker laughed, half in disbelief. "That move was textbook. And De Bruyne—what a finish. The kid is calm as ice." As City restarted the game, Leeds showed no signs of slowing down. Despite being ahead, they didn't retreat. Instead, they pressed harder. Their movement remained fluid, their pressing sharp, their tempo relentless. In the 6th minute, with the home crowd still chanting from the early goal, Leeds came forward again. This time, it started from midfield. De Bruyne, energized after scoring, linked up with Xabi Alonso, and the two of them played a gorgeous one-two sequence that sliced through City's midfield press. Short, sharp passes. One touch each. De Bruyne accelerated into space just outside the box, ball at his feet once again. As one of City's defenders stepped out to close him down, De Bruyne spotted an opening and slid a precise through ball down the right channel. Reis, timing his run from the wing, darted behind the full-back and found himself on the edge of the six-yard box with a tight angle. He fired—low and fast—but the shot skidded just wide and smashed into the side netting. Groans and applause mixed in the crowd. Another big chance gone begging—but Leeds were flying. Less than a minute later, before City could even regain composure, James's goal kick was intercepted. Alonso, again at the heart of it, rose high and headed the ball right back into Leeds possession. The ball dropped to Balein the center circle, who didn't hesitate. He raced forward along the left touchline, eating up ground in great strides. City's defense was caught backpedaling. As Bale neared the byline, he swung in a looping cross with his stronger left foot, curving it toward the penalty spot. This time, it was Ibrahimovic who made the run. He muscled his way through traffic, leapt into the air, and connected with the ball at the peak of his jump. A classic lion's header—powerful, clean, driven to the top-right corner. James saw it late. But this time, he was ready. The City keeper flung himself across goal, stretching every inch of his frame, and managed to flick the ball wide with his fingertips. It brushed just past the post and out for a corner. The stadium groaned in unison, stunned by the effort. "Ohhhh Ibrahimovic!!" Lineker cried out, clutching his mic. "He rose like a king—and it took everything from James to stop that one. What a save!" Jon shook his head, impressed. "That's world-class keeping. But if this pressure keeps up, how long can City hold out?" Gary glanced down at his notes. "Let's be honest—Leeds are playing like a team possessed. City look like they're just trying to survive." And at that moment, no one in Elland Road would've disagreed. Leeds United were flying. City were gasping. And Arthur hadn't even gotten out of his technical area yet.