Chapter 154: Reaching the 2nd round

With the conclusion of the weekend's Premier League fixtures, Liverpool stood as the only wounded giant among the so-called Big Five. The Reds had just endured a tough evening at Old Trafford, where they were soundly beaten 2–0 by Manchester Unitedin a typically fiery Red Derby. Despite Liverpool starting with intensity, they were outclassed tactically and physically. Ferguson, who had come under media pressure after losing to Arthur's Leeds United just days earlier, finally had something to smile about in front of the press. The win didn't just add three points—it restored a little pride. But even that fierce rivalry wasn't the biggest headline of the round. What truly stole attention across the footballing world was Leeds United's ruthless 4–0 demolition of Manchester Cityat Elland Road. The match wasn't just a big win—it was a statement. It silenced critics, reminded rivals, and reignited belief. Because in just the last fortnight, Arthur had stirred quite a storm in English football. He'd publicly criticized the Football Association, raised eyebrows with a confident press conference where he boldly stated Leeds' goal this season was the Premier League title, and then—perhaps most dramatically—declared his relationship with pop icon Shakira to the public, sparking an uproar in tabloids and sports pages alike. That mix of bravado and glamour had quickly made Arthur a magnet for criticism. Pundits and columnists rolled their eyes. Some accused him of being distracted, others called him arrogant. Many believed he was overstepping—Leeds had struggled through September and, with Chelsea and United setting a steady pace, most saw Leeds as outsiders at best. Some newspapers openly mocked his ambitions. One London outlet even published a headline that read, "Arthur Should Focus Less on Pop Stars, More on Points." But after a 4–0 thrashing of City? All of that changed. The win wasn't just comprehensive—it was electrifying. Fast, direct, tactical, fearless. Leeds had outclassed City in every department, and suddenly the laughing had stopped. The very next day, Norman Hunter, a Leeds legend and a voice long respected among supporters, posted a rare tweet that drew widespread attention: "Leeds United is back on the rails. Just like last season, they're rising in October. Everyone laughed at Arthur's promises—until he delivered. The goals, the fluidity—4–0 didn't even do it justice. If Arthur can manage his squad smartly from here, Leeds will go further than people expect." Hunter wasn't alone in his opinion. Former players, some journalists, and even a few of Arthur's harshest critics admitted the display against City was one of the best team performances in the league so far. Still, as Norman said, managing the season smartly was key. Because three days later, Leeds were on the road again—this time, not for league glory, but for a League Cup clash at Old Trafford. A rematch between Arthur and Sir Alex Ferguson—though the stakes, this time, were different. In the build-up, Manchester-based outlets hyped it as a chance for revenge. "Sir Alex seeks payback," read one. Another dubbed it, "Round Two of the Mind Games." But Arthur? He wasn't playing along. From the moment the match was scheduled, Arthur made his stance crystal clear: he wasn't interested in the League Cup. Not this year. Not with the Champions League and Premier League in play. In his pre-match press conference, he shrugged and said: "We'll rotate the squad. This isn't about pride—it's about priorities. Let the young lads play. And, honestly? Let's not lose too badly." True to his word, the lineup he sent out looked like a pre-season eleven. Almost the entire starting lineup from the City win was rested. Only a few familiar names made the bench. Even in the dressing room, Arthur's tone was relaxed. "Just play your game," he told the squad. "And if we lose, well... just make sure it's not by five." But to Arthur's surprise, Ferguson had a similar idea. The Scotsman, riding high from recent league form and a dominant Champions League start, clearly had bigger fish to fry. The League Cup wasn't his priority either. So, in a rare show of pragmatism, he named a lineup full of academy players and fringe squad members—even younger than Leeds' B-team. That turned the "revenge match" into something more like a youth exhibition. Still, the game had its moments. Both sides struggled with rhythm early on—passes went astray, challenges flew in recklessly, and neither team looked likely to break the deadlock. But in the second half, United earned a corner. Leeds packed the box defensively. The delivery wasn't particularly dangerous—but in the confusion, Lahm tried to clear the ball under pressure and mistimed the clearance. The ball slammed into David Silva's leg, bounced awkwardly... and spun straight past the goalkeeper into the net. Own goal. The United players didn't even celebrate properly—some looked almost embarrassed. But it counted. 1–0. That would be the final score. As the final whistle blew, the Old Trafford crowd gave a polite cheer, but the atmosphere was nowhere near the ferocity of a proper derby. On the pitch, the two managers met to shake hands. Here, the cameras caught something unexpected. Ferguson, despite winning the match, looked... annoyed. Not satisfied. Not relieved. His expression was stiff, his eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced at Arthur—not in triumph, but almost in irritation. Arthur, on the other hand? Grinning ear to ear. He looked like a man who had just won a trophy, not lost a League Cup tie. His handshake was firm, his smile unapologetic. He even patted Ferguson's arm like an old friend at a pub. One reporter later wrote: "Ferguson looked like he'd been tricked into wasting a night. Arthur looked like he'd just pulled off a heist." And maybe he had. Because while the headlines read "United advance", the deeper story was about strategy—Arthur had protected his main squad, avoided injuries, and gave his academy players big-match experience... all while exiting a competition he never planned to prioritize. **** With the League Cup finally out of the way, Arthur could breathe a little easier. That tournament had never been a priority—and now, it wasn't a distraction either. Leeds United, relieved from the burden of midweek second-string matches, had a proper week to rest, recover, and recalibrate. The final week of October brought a tricky away fixture against Fulham—a cold, windy afternoon at Craven Cottage. Leeds didn't look flashy, but they were professional and efficient. A single goal, carved out in the second half by a moment of brilliance from De Bruyne and calmly finished by Podolski, was enough to claim all three points. That made it three consecutive league wins, and perhaps more importantly, it allowed the squad to shift their full focus to Europe. Because just four days later, on the first of November, a far more important match awaited them at Elland Road. It was the kind of night that had been marked on the calendar since the group stage draw: Leeds United vs Bordeaux. Not just another game, but a crucial turning point. A win would send Leeds through to the last 16 of the Champions League, with a game to spare. And the atmosphere reflected the stakes. From the early afternoon, fans gathered around the stadium—scarves waving, songs echoing through pubs and streets, everyone buzzing with anticipation. The last time Leeds had reached the Champions League knockouts was six long years ago, before it all fell apart under the disastrous reign of Peter Ridsdale. The years that followed were filled with chaos, financial ruin, and heartbreak. But tonight felt different. Tonight, Elland Road had hope again. That hope had a name—and it wasn't just Torres, Modrić, or Ibrahimović. It was Arthur. The young manager who had taken bold steps, made bold claims, and, so far, delivered bold results. He was the reason 50,000 packed the stadium that night, draped in white and singing with every ounce of belief in their chests. Arthur didn't play it safe. He sent out his strongest possible XI, a full-force declaration that he wanted this win as badly as the fans did. No rotation. No hesitation. The whistle blew—and Leeds attacked like men possessed. From the opening minutes, the ball rarely left Bordeaux's half. Modrić pulled the strings in midfield with his trademark grace, while De Bruyne and Alonso rotated smartly, dragging defenders out of position. On the flanks, Bale and Ribérytormented the fullbacks, switching sides and firing in dangerous crosses. But Bordeaux weren't easy prey. They sat deep, dug in, and fought for every inch. Their defensive line stayed compact, and their keeper made a pair of excellent saves from Ibrahimović and Torres. Every blocked shot and clearance drew cheers from the away fans in the corner—but they were under siege. Arthur remained calm on the sideline, hands in his coat pockets, occasionally barking instructions. "Don't force it!" he shouted. "It's coming!" And finally—it did. In the 43rd minute, Leeds earned their fifth corner of the half. Ribéry jogged over to take it, glancing at Arthur for a nod. The delivery came in low and fast to the near post, where Kompany broke free of his marker, rose above the crowd, and thundered a header into the net. 1–0, Leeds United. The roar that followed nearly shook the roof off Elland Road. Kompany ran to the corner flag, fists clenched in triumph. But the celebration was short-lived. As Kompany landed awkwardly, he stumbled and dropped to the turf, grimacing. Arthur immediately knew it wasn't good. The physios rushed over, and after a quick assessment, Kompany was helped off the pitch, clearly struggling to put weight on his ankle. It was a sprain—and Arthur, now visibly concerned, made the call. At halftime, David Silva came on as the replacement. It was a blow. Kompany had been solid all season, and losing a defensive leader mid-match could easily rattle a side. And when the second half began, it looked like Bordeaux sensed a shift. They came out with more ambition, finally stepping into Leeds' half with numbers, looking to equalize. They pressed higher, pushed their midfield forward, and for a few tense minutes, Leeds looked unsettled. But that ambition came at a price. In the 66th minute, Bordeaux lost the ball in midfield after Alonso intercepted a risky pass. In the blink of an eye, Leeds countered. Modrić collected the loose ball and surged forward, gliding past a chasing midfielder before threading a perfect through ball into space on the right. Torres was already on the move. He took the pass in stride, skipped past the last defender, and drove into the box. With only the keeper to beat, he opened his body and placed the ball low into the far corner. 2–0. The crowd exploded again. But Torres wasn't done. Just four minutes later, Leeds won the ball again—this time through Bale, who tackled his man near the halfway line and quickly sent it upfield. Torres, still full of energy, darted into the gap between Bordeaux's centre-backs. A quick pass from De Bruyne met his run, and as the keeper rushed out, Torres lifted a delicate lob over him with stunning composure. 3–0. Elland Road went absolutely wild. Fans were on their feet, waving scarves, hugging strangers, singing songs that hadn't been heard in years. And on the pitch, the job was done. Bordeaux looked deflated. Their energy faded. Their body language screamed defeat. They tried to hold possession, but Leeds simply shut them down, managing the final twenty minutes with maturity and poise. Substitutions came, tempo dropped, and the last stretch played out to chants and clapping from the stands. When the referee blew the final whistle, it wasn't just the end of a game. It was a milestone. Leeds United, after six long years, were back in the Champions League knockout stages. The players embraced. Arthur turned to his staff with a quiet, satisfied smile—then stepped onto the pitch to thank the crowd. It was more than just a victory. It was a promise kept.