Chapter 183: Arrival of New Players

At around 4 o'clock in the afternoon, Arthur had just finished chatting with Dani Alves, who had finally completed his medical. Alves, of course, was all smiles, tossing around his usual charm and cracking a few jokes in his thick Brazilian accent. But just as Arthur was getting ready to breathe, Allen dragged him over to the club's lobby where two new recruits had just arrived—Mats Hummels and Marco Reus. Arthur's eyes lit up the moment he saw them. Behind Ron stood two very fresh-faced lads who looked like they'd just stepped off a German youth team bus. Arthur couldn't help but laugh to himself. He had just successfully poached two future stars from Dortmund's academy—without even meaning to at the start of the season. It was like waking up one morning to find out you've accidentally bought a winning lottery ticket while buying milk. Mats Hummels, barely 18, was already a towering figure. Easily six-foot-three, he had that solid, elegant poise that didn't scream brute-force defender, but more like a composed artist who just happened to be built like a fridge. Arthur immediately recognized the Cannavaro-esque vibe in the way Hummels stood—confident, upright, balanced on the balls of his feet like a chess master scanning the board. What really impressed Arthur was that the kid wasn't the least bit shy. Even as Arthur stared at him, studying every inch of the young man as if trying to X-ray scan his potential, Hummels didn't blink. He looked right back at Arthur with calm, focused eyes—no arrogance, no nerves. Just... steel. Standing next to him, though, was a very different story. Marco Reus looked like a deer that had wandered onto a motorway. The kid's blond hair seemed almost too bright under the fluorescent lobby lights, and he was staring at his shoes as if they'd suddenly developed the power of hypnotism. Arthur could almost hear his internal monologue: Don't trip. Don't say anything stupid. Don't look up or he'll think you're weird. Arthur chuckled inwardly. "These two are going to be fun," he muttered to himself. Now, these signings weren't even on Arthur's original radar. At the beginning of the season, when things were looking up and the squad seemed solid, he hadn't even considered diving into the German youth market. But then came the injury tsunami—first Dzeko pulled up, then Vardy, then three midfielders like dominoes. Suddenly Arthur was sitting in his office every evening with Ron's scout reports spread all over the table like the world's most stressful jigsaw puzzle. During that bleak patch, he cursed himself repeatedly for loaning out two strikers who could've made a difference. His mood swung between furious and despondent, depending on how long the physio reports were. But eventually, as players began returning from injury and the team steadied the ship, Arthur decided he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. The winter transfer window had to be used well—no more half-measures. Then, in late November, while flipping through one of Ron's lesser-prioritized scout reports, Arthur paused. Two names. Two faces. Hummels. Reus. He nearly spilled his coffee. "Ron," he barked over the phone. "Get your passport. You're going to Germany. Find them. Bring them home." And Ron did exactly that. Hummels was still with Bayern Munich's youth setup, overlooked by the first team, frustrated, and feeling stuck. When Ron showed up, the timing couldn't have been better. Even though Hummels' father—who also happened to be a youth coach at Bayern—was firmly against the move, Hummels himself jumped at the chance to prove himself in England. After getting the green light from the kid, Arthur took matters into his own hands. He called up Beckenbauer himself—yes, the Beckenbauer. Luckily, the two had maintained good relations ever since Philipp Lahm's move to Leeds. One quick negotiation later and for just 900,000 euros, Leeds United secured what Arthur believed was a future world-class centre-back. Reus, though... Reus was another story entirely. At just 17, Marco Reus had already logged some minutes in a first team—granted, it was Red and White Allen in the German regional league, but still, it counted. He had left Dortmund's youth setup at 15 to join Allen, hoping for first-team experience. Unfortunately, the club got relegated from the second division, and Marco suddenly found himself stuck in the footballing equivalent of a swamp. Still, Reus was loyal to a fault. No matter how tempting the offer from Leeds, he didn't want to leave Germany. He dreamed of one day returning to Dortmund, wearing the black and yellow, and staying there for the rest of his career. The thought of abandoning that dream—even temporarily—scared him. So when Ron showed up with 1.5 million euros on the table, Red and White Allen nearly broke the fax machine trying to get the paperwork through. But Reus wouldn't budge. Ron tried every trick in the book—tactical promises, coaching opportunities, even dragging him around town to see the local sights. Nothing worked. Reus stayed quiet, shy, hesitant. It wasn't until Ron sat down with Reus' parents in their living room that he finally pulled out his trump card—he called Arthur, put him on speaker, and let the boss do the talking. "Marco," Arthur said, his voice calm but firm through the speaker. "I understand your dream. I respect it. So here's my promise: if Dortmund ever makes an offer for you, I'll let you go back—no questions, no arguments, no drama. You have my word." There was a long pause. You could hear the ticking of the kitchen clock and maybe the distant sound of Reus' inner conflict melting. Then, softly, Marco nodded and said, "Okay." And that was how Leeds got two future German stars in one go. Now, standing in the club lobby, Arthur walked over to them and extended his hand. "Mats, Marco," he said with a grin, "welcome to Leeds." Hummels responded almost instantly, his voice firm and respectful: "Thank you, Mr. Morgan." The lad might have only just turned eighteen, but his composure was already that of a seasoned pro. Arthur appreciated that. Confidence without cockiness. A good sign. Next to him, though, stood a bundle of nerves dressed as a teenager. Marco Reus. The moment Arthur spoke, Reus looked up, hesitated as if trying to find his voice... then promptly gave up and looked back at his shoes like they were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room. The poor kid opened his mouth, then closed it again, like a shy goldfish trapped in a contract negotiation. Arthur raised an eyebrow and chuckled softly. This wasn't his first time dealing with nervous young talents, but the contrast between the calm Hummels and the flustered Reus was almost too perfect. "Hey, hey—Marco, come on now," Arthur said, grinning as he took a step closer. "Relax. I don't bite, alright?" He leaned forward a little, lowering his voice into something gentler but still teasing. "Besides, we've already spoken on the phone once, haven't we? So technically, we're not strangers. Acquaintances at least. You even heard me ramble about Yorkshire tea, remember?" Reus's ears turned pink. He looked up at Arthur for just a split second, flustered, but there was a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips. A laugh? A smile? Who knew, but it was progress. "Okay... okay," Reus mumbled awkwardly. "I'm also... very happy to meet you, Mr. Morgan." Arthur gave him a friendly slap on the shoulder—just enough to rattle him a bit—and turned back toward both of them. "Great stuff. Here's what's next," he said briskly. "You two go get your medicals sorted out. Allen's already got your contracts ready to sign after that. Make sure you're at training tomorrow morning. Sharp. Bright-eyed. Hungry." He paused, flashing them a knowing look. "You never know. Might even throw you in for a match soon." That caught their attention. "Really? Then let's go, Mr. Ron!" Hummels suddenly lit up like someone had just told him he'd be starting at the World Cup final. The lanky German spun around, already halfway to the door, as if afraid someone might change their mind. Even Reus, still mostly silent, had a spark in his eyes now—like a little fire had finally been lit inside. He didn't speak, but the way his posture shifted told Arthur everything he needed to know. These two were hungry. Good. "Oh—and one more thing," Arthur called out just before they left. They both paused in the doorway. "When you see me tomorrow... drop the 'Mr. Morgan.' Just call me 'Boss.' Got it?" Reus turned around fully this time, finally looking Arthur straight in the eye. His shoulders were squared now, his jaw a little firmer. And with a confident nod, he said slowly and clearly, "No problem, Boss!" Arthur smiled to himself as they disappeared down the hall. That was the Reus he remembered from the future—driven, focused, deadly when it mattered. All it took was a little patience and the right push. The next morning, the entire English football world was thrown into chaos. Why? Because at exactly 9:00 AM, while most journalists were still stumbling into their offices half-asleep with coffee breath, Leeds United dropped a bomb on the internet. Four bombshells, to be precise. The club's official website and Twitter account updated simultaneously with four glorious, unexpected announcements: [Welcome Daniel Alves da Silva to Leeds United — €20 million!][Welcome Mats Hummels — €900,000!][Welcome Marco Reus — €1.5 million!][Welcome Wesley Sneijder — loan deal confirmed!] The media practically exploded. No one—and Arthur meant no one—saw any of it coming. The transfers had been handled in complete silence. Not a leak, not a whisper. The press had no idea what Leeds United had been cooking up over the winter break, and now, they were scrambling like headless chickens. Hummels and Reus? Most of the English media barely knew who they were. Their names might as well have been new IKEA furniture lines for all the coverage they got. But Alves? That name rang a few bells. He'd been the star of last season's UEFA Cup. Rumors swirled that Liverpool had offered €6 million for him during the summer, but Sevilla shut it down instantly. Now Leeds had swooped in and slapped down €20 million like it was loose change. And Sneijder? Fresh off the bench from Real Madrid. Even though it was only a loan deal, everyone knew it still cost a pretty penny. The idea that a recently promoted club like Leeds was out here collecting stars like Pokémon cards had the press completely losing their minds. The only publication that didn't seem surprised was the Yorkshire Post. They'd had an early scoop and ran with it confidently, basking in the credibility glow while everyone else looked like amateurs. Over at the other newspapers, editorial rooms were on fire. Phones were ringing off the hook. Desks were shaking under the weight of hastily rewritten headlines. Coffee machines overheated. Editors screamed into the void. One poor intern at the Daily Mail reportedly spilled his latte on the front page proof and cried in a stairwell. Meanwhile, Arthur sat calmly at Thorp Arch, sipping his actual Yorkshire tea, enjoying the chaos like a man who'd just unleashed a hurricane and was now watching it on the news. The truth was, this was all part of the plan. Arthur hadn't just randomly gone on a shopping spree. He'd built this winter window methodically—piece by piece. Each signing filled a specific gap, added depth, and set Leeds up for the second half of the season. Now they had a complete team. A real team. A full-back who could tear down the flank like a missile in Alves.A ball-playing center-back prodigy in Hummels.A future attacking dynamo in Reus.And a returning maestro in Sneijder who knew the club and the fans like the back of his hand. While the rest of the league stared at the headlines in disbelief, Arthur simply smiled and said to himself: Let them talk. We've got work to do.