Chapter 2: First Signing done

*** I'll upload the first 5 chapters or so this month. Then I'll post the advance chapters on patreon while releasing 1 chapter a day here *** Join my Patreon for more than 20 Advance Chapters and my other stories for only 7$ Link is Below. Remove space after http. https:// www.patreon.com/c/Virtuosso777?redirect=true *** After speaking, he casually lifted his teacup, but what he was really doing was activating the **Super Scout** skill on Howard. A soft ding echoed in his mind, and a translucent panel appeared in front of his eyes: --- [Timothy Matthew Howard] [Age]: 24 [Offensive Threat]: 33 [Defensive Strength]: 73 [Body Balance]**: 75 [Long Pass Accuracy]**: 68 [Short Pass Accuracy]**: 71 [Goal Line Technique]**: 70 [Bounce]: 73 [Reaction]: 75 [Agility]: 70 [Injury Tolerance]: C [Talent]: B [Game Status]: Very Poor [Transfer Value]: 3 million euros [Remaining Peak Period]: Half a year to one year [Contract Period Remaining]: 2 years [Potential]: No potential to be developed at the present [Player Evaluation]: Nervous temperament; frequently makes low-level errors under pressure. Currently in a state of self-doubt due to competition for his starting spot. [Overall Assessment]: B- --- Arthur curled his lips in a half-smirk. "Yep... about what I expected." From his past life's memory, Howard had gained the unfortunate nickname of "butter fingers" after a string of slip-ups. Ferguson had already begun rotating him with Roy Carroll, and by next season—once Van der Sar arrived—Howard would be firmly planted on the bench. But for Arthur, this was an opportunity dressed up as a goalkeeper crisis. "Buy low, buff high," he thought, tapping his fingers lightly on the table. Now was the perfect time to buy Howard—his stock was at its lowest. Then, slap the **Buffon Template** on him, let him shine for four months, and offload him to some club that would pay handsomely for a supposedly 'revived' keeper. It wasn't scamming. It was just... intelligent timing. Across the table, Howard sat quietly, his brows furrowed, clearly weighing the situation. Arthur had come in confidently, called himself the owner of Leeds United, and immediately offered Howard the chance to join the club and help push for promotion back to the Premier League. Howard respected the boldness, but he also knew Leeds United was in a mess—key players fleeing, the club drowning in debt, and no guarantees of survival in the Championship, let alone promotion. "Mr. Arthur," Howard said slowly, "I appreciate the offer, but honestly, I find it hard to believe Leeds United can return to the Premier League this season. Not with how things look right now." Arthur smiled—calm, composed, and very well-prepared. "You're right, the situation at Leeds isn't ideal. But I've decided to invest an additional **20 million euros** of my own funds. We're not just bringing in you. I plan to sign three or four more players to form a strong core. With you as the backbone in goal, we'll have a team strong enough to challenge for promotion." He took a small sip of tea, then added, casually, "Also, according to my scouts, Manchester United has been eyeing Van der Sar for quite a while now. If they sign him this summer, your game time might drop even further." Howard's frown deepened. He couldn't deny the Van der Sar rumors. He'd heard the same whispers around Carrington. Still... Leeds United? After a moment of thought, he asked cautiously, "Regarding the contract... I hope we're not talking about something long-term?" Arthur's eyes lit up. Bingo. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. "Of course not!" Arthur said, waving it off casually. "Short-term deal, flexible terms. Just enough to let you play, get regular minutes, rebuild momentum. You perform well, and who knows—maybe you'll catch the eye of a top-tier club again. I just need stability in goal for a few months." Howard sat back, visibly relaxing. That made sense. A stable role, short-term commitment, a path back into the spotlight. And let's be honest—Leeds United's backline was going to get a workout. He'd have more than enough chances to showcase his reflexes. "Alright then," Howard finally said. "Arthur, you can go ahead and make an offer to Manchester United." Arthur immediately stood up and extended his hand with a grin. "Then I wish us a happy cooperation." ** The transfer went through faster than expected. Manchester United, aware of Howard's internal struggles and already planning for Van der Sar, didn't make things difficult. Arthur's offer was accepted swiftly. Leaving his assistant to handle the paperwork, Arthur took Howard with him straight back to Leeds the next morning. As the train rumbled southward, Arthur stared out the window with a smug expression. Step one of his plan was complete. He'd acquired a Premier League-level goalkeeper for a Championship price. All it would take now was activating that Buffon template at the right moment—and suddenly, Leeds United would have a wall between the posts. And once Howard's form peaked and the vultures started circling again? Sell high. Rebuild again. Repeat. --- For Arthur, football wasn't just a passion anymore. It was chess. And he was always five moves ahead. *** In the manager's office at Elland Road, the atmosphere was tense. Kevin Blackwell, Leeds United's head coach, sat stiffly in the chair across from Arthur, his face clearly displaying a mix of frustration and disbelief. His eyes narrowed as he glared at the club's new owner—Arthur, the young man who had taken over Leeds United and, apparently, decided to take over his job too. Arthur sat calmly, hands folded on the desk, as if none of this was a big deal. "Arthur," Blackwell finally said, his voice tight with restraint, "I really don't understand what you were thinking. You signed a goalkeeper... behind my back. And not just anyone—Tim Howard. The same Howard who's already earned the nickname 'butter hands' in Manchester." Arthur tilted his head. "That's a bit harsh, don't you think?" Blackwell ignored him. "And to make matters worse, you promised him a starting spot. Starting! That's my decision, not yours. I decide the lineup. Not the board. Not the fans. Not the tea lady. Me." Arthur gave a small shrug. "We needed a goalkeeper." "I didn't say we didn't! But you went ahead and put in a clause guaranteeing him the main role! Have you lost your mind?" Arthur finally leaned forward. "Kevin, listen. We're rebuilding the squad. I have twenty million euros. That's not even enough to fix the toilets in this stadium, let alone buy a Premier League-quality keeper. Howard is the best we can get for the price." Blackwell scoffed. "He's a gamble." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "So is every signing. Football's a casino, and right now, we're betting with pocket change." "You didn't even consult me." "I did," Arthur replied calmly. "Through my assistant." "That assistant of yours asked me if I liked American sitcoms! He never mentioned Howard!" Arthur smiled faintly. "Minor communication issue." Blackwell stood up, clearly exasperated. "This isn't how clubs are run. You don't just wake up, buy a player, and toss him into the starting eleven like you're assembling a fantasy team." "Except that's exactly what I did," Arthur replied, still sitting. "And unless you can magically find a better keeper for three million euros, Howard's our guy." Blackwell stared at him for a long second. "He's only getting rotation minutes. That's the best I can offer. If he starts, it'll destroy our defensive chemistry." "Suit yourself," Arthur said with a shrug. "But remember—if he keeps the ball out of the net better than anyone else, you're going to have a lot of explaining to do when the fans start chanting his name." With nothing else to say, Blackwell stormed out of the office. He was going straight to the training ground to make a point. Arthur might be the new boss, but he would prove just how bad this signing was. Outside, a crowd of fans and journalists had already gathered for Leeds United's first training session since the summer break. The sun was out, spirits were high, and everyone wanted a look at the new players—especially the unexpected arrival from Manchester United. As Blackwell walked out onto the grass, he was immediately swarmed by a group of reporters. "Coach! What are your expectations for the upcoming season?" one shouted. "Is Leeds just aiming to survive in the Championship?" "What do you think of the new signing, Howard?" Blackwell raised a hand, trying to stay composed. "Look, I only found out about the transfer when I walked into the manager's office." The reporters jumped on that like piranhas in a feeding frenzy. "Are you saying you weren't involved in the transfer?" "That the board acted without your input?" Blackwell blinked. That wasn't exactly what he meant, but it was too late to take it back. "I didn't say that. Arthur—our new chairman—has a different way of doing things. He's still learning. He meant to get my opinion... he just sent his assistant... who forgot." One of the journalists raised an eyebrow. "So your club is making transfer decisions based on memory lapses?" Blackwell shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't say that either. Let's just focus on the training, alright?" Meanwhile, back at the stadium, Arthur was sitting in his office, sipping coffee and flipping through the sports section of the *Yorkshire Post*. Right there, on a full page, was a bold headline: "Rookie Chairman Signs 'Butter Hands' Behind Coach's Back – Leeds United in Turmoil?" The article spared no punches. It accused Arthur of being an inexperienced rich kid playing Football Manager with a real club. It said his decision to sign Howard showed his ignorance of football realities, that Leeds United was in crisis, and that the fans should brace for relegation rather than promotion. Arthur raised an eyebrow, then pulled out his laptop and logged into the biggest Leeds United fan forum. He didn't even have to scroll. The front page was flooded. "Is This the Worst Signing in Club History?" "Who Is Arthur and Why Is He Ruining My Weekend?" "Tim Howard to Save Leeds? Or Relegate Us Faster?"** "Poll: Who Should Replace Arthur After He Gets Sacked?" Arthur gave a soft chuckle. "Wow. They're really upset." He closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair. "So Blackwell wants to play games through the media, huh?" Arthur muttered to himself. "Fine. Let him. I'll let Howard's performance do the talking." Because Arthur had a trump card. A golden one. The Buffon Template. Thanks to the system, Howard's reflexes, positioning, and overall performance would be boosted to near-elite levels—at least for the next few months. That was all Arthur needed. Just long enough for a few clean sheets, a couple of standout performances, and a sudden spike in market value. The moment clubs started sniffing around, Arthur would cash in and double or triple his investment. As for the critics? Let them laugh now. Soon, Arthur thought, they'd be praising him as a visionary. Or at the very least, they'd be too busy celebrating Howard's performances to remember today's headlines. And Blackwell? Arthur made a mental note. "Might be time to scout for a new head coach." He wasn't going to act yet. But Blackwell had made one thing clear—he wasn't on board with the vision. And Arthur needed people who saw the bigger picture. People who understood that football wasn't just a sport. It was also a business. A profitable one, if played right. Arthur stood up, brushed off his jacket, and walked out of the office. Howard's first real training session was about to begin. Time to see if Buffon's gloves really fit. *** It was a chilly but clear morning in Yorkshire, the kind of day that made the breath mist in front of your face and the grass glisten just slightly with dew. At the Thorp Arch training ground, the usual quiet of post-holiday sluggishness was being interrupted by something new—something... or rather, someone. Tim Howard had arrived. Still wearing the club's basic training kit instead of a personalized one, the American goalkeeper stood awkwardly at the edge of the pitch, pulling on his gloves while giving cautious glances around. He looked like a new kid dropped in the middle of a classroom that already knew who the class clown and teacher's pet were. Arthur stood by the sideline with his assistant, arms folded, calmly watching. His Buffon skill template was activated, ticking invisibly like an app running in the background. He'd seen Howard's attributes. He knew there was quality there—at least for the next few months. But convincing everyone else? That would take more than just a spreadsheet in his head. Blackwell, standing further off with a whistle hanging around his neck like a badge of resentment, was already looking as though he'd rather be doing anything else. "Alright lads, warm-up, same as usual," Blackwell barked, his tone sharp. But his eyes, of course, drifted toward Howard every few seconds. He was waiting for a mistake. Expecting it. As the players jogged and stretched, a few were already whispering among themselves, trying not to look obvious. "Is that the United lad? Howard, innit?" "Yeah, the one who fumbled that cross against Bolton last season. We're supposed to trust that?" "Maybe he's here on loan from Cirque du Soleil, with all that juggling." Chuckles went around, but none dared say it loud enough for Arthur to hear. Still, he noticed the side-eyes. That's why he was here. It wasn't just Howard being tested—it was his decision-making as club chairman.