Chapter 211: David vs Goliath

Words : 1828 Updated : Oct 3rd, 2025

"Boss, Wenger is mad. Look at this!" Simeone's eyes were practically glued to his laptop, grinning like a schoolboy who just found out class was cancelled. Arthur was still sitting stiffly in the hotel room, eyes focused on the TV as the Real Madrid vs. Bayern Munich match wound down. Raul had just jogged off after a brace, and Van Nistelrooy had finished wiping sweat off his forehead when Simeone jabbed a finger toward his screen. "Seriously, look, boss!" Simeone chuckled, tapping furiously on the laptop. Arthur glanced over just in time to catch a now-viral scene on Simeone's smaller screen: Arsène Wenger, normally cool as a cucumber, had just booted a poor, unsuspecting bottle of mineral water so hard it nearly rocketed into the fourth dimension. The camera on Simeone's stream cut to the corner of the scoreboard. 88th minute. PSV Eindhoven 1 - 0 Arsenal. Arthur blinked. "What's going on? Arsenal's that bad now?" Simeone gave a half shrug, the kind you do when you know something's terrible but also kind of hilarious. "It's just quiet," he said, grinning wider. "Like... eerily quiet." He pointed at a grainy frame of Emmanuel Adebayor awkwardly jogging into the pitch. "Wenger's lost his rhythm, man. Henry was clearly still carrying an injury. The guy barely touched the pitch in the second half before limping again. So Wenger had to sub him out for Adebayor immediately. Boom—two substitutions wasted." "Yikes." "Exactly. And PSV pounced right after that. Boom—goal." Arthur leaned back on the couch and exhaled through his nose. "That explains the bottle kick." Simeone snorted. "And that's not even the worst of it. Henry's probably out for a while. If I remember right, this is the season he ends up going to Barcelona. With this injury? He might not even get a proper farewell." Arthur looked at Wenger on screen—arms folded, jaw clenched, face blank—and couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the man. The French manager looked like someone who'd just been forced to watch a group project fall apart in slow motion. He sighed and asked, "What about Manchester United?" "Lucky bastards," Simeone grinned. "It was all looking like a boring draw until Giggs pulled something out in the 80th minute. I literally switched over right in time to see the ball go in. Classic Giggs moment. So they won it, barely." Arthur gave a half-nod. "Sir Alex always has a rabbit in the hat." "True that," Simeone agreed. Arthur was just about to go back to analyzing Real Madrid's match when Simeone piped up again. "Oh, and Milan. Dear God, Milan..." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "What happened?" Simeone made a noise that sounded like a car trying to start in winter. "Nil-nil. They drew with Celtic. At home!" He threw up both hands for emphasis, then slapped one to his forehead. "Ancelotti's got the most defensive 0-0 draw I've seen all year. I don't know what he's playing at anymore." Arthur gave a half-smile, but didn't say anything. He knew better than to write AC Milan off entirely. Sure, Simeone was roasting Ancelotti now, but Arthur remembered what was supposed to happen in the original timeline. That Milan team grew stronger the deeper they went into the Champions League, and eventually, they'd meet Liverpool in the final, take their revenge, and lift the trophy. Except now... that wasn't guaranteed anymore. Because of Arthur's arrival, Leeds United had taken Liverpool's Champions League spot this season. No Istanbul revenge arc. No Gerrard lifting his teammates with impossible comebacks. No AC Milan vs. Liverpool final, at least not in the same way. So now... what was going to happen? Would Milan still go the distance without their fated rival? Would Real Madrid surge forward? Would Leeds become the surprise contender? Arthur didn't know. But a small, eager spark lit up in his chest. For the first time in this tournament, everything was up in the air. And he loved that. The next morning, football headlines exploded across the European media landscape. The hotel's breakfast area was filled with the sound of clinking cutlery, espresso machines hissing, and the crinkling of fresh newspapers as Arthur and Simeone leafed through the latest carnage. "Arsenal stumble in the Netherlands: Can Wenger survive another Champions League collapse?" "Real Madrid win—but Bayern take two crucial away goals!" "AC Milan fail to spark against Celtic. Where's the Rossoneri fire?" "Manchester United snatch victory late. Giggs saves the day!" "Barcelona vs. Leeds: Champions League holders face fearless debutants!" "Wenger insists: 'Henry's injury is minor, he'll be back for round two.'" "Rijkaard: 'Leeds are strong—but naive. We'll win the tie at home.'" Arthur tapped that last headline with his finger, smirking slightly. "Naive, huh?" Simeone was already laughing. "Let him think that. Makes it more fun when we slap them on their own turf." Arthur folded the newspaper and set it down, grabbing his coffee. "First Camp Nou. Then Wembley. Then the world." Simeone raised his toast in salute. "To Leeds. And to proving everyone wrong." Arthur clinked his cup against the toast and grinned. The battle was just beginning. ***** The next day, every sports media outlet across continental Europe had their spotlight fixed squarely on one thing: the Champions League. And to no one's surprise, after both Manchester United and Arsenal had stumbled in their respective matches the night before, the online world and newspapers alike wasted no time in reviving the familiar insult — "Champions League softies" — to describe Premier League clubs. The slander was so rampant that it practically oozed out of the headlines and into everyday chatter. So when Arthur, fresh off the team bus, set foot outside Camp Nou in the afternoon and was instantly mobbed by a horde of eager reporters, he wasn't the least bit surprised. "Of course the defending champion is strong, there's no doubt about that!" Arthur declared, flashing a calm smile as he adjusted the cuffs of his Leeds United jacket like a man preparing for battle. "But since we've already met them, we'll definitely give it everything we've got. As for the result..." — he shrugged, spreading his hands with a grin — "it's still too early to say!" That should've been enough. But of course, some journalist in the crowd just couldn't help themselves. "Some media outlets have claimed that Leeds United's passing and possession-based playstyle was inspired by Rijkaard's tactics," one reporter asked, practically holding his microphone like it was a dagger. "Mr. Arthur, do you have any comment?" Arthur raised an eyebrow, giving the man a look that teetered somewhere between bewilderment and amusement. "Do you even hear what you're asking?" he said, not even trying to mask the contempt in his voice. "Mr. Reporter, I now seriously question whether you actually work for a professional football outlet." The other reporters murmured, some stifling laughs. "I mean, what are you suggesting?" Arthur continued. "That a manager needs to apply for permission to use a football tactic? Should I have mailed Rijkaard a request before our training sessions? Come on." There was a wave of chuckles across the press area, but the reporters weren't done yet. "Mr. Arthur, can we understand this to mean that Leeds United will be using a tactic similar to Barcelona tonight?" another asked, this time in a heavy Catalan accent. A local reporter, no doubt. Arthur, ever quick on his feet, tilted his head slightly and replied with a smirk, "Mr. Reporter, are you trying to help Rijkaard scout Leeds United's secrets before kickoff?" The reporters laughed again, but this time there was a ripple of applause mixed in. Arthur had won that round. ···· By 7 PM sharp, just one hour remained before the kickoff of the Champions League round of 16 clash between Barcelona and Leeds United. Inside the massive bowl of Camp Nou, both sets of players were already out on the pitch, splitting the field down the middle for warm-ups. Arthur, who'd only met Rijkaard once in passing, didn't feel the need for elaborate greetings. As soon as he entered the stadium, he offered a polite nod across the grass — that was enough. Then he got straight back to business, leading the final warm-up alongside his trusted lieutenant, Simeone. The towering stands of Camp Nou were already packed to bursting, with over 90,000 fans squeezed into their seats. Most were draped in Barcelona's iconic red and blue stripes, flags waving, scarves twirling, voices chanting in rhythmic bursts. But here and there, scattered throughout the stands like tiny islands, were a few patches of white — Leeds United fans, fearless as ever, proudly representing the away side. Arthur glanced around at the sea of bodies and couldn't help muttering under his breath, "Damn... now this is an atmosphere." It was the kind of stadium that made you feel small, and Arthur — despite his usual bravado — had to admit he was jealous. What manager wouldn't be? ···· Back in England, the living rooms and pubs were already buzzing, and at precisely the right moment, the familiar faces of Lineker and Jon popped onto screens all across the country. "Okay, viewers," Lineker said, staring directly into the camera with the smooth confidence of a man who'd done this a thousand times. "Welcome to Sky Sports. I'm your old pal Lineker, and sitting beside me as always is my old partner, Jon." "Good evening, everyone!" Jon beamed. "Glad to be with you again!" "Tonight's a big one," Lineker continued. "In just half an hour, Leeds United will kick off their away leg against defending Champions League winners Barcelona, right here at the Camp Nou! Both sides have just finished their warm-ups and are back in the locker rooms making their final preparations." Jon nodded along as a video package began to roll, the screen cutting to dramatic montages of the group stage highlights from both teams. When it returned to the studio, Jon leaned forward with a grin. "Alright Gary, you've got to call it. Who's going to win tonight?" Lineker laughed, waving him off. "Jon, I've told you a hundred times already — I'm a loyal Arthur man! Always have been!" "Oh? So you think Leeds can pull off a win in Barcelona?" "Whoa now," Lineker said quickly, wagging his finger. "Let's not go digging holes. I said I support Leeds United — doesn't mean I think they're going to walk into Camp Nou and beat the reigning champions!" The two of them burst into laughter, the kind that comes from years of shared commentary. But behind the banter, the excitement was building.

Chapter 211: David vs Goliath

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