Chapter 33: All according to plan

**** Join my Patreon for 30 or so Advance Chapters and my other stories . Link is Below. Remove space after http https:// www.patreon.com/c/Virtuosso777?redirect=true *** The situation on the field was, to put it mildly, a complete mess. Usually in important matches — you know, ones that decide things like entire league championships — teams are cautious. They spend the first twenty minutes passing the ball sideways like they're trying to lull each other into a coma. Not tonight, though. From the second the whistle blew, Sunderland and Leeds United went at each other like two drunks fighting over the last slice of pizza. The pace was insane. The ball zipped up and down the field so fast, it looked like someone had put it on fast-forward. Five minutes in, chaos struck. Leeds United had been trying to be patient, knocking the ball around the back like they were waiting for Sunderland to get bored and fall asleep. Sunderland, to their credit, held their shape like a group of guys at a yoga class pretending they knew what "downward dog" meant. No gaps. No silly mistakes. Then, all of a sudden, Sneijder, chilling just behind the center circle, threw his arm up for the ball like he was hailing a cab. Chiellini, probably thinking, "Sure, why not?" booted the ball straight over. Sneijder didn't even bother to look up. He just smashed the ball across the field, right into the path of Caldwell, who was already sprinting down Sunderland's right side like his shorts were on fire. The sudden switch stunned Sunderland for half a second — but just half a second. Their defenders scrambled back like seasoned firefighters, blocked the cross, and hoofed the ball out for a corner. Leeds United now had a corner kick. Sneijder jogged over, looking about as casual as a guy picking up groceries. He whipped the ball in toward the far post, where Vincent Kompany — all bald head and raw enthusiasm — came charging through. Kompany leapt like a salmon, smashed his forehead into the ball, and sent it thundering into Sunderland's net. Goal! The scoreboard hadn't even blinked yet, and Leeds United were already up 1-0. Back in the TV studio, Leeds United's exclusive commentator, Ere Geddy, lost his mind. He jumped out of his chair and started screaming into the microphone like he'd just won the lottery: "VINCENT KOMPANY! VINCENT KOMPANY! He finally scores his first goal since joining Leeds United — and what a time to do it! Five minutes in, and Leeds are already ahead! This is a dream start for Leeds United!" Meanwhile, inside the Stadium of Light, the Sunderland fans went from screaming to dead silence so fast, you could almost hear the seagulls outside the stadium laughing at them. Two full seconds of awkward quiet. Then the boos and the charming insults started flying. Loud. Creative. Some of them probably illegal in polite society. Leeds United fans watching at home were already popping open drinks and doing little dances around their living rooms. After all, Leeds had never lost a game this season after scoring first. Never. What could possibly go wrong? Well, in football, absolutely everything. In the 27th minute, Sunderland won a free kick near the Leeds penalty area. Their midfielder, McMahon, stepped up. He swung his foot. The ball bent perfectly around the wall and zipped into the top corner before the goalkeeper could even blink. 1–1. Arthur clenched his teeth on the sideline so hard he almost cracked a molar. Still, 1–1 was manageable. Then came the 41st minute. Chiellini, normally as solid as a brick wall, decided to have a brain fart at the worst possible time. Instead of doing the sensible thing — you know, blocking the opponent and forcing him wide — he panicked. Inside the box. Right in front of the referee. He lunged. The Sunderland player, sensing free dinner, dramatically flopped over like he'd been hit by a truck. Penalty. The referee didn't even hesitate. Blew the whistle. Pointed to the spot. Arthur nearly ripped out his own hair. McMahon, the same guy who had scored the free kick earlier, casually rolled the ball into the corner to make it 2–1 to Sunderland. The halftime whistle blew a few minutes later. Arthur stormed into the locker room like a man who had just found out someone had scratched his brand-new car. He didn't say anything at first. Just stood there, arms crossed, staring daggers at his players. The Leeds United squad sat slumped on the benches, looking more confused than guilty. Most of them wore expressions like, "Wait, are we really losing? That can't be right." Arthur had seen enough. He picked up a clipboard. And he slammed it on the floor so hard it sounded like a gunshot. "Wake up! WAKE UP!" Arthur roared, his voice bouncing off the walls. "We haven't won anything yet! NOTHING! You think you can just walk into Sunderland's stadium, strut around, and they're just gonna hand you the trophy?" The players stared at him, wide-eyed. Arthur wasn't done. "You played like absolute garbage for the last 40 minutes. Do you even realize it? If we blow the title today, after all the blood, sweat, and tears this season — trust me — the fans back in Leeds will rip us apart. The media will roast us alive! We'll be the laughingstock of England!" He paused, breathing hard. His face was red. His hair was a mess. His tie was hanging off to one side like it had given up too. "Now," Arthur growled, quieter but even more intense, "get that pathetic look off your faces. Take the next ten minutes, pull yourselves together, and when you go back out there, you run. You fight. You claw. You play like MEN. Got it?" His throat was so hoarse by the end, it sounded like he'd been gargling sandpaper. For a second, nobody moved. Then James Milner, bless him, shot to his feet and yelled: "Okay, boss! We won't let you down!" The rest of the team followed, one after another, shouting and clapping, their energy flooding back. Arthur nodded grimly. The second half was coming. And this time, Leeds United were going to play like their lives depended on it. ···· After the halftime break, both teams switched sides, and the second half kicked off. Arthur stood on the sideline, arms folded, looking serious. Inside, though, he was already mentally preparing himself to start screaming again if things went south. Leeds United clearly got the memo from the halftime shouting session. From the first whistle of the second half, they came out breathing fire. Their high-pressing tactic — also known as "chase the poor guy with the ball like he stole your lunch" — was in full effect. Every time a Sunderland player so much as thought about touching the ball, two or three Leeds players would swarm him. It was like watching a pack of hungry seagulls chasing a single french fry. Sunderland tried to keep it cool. Pass here, pass there. But every pass came with the risk of getting mugged by white shirts flying at them from every direction. Still, for all Leeds United's energy, the scoreboard didn't change right away. The minutes ticked by. 50th minute. 60th minute. Still 2–1 to Sunderland. Arthur paced up and down the sideline like a dad waiting for his kid's school play to end. Then, finally, the 69th minute arrived. Leeds United worked the ball up the field again. Milner had the ball in midfield. He spotted Tevez pulling wide toward the wing and passed it over. Tevez caught the ball and immediately found himself sandwiched between two Sunderland defenders. But Tevez, being Tevez, didn't panic. Instead, he gave both defenders the kind of look that said, "You're going to regret this." Then he just exploded between them like a bowling ball splitting two pins. Before anyone could even shout "foul," Tevez was tearing down the field, the ball glued to his feet. He charged straight toward the Sunderland penalty area, and you could practically hear the Sunderland defenders screaming internally. One center-back charged forward, trying to block Tevez's shot. But Tevez wasn't about to take the obvious route. He slammed on the brakes so suddenly that the defender slid right past him like a cartoon character on a banana peel. Then, calm as anything, Tevez scooped the ball across to the far side of the penalty area. Waiting there was Adebayo. Big, tall, grinning Adebayo, who had been lurking quietly like a cat waiting for the right moment to pounce. As the ball floated toward him, everyone assumed Adebayo would do the simple thing and head it toward goal. Even the Sunderland goalkeeper thought so, lunging in that direction like a man trying to catch a falling TV. But Adebayo had other ideas. Instead of going for goal, he gently nodded the ball down into the middle of the six-yard box. There, like a stealthy ninja, was Captain Milner. Milner didn't need to be asked twice. He simply swung his leg and tapped the ball into the empty net. GOAL! The score was 2–2! Back in the studio, Ere Geddy practically exploded into the microphone: "Coooooooooooooooool! MILNER! The Captain of Leeds United! HE STANDS UP WHEN IT MATTERS MOST! ADEBAYO'S BEAUTIFUL HEADER! MILNER'S EASY FINISH! 2–2! LEEDS UNITED ARE BACK IN IT!" Arthur punched the air once, then immediately remembered he was supposed to be the calm manager and quickly folded his arms again, pretending he hadn't just done a fist pump that nearly knocked his glasses off. Meanwhile, Sunderland's players looked like someone had just told them Christmas was canceled. The game restarted, but something was different now. Sunderland was rattled. They needed to win — a draw wasn't good enough for their title hopes. You could see the panic starting to creep into their game. Leeds United, on the other hand, were buzzing. Arthur, being no fool, decided it was time to shift gears. He waved his arms and shouted from the sideline. Leeds United backed off their crazy high-press and retreated into their own half, switching to a tight, no-nonsense zone defense. Basically, it was now "Fort Leeds" — no one getting through unless they had a passport, a visa, and a compelling reason for entry. Arthur knew Sunderland were going to throw everything at them for the next 10–15 minutes. Sprinting, passing, shooting — but it wouldn't last. No team could keep up that level of chaos without their lungs exploding. Sure enough, Sunderland players started to slow down. In the 83rd minute, it happened. A tired, sloppy Sunderland midfielder — who shall remain nameless for his dignity — tried to pass the ball across midfield. It was a lazy, wobbly pass that screamed, "I should have had more orange slices at halftime." Milner pounced like a tiger spotting an injured zebra. He stuck out a boot, stole the ball cleanly, and immediately — without taking even a second to think — booted it forward. Tevez was already on the move. He timed his run perfectly, darting behind Sunderland's defenders like a ninja with a mission. The ball dropped in front of him. No offside flag. Tevez was through, one-on-one with the goalkeeper. Now, in these moments, some players choke. Some players panic. Some players try to be too clever and end up looking like idiots on YouTube. Tevez wasn't one of those players. He kept it simple. Cool as an ice cube, he waited for the goalkeeper to lunge at him — and then just casually rolled the ball into the opposite corner. 3–2. Leeds United had flipped the game on its head! Arthur went completely nuts on the sideline. He jumped three feet in the air and pumped his fists three times in quick succession — what the players had started calling the "farmer's three punches" — like he was trying to punch the clouds out of the sky. In the studio, Ere Geddy was absolutely losing his mind again: "TEVEZ! TEVEZ! TEVEZ! HE DOES IT! 3–2 LEEDS UNITED! WHAT A COMEBACK! WHAT A NIGHT!" Arthur finally calmed himself down enough to remember he still had eight minutes plus stoppage time to survive. He shouted fresh orders to the team: Stay tight. No risks. Everyone defend like your life depends on it. The Leeds United players nodded. They knew what was at stake. For the rest of the match, Leeds played like a team possessed — blocking shots, clearing crosses, kicking the ball into Row Z whenever necessary. And when the final whistle finally blew, Arthur didn't jump around anymore. He just smiled, wide and proud, as his players mobbed each other in celebration. They had done it. They were now one step away from lifting the Championship trophy.