Chapter 39: The end of the season

**** Join my Patreon for 30 or so Advance Chapters and my other stories ( currently 3) . Link is Below. Remove space after http https:// www.patreon.com/c/Virtuosso777?redirect=true Discord link Drop some stones , review , comments if you feel like it. *** The 2004–2005 season officially came to a close with the absurd rollercoaster that was the Champions League final. While most fans were still trying to process what they had just witnessed—Liverpool coming back from the dead and winning—it was already time for football's next chaotic phase: the transfer window. For Arthur, things moved fast. His meeting with Florentino Pérez in Istanbul wasn't exactly a covert operation. In fact, it was about as low-key as a fireworks show at a library. Before heading to the VIP box, the two had strolled out into the public stands to greet the owners of AC Milan and Liverpool. And just to make sure nobody missed it, the stadium's massive jumbotron decided to zoom in and broadcast their faces in glorious high definition. So naturally, by the time Arthur returned to Leeds the next morning, the media was already in a frenzy. "What were they discussing?" "Is Real Madrid stealing Leeds' coach?" "Was it about Sneijder?" "Are they merging into Real Leeds?" The rumors ranged from mildly curious to completely ridiculous. But no matter the question, Arthur gave every reporter the same polished, four-word press statement: "No comment. Thank you." He repeated it so often that it might as well have been printed on his forehead. Still, the press didn't give up. Every morning outside Leeds United's training ground looked like a red carpet event—minus the glamour. Cameras, microphones, and people shouting "Arthur!" like he was a boy band member followed him everywhere. Eventually, Arthur had enough. So he did what any sensible person would do—he stole Allen's car. Well, "borrowed" is the legal term. He swapped cars with his assistant, hoping the press wouldn't recognize it. The plan worked. The next morning, Arthur drove through the back entrance of the club, zipped into the underground lot, and vanished into the building like a man who had just pulled off a small heist. Once safely in his office, Arthur fired up his computer. Sure enough, two shiny new emails from Real Madrid were sitting there in his inbox, waiting patiently like two quiet but very expensive pigeons. Florentino had called him the day before. As soon as he returned to Madrid, he'd gathered the entire Real Madrid board to discuss Arthur's proposal—the one about taking a few of their youth players on short-term, low-risk deals. Apparently, the idea didn't cause a riot. After a few days of deliberation, they agreed to it. Sort of. In typical Real Madrid fashion, they had one tiny, almost comically specific condition: they would only allow a buyback clause if the repurchase price was no more than 10 times what Arthur originally paid for the player. Ten times. Not eight. Not twelve. Exactly ten. Arthur blinked at the screen. "Fair," he muttered to himself. "Weirdly mathematical, but fair." To be honest, he hadn't expected them to accept it so quickly. But he wasn't going to complain. Getting access to Real Madrid's young talent—most of whom were stuck behind five-star superstars anyway—was a smart move for Leeds. If even one of them turned into a Premier League-level star, it would be a massive win. Now, all Arthur had to do was reply. But before he could type a single word, his office phone rang. He stared at it. It was probably Allen, calling to ask where his car had gone. Arthur sighed, reached for the receiver, and muttered, "I should start charging rent for all this chaos." Arthur didn't care one bit about Real Madrid's odd repurchase clause. "Only 10 times the original price," they said, like they were offering some sort of limited-time supermarket deal. To Arthur, it didn't matter. If he really trained someone so well they'd be worth ten times their original value, he'd happily hand them back with a shiny bow on top. Profit is profit, even if it came with paperwork. After settling things with Madrid, Arthur returned to Leeds and did what he always did when faced with complex decisions: he opened up the system. The system, which had now become his unofficial co-manager, let him scout players more efficiently than a Google search with cheat codes. He dug through Real Madrid's youth system looking for gold. What he found was... well, not quite gold. More like decent-quality bronze. There was 19-year-old Xavi García, a defensive midfielder who looked like he hadn't quite figured out which direction to run yet. And 20-year-old Juanfran, a central defender who tried very hard and sometimes even succeeded. Both of them had a system rating of C—which in real life translated to "probably won't trip over the ball, but no guarantees." Still, Arthur wasn't discouraged. With a little help from the system and some quality coaching, he figured he could bump them up to a C+ before the new season kicked off. Not world-beaters, but solid enough to warm the bench without embarrassing themselves. Feeling satisfied with the scouting, Arthur replied "OK" to Real Madrid's terms—no dramatic thank-you email, no emoji, just a classic business-like "OK," which in football terms might as well be a binding signature. Then he clicked open the second email. It was the official transfer offer for Sneijder—28 million euros, just like he and Florentino had agreed on during their champagne-fueled chat in Istanbul. No surprises there. Arthur picked up the phone and called Allen, his overworked assistant, and told him to handle both the Real Madrid youth deal and Sneijder's transfer paperwork. Once the chores were off his plate, Arthur flopped onto the office couch with the elegance of a man who hadn't slept properly since Christmas. With a lazy tap, he summoned the system interface like a gamer checking his in-game stats. It had changed—specifically, the financial section. Arthur squinted at it like a man reading his own credit card bill. [HOST]: Arthur [CLUB OWNED]: Leeds United [ECONOMIC STATUS]: Serious debt (80 million euros—yikes) [TEAM STATUS]: Normal [AVAILABLE FUNDS]: 31.9 million euros [FIXED SKILLS]: Super Scout (inspect any player like a football X-ray), Master Coach [SKILL PACKAGE]: Peak Drogba Template (1-month experience card—anyone becomes a beast), Injury Recovery Card x1 Despite being nearly 80 million in debt, Leeds had clawed its way out of the financial toilet thanks to Arthur's relentless micromanagement and a few miracles. Winning the Championship didn't just bring glory—it also brought bonus money, merch sales, and enough jersey purchases to make the kit man cry tears of joy. The club's available funds now sat at nearly 32 million euros. Arthur stared at the number for a long while and smiled. "Not bad," he muttered, like a man who had just found an extra fry at the bottom of the bag. Suddenly, the ambitious summer plan he'd made weeks ago didn't just look possible—it looked upgradeable. It was now June 8th. The Premier League summer transfer window was opening in two days, and Arthur had not been twiddling his thumbs. He'd recently flown to Leverkusen and spent four days camped out in boardrooms negotiating for Berbatov. It took endless cups of coffee, enough small talk to fill an entire autobiography, and one late-night stare-down with Berbatov's agent, but it worked. Twelve million euros secured the Bulgarian striker. The contract was locked at three years, and the release clause? A tidy 32 million euros. Arthur grinned when he thought about it. Berbatov might not be the flashiest signing in the world, but the man had technique smoother than melted butter. And Berbatov wasn't coming alone. The deals for Yaya Touré, Falcao, and Mascherano were also complete. Four players. Transfer fees combined: just under 23 million euros. Arthur had planned all of this like a man assembling IKEA furniture with zero extra screws left over. And now, with 31.9 million in the bank, Leeds had the cash to cover the deals without selling a single soul. But Arthur wasn't just counting purchases—he was also looking at sales. Sneijder? Gone for 28 million. Adebayor? Off to a new club for 29 million. Tevez? Sold for 22 million. That's 79 million euros coming in—almost exactly what Leeds owed in debt. Arthur could practically see the balance sheet lifting itself out of the red and doing a little victory dance. The club that had been a financial disaster when he arrived was about to break even—without needing to offload its entire squad like a clearance sale. And once the debts were gone? He'd still have nearly 10 million euros left in the piggy bank to scoop up some talented youngsters. Arthur leaned back and exhaled like a man who had been holding his breath for an entire season. It was finally happening. Leeds United—his chaotic, debt-ridden, drama-prone club—was stable. For the first time since he walked through its doors, Arthur didn't feel like he was managing a football team while balancing on a high wire. But of course, the work wasn't over. Leeds had punched way above their weight last season. They'd basically speed-ran the Championship, losing only one game on the final day with a squad full of backup players and tossing the FA Cup on purpose just to catch their breath. And that kind of success came with side effects. Now, every scout from every big-name club in Europe had their eyes on Leeds' players. And not just the big names like Tevez, Sneijder, and Adebayor—Arthur was starting to get calls about players he barely remembered putting on the pitch. Everyone wanted a piece. The Premier League would be a different beast. The team needed depth. It needed upgrades. And most importantly, Arthur needed to figure out how to hold on to the players he hadn't planned on selling—before the football vultures swooped in with overpriced contracts and Champions League promises. Arthur rubbed his face, looked at the clock, and muttered, "Right. Guess I'll sleep next year." Then he sat up, reached for his notebook, and started listing targets again. The window hadn't even opened yet, and it was already exhausting. But for the first time, he wasn't worried. This time, Arthur had money, a working plan, and the system on his side. And that was a dangerous combination. For everyone else. Take Milner, for example. Arthur's captain. The engine of the midfield. The guy who ran like he had batteries for breakfast and lungs made of titanium. A few weeks ago, Liverpool had knocked politely on the door with a transfer offer. Arthur had slammed that door shut. "No thanks," he said. Liverpool went away. Then they came back—this time with a slightly bigger bag of cash: 15 million euros. That got Arthur's attention. That number was suddenly very, very close to what he had in mind when he first considered letting Milner go. In fact, if this were a dating app, he'd already be swiping right. See, back when Arthur was crunching numbers in a panic—trying to figure out how to pay off club debts, fund a shopping spree in the transfer market, and still afford enough sandwiches for the players—he'd thought long and hard about selling Milner. Not because Milner was bad. Far from it. But because desperate times call for awkward choices. Back then, Arthur had penciled in Milner as one of the "maybe" sales. Not first choice, not last resort—just somewhere in the "if I have to" zone. He even signed Mascherano partly because he thought Milner would be gone by the time preseason kicked off. But now? Now things were different. Leeds had finished the season better than expected. Way better. Like "broke college student winning a lottery ticket" better. Promotions, bonuses, fan merch sales—it was like the club had found a hidden treasure chest behind the training ground. The money was finally flowing, and it had bought Arthur some much-needed breathing room. Which meant he didn't need to sell Milner anymore. And honestly? Arthur kind of wanted to keep the guy. Sure, there was the emotional part of it. Milner had been the captain. The guy who dragged the team through thick and thin, sometimes by sheer force of will. Selling him right after a season like that? It just felt wrong. It'd be like tossing your dog out the moment it learned a new trick. But Arthur wasn't just feeling sentimental. There was logic, too. Milner was still young. Still developing. Still had that future resale value. And for a defensive midfielder—one of the most practical positions in football—his current market value was still on the cheaper end. Arthur had a plan. Let him stay. Let him play. Let him rack up some more experience, polish his skills a bit more, and if he got even slightly better, the price tag would go up. Maybe not double. But definitely more than 15 million. Give it a season or two and Liverpool—or someone else—might come back with an offer that had a couple extra zeros at the end. So Arthur scratched Milner off the "for sale" list. For now. As for the rest of the squad? That was a different story. Arthur was still very much open for business. He wasn't going to staple price tags to their shirts, but let's just say if a club came in with the right number, he'd be listening. Football, after all, was still a business. Sentiment only went so far. And if someone wanted one of his players badly enough to throw a pile of cash on the table, Arthur wasn't about to play hard to get—unless it was Milner. The new rule was simple: Most players could go. If the offer made sense, the negotiation was open. No drama. No loyalty speeches. Just basic economics. But Milner? For now, he stayed. Because even in football, sometimes it just made sense to hold onto the guy who never stopped running.