Chapter 41: Transfer storm begins (2 in 1)

**** 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. *** By the time June rolled around, the football world was in full swing. The English media, as expected, had gone into overdrive. With the FA confirming that the transfer window would officially open on June 14, the rumors were flowing faster than ever. Every day, there were fresh stories about which player was going where, who was seen at what airport, and who had reportedly already signed a deal. The tabloids were practically in a frenzy, churning out headlines that would make even the most outlandish conspiracy theorist cringe. But amidst all this noise, Arthur was doing something different. While everyone else was shouting about potential moves and leaks, Arthur had quietly disappeared. No press releases, no leaks to the media, just a quiet flight to Munich. The transfer business was still early, but Arthur was already closing deals, knocking out one target after another. By the time the first rumors started popping up, Arthur had already secured almost everything he needed. Ribery, the free agent, had already met with him in Leeds. Vardy, despite being on trial with a random lower league team, had also made the trip up to Leeds for a discussion. Everything was proceeding smoothly, without the chaos and drama that typically accompanied the transfer window. There was, however, one player left on the list. Lahm. Arthur had made a 7 million euro offer to Bayern Munich for Lahm. It wasn't an aggressive bid, but it was a fair one considering the situation. Lahm had just returned from a two-year loan at Stuttgart, and Bayern Munich's left-back situation was clear. Lizarazu, the veteran, was still the main choice for left-back, leaving Lahm as a backup. Bayern wasn't particularly opposed to selling him, but there was one problem — Lahm himself wasn't eager to leave. Arthur had anticipated this. Lahm had spent his entire career at Bayern Munich, aside from those two years out on loan. The idea of leaving was uncomfortable for him. Bayern was home, and Lahm was deeply loyal. Arthur knew that getting him to leave would be a challenge, but it wasn't impossible. Arthur didn't waste time fretting over the situation. He thought it over and decided to fly to Munich personally. He reached out to Lahm's agent, set up a meeting, and flew over. No need for dramatic speeches or grand gestures — just a straightforward meeting. After all, the plan was simple: convince Lahm to consider his future and the opportunity in front of him. The meeting was arranged at a small café on Sebener Straße, just a short distance from Bayern Munich's facilities. When Lahm arrived at the café, he was a bit surprised. The man sitting across from him didn't fit the typical image of a club owner. Arthur looked young, approachable, and ordinary, not like some high-powered businessman or distant authority figure. Lahm wasn't sure what to expect, but seeing Arthur's relaxed demeanor helped put him at ease. The conversation started as any professional meeting would — no over-the-top promises, no flashy tactics. Just two people discussing football. Before Arthur flew out to Munich, he had a pretty clear picture of what he was up against. Philipp Lahm wasn't just any young player — he was a Bayern product through and through. Loyal. Serious. The kind of guy who probably had Bayern bedsheets at home. Arthur didn't blame him. Bayern was a big club. Stable. Well-run. Lots of history. But Arthur also knew that if he wanted to build something special at Leeds, he needed players like Lahm. Smart. Technical. Reliable. So he packed a bag and went to Munich himself. No delegation, no fancy suits. Just Arthur and his mission. Lahm had already heard from his agent that the Leeds United boss was unusually young. But when Lahm actually walked into the café and saw Arthur sitting there with two cups of water already poured, he was still caught off guard. He looked like a university student cramming for finals, not the owner and head coach of a football club. Arthur stood up, smiled, and handed Lahm a glass. "Good afternoon, Philip. I'm Arthur, owner and head coach of Leeds United." Lahm was polite. He sat down, nodded, and responded quickly. "Hello, Mr. Arthur. I'm Philipp Lahm. Nice to meet you." He almost said "sir" but caught himself. Arthur didn't look like a "sir." Arthur noticed Lahm was still a bit stiff, like he was waiting for someone to scold him. So he leaned back and waved a hand. "No need to be nervous. I'm probably just a couple of years older than you. Let's talk casually." Lahm relaxed just a little. He took a sip of water and listened carefully as Arthur explained Leeds United's plans for the next season. Arthur talked about the system he wanted to build, the type of football they'd play, and how they were targeting young, hungry players who were ready to prove themselves. Then came the moment that made Lahm sit up straighter. "I see you as our main left-back next season," Arthur said casually, as if he'd just mentioned the weather. Lahm blinked. "Wait — did you say I would be the starting left-back?" Arthur tilted his head. "Yeah, of course. You didn't know?" Lahm shook his head. His agent had kept that part to himself. Probably on purpose. Let the club boss deliver the punchline. "Well, yes," Arthur continued. "You're in my first team plans. I didn't fly to Munich for a chat. I came because I want you in Leeds. Starting. Every week." Lahm wasn't the kind of player who showed emotion easily, but even he couldn't help the little spark in his eyes. For years, he'd trained and waited behind veterans at Bayern. Even after coming back from loan at Stuttgart, he knew Lizarazu was still the man. More experience, more status. Lahm would be the backup again. Now here was Arthur, offering him something Bayern hadn't: an actual starting spot. But Arthur wasn't done yet. He leaned forward a little, casually tossing in one more sweetener. "Also — everyone at Leeds, except for the captain Milner, gets a three-year contract. So if you don't like it here, in three years you can leave for free. Go back to Bayern or wherever you want. I won't stop you." That did it. Lahm didn't say anything for a few seconds. He looked at his water. Then back at Arthur. Then he smiled and stuck out his hand. "Alright, coach. Thank you for coming all this way. I'll join Leeds United." Arthur grinned. One more key piece of the puzzle in place. — Arthur didn't waste time celebrating. As soon as the deal was sorted, he jumped on the next flight back to Leeds. The Premier League summer transfer window was about to open, and things were about to get chaotic. June 14, early morning. The Leeds United website published two back-to-back announcements that sent shockwaves through the football world. "Sneijder transfers to Real Madrid for 28 million euros." "Adebayor transfers to Arsenal for 29 million euros." The fan forums exploded. The news had been floating around for weeks — people had seen whispers, blurry photos, and endless "sources" claiming big sales were coming. But Arthur and the club had kept totally silent. Not one comment to the press. Now it was real. Two of Leeds United's biggest stars, gone in one morning. The media, naturally, reacted with the grace of a toddler denied candy. "Arthur the Arrogant!" one tabloid screamed. "Leeds Self-Destructs — Is Arthur to Blame?" "Championship Glory Was Apparently Enough!" "Odds of Leeds Relegation Triple Overnight!" Every outlet had something to say. Evening papers were filled with angry headlines and confused analysis. Pundits speculated that Arthur had no long-term vision. Others said he was just cashing in before disappearing. Fans weren't sure what to believe. Then came the cherry on top. The Sun published an "exclusive" quoting none other than Alex Ferguson. "Manchester United is very eager to sign Tevez," the headline read. "Talks ongoing. No progress yet." That set off another wave of panic. If Sneijder and Adebayor were gone — was Tevez next? The fans were already on edge, but this was the final straw for some. Was Arthur dismantling the entire squad? Was Leeds becoming a selling club? Had Arthur lost the plot completely? In pubs across the city, fans debated furiously. Some still defended him — "He must have a plan!" they argued. Others were less optimistic — "He's selling the whole team!" Meanwhile, Arthur sat in his office, calmly sipping tea and scrolling through emails. The media noise didn't bother him. The fans' panic was understandable, but he wasn't running a popularity contest. He was rebuilding a football club. And the truth? While everyone else was panicking on June 14, Arthur had already done most of his business by early June. He'd secured players others hadn't even scouted properly. Ribery was coming. Vardy was coming. Lahm had just signed. Most of the heavy lifting was already done. So Arthur let the headlines swirl. Let the fans worry. Let the tabloids speculate. He knew what he was doing. And he wasn't done yet. *** The next day, things went from quiet to chaos outside the Leeds United club offices. By morning, a small army of reporters had already camped at the gates, like vultures circling a fresh carcass. Microphones, cameras, notepads—they had everything except a tent and sleeping bags. And they weren't alone. Alongside the media circus were furious fans, all hoping to catch a glimpse of Arthur, the young owner and manager who'd just triggered the football equivalent of an earthquake. The problem? Nobody could find him. You see, Arthur had just opened the summer transfer window with a bang—by selling off two of the club's absolute key players on day one. No warm-up. No slow rollout. Just a cold, calculated sale of the team's main midfielder and top striker. Everyone else in the league was still sipping coffee and considering bids, while Arthur had already signed the exit papers and cashed in. To most, this looked insane. Naturally, the press smelled blood. They scrambled to get a statement, an interview—anything. What was Arthur thinking? Was this a rebuild? A betrayal? A meltdown? Or just a misunderstanding? Reporters didn't know. Fans definitely didn't know. All they knew was that their club had just returned to the Premier League after winning the Championship, and now, instead of spending big, Arthur was selling the players who helped them get there. And it wasn't just two. That was just the beginning. As the crowd gathered and grew more restless, Allen—the ever-patient and overworked assistant—finally emerged to face the mob. With his usual poker face, he told everyone what they didn't want to hear. "Arthur isn't here," he said. "He's gone out on urgent business." Of course, he didn't say where. And he didn't say when Arthur would be back either. The media grumbled. Fans shouted. One guy even tried to peek through the windows like Arthur was hiding under a desk. But there was nothing more to get. Disappointed and annoyed, the crowd started to disperse. But right around lunchtime, something new happened. The official Leeds United website quietly updated. No press conference. No tweets. No dramatic countdowns. Just a cold, hard list of names and numbers. First came the sales: "Calderwell moves to Newcastle United for €5 million" "McLean moves to West Ham United for €4 million" "McKenna moves to Blackburn Rovers for €3 million" Then came the signings: "Welcome Edin Džeko to Leeds United" "Welcome Jamie Vardy to Leeds United" "Welcome Franck Ribéry to Leeds United" It was like someone had opened Pandora's box—and found a bunch of confused football fans inside. Within minutes, the internet exploded. Social media lit up. Fan forums caught fire. Reporters rushed to update headlines. And fans? Well, fans were losing their minds. Because the players Leeds were bringing in didn't exactly inspire confidence. One furious comment read: "Who the hell is Vardy? A guy who can't even make it in League One, and we expect him to lead the line in the Premier League?!" Another wrote: "Džeko? I looked him up. One goal in Bosnia last year! Arthur sold Adebayor for €29 million and bought this guy? Is this a prank?" And a third, more poetic fan added: "If we're selling strikers, midfielders, and defenders, maybe next we sell the stadium. Then the fans. Then the club. Why not sell everything? Leeds United brought to you by Poundland." The insults kept coming. Arthur's name was everywhere—usually followed by "idiot," "traitor," or "clueless." But where was Arthur? Nowhere near Leeds. In fact, Arthur was busy preparing for the next stage of his plan—a plan that included pulling off one of the most calculated cons in modern football: using the interest of legendary manager Sir Alex Ferguson and Manchester United to pressure a certain West Bromwich Albion chairman into overpaying for Carlos Tevez. While Arthur was being dragged through the mud in Yorkshire, several hundred kilometers away, Mr. Bates—the West Brom chairman—was sitting comfortably in the VIP room of a bank, trying to finalize a short-term loan. He was confident, smug even. And why wouldn't he be? Several of his own players were already in transfer talks, and the sale of those assets would free up money fast. Bates had already figured out that Manchester United hadn't made any real progress on the Tevez deal. That gave him hope—and time. And more importantly, it gave him just enough room to maneuver. He didn't even bother with the board this time. Last time he'd tried to get support from shareholders to buy Tevez, they'd shut him down. So now, Bates was putting his own West Brom shares up as collateral to get a loan. The interest was steep, sure. But if he could pull off the deal, flip Tevez later, and make a profit? Worth it. He'd been watching Arthur closely ever since the Tim Howard deal. That one transfer had cemented Arthur's reputation in Bates' eyes: young, sharp, but mostly—greedy. Arthur wouldn't sell unless the price was right. But with a big enough offer, anything was possible. Bates figured that his last email to Arthur—where he gently reminded him to put "past grievances" aside and consider doing business—had struck the right chord. Manchester United may have made a first move, but Arthur hadn't closed with them. That meant the door was still open. But Bates wasn't taking chances. He was getting the money ready now. As he finalized the terms with the bank, he left with a spring in his step. The loan was secured. All he had to do now was offload some of his players, and the rest of the cash would roll in. With that, he'd be ready to make a proper bid—one that could beat the giants and land Tevez at West Brom. He didn't know Arthur was counting on that. Back in Leeds, the city was still reeling. Arthur's silence was being interpreted as guilt, cowardice, or incompetence. The local papers were gearing up for another round of scathing headlines. One publication even accused him of "treating the club like a football manager game." Arthur, meanwhile, didn't care. He had one more trick to play—and the show was just getting started. *** Just as Bates walked out of the bank, smiling and feeling like a genius for securing a loan, Arthur was busy polishing off a plate of roast beef at Sir Alex Ferguson's house in Manchester. This lunch wasn't at some fancy restaurant. Arthur hadn't even gone to Carrington Training Centre. Instead, Ferguson had invited him straight to his home. Casual. Private. But not exactly innocent. Ferguson, ever the generous host, had asked his chef to prepare a proper British lunch—meats, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, the works. Arthur had no complaints. He was eating like someone who hadn't had a decent meal in days. Knife and fork in hand, he cut his steak like a man on a mission. Across the table, Ferguson watched this enthusiastic eating with a mix of amusement and curiosity. He couldn't help but blurt out what he'd been thinking since their phone call the night before. "Arthur," he said, "I've been meaning to ask—why did you mention West Brom when we talked about Tevez? You made it sound like they were serious competition. But come on, it's West Brom. Unless they trigger the release clause, they've got no chance." Arthur paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, wiped his mouth with the kind of precision you'd expect from someone about to deliver a lecture, then looked Ferguson straight in the eye. "Alex," Arthur said, "do you remember Bates trying to buy Leeds from my dad back in the day?" Ferguson squinted and thought for a moment. "Vaguely. But what's that got to do with this?" Arthur didn't miss a beat. "It didn't stop there. Last winter, he tried to buy the club from me. I said no. So he turned around and poached my best goalkeeper—Howard. And not just him—he took our head coach too. The timing wasn't a coincidence. He thought if he messed up our season, we'd collapse and be forced to sell." Ferguson raised his eyebrows. "Bold move." Arthur snorted. "Didn't work, obviously. We still got promoted. But that stunt? It annoyed the hell out of me." Now Ferguson understood. The whole "West Brom is chasing Tevez" thing suddenly made a lot more sense. This wasn't about transfer strategy—it was personal. "So," Ferguson said with a knowing grin, "you're getting your revenge?" Arthur leaned back and smiled—not a friendly smile, more like the kind of smile a cat gives a trapped mouse. "Oh, it's not just revenge," he said. "It's a practical joke with financial consequences." Arthur put down his fork and explained further, his voice dropping just enough to make it clear he was enjoying this. "I had someone look into Bates' finances. Turns out, he doesn't have the cash to pay Tevez's release clause right now. He's taking out loans. Selling players. Probably mortgaging the stadium next. All so he can make a bid for Tevez." Ferguson nodded. "Makes sense. But what do you want from me?" "I want Manchester United to keep pretending you're in the race," Arthur said. "Just enough to make Bates panic. Keep the illusion alive. Drag it out. The longer the better. Make him think you're still negotiating." Ferguson chuckled. "And then what?" "Then, when he finally scrapes together the money and thinks he's ready to trigger the clause, I'll break the news: Tevez was already sold—to United." Now Ferguson was laughing properly. "You'll tell him we bought him?" "Exactly. And by then, it'll be too late for him to do anything about it. The window will be closing. The players worth signing will already be gone. He'll have sold half his team and won't have a replacement. Not for Tevez. Not for anyone." Ferguson leaned back, visibly impressed. "So not only does he lose Tevez, but he also ends up with a weaker squad, an angry board, and a loan to repay." Arthur nodded. "With interest." They both sat in silence for a moment, letting the idea hang in the air. Then Arthur added, "If he's lucky, West Brom might just finish mid-table. If he's not, he'll be out of a job by Christmas." Ferguson looked at Arthur again. This wasn't the first time he'd met a confident young man in football. But there was something different about this one. He wasn't shouting or bragging. He wasn't chasing headlines. He was calm, methodical, and, apparently, a bit of a schemer. Ferguson gave a low whistle. "I underestimated you, Arthur." Arthur just shrugged. "I don't like people who mess with my club." That was it. No dramatic flair. No grand speech. Just a simple statement of fact. He picked up his fork and went back to his food like they'd just been talking about the weather. Meanwhile, back in West Brom, Bates was blissfully unaware of the trap being set for him. He thought he was being clever—lining up loans, planning player sales, gearing up to outbid Manchester United for Tevez. What he didn't know was that he wasn't in a bidding war. He was in a comedy skit. And Arthur was the one writing the script.