Chapter 63: Dealing with Youth Academy and sponsor

Arthur leaned back in his chair, chuckling to himself. "Rich playboy lifestyle, huh?" Allen's words had stirred up some long-buried memories. When he first inherited Leeds United, flashes of the previous owner's lavish life would pop up in his mind like obnoxious Instagram stories—VIP sections, champagne showers, and an entourage of women who seemed to appear out of nowhere. The original owner of this life had been, to put it mildly, a party-loving maniac. Private jets, beach resorts, and nightclubs that charged more for a bottle of water than Arthur used to pay for rent. It was the kind of lifestyle Arthur had only ever seen on reality TV, the kind that made him roll his eyes and mutter something sarcastic under his breath. But since taking over Leeds United, Arthur's life had been more spreadsheets than supermodels. His days were filled with meetings, match analysis, and contract negotiations, not yacht parties and overpriced cocktails. Maybe it was because he had been an ordinary bloke before all this—no fancy cars, no personal assistants, just him and his nine-to-five grind. Or maybe it was just the endless work of keeping Leeds United afloat that left him with no time to even think about luxury. Allen's misunderstanding about the assistant had made Arthur laugh, but the idea lingered. Sure, he'd just meant someone to handle scheduling and paperwork, but Allen had immediately jumped to hiring some glamorous secretary like it was a scene from a dodgy sitcom. Arthur shrugged. Not that he was against the idea of life getting a bit more...interesting. Now that the club was on solid footing and money wasn't an issue, why not enjoy it a bit? He was running a Premier League club, for crying out loud. Might as well live like it. Still, he didn't care if the assistant Allen hired turned out to be some bloke named Bob with three kids and a passion for stamp collecting. As long as they kept things organized, he was happy. The idea of flashy lifestyles was amusing, but Arthur had always been more about business than boasting. "If the club keeps going the way it is," he muttered, "I won't need to go looking for beautiful women. They'll find me." He chuckled, brushing the thought away. For a brief moment, he imagined himself surrounded by champagne glasses and confetti, but the fantasy fizzled out as he glanced back at the pile of transfer reports on his desk. With a sigh, he cracked his knuckles and got back to work. After all, the life of a 'rich playboy' could wait—Leeds United certainly couldn't. *** The next day, Arthur found himself in Stuttgart, Germany, sipping on a questionable airport coffee that tasted like it had been filtered through a gym sock. He grimaced after each sip but kept drinking it anyway—mostly out of spite. Allen had worked his magic again and secured him an appointment with someone Arthur had been eyeing for a crucial role at Leeds United. After the match against Chelsea, Arthur had sorted out his priorities. Two things were right at the top of his list. First, finding a new youth academy director. The previous coach had followed Blackwell to West Brom, probably thinking greener pastures meant getting thumped in the Midlands every other weekend. Since then, the youth academy had been running like a house with no landlord—assistant coaches filling in where they could, while Arthur himself showed up once a week to give the kids some pointers. That usually involved him barking instructions while half of them stared at him like he was speaking in riddles. But things were different now. Leeds United was on the up, and Arthur knew he wouldn't have time to babysit the youth setup anymore. Plus, with the system he had, scouting young talent was about to get a lot more efficient. Leeds needed someone sharp, someone who could mold raw potential into first-team quality. That meant finding a proper youth director—no more juggling it around like a side project. He had narrowed it down to two options. First up: Thomas Tuchel, currently managing the Stuttgart U19s. Arthur remembered watching Tuchel's career unfold back in his previous life. The man had taken Chelsea to Champions League glory in 2021, turning a slumping side into European champions. The best part? When Chelsea got smacked with travel restrictions, Tuchel had gone on record saying, "If it doesn't work, I will be the driver myself, driving a seven-seater car and take my players there!" Arthur had practically spilled his beer laughing when he saw that interview. The idea of a top-tier manager crammed into a minivan, shuttling Premier League players around like a youth team carpool was just... brilliant. But then there was the second option: Diego Simeone. A proper madman on the touchline, "El Cholo" had transformed Atlético Madrid from a club of pretty passers into a squad of snarling wolves. Defensively ruthless, unyielding, and dripping with iron will, Simeone had brought a raw, street-fighter mentality to Atlético. Arthur admired that. He needed that kind of mentality at Leeds—someone who would shout, scream, and drag performances out of players even if it killed them. If Arthur was being honest, Simeone's style appealed to him more. He loved the grit, the aggression, the sheer refusal to back down. But there was a snag—Simeone wasn't officially retiring until next year. That left Tuchel as the only option for now, and Allen, ever the miracle worker, had set up a meeting in Stuttgart. Arthur got off the plane and navigated his way through the terminal. He half-expected Tuchel to be waiting there in his tracksuit, tactical notebook in hand, ready to analyze how Arthur had handled baggage claim. But no, Allen had booked a proper meeting at a café near Stuttgart's training grounds. "Good ol' Allen," Arthur mumbled, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as he walked out into the brisk German morning. "If he wasn't around, I'd probably be holding interviews in a McDonald's." He flagged down a cab, and within fifteen minutes, he was sitting in a small corner café, nursing yet another terrible coffee, waiting for one of the sharpest minds in youth coaching to walk through the door. Arthur glanced at his watch and then around the café. "Right," he sighed, taking another reluctant sip. "Let's see if this guy's the real deal." Arthur and Tuchel found a quiet corner in a cozy café, the kind with tiny wooden tables and waiters who seemed permanently unimpressed by life. Arthur barely bothered with small talk. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed casually, and got straight to the point. "Thomas," Arthur began, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table, "I want you to run Leeds United's youth academy. Twice your current salary, full creative control, and the chance to work with some real gems coming through. What do you say?" Tuchel raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by Arthur's bluntness. He took a sip of his coffee, setting the cup down with exaggerated slowness, like he was buying time. "I appreciate the offer," he finally replied, his German accent crisp and deliberate. "But I need to see out the season with Stuttgart first. I can't just walk away mid-project." Arthur nodded, not even slightly disappointed. He had expected Tuchel to be the loyal type. "Fair enough," he said, shrugging. "You take your time. Just know the door's open...and the pay packet's fat." They shook hands, and with that, Arthur was off to catch his next flight, this time to Turin. Wayne Joyce, the owner of Kappa, Leeds United's kit sponsor, had personally invited him to dinner. Arthur figured it wasn't for the pleasure of his company; people with money never reached out unless they wanted more of it. By 6 PM, Arthur was sitting in a private room of an Italian restaurant that looked like it hadn't changed since the 1950s. The walls were plastered with framed photos of footballers long retired, and the faint aroma of garlic and oregano hung in the air. Joyce arrived a few minutes later, all smiles and handshakes, his suit perfectly tailored and his watch practically blinding in the candlelight. "Arthur! Great to finally meet you," Joyce beamed, extending his hand. "Wayne, likewise," Arthur replied, shaking his hand and nodding towards the table. "Let's get straight to it, yeah? I didn't fly across Europe for the lasagna." Joyce chuckled, clearly not used to this kind of bluntness. "Direct. I like it." He sat down, signaling for wine. "Look, Leeds United has done something special this season. Back in the Premier League, holding their own against the big boys...it's impressive." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Appreciate that. And I'm guessing you're here because you want to be part of the 'something special' for a bit longer?" "Exactly," Joyce said, flashing that polished corporate grin. "We want to renew our sponsorship. Extend it for another three years." Arthur leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Alright. Let's talk numbers." Joyce blinked, clearly not expecting to jump straight to the meat of it. "Well, given our existing relationship...I think we can keep things quite similar, maybe a ten percent bump on what we've been paying?" Arthur snorted. "Wayne, come on. We're back in the Premier League. TV rights, stadium full every week, international exposure. And you think a ten percent bump is generous? You do realize we have other brands sniffing around now, right?" Joyce's grin faltered. He hadn't expected Arthur to come out swinging. "I...I assumed our loyalty might count for something," he said, voice softening slightly. Arthur leaned forward, his tone dropping just enough to sound menacingly polite. "Loyalty? You lot were practically packing your bags two seasons ago. The only reason you're here now is because we're winning again. Let's not kid ourselves." Joyce swallowed, his polished exterior cracking just a bit. "Alright, what are you thinking?" "Triple," Arthur said flatly. Joyce's jaw practically hit the table. "Triple? Are you mad?" "Nope," Arthur replied, taking a sip of his water like he hadn't just asked for an arm and a leg. "We're back, Wayne. And we're staying back. You want to be part of that? You pay the price. Simple."