Chapter 69: Leeds magic is gone ?

The woman standing in Arthur's office was Lina Ulysses, his newly appointed assistant—a blonde-haired, sharp-eyed Russian-British woman that Allen had hired just last week. Arthur still remembered Allen's call like it was yesterday. "You said you needed an assistant. I found you the best one money can get," Allen had boasted. Arthur had half-expected some grumpy old man with a clipboard, but instead, Allen had sent him a model straight out of a fashion magazine. To say Arthur was surprised would be an understatement. The first time she walked into his office, he'd nearly spilled his coffee. "You're...my assistant?" he had asked, blinking as if his eyes were lying to him. Lina had just smiled politely and nodded. "Is that a problem, Mr. Arthur?" she had replied in that crisp, accent-tinged voice of hers. Arthur had assured her it was not a problem. Quite the opposite. In fact, he suspected Allen had made it a personal mission to throw him off his game. Arthur had nothing to complain about though; she was efficient, professional, and somehow always appeared exactly when he needed her, usually with a cup of coffee or a stack of reports. Of course, he couldn't help but notice the extra attention she gave him. A pat on the shoulder here, a lingering glance there. Arthur wasn't blind—he was fairly certain that if the two of them were ever locked in a room together, professionalism might take a backseat. For now, though, they managed to keep things strictly business, even if it sometimes felt like walking on a tightrope. But today, Arthur didn't have time to appreciate the sight of her. He was too busy drowning in bad news. Lina handed him the medical report with her usual efficiency. "From the medical team," she said, placing it on his desk. Arthur nodded, muttering a thanks as he flipped it open. He skimmed through the names: Kompany—out for at least a week, maybe more. Lahm—not even close to returning. Ribery and Modric—still weeks away. Bale—don't even think about it. The report estimated two monthsfor Bale, and that was if things went well. Arthur's eyes narrowed as he read the last line. He half-expected it to just say, "Good luck, you'll need it." Arthur tossed the report onto the desk and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Brilliant. Just brilliant." Lina arched an eyebrow. "Something wrong?" she asked, though her smirk suggested she already knew the answer. "Oh, nothing. Just half my squad is out. You know, typical Tuesday stuff." Lina smiled sympathetically. "Maybe you'll have to get creative with your lineup." "Creative? I'm about two injuries away from putting the tea lady at right-back," Arthur grumbled, rubbing his forehead. Lina chuckled, then placed another report in front of him. "This is from the scouting team. You asked me to collect it earlier." Arthur looked at the thick folder and sighed. "Let me guess, it's full of overpriced Brazilians and seventeen-year-old wonderkids that'll probably disappear into obscurity?" Lina simply smiled. "Only one way to find out." Arthur reluctantly opened it, scanning the first few pages. The report was a summary of players Leeds United's scouting team had been tracking across various leagues for the past two months. He'd asked Lina to make sure the scouts organized it neatly for him—he didn't have time to dig through a mountain of reports. Now, thanks to her efficiency, it was sitting right in front of him, all categorized and ready to go. He flipped through the names, occasionally raising an eyebrow or letting out a sarcastic chuckle. "This one's 5'6" and a 'commanding aerial presence?' Did the scout write this on April Fool's?" Lina just stood by patiently, arms crossed, watching him sort through the chaos. Arthur sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Well, I guess it's time to go shopping," he said, closing the folder with a loud thud. Lina smiled. "Should I schedule a meeting with the scouts?" Arthur gave her a mock salute. "Yes, and tell them to bring their best sales pitches. I want to be dazzled." As Lina left the office, Arthur leaned back in his chair and exhaled loudly. Injuries, thin squad depth, and now a shopping list of prospects that might or might not solve his problems. "If this job doesn't kill me, it's gonna make me drink," he muttered to himself, grabbing his cup of coffee and taking a long, desperate sip. The path ahead was clear—whether he liked it or not, he needed reinforcements, and fast. The scout report was a beast of a binder, nearly two centimeters thick and crammed with profiles of almost 40 players. Arthur sighed as he flipped through its pages, half expecting to find a few wonderkids who probably weren't even old enough to drive yet. Instead, he found the usual suspects: young talents the scouts were convinced would be the next big thing—even though they looked like they still needed permission slips to travel—and a collection of disgruntled veterans stuck on the bench at bigger clubs. Arthur slumped back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the desk. "Forty players, huh? More like forty chances to be disappointed," he muttered under his breath. Then, his eyes landed on a name that nearly made him choke on his coffee: Rivaldo Ferreira. "Wait...Rivaldo? As in, that Rivaldo?" Arthur blinked twice, convinced he might have misread. He scanned the page again—nope, it was definitely him. Rivaldo, the Brazilian magician, World Cup winner, former Barcelona legend.The same guy who used to score goals for fun and made defenders look like they were on ice skates. Arthur scratched his head, trying to recall Rivaldo's journey since those glory days. "Right...he left Barcelona after some drama with Van Gaal...ended up at AC Milan...competed with Rui Costa and young Kaka...and then..."Arthur paused, drumming his fingers on the desk. "Where the hell did he go after that?" He squinted at the scout report. "Greek League?!" Arthur nearly laughed out loud. "Rivaldo's playing in Greece? What, did he sign for a beach club?" He shook his head, still chuckling. The thought of Rivaldo lighting up some half-empty stadium in the Greek League felt like seeing a Ferrari parked in front of a fast-food joint. "No wonder this report ended up on my desk," Arthur said, smirking. He hadn't exactly set age restrictions for the scouting team, and apparently, they took that as an open invitation to throw in every veteran still breathing. But Rivaldo...that was something. Arthur rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If he's still got even half of what he had back then, he could be a cheat code for us..." He turned to Lina, who was standing patiently by the door, watching his reaction with a raised eyebrow. "Lina, can you call Ron and ask him to come to my office? I've got a few questions for him." Lina smiled warmly and stepped forward, her hand resting on his shoulder. "Don't stress out, boss. You need to be fit. Tell me if it's too much, I'll give you a massage that'll melt your stress away." Arthur almost choked. "Melt my stress away?" He thought to himself. "That massage would melt a lot more than just stress..." He forced a cough, nodding to Lina. "Uh...yeah, I'll, uh...let you know." Lina left the office with a knowing smile, and Arthur slumped back in his chair, staring at the door. "That woman's either gonna be my savior or the reason I have a heart attack," he muttered, shaking his head. As soon as the door clicked shut, Arthur wasted no time. He spun his chair around to face his desk and fired up the system. "Alright, Rivaldo, let's see what you've got left in the tank..." The screen blinked to life, and Rivaldo's stats filled the display: [Rivaldo Ferreira] Age: 33 Offensive Threat: 86 Defensive Strength: 45 Body Balance: 72 Long Pass Accuracy: 91 Short Pass Accuracy: 92 Shooting Accuracy: 87 Dribbling Accuracy: 90 Talent: S+ Potential: No potential to be developed at present Current Match Status: Average Player Evaluation: A former World Footballer of the Year who is full of spirit on the field. Although his overall strength is not as good as before with his age, his rich experience and superb skills can still become the magic weapon for the team to win. Overall Assessment: B- Arthur's eyes widened as he read through the stats. "Jesus, those are still solid numbers...Long pass accuracy, dribbling, shooting...He might not be sprinting down the flanks anymore, but that's not what I'd need him for anyway." He leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced behind his head. "Greek League or not, this guy still has the quality." The idea began to form in his mind—a playmaker with Rivaldo's vision threading passes to Falcao and Dzeko. It wasn't just good. It was diabolical. Arthur leaned forward and grabbed his phone. "Time to have a chat with Ron..." he murmured, a grin spreading across his face. "We might just have ourselves a little bit of magic." Arthur sat at his desk, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the polished wood, his eyes flicking back to the door every few seconds. Ron, the head of Leeds United's scouting department, had been summoned to his office, and Arthur was curious to get to the bottom of this Rivaldo situation. The thought of the Brazilian legend, once the toast of Barcelona and the World Cup, now playing in the Greek league, still rattled around in his head like a stray ball in a pinball machine. Finally, the door swung open, and Ron stepped in, a weathered leather briefcase clutched in his hand. His suit was wrinkled, his tie slightly askew—a clear sign he'd probably been knee-deep in scouting reports since dawn. "Boss," Ron greeted him, dropping into the chair across from Arthur. "You wanted to see me?" Arthur nodded, sliding the scout report across the desk. "Rivaldo," he said simply, pointing to the name as if it were a headline. "Who put this on my desk?" Ron chuckled, picking up the report and giving it a cursory flip-through. "That would be me," he replied, placing it back down. "I was in Greece last month. Watched him live in three matches." Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You flew all the way to Greece just to watch him? Thought you were in Marbella sipping cocktails." Ron snorted. "If only. No, I was there, sweating buckets in some rickety old stadium. But Rivaldo...boss, I'm telling you, the guy's still got it. Not the legs maybe, but the brain and the touch? Class is permanent." Arthur leaned back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You think we can bring him in?" Ron nodded confidently. "Absolutely. I even had a chat with his agent while I was there. He's not exactly thrilled with his current salary, and with the World Cup coming up next year, he's keen to get back into the European spotlight. Greece is hardly a showcase for getting into the Brazil squad." Arthur's fingers resumed their drumming on the desk. He considered the possibilities. A player of Rivaldo's experience could be massive—not just for the squad's depth, but for the dressing room as well. The younger players could learn loads from him, and Arthur could already picture those delicious left-footed curlers into the top corner. "Even if it's a loan, it's low-risk. If he flops, we send him back. If he succeeds..." He grinned. "Well, we look like geniuses." Decision made, Arthur straightened up. "Alright, Ron. Contact his agent. Tell him we can offer a pay bump—not more than fifty percent of what he's on now—and I'll make sure he gets game time if he keeps his form up." Ron didn't need to be told twice. He stood up, nodding with enthusiasm. "I'm on it, boss. Heading back to Greece tonight, actually." Arthur blinked. "Tonight? You got shares in an airline or something?" Ron laughed. "I like to keep things moving. Plus, the baklava's not half bad." With that, Ron was off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he hurried out of the office. Arthur leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "Rivaldo...in Leeds colours," he murmured to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "Now that's gonna make headlines." By Wednesday morning, Arthur was still on the training ground when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the screen: Ron - Greece. Arthur answered, shielding his eyes from the sun as the team drilled in the background. "Ron? What's the news?" Ron's voice crackled through, upbeat and confident. "Rivaldo's agent says he's up for it. If we can follow through with the promises—game time, a bit more cash—he's in. He wants to prove himself in Europe again before the World Cup." Arthur grinned, nodding even though Ron couldn't see him. "That's what I like to hear. Good work, Ron. Now we just have to get Olympiacos on board." "Already on it," Ron replied swiftly. "I'll keep you posted." Arthur hung up and couldn't help the smile spreading across his face. Rivaldo. In Leeds. It was madness, but maybe...just maybe...it was the kind of madness that would work. He shot off a quick email to Allen, dumping the Olympiacos negotiations on his desk. Arthur wasn't about to stress over that—after all, even if the deal went through, Rivaldo couldn't join until the winter transfer window anyway. October arrived with all the charm of a rainy Monday morning. For Leeds United fans, it was a roller coaster ride that seemed determined to shake everyone's nerves loose. Arthur's side played four Premier League matches and one League Cup tie that month, and with his squad shredded by injuries, the lineup looked like it had been picked out of a raffle. Against Bolton and Newcastle, Arthur had no choice but to throw Vardy and Milner out wide as wingers. He could practically hear the media sharpening their knives. Unsurprisingly, the results weren't pretty: a loss and a draw, both at home. Elland Road felt like it was under a raincloud even when the sun shone. The newspapers had a field day, predicting doom and gloom for Leeds United, practically licking their lips as they published headlines like "Leeds United's Bubble Bursts" and "Arthur's Gamble Backfires." Arthur glanced at the headlines with a shrug. "They act like we haven't got half the team in the physio room," he muttered to himself. But he knew the fans were starting to worry, and the atmosphere at Elland Road was growing tense. Injuries had turned his squad into a patchwork quilt, and even Arthur wasn't sure how long it would hold. "Maybe Rivaldo really is the magic trick I need," he murmured to himself, glancing at his phone for any updates from Ron. "Because right now, I'm starting to believe in miracles." Round 10 saw Leeds United traveling to Villa Park to face Aston Villa. Arthur, back in the manager's chair with his usual air of casual confidence, was more focused on balancing his squad than going all out. With the League Cup match just three days away, he decided to roll the dice a bit. Berbatov, finally shaking off his injury, returned to the starting lineup, much to Arthur's relief. "About time you stopped using the medical room as a holiday resort," Arthur quipped as Berbatov stretched on the sidelines. But Arthur wasn't about to risk his whole first team. His lineup looked more like a roll call for a midweek friendly than a Premier League clash. Aston Villa, languishing in 15th place after nine rounds, hardly looked intimidating on paper, but the game proved anything but easy. The match dragged on, with both teams trading half-hearted attempts like it was some sort of gentleman's agreement not to score. By the time the 77th minute rolled around, Arthur was slumped back in his chair, hands rubbing his temples. "Is it illegal to score today, or did I miss a memo?" he muttered. Then, out of nowhere, Vardy—the ever-energetic terrier up front—finally broke the deadlock. Pouncing on a loose ball like it had insulted his family, he drilled it low into the corner. Arthur shot up from his seat, nearly knocking over his assistant in the process. "Finally! Someone remembered the objective of this sport!" he shouted, clapping wildly. The 1-0 victory wasn't glamorous, but it was three points. Arthur couldn't care less. "Ugly wins are still wins," he grinned, patting Vardy on the back as they left the pitch. Three days later, it was time for the League Cup clash against Watford. Arthur, not taking any chances this time, sent out the heavy artillery. The full starting lineup took the field, and the difference was night and day. Leeds United battered Watford 3-0 without so much as a hiccup. The fans were buzzing, the media started singing praises again, and Arthur finally felt like things were clicking back into place. That is, until Fulham showed up at Elland Road. Back at home and riding the wave of confidence, Leeds expected a walk in the park. Instead, they got a 90-minute staring contest where neither side blinked. Fulham parked the bus, and Leeds couldn't find the keys to drive through. The match ended in a 1-1 stalemate, much to the disbelief of Arthur and the restless home fans. As the final whistle blew, Arthur stared at the pitch, hands on his hips. "We can beat the world on Wednesday and look clueless on Saturday," he grumbled to his assistant. "We're the most consistent rollercoaster in England."