Chapter 9: Arthur the scam shop owner!

That evening, the local newspapers in Leeds ran the same headline in bold letters across their sports pages: "Howard Transfer Saga Heats Up!" The city's football heartbeat was racing. By the next morning, even the national media had picked it up. Headlines like "Howard's Hot Form Draws Premier League Eyes" and "Leeds United Keeper on Big Clubs' Radar" appeared in every major paper. Reports listed West Bromwich Albion as the most aggressive suitor, and rumors flew around that other Premier League sides were preparing to enter the fray too. Arthur, sitting comfortably in his office with a lukewarm cup of instant coffee, skimmed through the articles. The journalists had done half his job for him. Just like he planned, the news of Howard being sought after was everywhere—and the message was clear. Arthur had made a statement to the press: "Tim Howard is a crucial part of our success this season. Unless a club triggers his release clause, we won't entertain any offers." Simple. Sharp. And absolutely intentional. But over at West Bromwich Albion, Bates was anything but calm. In his office, Bates stared at the reply from Leeds on his computer screen. His face darkened like a thundercloud. "He's rejecting my offer? And now he's telling the world I tried to buy his keeper?" Bates grumbled, jabbing his cigar into an ashtray. "Who does he think he is? Is he selling Buffon or some kind of football superhero?" He shook his head in disbelief. "The man bought Howard for 3 million just a few months ago. Now he wants what—15 million? What's next, selling matchday pies for fifty quid each?" Just as he was about to vent with a nice puff of Cuban smoke, his assistant barged into the office, a laptop practically dangling from one hand. "Boss, you need to see this!" "What now?" "It's the club website. Fans know about the offer. They're posting like mad, asking for updates. Some are demanding you get Howard at all costs." Bates groaned. "Brilliant. Now I've got to either buy the guy or explain to 50,000 angry fans why I can't beat Leeds United at the transfer table." He muttered under his breath, "Arthur, you sly dog..." Match Day – Saturday Afternoon Elland Road Stadium Elland Road was rocking. The cold wind did little to silence the roar from the stands. Commentator Ere Geddy was already shouting like his microphone wasn't even plugged in. "Timothy! Leeds United's savior! Another incredible save! He holds it! He holds it again!" The match between Leeds United and Sunderland had reached injury time in the second half. The scoreboard still read 0-0, but for Leeds fans, a draw would be enough. With 63 points from 20 wins and 3 draws, Leeds were two points ahead of second-place Sunderland before this match. As long as they didn't lose, the half-season Championship title would be theirs. Ere Geddy's voice was almost gone from how often he'd shouted Howard's name this season. He sipped from his water bottle like it was holy nectar, eyes glued to Howard, who had just gathered another dangerous shot and now looked up the pitch. Rumors of Howard's transfer had swirled all week. And while the fans sang his name louder than ever, everyone in the stadium—including Ere—knew the winter window was now open, and Howard's future was up in the air. Still, for now, Howard was a Leeds player. And he wasn't done yet. Howard looked up and spotted a gap. Without hesitation, he punted the ball forward, launching a thunderous drop-kick that sliced through the sky like a rocket. Leeds had practiced these counters a thousand times. The ball landed right where the striker had already begun his run. One perfect touch, a burst of speed, and the striker was through on goal. Two defenders closed in, the keeper charged out—but it was too late. Goal! The stadium erupted. It was chaos in the best way. Flags waved, scarves spun through the air, and fans hugged strangers next to them. A few even climbed the barriers (and were immediately escorted back to their seats, but it was worth it). Ere Geddy had leapt out of his seat again, pounding the table with both fists. "A wonderful counterattack! Absolutely stunning! Leeds United is your half-season champion!" The players rushed to the corner flag to celebrate, and moments later, the final whistle blew. They had done it. Leeds United had gone 23 games unbeaten and were now sitting proudly at the top of the table. On the sidelines, Arthur stood with his arms crossed, a small satisfied grin on his face. He had come down from the box to watch the second half from the bench, and he didn't regret it. As the crowd kept singing, a familiar chime rang in his head. [Ding! Task Complete – "Consecutive Victories!"] [Reward pending... Please check the system later for claim.] Arthur didn't even blink. He was getting used to this by now. Back in the locker room, while the players showered and celebrated with protein shakes (and one sneaky can of beer hidden in a boot), Arthur pulled out his phone and opened the system panel. [Host: Arthur] [Club Owned: Leeds United] [Economy: -80 million euros in debt] [Available Funds: 6.5 million euros] [Team Status: Morale Sky High] [Fixed Skill: Super Scout] [Special Item: Peak Drogba Template Card Peak Buffon Template – 8 Days Remaining] He smirked. A couple months ago, he was sweating over the wage bill. Now? Ticket sales were up. Jerseys with "HOWARD 1" printed on the back were flying off shelves. Even the club's mascot had started growing a beard to imitate the keeper. With just a few days left on the Buffon template for Howard, he figured the next match was still covered. But after that? He'd have to make a decision. Sell high? Or hold the line? But that was a thought for another day. Right now, Leeds United were half-season champions, undefeated, and on fire. Arthur pocketed his phone and walked out of the locker room with his coat slung over his shoulder. Ere Geddy caught up to him in the hallway, notebook in hand. "Arthur, one question—will Howard stay in January?" Arthur gave him a half-smile and replied, "Only if someone pays the price. Otherwise, we're not selling." And with that, he walked off toward the car park, humming the club anthem under his breath. In the distance, chants still echoed from Elland Road: "Howard! Howard! He saves the day again!" And Arthur, for once, felt like maybe things were finally going his way. *** Hawthorns Stadium – VIP Box Ken Bates was not having a good evening. From his cushioned seat in the VIP box of the Hawthorns, he stared up at the giant screen looming over the pitch like it was mocking him. The scoreboard read a brutal, glaring: West Bromwich Albion 0 – 5 Liverpool. And there were still more than ten minutes left. If he hadn't been in public, Bates might've smashed something by now. His team was getting absolutely hammered at home, in front of more than 20,000 fans. And those fans? Oh, they weren't quiet about it. Not at all. "Bates, get out!" "Buy Howard, you stingy ghost!" "We want real transfers, not retirement home signings!" The insults were flying like snowballs in a schoolyard fight. The chants grew louder with every Liverpool pass. Bates rubbed his temples and muttered, "Bloody internet. One good game and everyone thinks Howard's the next Peter Schmeichel..." Just then, his phone buzzed. A call from his assistant. He sighed and picked it up. "Leeds won," came the short, sharp voice on the other end. Bates didn't even respond. He just hung up. Of course they did. Leeds always win now, don't they? And that smug little chairman of theirs—Arthur—was probably sitting in some warm office, sipping tea and counting cash from jersey sales with Howard's name on the back. Bates stared back at the screen. Five goals down. Fans ready to riot. He needed good news—fast. A distraction. Something big. Something shiny. He needed to create news. He scrolled through his contacts, found Arthur's number, and stabbed the call button like it had personally offended him. Somewhere in Leeds – Arthur's Office Arthur was in a good mood. Leeds United had just wrapped up a crucial win over Sunderland, and the fans were celebrating like they'd won the league. His phone buzzed with notifications—media praise, fan messages, even a few cheeky texts from board members who once doubted him. And best of all? The system had just dinged with a task complete. He had a new reward waiting to be claimed. Just as he was about to check it, his phone vibrated again—this time with a call. He looked at the screen and laughed. "Ken Bates," it read. "Oh? The old man can't hold it in anymore?" Arthur smirked and answered, voice relaxed, cheerful. "Good evening, Mr. Bates," he said with mock politeness. On the other end, Bates sounded like he was grinding his teeth. "Congratulations, Arthur. Leeds United has done well." Arthur leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Thank you. I didn't expect you to notice in the middle of your busy schedule. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Bates didn't bother with small talk. "I want to talk about Howard," he said, curt and to the point. Arthur almost laughed out loud. He'd been expecting this. In fact, he was surprised it didn't come earlier. Bates continued, "I made an offer already. Let's be reasonable." Arthur crossed his legs and made himself even more comfortable. "Mr. Bates, as I've said before—in the press and in private—Howard is not for sale. Unless someone meets his release clause, he's staying put." There was a pause on the other end. Then a growl. "You're robbing me, Arthur! You bought him for what—3 million? Now you want fifteen? FIFTEEN? That's outrageous!" "Thirteen," Bates added quickly, "Thirteen million is the best I can do." Arthur raised an eyebrow. Bates sounded more annoyed than angry now—like a man who'd just discovered his favorite pub no longer served pints under a fiver. But Arthur wasn't going to let him off easy. "Mr. Bates," he said slowly, "have you been watching the same games I have? Howard isn't just stopping shots—he's launching counterattacks, commanding the back line, and winning us games. The fans love him. He's in the form of his life." He paused for effect, then added with a grin, "And just before you called, my assistant told me we've already had interest from other Premier League clubs. Clubs with... deeper pockets." Bates went silent. Arthur could almost hear him stewing. Imagining headlines like "West Brom Miss Out on Howard" and "Leeds Reject Premier League Offer" flashing across his eyes. There was a long pause. Then finally, Bates spoke again. "Fine. I'll send over a formal offer tomorrow. Fifteen million. You better hope losing Howard doesn't ruin your little title run." Arthur didn't even flinch. He'd already made his peace with the possibility. "And Arthur," Bates added with a sneer, "I've got a gift for you. I hope you enjoy it." Click. The call ended. Arthur stared at the phone for a moment, then chuckled. "A gift?" he said out loud. "What's he going to send? A thank-you card with a slap?" He shrugged and put the phone down. The Next Day – Leeds United Training Ground The team was back at Thorp Arch for a light recovery session. Spirits were high. Players were joking around, passing drills looked sharp, and Howard, the man of the moment, was surrounded by teammates giving him playful grief. "Don't let it go to your head, Tim!" the left-back yelled. "I saw your hairline move when you dove for that last one!" Howard laughed and lobbed a water bottle at him. "This hairline won us the game, pal!" Arthur was watching from the sideline with arms crossed. He liked what he saw. The chemistry was real. And for all the transfer drama, Howard was still fully committed. Just then, his assistant jogged over. "Boss, West Brom's formal offer came through. Fifteen million, just like you asked. They even included a clause—no media leaks until the paperwork clears." Arthur nodded. "Smart. They're trying to avoid looking desperate." His assistant handed over a package as well. "Also... this arrived at reception. From Mr. Bates. Marked as a personal gift." Arthur raised an eyebrow. He opened it on the spot—and burst into laughter. Inside was a pristine West Bromwich Albion jersey. On the back, it read: "HOWARD 1" Tucked in the sleeve was a handwritten note: "If you're going to rob me, at least let me print the shirt first. – K.B." Arthur chuckled and shook his head. "That old fox..." "Well then," he said with a grin, "if Bates is building a Premier League team, I guess we better build a Champions League one." And just like that, Leeds United's next chapter began