*** Join my Patreon for more than 20 Advance Chapters, and my other stories
Link is Below. Remove space after http.
https:// www.patreon.com/c/Virtuosso777?redirect=true
****
The news of the match that would decide the English Championship was big—like really big. But, as big as the match was, the pre-match press conference was going to be even bigger, in a different, slightly more chaotic way.
It was a Saturday night, and Leeds United was preparing for the match of the century—or at least it felt like it. The media circus was already in full swing, with reporters gathered like vultures around the podium, itching for a glimpse of their next headline. But there was a twist in the air: Arthur, the usual mastermind behind Leeds United's success, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his trusty assistant coach, Allen, who had a junior coaching certificate and a level of bravado that could fill an entire stadium, was the one holding the mic.
Now, Arthur wasn't exactly the kind of guy to shy away from the press. In fact, he was known for his calm demeanor and sharp wit when dealing with the media. But tonight? He had a good excuse. After all, tomorrow was the match. And what do coaches do before the match? They prepare. Simple, right? Well, the media didn't quite buy it.
As soon as Allen settled into the hot seat and grabbed the microphone, the room went dead silent. It was almost like they were all waiting for a bomb to go off. And it did. The first question from the press? A sharp one. Like a dagger wrapped in a velvet glove.
"Mr. Allen," began a reporter from The Times, "why didn't Mr. Arthur attend tonight's press conference? Is it because of the report from The Sun earlier today?"
Allen hadn't even had the chance to blink when a rival reporter from The Sun leaned forward, his face lighting up with mischievous glee. He poked the Times reporter on the arm and said, "Oi, mate, what's that supposed to mean? Are you implying that we had something to do with it?"
Oh, great. The media was already turning on itself. The room suddenly felt smaller as everyone turned their attention back to Allen, waiting for him to sort out this train wreck.
But Allen? He was unphased. He had been through far worse press conferences, trust me. A bit of media sniping wasn't going to rattle him. He grabbed the microphone with a steely resolve, cleared his throat, and, with a perfect poker face, responded.
"Of course not," Allen began, "after all, tomorrow's match is basically going to determine who will be the champion of the Championship League this season. As the head coach, Mr. Arthur is very busy right now, focusing on final preparations for tomorrow's game. That's the real reason why he couldn't attend the press conference tonight."
It was the perfect, safe, textbook answer. It was so professional, in fact, that the room collectively let out a disappointed sigh. Where was the drama? The spicy gossip? The juicy behind-the-scenes secrets? No one was buying it.
Sure enough, as soon as Allen finished speaking, a reporter in the back raised his hand like a kid in class who just had to ask a question. But Allen wasn't having it. He straightened his tie, glanced around at the reporters, and decided to head them off at the pass.
"No, no," he continued, cutting them off with a casual wave. "As for the report in The Sun—well, I think we all know The Sun by now, don't we?"
Allen paused, giving a knowing look to the reporter from The Sun who had been so quick to jump in earlier. "I think everyone here knows that when The Sun publishes something, it's usually more about getting clicks than getting facts." He gave a polite little nod to the Sun reporter, whose face was now as red as a tomato.
At this, the Sun reporter couldn't take it anymore. He stood up abruptly, his eyes flashing with indignation. "But Mr. Allen," he said, "we know that Leeds United has received several offers for key players recently. And it's not just any players—it's the big names, the ones who've been central to your success this season! This is a lot more than just a tabloid rumor. There's something real going on here. Surely, you can't deny it?"
The room went deathly silent. This was the question everyone was waiting for. The entire football world had been buzzing with rumors that Leeds' key players were being targeted by other clubs, and it was only a matter of time before it came up in the press conference.
Allen's eyes narrowed for a second. He knew he couldn't dodge this one. He had to address it head-on. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and fixed his gaze on the crowd.
"Mr. Reporter," Allen began, his tone shifting slightly. "Yes, we've received offers for some of our players. But, and here's the important part, those are just offers. No deals have been made, and we've not entered into any substantive negotiations with anyone. So, as for your paper's sensationalist claim that our main players are leaving this summer? Well, that's just nonsense."
Allen paused for effect. The reporters were practically leaning forward, hanging on to every word. He could feel their collective anticipation, like a rubber band stretched to its limit, ready to snap at any moment.
"And until the end of the season, Leeds United will not be discussing transfers," Allen continued. "Our focus is on winning the Championship. We have a match to win tomorrow. That's all we care about right now."
With that, Allen stood up, pushed the microphone aside, and made a swift exit. He didn't even look back.
The reporters sat there for a moment, stunned. Some of them shuffled their notes. Others scribbled down their last quotes. No one had gotten the explosive drama they were hoping for. There was no deep, dark secret revealed. No scandalous leak. No juicy gossip.
Just the cold, hard facts.
Leeds United was focused on winning the title, and the Sun's claims about players leaving? Well, that was just fluff.
As Allen made his way off the stage, he gave a little smirk to himself. He had done what Arthur would have done—kept his cool, didn't get sucked into the madness, and delivered the message loud and clear. And most importantly, he kept the team's focus where it needed to be: on Sunderland.
The drama, as it turned out, wasn't in the press conference at all. It was going to happen tomorrow—on the pitch.
***
Allen had barely closed the door to his room when the phone rang. It was Arthur, as calm and calculated as ever, calling to check in on the press conference. Allen plopped down on the couch with a sigh, pulling off his jacket and sinking into the soft cushions. "Here we go," he muttered to himself as he picked up the phone.
"Allen," Arthur's voice came through the phone, cool as ever, "How did it go?"
Allen leaned back, staring at the ceiling like he was about to explain the meaning of life. "Boss, just as you instructed, I gave them the standard line about offers and whatnot. Of course, I couldn't say we were actually negotiating, but I let them know we had received offers. You know, keep them guessing."
Arthur chuckled on the other end, sounding pleased with the result. "Perfect," he replied. "Just perfect." He paused for a moment, a soft clink of glass on glass could be heard, signaling that Arthur had settled in for a little quiet contemplation. "Sit tight. This is all going exactly as planned."
Allen smirked, clearly enjoying the mystery unfolding. "Good. Because let me tell you, those reporters are hungry for a story. They've probably got headlines ready for tomorrow morning. You know the usual stuff: 'Adebayor's future in doubt,' 'Leeds United's young guns hit a roadblock,' all that drama."
Arthur let out a low, approving laugh. "Exactly what I wanted. Let them think they've got the inside scoop. The media always falls for this stuff." He paused again, taking a sip of something that sounded like red wine—Arthur was all about his little rituals. "You've done well. Now, let's talk about our next move."
With that, Allen realized the gravity of the situation was about to take a serious turn. Arthur wasn't just messing with the media for fun. No, no, he had a bigger plan in mind. As always, there was method in the madness.
Arthur's mind had been working overtime. After all, not only was Leeds United in the running for the championship, but he had some real business to handle. Bates, the manager of West Bromwich Albion, had become a major player in Arthur's grand chess game. The only problem was, Bates didn't know he was being played.
You see, Bates, poor fellow, had a very specific problem. He had a grand total of nine million euros left to his name. That's it. After the catastrophic failure of his big January signing, Howard, who turned out to be as useful as a chocolate teapot, West Brom was teetering on the edge of relegation. Bates needed a lifeline. His team was trash, his future was in jeopardy, and the only way to save face and keep his job was by signing a top-tier player—someone who could rescue him from the abyss.
And what better way to do that than by poaching Tevez? Arthur knew that Bates, desperate as ever, would do anything to get him. Which, of course, was exactly why Arthur had set the trap.
So, after some quick thinking, Arthur decided to get Ferguson involved. Not that Ferguson needed much convincing—Arthur wasn't some rookie manager who didn't know how to strike a deal. No, he was a seasoned pro. And Ferguson, well, Ferguson was no fool. Arthur knew that by dangling the carrot of Tevez, he could get Manchester United to bite. But he wasn't about to give up Tevez just like that. No, no, Arthur had a little plan to make sure the price tag stayed high.
The phone call with Ferguson had gone down like this:
"Hello, Sir Alex," Arthur had greeted him smoothly, "I've got something interesting for you."
Ferguson, who was probably enjoying some late-night scotch, responded with a slight chuckle. "Go on, Arthur. What's this about?"
Arthur got straight to the point. "I'm prepared to lower the price for Tevez. You can have him for 22 million euros."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Ferguson, no stranger to haggling, was caught off guard. "You're lowering the price?" he asked, clearly not sure if Arthur had lost his mind. "That's not how these things usually go, Arthur."
Arthur's response was as smooth as ever: "Well, I figure it's a good deal for both sides. Besides, I've got a few conditions."
"Conditions?" Ferguson muttered, now more intrigued than ever. "What's this about?"
Arthur's voice was steady. "First, I want you to make a public offer after the summer window opens, and spread the word to the media that Manchester United is determined to secure Tevez. Make it clear that if I don't sell, United will trigger the penalty clause in his contract."
Ferguson raised an eyebrow, half-expecting Arthur to continue.
"And second," Arthur added, "I don't want you saying anything about Tevez moving to Manchester United until I say so. Let me have the first word."
Ferguson was silent for a moment. The audacity! Arthur had just offered to sell a top-tier player at a discounted price and had the nerve to ask for those two conditions. But Ferguson, who had been in the game for a lifetime, had seen it all. And, honestly, he was impressed. No one had ever played him like this before. He couldn't help but admire the cheeky strategy. It was clever. Too clever.
"Alright," Ferguson said after a moment, his voice filled with both amusement and approval. "You've got yourself a deal."
But that wasn't all. Just before hanging up, Arthur had casually dropped a nugget of information that would send Ferguson into overdrive.
"Oh, by the way," Arthur had added, "West Bromwich Albion also made an offer for Tevez. And Bates is desperate. He's got no money, no plan, and no future. If he doesn't get someone like Tevez, he's finished."
At this point, Ferguson's interest was piqued. He could almost hear the cogs turning in his head. Bates, that clueless manager from West Bromwich Albion, was in a tight spot. Ferguson couldn't help but feel a little smug. He knew exactly what Arthur was doing now. He was setting Bates up for a fall.
Ferguson had always known that Bates was on borrowed time. West Brom was skating dangerously close to relegation, and with the disastrous signing of Howard, Bates' credibility had already been shredded. Now, with the Tevez situation looming, Ferguson saw the perfect opportunity to exploit Bates' desperation.
Arthur's sly manipulation was working like a charm. Bates, thinking he had a shot at signing Tevez, would only end up scrambling with no funds and no real prospects. And Ferguson, well, he was just going to sit back, relax, and wait for the inevitable collapse. All while securing Tevez for Manchester United at a bargain price.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, a smug smile curling at the edges of his lips. The pieces were all falling into place. He had just played a masterstroke.
And Bates? Well, he was just another pawn in Arthur's grand game.