"Tick… tick… tick…"
Inside the quiet VIP box, the sound of fingers tapping against the polished wooden table echoed like a trono marking ti. The air was still, heavy with unspoken thoughts. ndes had finished his long, careful speech — a speech full of warnings, caution, and the faintest plea for reason — but Arthur hadn't responded yet.
He sat there, brows slightly furrowed, one finger rhythmically tapping the table, eyes half-closed as if weighing every word ndes had said.
In truth, Arthur wasn't lost in thought about the problems ndes had raised. He just looked that way to give the agent ti to sweat a little. The so-called "problems" didn't bother him at all. To Arthur, they weren't even obstacles — more like speed bumps on a smooth road.
He already understood Cristiano Ronaldo perfectly well. Ambitious. Ruthless. Obsessed with success. The kind of man who asured himself against legends. It was part of his nature. But there was another crucial piece to that puzzle — sothing ndes hadn't ntioned.
ssi.
Yes, that little Argentine genius was the silent storm behind Ronaldo's every step.
Arthur's thoughts drifted briefly into the near future. He knew exactly what was about to happen in world football. Next sumr, Frank Rijkaard would step down from Barcelona, and Pep Guardiola — the tactical revolutionary — would take over. That single change would rewrite football history.
Arthur could already see it like a movie in his mind: Guardiola walking into the dressing room, polite but firm, cutting through the tension. To calm the chaos left by the fading "Dream Team II" era, Pep would first send away Ronaldinho and Deco — two huge nas, but both fading forces. Then he'd turn to a young Lionel ssi, barely twenty-one, and make him the center of everything.
ssi would beco the sun, and the rest of Barcelona would orbit around him. Iniesta would rise. Xavi would blossom into a master conductor. And from the 2008–2009 season onward, Guardiola's Dream Team III would dominate Europe, even the world.
Arthur knew this tiline perfectly — and he also knew what it ant for Ronaldo.
In the years ahead, at both the club and personal level, Cristiano's performances would always be compared to ssi's. And for a while, ssi would co out on top. That rivalry — that constant chase — would fuel Ronaldo's obsession with perfection.
Arthur smiled faintly. Of course he's ambitious. He has to be. He's got a rival like ssi breathing down his neck.
But at this exact mont in ti, Ronaldo's true focus wasn't ssi yet — it was Kaka.
Yes, Ricardo Kaka, the elegant Brazilian who had just led AC Milan to Champions League glory, stepping over Manchester United — and Ronaldo — on his way to the trophy. Kaka had humiliated United in Europe, beaten them in the league, and was about to collect every individual honor there was: the World Footballer of the Year, the Ballon d'Or.
Arthur could imagine Ronaldo watching Kaka lift those awards, that jaw tightening, that familiar fire burning in his chest. He hates losing more than anything. Especially to soone who just beat him.
And Arthur, ever the strategist, could see an opportunity there.
If Manchester United failed again this season — and Arthur was quite confident they would — that frustration might just push Ronaldo into thinking differently. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be open to the idea of joining a new project… even one in Leeds.
As for Ronaldo's family, Arthur wasn't too concerned. He didn't know his mother Dolores or his sister personally, and he wasn't foolish enough to try to ddle directly. But he had faith in ndes — and more importantly, in ndes' relationship with them. The man wasn't just an agent; he was practically a family mber. If anyone could soften the family's stance, it was him.
After all, Arthur thought with an amused smirk, ndes didn't pocket those fat commissions for nothing. If he wanted to earn from Leeds United, he'd better work for it.
That left only one real issue — the club.
When ndes had ntioned Ferguson and Manchester United, Arthur's expression had barely changed. But when he thought about the Glazers — those two "old n," as he liked to call them in private — a wry smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
He finally broke the silence. "Mr. ndes," Arthur said, his tone casual, almost too calm. "You've got a good relationship with Cristiano's family, right?"
ndes, caught off guard by the sudden question, blinked. "Yes, of course," he said cautiously.
"Good," Arthur nodded slowly, tapping his fingers again. "Then it's fine to give you the task of persuading his mother and sister?"
The way he said it was so natural, so confident, that for a mont ndes didn't even process what he was hearing. When it finally clicked, he froze.
Arthur — after hearing every warning, every difficulty, every 'impossible' — still wasn't backing down. He was doubling down instead.
ndes' brain stuttered like a jamd printer. He stared at Arthur, speechless, trying to decide whether this man was fearless or just mad.
Arthur's calm gaze t his, one eyebrow arching. "Is there a problem?"
The temperature in the room seed to drop a few degrees. ndes' professional instincts scread at him to agree imdiately.
"Ah— no, no problem!" ndes stamred, forcing a laugh and shaking his head quickly. "No problem at all, Mr. Morgan!"
"That's good," Arthur said with satisfaction, leaning back slightly. "As for Cristiano himself — you find a chance to arrange contact. I'll talk to him personally."
That sentence nearly made ndes choke on air. He wanted to protest — to explain again that talking to Ronaldo wasn't as simple as making a dinner reservation — but one look at Arthur's steady, confident expression made him stop. The man wasn't asking. He was telling.
For a brief second, ndes considered trying one last ti to dissuade him. But then he sighed internally. There was no point. When soone like Arthur set his mind on sothing, no wall was too high, no player too untouchable.
Fine, he thought. If you want a miracle, I'll at least make the introduction.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his calendar, his fingers moving quickly. After a mont, he looked up and said, "If you have ti, after Portugal plays their European Cup qualifier against Kazakhstan on the 17th — it's an away ga — I can arrange for you to go to Portugal before returning to England. You can et him then."
Arthur, anwhile, leaned back comfortably, satisfied with how things had turned out. ndes had gone from skeptical to cooperative in record ti. That was the mark of a true professional.
"As expected of a top agent," Arthur thought to himself, amused. "Strong execution indeed."
*****
ndes leaned forward, his polished shoes glinting faintly under the low light of the hotel lounge. He had just finished explaining that he could arrange a eting with Cristiano Ronaldo in the coming days — a statent that, to him, should've been music to any club manager's ears.
Arthur, however, didn't respond with the excitent ndes expected. Instead, the Leeds United manager rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a faint smirk forming on his face as if he'd just rembered a private joke.
After a mont's pause, he shook his head.
"Don't be so anxious," Arthur said at last, his tone casual but confident. "We just beat Manchester United at Old Trafford, rember? I'd bet that kid still has so fire in his chest when he sees . He probably wants to kick more than talk to ! Hahahaha!"
His laughter filled the quiet box — loud, carefree, and maybe just a touch theatrical. ndes smiled politely, but his mind couldn't keep up with Arthur's rhythm. He had worked with dozens of eccentric club owners and managers, but this one — this sharp-eyed Englishman with a perpetual grin — was an enigma.
Arthur might have been laughing, but deep down he wasn't nearly as relaxed as he looked.
He knew Cristiano Ronaldo well enough — not personally, but by type. That proud, unyielding personality, that fiery obsession with perfection… If Arthur approached him now, right after Leeds United had humiliated Manchester United at their own fortress, there was no way in hell the man would even consider joining him.
Cristiano wouldn't just say no — he'd take it personally.
Arthur understood one truth about n like Ronaldo: you couldn't buy their loyalty; you had to earn it. Or better yet, force them to respect you.
"To deal with a guy like him," Arthur thought, leaning back lazily in his chair, "you've got to beat him — utterly and completely — until he can't find an excuse left in his bones. Only then will he listen."
That, at least, was the plan forming in Arthur's mischievous mind.
He wanted to prove that Leeds United — his Leeds United — wasn't so temporary miracle. He wanted Ronaldo to see that the team he managed wasn't just a passing cot but a full-fledged star in the European sky.
"If Manchester United wins the league again this season," Arthur mused silently, watching ndes fiddle with his tie, "and if luck's on our side, maybe we'll et Real Madrid again in the Champions League. And then…"
He grinned to himself. The idea was absurdly ambitious, but that only made it sweeter.
"…if I can lead Leeds to beat them — beat Cristiano's dream club head-on — then maybe, just maybe, he'll start to wonder if the emperor's throne isn't only in Madrid."
It was bold. Arrogant, even. But Arthur thrived on that kind of madness.
As Arthur's mind spun with strategic fantasies — the sll of the grass at Elland Road, the roar of the crowd when they toppled giants — ndes watched him in silence, his expression slowly shifting from curiosity to sheer bewildernt.
He honestly couldn't tell if Arthur was a visionary genius or completely insane.
A few minutes ago, this sa man had sounded dead serious about signing Cristiano Ronaldo. ndes had already started forming the plan in his head — phone calls, etings, timing everything perfectly during the international break. And now? Now Arthur was sitting there, grinning like a fox and talking about patience, championships, and rivalries like it was a ga of chess.
"Mr. Morgan," ndes began carefully, his tone polite but cautious. "If we don't seize this international break to set up a eting, I'm afraid it'll be difficult to find another private opportunity before the winter window opens. You know how it goes — once Cristiano returns to England, the dia's all over him. And… didn't I just tell you Real Madrid is likely to make an official offer to Manchester United this winter?"
Arthur didn't even blink. Instead, he gave a small, knowing smile — the kind that made ndes feel like he was two moves behind.
"You can try to delay that," Arthur said smoothly, tapping the table with his finger as if he were setting the rhythm of so secret tune. "I believe that with your relationship with Sánchez, it shouldn't be too hard to convince Real Madrid to wait a couple of months before they make their offer, right? After all, you said it yourself — Ferguson won't let Cristiano go this winter anyway."
ndes blinked, montarily thrown off by how casually Arthur said it — as if postponing Real Madrid's offer was as simple as rescheduling a dentist appointnt.
"Uh… that's not too difficult," ndes admitted, shifting in his seat. "But… forgive , Mr. Morgan, what's the point? Even if Real Madrid delays their bid, if Cristiano knows they've made an offer for him, I don't think you'll convince him to join Leeds even if you show up in person."
Arthur didn't answer imdiately. Instead, a sly smile spread across his face — the kind that belonged more to a gambler who already knew the cards than a manager in negotiation.
"Of course it's useful," he said at last, his voice carrying that faintly playful tone that always drove his staff crazy.
In his mind, Arthur could already picture another man's face — Florentino Pérez. That calm, confident smile. The eyes of a born emperor of football, the kind of man who played politics as effortlessly as Ronaldo played on the wing.
Arthur's grin widened.
Although he hadn't yet asked Allen to find out what Florentino was doing lately, he didn't really need to. He had already given Florentino enough ammunition to start a small war.
Months ago, Arthur had quietly passed along a collection of rather incriminating evidence about Real Madrid's then-president, Ramón Calderón — evidence that could bury him politically if released at the right ti.
"I bet Calderón's not sleeping well these days," Arthur thought with satisfaction.
All he needed now was ti. If Real Madrid didn't make an offer for Ronaldo during the winter window, everything would start to shift.
By next year, Arthur was certain, the king of the Bernabéu would fall — and the old monarch, Florentino Pérez, would reclaim his throne.
He knew it. He had seen this dance before.
In his mory, Pérez had only returned in 2009. But this ti? This ti Arthur had given history a little push — or, as he liked to put it, "a managerial adjustnt."
And when Florentino finally returned to power, the promise he'd once made to Arthur, during that quiet conversation in Greece while they watched the Champions League final, would finally be worth sothing.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, eyes half-lidded, looking completely at ease. To ndes, it seed like he was lost in thought — perhaps dreaming up another of his impossible sches.
But deep down, Arthur wasn't dreaming. He was planning.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
And when the ti ca, when the pieces fell into place, Cristiano Ronaldo — that proud Portuguese prodigy — would see that Leeds United wasn't just another stepping stone in football history.
It was a revolution waiting to happen.
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