*** Join my Patreon for Advance Chapters ( about 40 or so) and my other 3 stories
Link is Below. Remove space after .
s patreon/c/Virtuosso777?redirect=true
Leave so comnts, stones and review if you like it so far.
***
The 3–0 loss to Chelsea didn't just sting—it detonated a dia circus around Leeds United. Arthur's decision to basically send a B-team into battle against Mourinho's full-strength Chelsea squad left the press in an absolute frenzy.
From tabloid gossip columns to serious football shows, everyone had sothing to say, and none of it was particularly flattering.
Pundits tore into Arthur like he'd committed so kind of footballing war cri. One newspaper called it "tactical surrender in broad daylight." Another called it "a polite forfeiting of three points with a bow and a handshake." Even the Yorkshire Post—usually as loyal to Leeds as a golden retriever with a scarf—struggled to find any way to defend him. They half-heartedly blad "fixture congestion," but you could almost hear the sighs in the writing.
Yet sohow, the most surprising voice of support ca from none other than Mourinho himself.
In his post-match interview, Mourinho leaned back in his chair like a man who'd just eaten a large al and said, "Actually, I understand Arthur's decision. They have a League Cup quarterfinal coming up in four days. That's an important competition for them. If they want to win sothing, they have to make choices. Simple."
Then, as always, Mourinho couldn't help himself. His eyes lit up with the opportunity to rant, and he spun toward the cara with theatrical flair.
"But let say this—again! Why is there no winter break in England?! It's madness! In Spain, in Italy, in Germany—they all rest! Here, we play non-stop like lunatics. Do you want entertaining football or injured players?! I'm not talking about just my team. I'm talking about everyone. Even Arthur's lot. Fix the schedule!"
So while Mourinho aired his grievances and the press tore Leeds apart like a pack of wolves, Arthur?
He was already back on the team bus, halfway to Leeds.
And was he worried? Not even slightly.
By the ti they rolled into Thorp Arch late that night, Arthur already had a plan. The next day was New Year's Day, after all—and no dia slander was going to ruin that. So, instead of overreacting or calling extra training, Arthur did the opposite.
He gave everyone the day off.
"Spend it with your families," he told his players. "Go eat, go sleep, go kiss soone—whatever keeps you sane."
League Cup match or not, it was still the start of a new year. And in Arthur's eyes, that ant a clean slate—and no room for panic.
The arrival of New Year's Day didn't just bring hangovers and broken resolutions—it also signaled the official opening of the Premier League's winter transfer window. And naturally, Leeds United fans were buzzing with excitent, ready to hit refresh on the club's official website every five minutes like it was Christmas morning all over again.
Would Arthur finally announce a big signing? Would soone unexpected be sold? Would he unveil a Brazilian wonderkid with a haircut shaped like a lightning bolt?
Well... no. Not on January 1st, at least.
Thanks to Liverpool dragging their feet on paying the transfer fee they owed Leeds—and with new signings Rivaldo and Camoranesi still on vacation sipping cocktails sowhere sunny—Arthur's club was stuck in neutral. The club's official site remained quieter than a goalkeeper during a goal-kick. Fans who had braced themselves for fireworks got… absolutely nothing.
Many grumbled online. One particularly dramatic fan on the Leeds forum posted, "I woke up at 7 a.m. for this? Not even a rumor? Arthur, you tease!"
But then ca January 2nd.
Boom. Leeds United finally broke the silence and updated their official website, and while it wasn't a player announcent, what appeared on screen still made fans spit out their tea in surprise.
"Welco Diego Sione to Leeds United. Officially appointed First Team Assistant Coach, effective January 1, 2006."
"Welco Thomas Tuchel to Leeds United. Appointed Director of Youth Developnt and U19 Head Coach, effective July 1, 2006."
The comnts section exploded.
"WAIT WHAT?"
"ARTHUR DID WHAT?!"
"Who gave this man a ti machine??"
"I'm not crying, you're crying."
As it turns out, Arthur had been working behind the scenes for weeks—quietly making chess moves while the rest of the league was still playing checkers.
Tuchel, who Arthur had personally t in Germany a while back, had already been talking tactics with him over the phone like two football nerds deep in a Dungeons & Dragons campaign. Whenever Arthur had a random idea about pressing triggers or inverted fullbacks, he'd just ring Tuchel up for a chat. That tactical bromance kept growing, and after Leeds' last match against Arsenal, Tuchel finally caved.
"Yes, fine," Tuchel had reportedly said. "Let finish my contract first, and I'll join. But don't make wear anything yellow."
Because of said contract, Tuchel wouldn't arrive until July—but the deal was done. Youth developnt at Leeds was about to be run by a man who color-codes his matchday notebooks and probably arranges his fridge by expected goal ratio.
But the real shocker?
Diego. Sione.
Originally, El Cholo had been planning to retire from football after the Argentine Autumn League and disappear for a few years before eventually taking over Atlético Madrid in 2011. That was the script. Everyone knew it.
But Arthur? Arthur doesn't read scripts. He writes them.
Through relentless persistence—and probably so wildly persuasive phone calls involving espresso and existential football philosophy—Arthur managed to convince Sione to skip the retirent plan altogether. Instead of heading for a beach and a pension, Sione was on his way to Leeds. Right now.
Ironically, Arthur had only ever planned to hire one assistant.
"I figured I'd pick between them," he admitted later, "but then both said yes. And I'm not an idiot. When the gods hand you two brilliant minds, you don't choose. You make space."
And just like that, Leeds United's backroom staff went from "promising" to "terrifying." Sione was bringing the fire to the first team, Tuchel was plotting youth domination, and Arthur?
He was smiling. Because behind the critics, the fixture chaos, and the bruising Chelsea loss… his real moves were just beginning.
For most Leeds United fans, the na "Thomas Tuchel" might've sounded like a trendy German pastry or a new IKEA chair. But the other na that flashed across the club's website on January 2nd? Oh, that one they recognized imdiately.
Diego Sione.
Cue the dramatic music. Cue the panic. Cue the angry internet mobs.
Because to the average English football fan, Sione wasn't just a forr player or so hard-nosed tactician from South Arica. No—he was the guy who got Beckham sent off in the 1998 World Cup. The man who smirked while David Beckham lay on the grass, having just gently kicked out in frustration. The man who fell like he'd been tasered, rolled around dramatically, and then got up just in ti to watch the referee flash red.
For England fans, especially those with long mories and even longer grudges, this was blasphemy. Hiring that guy to be an assistant coach at a proud English club? In Yorkshire, of all places?
You'd think Arthur had hired the devil himself.
Not even an hour after the official announcent, Leeds United's website buckled under the traffic. Local fans went into ltdown mode. The comnts section was an all-you-can-eat buffet of rage and disbelief.
One user wrote:
"Arthur's gone mad. Might as well appoint Voldemort as goalkeeping coach next."
Another chid in with:
"Does he even know what Sione did to Beckham? Was he asleep in '98?!"
And then ca the real firestorm—fans from other clubs piled on like it was open season. Arsenal fans. United fans. Even Bournemouth fans, who had absolutely no business being involved. Everyone suddenly had an opinion about Arthur and his unforgivable betrayal of English football's collective mory.
The accusations flew.
"He's not one of us."
"He doesn't get it."
"This is why we don't trust him!"
And of course, the classic:
"Out of our club!"
As reporters sniffed the drama like blood in the water, they rushed to Leeds' training base at Thorp Arch, eager for a soundbite. Others were glued to their desks, refreshing the hopage every five seconds, waiting for the club to issue a statent or at least post a saying, "Just kidding, we hired Nigel instead."
But Arthur?
Arthur didn't even know any of this was happening.
While the nation was in ltdown mode, Arthur was calmly driving to the airport with Lina to pick up Sione.
Yes. Personally.
While journalists foad at the mouth and fans went full dieval in the comnts, Arthur was standing at arrivals with a coffee in one hand and a paper sign that just said "DIEGO" in all caps.
Sione, who had spent his career yelling at players and chewing midfielders for breakfast, didn't know what to do when he saw Arthur beaming at him like an overexcited Uber driver.
"You... ca to get ? Yourself?" Sione asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Of course," Arthur replied with a grin. "You're family now."
Sione blinked. This man had just driven across town, smiled like a golden retriever, and carried his bag without hesitation. For a guy whose coaching philosophy involved blood, sweat, and the occasional tactical elbow, this welco felt like... a hug. Emotionally. An awkward, confusing hug.
Arthur's enthusiasm even threw the iron-hearted Argentine off balance. For the first ti in years, Diego Sione—Mr. El Cholo himself—felt awkward.
And anwhile, back at the training ground?
The fans kept screaming. The dia kept typing. The website kept crashing.
But Arthur?
Arthur was already driving back from the airport, humming a tune, chatting about training plans with Sione, and blissfully unaware that the entire country was burning down around him over a World Cup red card from seven years ago.
Once they got into the car, Arthur and Sione ended up sitting side by side in the back seat—like two teenagers on the world's most awkward first date. Sione looked like he was trying to figure out whether he should sit up straight or slouch, speak or stay silent, breathe or stop breathing entirely.
Arthur, naturally, was as relaxed as ever. Noticing that Sione looked as stiff as a man auditioning for a wax museum, Arthur leaned over casually and broke the silence.
"So, Diego," he said, grinning, "you been to England before?"
Sione blinked. He'd actually been sneaking sideways glances at Arthur for the past few minutes, trying to figure the guy out. In his mind, he still couldn't understand why this young coach from nowhere had plucked him out of Argentina when he was still wrapping up his playing career. Sure, coaching had always been part of his long-term plan—but getting invited to Leeds while still technically in boots? It made no sense.
He stared ahead, deep in thought, completely forgetting that Arthur had asked him sothing.
Arthur blinked back. "...Diego?"
The tone was light, but there was a note of confusion in it now. Arthur tilted his head, like soone trying to figure out if the person next to him had just frozen.
Sione snapped out of it instantly. "Ah! Sorry, boss—yes. I've been to England before. A few away matches back in the day. But I never stayed long. Straight in, straight out. Never stuck around."
Arthur chuckled. "Well, you'll get used to the rain. And the food. Actually, scratch that—don't bother getting used to the food."
Then he nudged Sione with his elbow and added, "And drop the 'boss' and 'Mr. Li' thing. You can call Arthur. Or just 'boss' if you're in a dramatic mood. But none of that 'Mr.' stuff. We're gonna be working side by side every day. Don't make feel like your schoolteacher."
That finally got a chuckle out of Sione. A real one. The kind where his shoulders actually dropped a bit.
The conversation flowed a little easier after that. Arthur did most of the talking—pointing out landmarks, cracking jokes about how British people go into a ltdown when it snows half an inch, and enthusiastically explaining how Thorp Arch had terrible coffee but a very loyal receptionist nad Doris who thought Arthur was "too skinny to be a football manager."
By the ti they were ten minutes from the training ground, Sione had loosened up. His voice was back. His personality, too.
But one question still lingered in his mind.
"Boss," he said suddenly, looking over, "our first call was what—six months ago?"
Arthur nodded. "Sounds about right."
"Well, back then I turned you down. I was still playing. I didn't think it was the right ti."
Arthur didn't interrupt. Just waited.
Sione continued, "There are so many great assistants in Europe. Young, experienced, already working in top clubs. So I've been wondering... why ? Why chase a guy who'd gone back to South Arica?"
Arthur just smiled, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
He didn't answer—at least not yet.
Reviews
All reviews (0)