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***
Arthur had a fantastic sleep.
After toying with old man Bates the night before, he felt like a kid who'd pulled the perfect prank on a grumpy neighbor. The feeling lingered as he got dressed and headed to the club's office the next morning.
He even hummed a tune on the way up to the second floor—something cheerful and off-key that made a few staff members tilt their heads in confusion. Arthur didn't care. He was in a good mood.
But as soon as he reached the top of the stairs, that cheerful mood was interrupted.
Standing outside his office door was his assistant, Allen, looking like he was trying to knock a hole straight through the wood.
"Good morning, Allen," Arthur said, still humming. "You can stop knocking. I'm right here."
Allen spun around with a look of urgency. His hand was still mid-air.
"Boss, it's bad," he blurted out. "West Bromwich Albion just sent an email—an official offer for Howard!"
Arthur's humming stopped, but only because he was holding in laughter.
Bates really meant it.
He'd said he would send the offer today, and he didn't even wait until lunch.
Arthur raised his eyebrows, pretending to be surprised.
"Oh? That fast?" he said, masking the amusement behind a serious tone. "Well, reject it. I've said it many times—Howard is not for sale."
Allen looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon.
"We can't reject it," he said, shaking his head. "They've triggered Howard's release clause."
Arthur blinked. That part he didn't expect so easily to happen.
Allen wasn't done. "And I've already spoken to Howard's agent. His reply was… well, Howard wants to go. He's ready to return to the Premier League."
Now that was great news.
Arthur stayed quiet for a moment, putting on a thoughtful face. But inside, he was doing a little dance.
This was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
He'd been worried about backlash from the fans if they sold Howard now—especially with all the hype around him. But with West Brom activating the clause and Howard himself wanting to leave, Arthur didn't have to lift a finger.
He could just point to the contract and shrug.
"My hands are tied, folks. Blame the clause."
Even better, he could feed a few lines to the press about how they "reluctantly let Howard go to respect his wishes." Some sympathetic headlines, a farewell post on social media, maybe a few photos of Howard hugging teammates. The usual send-off.
The timing couldn't be more perfect, either. That morning, Arthur had checked Howard's system panel and discovered the Buffon experience card had expired.
And when Buffon left, so did Howard's magic.
All his numbers had dropped back to their original values—positioning, reflexes, handling—everything had deflated like a sad party balloon. He was back to being the "butterfingers" keeper from before.
The strong performances were over.
In fact, if Howard stayed, he'd probably start making mistakes again—and then the fans would really turn.
So, this transfer? It was a blessing wrapped in a golden envelope.
Arthur placed a calm hand on Allen's shoulder and smiled. "Don't worry about it. I'll talk to Howard myself."
Allen nodded and stepped aside. Arthur unlocked the door and walked into his office, still grinning.
Inside, Arthur made himself a cup of tea. He picked his favorite mug, the one that said "Best Chairman Ever"—a gift he bought himself from the club shop—and sat down in the big leather chair behind his desk.
The morning sunlight was pouring through the window, and everything felt just right.
At the start of the season, Leeds was a mess. The squad was old, slow, and half the fans thought the club was on the edge of collapse. Then he arrived—just a football fan who somehow found himself running the team—and things started to change.
One smart signing here, a Buffon template there, and now look at them.
Top of the table.
Half-season champions.
And selling a goalkeeper for five times what they paid for him.
Just as Arthur was about to enjoy the thrill of opening his shiny new reward from the system, a knock interrupted him again.
He looked up, slightly annoyed, only to see Kevin Blackwell—the current head coach of Leeds United—walk in, holding an envelope.
Arthur's eyes immediately narrowed. Something about the scene triggered a memory. Specifically, Bates' voice from the phone call last night.
"I'll take Howard… and maybe someone else you know too."
Arthur slowly minimized the system panel and sat back in his chair.
Blackwell walked up to the desk, dropped the envelope in front of him, and said, "Arthur, this is my resignation letter."
Arthur didn't even blink.
Bingo. Nailed it.
So old man Bates wasn't just after Howard. He was also coming for the head coach.
Arthur stared at the envelope, then looked up at Blackwell. His expression was cold, but he kept his voice level. "Kevin, can I ask why?"
Blackwell seemed ready for that question. "Because of money," he answered without hesitation. "West Bromwich Albion made me an offer I can't refuse."
Arthur said nothing, so Blackwell continued. "Their owner, Bates, called me last night. He told me he'd make an offer for Howard today. He said, whether I joined or not, he'd be taking Howard to the Hawthorns this winter window."
Arthur still didn't speak. He was studying Blackwell's face, waiting.
Blackwell sighed, then added, "You know as well as I do, the reason we made it to the top of the table is because of Howard's performances. If we lose him in the second half of the season—"
"I agree," Arthur said suddenly, cutting him off.
Blackwell blinked. "Wait, what?"
Arthur stood up, smiling faintly, and made a polite gesture toward the door. "Good luck, Kevin. You can leave now."
There was no shouting. No arguments. No desperate pleading.
Blackwell looked almost disappointed. He gave a small nod, turned around, and left the office quietly, envelope still sitting on the desk.
Arthur picked up his tea, took a slow sip, and leaned back in his chair.
So that's your move, Bates? You think pulling Howard and Blackwell out of Leeds will make me crumble?
He scoffed. Not today.
His mind immediately jumped to names. Young managers who hadn't yet landed jobs with big clubs. Guys like José Mourinho or Jürgen Klopp. Even someone like López. All of them were still coaching smaller teams in 2004. All still gettable.
But before he got too carried away playing fantasy football manager in his head, Arthur shook it off.
He opened the system panel again and stared at the golden treasure chest.
"The world is big," he muttered, "but the biggest thing right now is opening this box."
He clicked it.
[Congratulations! You've received the skill: Master Coach!]
Arthur sat up straight. That was quite interesting.
A sudden rush of information poured into his head. Training methods, tactical setups, press strategies, injury recovery schedules—even how to manage youth development.
It was like getting a university degree in football management in three seconds.
Arthur put his tea down and blinked.
Well, I guess that solves the coaching problem.
No need to hunt down Mourinho now. He had everything he needed in his own head. He was now, quite literally, qualified to coach the team himself.
Even better, he wouldn't have to pay a new coach's salary.
Leeds was still in deep debt, and although the incoming €15 million from Bates would help, Arthur wasn't planning on spending it all to patch holes. Some would go toward keeping the club running. The rest would help bring in the right players to strengthen the team for the second half of the season.
And now that he was both chairman and manager, that money could stretch a lot further.
After all, his plan was still the same: once the season ended, the "black shop" would open again, and Leeds United's debt would be wiped clean.
Simple.
The next morning, Arthur woke up to chaos.
Every major football news outlet in England was blasting headlines about Leeds United.
"Confirmed! West Bromwich Albion signs Howard for €20 million!"
"Blackwell and Howard to reunite at the Hawthorns!"
"Howard returns to the Premier League!"
"Arthur: 'We wish Timothy and Kevin good luck.'"
"Leeds United in crisis? Fans demand answers after duo departure!"
Arthur sat at his desk, scrolling through the headlines, casually sipping his tea.
"This Bates," he thought, "he really couldn't wait, huh?"
Arthur had told the club staff to respond to West Brom's offer the previous night. The message was simple: if they could meet the €15 million buyout clause, they were free to take Howard. No fuss, no delays.
It didn't take long. Bates wasted no time confirming the deal. Then, probably while laughing to himself, he leaked the whole story to the media—Howard's transfer, Blackwell's appointment, the full package.
Clearly, Bates wanted to paint a picture. A picture where Leeds was falling apart and he was the master planner behind it.
Arthur wasn't bothered.He didn't even flinch.
Let them talk. Let the media run wild. Let the fans speculate.
Speaking of fans, Leeds United's website had nearly crashed from the flood of comments. Thousands of supporters demanded an official statement.
They were shocked.
To them, Howard was the symbol of their first-half success, the brick wall at the back who had saved them time and again. And Blackwell? Sure, some of his tactics were questionable, but he was still the man at the wheel during their climb up the table.
Now both were gone in a flash.
Naturally, they wanted to know why.
But Arthur knew something the fans didn't.
Howard was only ever this good because of the Buffon template.
Now that it had expired, the old Howard was back—the inconsistent one. The "butter hands" version. And his old friend Bates was about to find that out in the worst way possible.
And Blackwell?
Let's be honest—most of the tactical ideas that worked in the first half of the season had come from Arthur feeding them quietly behind the scenes, courtesy of the system.
Now, Arthur had full control—on the pitch and off it.
The media could say what they wanted.
The fans could panic.
But in Arthur's mind, this wasn't a crisis.
It was a clean slate.
And with the Master Coach skill in hand, it was time to build Leeds United his way.
No distractions. No compromises.
Just results.