With the curtain finally dropping on the spectacular press conference announcing Kaka's arrival at Leeds United, Arthur's grand summer plan had reached its perfect climax.
Three marquee signings, a storm of headlines, and a press room left scrambling to rewrite their skepticism into awe—everything had gone exactly as he wanted.
But if England had been stunned, the next day showed that it wasn't just the island reeling.
Europe itself seemed to wake up, rub its eyes, and spit out its morning coffee.
Italian Football News splashed its front page with dramatic headlines:
"Yesterday, at Leeds United's press conference, a news story emerged that has shocked the whole continent—Leeds have officially announced the capture of Kaka, the man who was the driving force behind AC Milan's Champions League triumph last season. The price: fifty million euros!
At press time, this reporter has repeatedly attempted to contact AC Milan's official channels for confirmation, but none have responded."
Fans in Italy nearly choked on their espressos. Kaka, their beloved golden boy, ripped away to England.
In London, The Guardian struck with its own dramatic tone:
"The wolf is coming! The biggest signing of the Premier League so far has been confirmed. Following their deals for Spanish goalkeeper David de Gea and Brazilian striker Adriano, Leeds United unveiled Brazilian playmaker Kaka yesterday.
Leeds manager Arthur confirmed the fee as fifty million euros. Based on available reports, Kaka is almost certainly the top signing of this summer window."
Over in Spain, Marca took the news in a completely different direction. Their article was less about Leeds and more about chaos inside Real Madrid:
"According to sources close to the Santiago Bernabéu, former Real Madrid president Florentino Pérez erupted with fury upon learning that Kaka had been snatched by Leeds United.
Pérez is said to have berated Calderón for failing to act in the transfer market. Reports suggest that Florentino now wishes to unite with certain board members to formally investigate the club's current president."
And of course, the English tabloids had their own spin. The Mirror led with a big pull-quote:
"'The only prospect for the new season is the championship!' Those were Arthur's words yesterday, once again showcasing his trademark confidence.
After the disappointment of last season's Champions League exit, it seems Leeds United have gone all-in this summer.
With massive investment already, fans should also keep a close eye not only on the three major signings, but also on young talents like James Rodríguez and Toni Kroos. Both could prove pivotal in the new campaign."
By mid-morning, Europe was talking of little else. Pundits raged, fans debated, journalists churned out fresh think-pieces. Was Arthur insane? Was he a genius? Was he both at once?
Arthur, however, was blissfully unaware.
He was lying in bed at home in England, one arm wrapped comfortably around Shakira.
The press conference had drained him, and while Europe buzzed, he was snoozing happily, breathing in the faint scent of her hair.
Unfortunately, peace doesn't last long when Florentino Pérez is involved.
Back in Madrid, the old man had gone to bed fuming. His blood pressure had shot up so violently after hearing the Kaka news that his family doctor had insisted he rest immediately.
It was either that or risk a dramatic faint in his living room. He had grudgingly agreed, but sleep had done little to cool his temper.
By morning, Florentino was still burning. He called Galliani first, dragging the Milan man out of bed to demand answers about how Leeds had managed to pull this off. After listening to the explanation—and nearly breaking the receiver with his grip—he slammed the phone down and dialed Arthur directly.
In England, Arthur's phone began to buzz angrily on the bedside table. He groaned, cracked one eye open, and groped blindly for it. Still half-asleep, he thought it was Alan calling him with some minor update. Without checking the screen, he pressed it to his ear.
"Mm… Alan, it's too early for this," he muttered groggily.
Instead of Alan's voice, a furious roar blasted into his ear:
"Arthur! You are so unkind!"
Arthur blinked, eyes snapping open. He froze for a second, then squinted at the phone screen. Florentino Pérez. Oh, this was going to be fun.
"Ah," Arthur said slowly, switching instantly into wide-eyed innocence mode. "Florentino. Good morning. And what exactly have I done now?"
"What have you done?!" Florentino thundered down the line, his voice so loud Shakira stirred beside Arthur and frowned. "You knew I wanted Kaka last year! You knew how badly I wanted him!
And now, without a word, you've stolen him away to Leeds United!"
Arthur rubbed his eyes, suppressing a laugh. "Stolen? That's a strong word, my friend. Let's not be dramatic."
"Don't play games with me!" Florentino barked. "You knew! You knew, Arthur!"
Arthur rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling as if it might provide inspiration. Then he sighed dramatically.
"Honestly, Florentino, you're accusing me wrongly here. I knew you liked Kaka very much, sure. But I had no idea you actually wanted to buy him."
He delivered the line with the perfect mix of innocence and cheek, the kind of tone that only infuriated his rivals more.
On the other end, Florentino nearly choked with rage.
Florentino was in no mood to let Arthur off the hook.
"Why didn't you tell me you bought him?!"
Florentino thundered down the line. "Aren't we supposed to be friends? I only learned about it from my subordinates! And the most outrageous part," his voice cracked with indignation, "is that you already had an agreement with Galliani at the beginning of the winter transfer window!
You didn't even breathe a word when we sat together watching the Champions League final in Greece!"
Arthur nearly dropped the phone on his own head. He hadn't expected the old man to do his homework before calling. Clearly, Florentino had rung Galliani for details before launching this attack.
For a moment Arthur lay frozen, still half tangled in the bedsheets, Shakira asleep at his side. His brain scrambled to find a lifeline. Then, like any man with a guilty conscience and a quick tongue, he decided to change the subject..
"Uh… Florentino, speaking of Greece," Arthur said smoothly, trying to sound casual, "you suddenly reminded me of something. Did you ever check up on what I told you last time? Any clues?"
There was a pause. Florentino, already puffed up with righteous fury, stumbled for a second. "A little bit, yes. And I have to thank you for..." He cut himself off mid-sentence, suddenly realizing he was drifting. His voice snapped back like a whip. "Wait! Thank you nothing! Don't you dare change the subject!"
Arthur closed his eyes. Damn it, the old man's sharper than I thought.
If Florentino wouldn't fall for distraction, then it was time to lean into the legendary Arthur-style deception.
"Come on, Florentino," Arthur said, putting on his most convincing voice of injured innocence. "I'm not changing the subject. I'm just saying—you care so much about Kaka, but think carefully. The current president of Real Madrid is Calderón.
Even if I didn't swoop in for him, are you so sure you could have convinced Calderón to buy him?"
That landed. On the other end of the line, silence stretched. The only sound was the faint hum of static.
Arthur grinned to himself. Silence meant doubt. And doubt meant he had a chance.
Florentino was indeed chewing over the question.
Arthur's words had reminded him painfully, that he was no longer in charge at Real Madrid. Calderón was in the big chair, and Calderón was… well, Calderón. Convincing that man to buy Kaka would have been like convincing a goat to do calculus.
"Am I right?" Arthur pressed on, sensing the hesitation. "Think about it. You already have those clues we talked about last time. If you keep digging, you might even drive Calderón out earlier than expected.
Worst case, hold onto that evidence and drop it during the next election. Then you're back in charge of Madrid where you belong."
"Indeed…" Florentino muttered, almost to himself. The gears were clearly turning. "That is true." His tone lifted briefly, only for the anger to come flooding back.
"But hang on, what does that have to do with you stabbing me in the back and buying Kaka? You intercepted me!"
Arthur sat up, rubbed his face, and then put every ounce of fake sincerity into his reply.
"It has everything to do with it!" he said, raising his voice dramatically, as though he were arguing in parliament.
"Think about it. With Kaka's performances right now, if you wait one or two years before trying to sign him, how much will you have to pay? Twice as much? Three times? And knowing Galliani, he'd bleed you dry. He wouldn't just ask for money—he'd sell you the moon and stars while he's at it."
Florentino frowned at that. How much money? For Real Madrid, money wasn't exactly scarce. The club could drop millions like spare change. But Arthur's last point… that stung. Galliani was a snake, and Berlusconi's wallet wasn't as fat as it used to be. The Milan director had to squeeze every last euro out of his players.
And if Kaka stayed in Milan another year, lit up Serie A and the Champions League again, Galliani would name a price so absurd Florentino's accountants would faint just reading the numbers.
"Exactly!" Arthur pushed harder, sensing the weakness. "You know Galliani. He'd make you pay through the nose and probably your left kidney as well. But me?" Arthur's voice softened, dripping with manufactured loyalty.
"I'm different. We're friends. I'd never rob you blind. You know my track record—every young player I've touched has developed brilliantly. Kaka will be even better under me.
When the time comes and you're back in charge at Madrid, you can buy him from me. And my asking price? I promise you, it'll never be as outrageous as Galliani's."
There was a pause. A long one. Then Florentino's voice, suspicious but wavering:
"…Really?"
Arthur gave a theatrical sigh, loud enough for the phone mic to catch. "Oh, Florentino, you still don't trust me? Look at the talent I've nurtured at Leeds. Every single one of them has grown stronger. Kaka will be no different—he'll reach his absolute peak with me. And when that day comes, who else would I sell him to but you?"
Florentino stayed quiet, but Arthur could hear the man thinking.
So Arthur went in for the kill.
"I spent fifty million euros to bring him here," Arthur said firmly. "One or two years later, when he's at his peak, let's say I double it. Is that too much to ask?"
On the other end of the line, there was a strangled noise. Then Florentino cursed Arthur totally unlike his usual manner.
Florentino: "Fuck you Arthur! You Trying to rip me off you greedy Brit!"