"End of December?" Arthur stammered, the shock of the news momentarily wiping the hunger from his mind. His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. "What do you mean, end of December? Jose, shouldn't you take over the Meazza next summer? What is going on? Is Moratti so incredibly anxious to get Mancini out of the building?"
Arthur lowered his voice, leaning into the receiver as if sharing a secret. "I mean, I know you're the better manager, but mid-season? That's... brutal."
In fact, Arthur was spectacularly misunderstanding Mr. Moratti's true, almost ludicrous, motivation. Moratti's haste had virtually nothing to do with saving Inter Milan's season and everything to do with a single, highly dim-witted young striker and the sanctity of friendship.
Arthur, in a completely forgotten conversation months ago, had playfully offered a respectable €8 million for Inter's talented but temperamental young star, Mario Balotelli.
Moratti, ever the businessman and the romantic, had immediately agreed. €8 million was a fantastic return for a player who was equal parts genius and headache, and Moratti was eager to solidify his relationship with the exciting young manager of Leeds United.
However, once Roberto Mancini (the incumbent manager) heard about the impending transfer, he had launched an exhaustive, sustained campaign to "brainwash" Balotelli, insisting the boy was vital to Inter's future and must under no circumstances accept Arthur's kind invitation to move to England.
And Balotelli, bless his completely empty, football-filled head, was an absolute sponge. Whatever Mancini said, he took as gospel.
Later, when the club officially notified Balotelli that Leeds United was indeed serious and planning to officially submit the transfer papers in the winter window, the silly boy had simply stood in the office, shaking his head and declaring with stubborn conviction that he was unwilling to go to England under any circumstances.
Moratti was beside himself. He wasn't shaking his head because of the player's obstinance; he was shaking his head because he had a debt of honour to pay!
Arthur had just solved his urgent, high-profile managerial problem by getting Mourinho—the best manager in the world, in Moratti's estimation—onto his radar.
If Moratti couldn't even deliver a single, head-case striker to his friend, he felt he would be severely disappointing him. The fact that Balotelli's refusal was based entirely on Mancini's relentless "brainwashing" was the unforgivable sin. Moratti, a man who valued deep, passionate friendship above all else, felt personally ashamed. He had to deliver for Arthur.
Thus, the moment Moratti learned the electrifying news that Mourinho had been "left without a contract" by Chelsea, he immediately sent an urgent, cryptic message to Mendes. Early this morning, the agent had rushed to Mourinho's residence, and the three men had reached a basic, enthusiastic understanding over the phone. Originally, Mourinho, deeply tired and professionally wounded, had planned to take a six-month sabbatical, enjoying Christmas and starting fresh in Italy next summer.
But Moratti wouldn't hear it. He disagreed with the break entirely and declared directly over the phone that he would personally work out the latest termination agreement with Mancini that very afternoon. Even if it meant paying a substantial, budget-crippling liquidated damages fee, he wanted Mourinho in charge directly this winter, ready for the crucial Champions League knockout rounds. These words, and the intense focus and belief Moratti showed in his managerial genius, moved Mourinho so deeply that he almost wept. He felt validated, valued, and immediately ready to conquer Europe again.
What Mourinho never, ever suspected was the profoundly ridiculous truth. Moratti was doing this for him, yes, but only as a secondary concern. The primary, overriding motivation was to get rid of Mancini, the manager who was sabotaging the sale of Balotelli every single day, as soon as possible, thereby ensuring he wouldn't disappoint his "good brother" Arthur's expectations for the winter transfer window. The future of Inter Milan was being dictated not by trophies, but by a president's pathological need to deliver a stubborn teenager to his friend.
Neither Arthur nor Mourinho had any clue about this glorious, friendship-fueled conspiracy.
Arthur, shaking his head and sighing internally, decided he was far too mentally exhausted and physically hungry to unpack this latest historical anomaly. His existence had clearly fractured reality into a thousand pieces; if he thought about it any harder, his head would probably explode in a shower of tactical notes and paradoxes. He decided to just go with the flow of the conversation, accepting the December start date as the new reality. "Well, Jose, congratulations again! That's incredibly exciting. When you head to Inter Milan, perhaps we will meet again in the Champions League knockouts after the new year!"
"Thank you, Arthur," Mourinho replied, a surprising note of genuine humility in his voice. "I have played against you so many times in the Premier League now. I have to say, I have learned a significant amount from you."
"Hahahaha, you are far too polite, Jose! You flatter me!" Arthur said, laughing dryly, then quickly glancing at his watch and rubbing his rumbling stomach. "Look, if there's nothing else, I haven't had lunch, and my assistant is starting to look nervously at the club cafeteria menu…"
"Uh…" Mourinho quickly stopped him, hearing the tell-tale sign that Arthur was about to end the call. "Arthur! Actually, I do have one more thing."
Something else? Arthur frowned. He was genuinely, painfully hungry, the kind of hunger that makes complex tactical diagrams look like sandwiches. But it was so rare to catch Mourinho in such a polite, almost supplicating mood that he couldn't refuse. He sighed softly. "Fine, Jose. You have a few more minutes. What is it?"
Mourinho took a moment, the shift from personal pleasantries back to professional strategy evident in the clearing of his throat and the organizing of his thoughts. "It's like this," he began, his voice taking on the familiar, strategic rhythm Arthur knew so well. "When I communicated with Mr. Moratti just now, we also talked about my initial thoughts on Inter Milan's lineup, and naturally, that quickly led to a discussion about winter signings. I called you, in addition to thanking you for your recommendation, because I also need to ask you directly: Wesley Sneijder… are you selling him?"
Buying people! Arthur's eyes widened, and a grin split his face. The transfer market! The delicious, high-stakes game of player acquisition!
The rumbling in his stomach instantly went silent, replaced by the rush of pure business adrenaline. If you want to talk about this, I'm not hungry anymore!
*****
"Sneijder?" Arthur's eyes lit up instantly. The topic of conversation had finally shifted from awkward personal drama to the glorious, high-stakes maneuvering of the transfer market. Mourinho hadn't even taken his seat at the Inter Milanmanagerial desk yet, and he was already trying to poach the core of Leeds United's attack.
This confirmed everything Arthur suspected about the deep, almost spiritual connection between the two men. The "Special One" had coached at least one or two hundred players over two decades and across seven or eight major clubs, but if you asked who he trusted and valued the most, Wesley Sneijder's name was surely at the top of the list.
In Arthur's historical memory, Sneijder was miserable and marginalized at Real Madrid before joining Inter Milan. The chaotic signings under the Calderón administration, constant conflicts with coaches, and being pushed out of the tactical system meant the Dutchman, who dreamed of proving himself at the Bernabéu, was unceremoniously kicked to the curb by Florentino Pérez. But the moment he arrived in Milan, Mourinho had immediately embraced him, establishing him early and firmly as the tactical centerpiece of the team. Under Mourinho's guidance, Sneijder blossomed into one of the best attacking midfielders in the world. As the absolute core, he led Inter Milan to a historic treble in the 2009–2010 season—winning the Serie A title, the Champions League, and the Italian Cup—making Inter the first Italian club ever to achieve the feat.
It was no exaggeration to say that Mourinho had given Sneijder a second, brilliant life in football.
Sneijder never forgot that debt of gratitude. At the FIFA awards ceremony at the end of 2010, the Dutchman famously declared in front of the world's media: "For me, Mourinho is the best in the world! I want to say this here, in front of the whole world!" Mourinho, then coaching Real Madrid, was visibly moved to tears by the heartfelt declaration.
However, in this current, altered timeline, Arthur's intervention had completely reshaped Sneijder's destiny. It was Arthur who had plucked the disillusioned midfielder out of the Real Madrid quagmire and given him a home, a tactical system to dominate, and the space to express his genius at Leeds United. Given Sneijder's loyal and emotional character, the person he now likely felt the deepest professional gratitude towards was Arthur, not Mourinho.
The plot thickens, Arthur thought, tapping his pen against his desk. He knew that even if Mourinho and Moratti threw a mountain of cash at the problem and he agreed to sell, the ultimate decision rested with the player. Whether Sneijderhimself would be willing to abandon his current project and the manager who saved his career—twice—was a massive unknown.
Pushing that juicy bit of internal drama aside, Arthur decided to engage Mourinho on the business side of things first. "Jose, is this a sudden idea you've come up with, or did you actually communicate with Massimo about this before calling me?"
"I have already discussed it with Mr. Moratti, and he instructed me to ask your opinion first," Mourinho said truthfully, perhaps sensing that lying would be fruitless.
"Ah, that old fox," Arthur chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a wicked, conspiratorial smile that Mourinho couldn't see. "Why, Jose? Is he afraid that I will ask for too much money?"
You also know you like to ask for too much! Mourinho thought bitterly. Even though Chelsea had never completed a major deal with Arthur, the manager's reputation for running the "European Black Shop" at Leeds United—selling players at exorbitant, seemingly impossible prices—was legendary throughout the continent.
"Ahem," Mourinho coughed lightly, trying to save face for his new boss. "I really don't know the specific reason, Arthur. After I proposed this recruitment suggestion to Mr. Moratti, he simply thought that since you and I are already familiar with each other, it would be logical for me to open the conversation first. I figured since I was calling you anyway to deliver my thanks, I might as well agree to the task."
Arthur simply smiled and shook his head, having made his point. He wasn't going to press the issue. He changed the subject back to the business at hand, adopting a firm, professional tone that conveyed his seriousness.
"In principle, Jose, I don't refuse any business," Arthur stated clearly. "As long as your offer is sincere and reflects the player's incredible value and importance to my project, I will certainly consider it." He paused, then delivered the final, non-negotiable term, forcing Mourinho to remember his original tactical debt to the player. "But you can discuss the financials with Massimo. I know Sneijder's character! To be perfectly honest, if you want him to agree to join Inter Milan, you and Massimo will probably have to work just as hard—if not harder—than I did when I first introduced Adriano to the club! You're going to have to convince him he should leave Leeds United."
"Sneijder… are you selling him?" was the question that hung in the air, a massive, delicious carrot dangling in front of the hungry manager.
Fuck!
Buying people!
The thought exploded in Arthur's mind. If the conversation was about transfer targets and massive business deals, then lunch could definitely wait!