"Hahaha, Mino, I'm afraid I don't quite understand," Arthur said with an exaggerated tone of confusion. "What's this Mr. Moggi up to, then?"
He leaned back in his chair, sipping his tea slowly and trying not to smile.
The scandal had only just begun to surface in Italy. Even though Raiola now viewed him as a man with eyes and ears everywhere, Arthur knew it was still far too early for most people outside Italy to fully grasp the significance. The reports had only appeared in today's newspapers. There was no way anyone outside the Italian media circle could have confirmed the details so quickly — unless they had very deep sources or, in Arthur's case, the unfortunate benefit of hindsight.
Raiola was no fool. As soon as he heard Arthur's half-hearted attempt to play dumb, he understood.
Arthur clearly knew.
He might not admit it, and that was fine — in fact, it was probably intentional. Arthur didn't want to be publicly associated with something this explosive. The smart thing, Raiola realized, was to go along with the act.
So he played his part. Without questioning further, Raiola began summarizing the headline news from Gazzetta dello Sport, word for word.
"Moggi's been on the phone for years," Raiola said, voice sharp with disbelief. "They've got recordings. Real ones. He was calling referee officials directly — telling them which ones he wanted assigned to Juventus matches. Can you believe that? Six bloody years of this."
Arthur listened quietly, not interrupting. He kept one hand on the edge of his desk, fingers tapping lightly as he digested every detail. None of it surprised him — this had all played out in his previous life — but hearing it again, especially from someone as connected as Raiola, made it feel more real.
And far more useful.
When Raiola finished, Arthur let out a long breath.
Everything was falling into place, just as he remembered.
The thunderbolt had finally landed — Moggi had been exposed. And not just him. Juventus, and all of Serie A, were about to plunge into chaos. The next few months would be a disaster for Italian football. Point deductions, trials, appeals, relegations — all of it was coming.
And for Arthur, this was the moment to strike.
He lowered his voice slightly. "Mino, if what you said turns out to be true, then I don't think Juventus will be allowed to play in Europe next season."
The line went quiet for a beat. Then Raiola's voice picked up again — brighter, sharper, more focused.
"Yes," he said slowly, the idea hitting him like a flash of lightning.
If the allegations were confirmed — and the call logs certainly seemed convincing — then the punishment would have to be severe. There was no way Juventus could escape unscathed. At the very least, they'd lose the title. At worst, they could be relegated or banned from European competition entirely.
For Raiola, this changed everything.
He had been thinking about ways to convince Ibrahimović to join Leeds United — but there was one glaring problem: Champions League football. If Leeds didn't qualify, it would be a hard sell.
But now, with Juventus likely heading into a tailspin, the biggest obstacle had just been removed. Ibrahimović's current club could be banned from Europe. Suddenly, Leeds didn't look so bad.
"You're right, Arthur," Raiola said, a grin practically audible through the phone. "You've reminded me of something very important. I won't say anything more for now, but if all goes well… I should have good news for you within two days! Hahaha!"
He was clearly excited now, already working the angles in his mind. Without another word, Raiola moved to end the call.
"Wait!" Arthur cut in.
He already knew what "good news" Raiola meant — there was only one possibility: Ibrahimović. But Arthur had more than one name on his wish list.
He wasn't about to let the opportunity slip by.
"Mino," he said calmly, "there's one more thing. Aside from Zlatan, I want you to help me get in touch with Fabio's agent as well."
There was a pause on the line. Raiola didn't respond immediately, likely surprised by the request.
"I'm serious," Arthur added. "I want to bring Fabio to Leeds United too."
The plan was already forming in his head. With Juventus falling apart, the timing couldn't be better. Players would be looking for exits, agents would be panicking, and clubs across Europe would start circling like vultures.
Arthur intended to be first in line.
Arthur had actually been eyeing Fabio Cannavaro for quite some time.
After Giorgio Chiellini's departure, the back line at Leeds United just didn't look as sharp. Piqué and Thiago Silva were both promising, but their form had been patchy — too raw, too hesitant under pressure. Arthur wasn't impressed.
What Leeds needed wasn't more youth. They needed stability. Experience. Leadership.
To Arthur, Cannavaro fit the bill perfectly.
Sure, he was 33 years old — no spring chicken — but his current form told a different story. In fact, in just two months' time, the Italian national team would go on to win the World Cup with Cannavaro wearing the captain's armband. That alone spoke volumes.
Arthur had no doubt: this was the man to bring order and confidence to his back line. And with Juventus teetering on the edge of scandal, there was a narrow window of opportunity. He had to act before Real Madrid swooped in — just like they did in his past life.
This time, Arthur was going to beat them to it.
He'd already asked Mino Raiola to reach out to Cannavaro's agent. There was no need to waste time — Mino had the connections, and it was just a matter of making a call. Cannavaro's agent, Federer, was someone Raiola knew well, so the request didn't even raise an eyebrow. As soon as Arthur mentioned it, Raiola agreed immediately, and hung up to head over to Ibrahimović's apartment.
Arthur didn't expect things to move so quickly — but Raiola worked fast.
That same afternoon, his phone buzzed. It was Raiola calling back, sounding upbeat and matter-of-fact.
"Ibrahimović's in," Raiola announced. "He's agreed to everything you offered. Salary, bonuses, role in the team — all of it. He's on board."
Arthur sat up straighter in his chair, eyebrows raised. "That fast?"
"He'll finish the last round of Serie A next week, then formally request the transfer from Juventus. After that, it's up to you and the club to get the deal done. You've got him — now you just need to close it."
Arthur grinned.
This was happening.
And there was more good news. Raiola had already gotten in touch with Federer. The Cannavaro conversation had begun.
"Federer says he'll speak with Fabio directly," Raiola added. "Shouldn't be a problem. Just depends on what the player wants."
Arthur nodded to himself. That part was always the gamble — but he was confident. Cannavaro, at this stage in his career, wouldn't want to sink with Juventus. And Leeds could offer him something Juventus couldn't: a stable project, a guaranteed starting spot, and a chance to lead one of the most exciting squads in Europe.
When the call ended, Arthur got straight to work.
He buzzed Lina, his ever-efficient assistant, and gave her clear instructions.
"Draft up a €20 million offer for Juventus," he said. "Get it sent out by this evening."
Lina blinked. "For Ibrahimović?"
"Yes. Twenty million, clean. Let's not waste time."
He remembered that, in his previous life, Inter Milan had signed Ibrahimović for around €24 million. But that was without any leverage.
Now, with Zlatan already agreeing to personal terms and set to push for the move himself, Arthur had room to negotiate. Juventus were in crisis. They wouldn't want to risk a drawn-out transfer saga.
More importantly, Zlatan putting pressure on the club from the inside changed everything.
He wasn't just a target anymore. He was a weapon.
And Arthur knew how to use him.
The €20 million offer wasn't a lowball — it was a smart move. Fair enough to open negotiations, but calculated enough to leave breathing room. After all, this wasn't fantasy football — every euro counted. Leeds wasn't a bottomless pit of cash, and Arthur wasn't about to overspend just for the sake of appearances.
He leaned back as he watched Lina walk out of the room with the offer letter in hand. The plan was in motion.
Zlatan was coming. Cannavaro was next.
And Juventus? They were collapsing from within — just as Arthur had expected.
He didn't need to manipulate anything. He simply needed to be in the right place, with the right plan, and move faster than anyone else.
This wasn't just a transfer window.
This was chess.
And Arthur was already thinking five moves ahead.
****
Two days later, Arthur led Leeds United into London for one of the biggest nights of their season. They stepped out onto Highbury Stadium for the second time this year — and this time, everything was on the line.
There was no need to explain the stakes. Anyone watching knew it. A single point tonight would guarantee Leeds United a Champions League spot. A loss, and they'd be nervously checking results elsewhere. So naturally, both Arthur and Arsène Wenger treated the match with the seriousness it deserved. No experiments. No rotation. No holding back. It was full-strength versus full-strength.
Arthur didn't tinker with the system. He stuck with the tried and tested 4-2-3-1 formation that had served Leeds well all season. The same defensive line that had brought them this far remained untouched — stability at the back was non-negotiable. But in midfield, Arthur made one key adjustment.
To keep things tight against Arsenal's slick passing and constant movement, he deployed Javier Mascherano alongside Javi García as a double pivot. Two defensive-minded midfielders to provide steel, screen the defense, and slow down Arsenal's transitions. Arthur didn't want a shootout tonight. He wanted control.
That's where Rivaldo came in.
Even at his age, the Brazilian veteran was still the most composed man on the pitch. Arthur handed him the responsibility of dictating the team's tempo — not from the edge of the final third, but from a deeper role. "Don't hover too close to their box," Arthur had told him. "Drop into midfield. Pull the strings. Keep the ball. Let Bale and Ribéry do the running."
And that's exactly what the two wide men were there to do — provide speed, width, and unpredictability. With Gareth Bale on the left and Franck Ribéry on the right, Leeds had two explosive outlets ready to stretch Arsenal's defense at any moment.
Up front, it had to be Radamel Falcao. The Colombian had been on fire all season. Twenty-one league goals. The same number as Ruud van Nistelrooy. But with the Dutch striker ruled out through injury, this was Falcao's chance to finish second in the scoring charts and grab the Premier League Silver Boot. All he needed was a goal tonight.
But across the pitch, standing tall under the floodlights of Highbury, was Thierry Henry.
Arsenal's captain. Highbury's king. And the man at the top of the Premier League scoring chart with 25 goals to his name.
Golden Boot? All but secured.
Still, Arthur wasn't planning to let Henry have a farewell party at Leeds' expense.
On the Arsenal bench, Wenger also went with his strongest available eleven — the same lineup that had won their last match. But he made one tactical switch: Robert Pires and Alexander Hleb swapped roles. Hleb started on the right flank, where he could take on Leeds' left side one-on-one, while Pires played more centrally — not quite a striker, not quite a midfielder — floating in the space behind Henry like a ghost.
It was clever. Arthur knew it would test his defensive midfield pairing.
At exactly 8:00 PM, the final matchday of the 2005–06 Premier League season kicked off. Ten games, twenty teams, and one common goal: survive or qualify. The title race might have already been decided, but the battles for Europe and against relegation were still raging.
The crowd inside Highbury was electric — this was more than just a match. It was a farewell. Arsenal were saying goodbye to their historic old ground before moving to the Emirates next season. Every seat was filled, every chant louder than the last.
And in the middle of all of it, Leeds United — the surprise package of the season — stood ready to spoil the party.
Arthur remained calm on the touchline, arms folded as the whistle blew. All the prep was done. Now it was down to the players.
The first few minutes were cagey, with both sides feeling each other out. Arsenal tried to push high up the pitch early, with Fabregas and Gilberto Silva looking to force turnovers and set quick attacks in motion. But Mascherano was alert, intercepting passes, breaking up play, and keeping Rivaldo supplied with clean ball.
Leeds didn't go gung-ho. Arthur had told his side to absorb pressure in the early stages and wait for openings on the counter — especially through Bale's bursts on the left wing. And within ten minutes, that nearly paid off.
Rivaldo pinged a clever ball between the lines, Ribéry flicked it first-time to Bale, who surged past Eboué and whipped in a dangerous cross — but Falcao's header went just over the bar. A sharp move. Arthur applauded quietly from the sidelines. It was working.
Meanwhile, Henry dropped deep and started pulling defenders out of shape. Every time he touched the ball, Highbury buzzed with anticipation. But Silva and Piqué stood their ground, communicating well, staying compact.
As the match wore on, tension crept in. A single mistake could change everything.
Arthur, however, wasn't panicking. He'd done his part. The team knew their roles. Now it was about execution.
The battle for the top four was well and truly underway.
Before kickoff, Arthur stood calmly on the edge of the technical area, arms folded, eyes scanning the pitch. Highbury was buzzing, the crowd in full voice, but Arthur looked quietly confident. He had no intention of leaving here empty-handed. A point will do, he told himself. At worst, we'll get that.
But as the first half unfolded, it became painfully clear that things weren't going to be that straightforward. Arsenal were sharp—sharper than he'd expected. They were moving the ball with pace and precision, and Leeds United looked just half a step behind.
And then came the breakthrough.
In the 21st minute, Cesc Fàbregas picked up the ball near the halfway line and started weaving forward with that calm authority only he seemed to possess at 19. He spotted the run early—Pires ghosting in behind Kompany. Arthur yelled from the sideline, "Track the runner!" But it was too late.
Fàbregas delivered a brilliant through ball that cut right through the Leeds midfield and defense. Pires, perfectly timed, beat the offside trap by a hair and found himself one-on-one with Casillas. No panic, no rush. Just a cool, low finish into the bottom corner. Highbury erupted.
Arthur clenched his jaw. One-nil down.
But before Arsenal fans could even finish their celebrations, Leeds struck back.
Just two minutes later, Ribéry surged down the right and drew a foul just outside the box. The referee waved play on as the ball rolled loose toward Falcao. The Colombian didn't hesitate. With defenders still resetting, he let fly from 25 yards out. The shot flew low and hard, skipping off the turf and past Lehmann's outstretched gloves into the bottom corner.
One-one. Game on.
Arthur pumped his fist. "Let's go, boys! More of that!"
The momentum seemed to shift after that. Leeds began to push forward with greater purpose, led by Rivaldo pulling the strings in midfield. In the 32nd minute, they won a corner after Bale's cross was blocked by Toure.
Rivaldo jogged over to take it. He raised his hand, then whipped in a perfectly-placed ball toward the near post. Thiago Silva leapt highest, towering over Sol Campbell, and thumped a powerful header toward goal. Lehmann dived, but the ball was past him before he could react.
Arthur turned toward his bench with a wide grin. "Yes! That's what we needed!"
Leeds were up 2–1. It felt like the game had shifted in their favor — but only for a moment.
Because just two minutes later, Arsenal answered again. This time it was classic Thierry Henry.
Receiving a pass from Hleb just outside the box, Henry turned inside with a quick shimmy that sent Piqué the wrong way. With his second touch, he created just enough space and curled the ball low into the far corner with surgical precision.
Casillas dove full stretch — fingertips close — but not close enough.
Highbury exploded again.
Arthur exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath. "Every time we score…"
By the time the clock ticked past the 39th minute, it was 2–2. Four goals. End-to-end action. And no signs of either side backing down.
Arthur stood on the touchline, hands on his hips, watching the chaos unfold. This was going to be a long night.
***
The second half kicked off with a sudden shift in energy—and at the center of it was Thierry Henry.
Whatever Arsène Wenger had said to him in the dressing room clearly worked like fuel to fire. From the moment Arsenal resumed play, Henry looked like a man on a mission. He was quicker, sharper, and deadlier than before, and Leeds United's defense was under pressure the moment he touched the ball.
In the 55th minute, the damage began. Fabregas and Hleb combined smoothly on the edge of the box, pulling Mascherano out of position. That was all the space Henry needed. Hleb slipped a clever pass through the gap, and Henry—timing his run perfectly—was already darting into the area. One touch to set himself, and then a powerful low finish into the corner. Casillas had no chance.
Arthur shouted from the touchline, trying to regroup the team. "Stay focused! We're still in this!"
But the momentum had swung hard. Arsenal kept pushing, and Leeds found themselves chasing shadows at times. Henry wasn't done.
In the 75th minute, he struck again. This time, it was a solo masterpiece. He picked up the ball near the halfway line, shrugged off a challenge from Javi Garcia, and burst down the left. The crowd was on its feet, sensing something. Henry cut inside, skipped past Silva, and fired past Casillas for his third of the night.
Hat trick. 4–2. Highbury exploded in celebration.
Arthur stood still, expression frozen. Two goals down. Fifteen minutes to go. It looked like Leeds United's dream of reaching the Champions League had just collapsed.
In the away end, the Leeds fans looked crushed. Some slumped in their seats, others stared in disbelief. But then, like a miracle lifeline, word started spreading—first in whispers, then louder.
"West Ham scored again!"
Phones lit up. Murmurs turned into cheers.
Someone shouted, "It's 2–1 at Upton Park! West Ham are beating Spurs!"
Hope returned instantly. If Tottenham lost and Leeds held their ground, they could still make it.
Arthur turned sharply toward the bench. "What's the latest?"
Simeone was already on the phone, pacing near the fourth official. His brow furrowed as he listened, then nodded, eyes lighting up. "They're still ahead. Five minutes left."
Arthur exhaled slowly but said nothing. He just crossed his arms and stared at the pitch, nerves hidden behind a calm face. But inside, it was chaos.
He checked his watch every thirty seconds. Leeds tried pushing forward again, but Arsenal were in control now, managing the game, running down the clock.
When the final whistle blew at Highbury, Arthur didn't even glance at the scoreboard. His eyes went straight to Simeone.
Simeone was still on the call. Then he looked up and gave a single, firm nod.
Arthur finally allowed himself to breathe.
It was done.
In a stunning twist to the final day of the Premier League, Tottenham—who only needed a draw to secure Champions League football—had lost 2–1 to West Ham. That defeat handed the final Champions League spot to Arthur's Leeds United.
They had lost the battle at Highbury, but won the war.