After browsing the news on his computer for a while, Arthur finally slammed the laptop shut with a blank look on his face.
He needed a break.
A mental reset.
Maybe even a lobotomy.
You really had to hand it to the British media — their imagination was next level.
In just one day, according to the news, the entire Leeds United team had been sold.
Every single player.
If the articles were to be believed, Arthur would be managing a youth team made up of local five-year-olds next season.
Even Allen — poor Allen, his loyal assistant — was reportedly "in advanced talks" to become the head coach of some other Championship club.
Arthur rolled his eyes so hard it almost gave him a headache.
What a load of rubbish.
He curled his lip in disgust, got up, and made himself a cup of tea. A strong one. The situation clearly called for it.
At least he had something to look forward to.
Today was treasure chest opening day!
Arthur had been hyped for this moment for weeks.
The last time he opened a gold chest, he had scored the Star Template Experience Card — which basically allowed him to make Tim Howard perform like a brick wall possessed by a football god.
And then there was the Talent Realization Card, which helped Leeds not only get promoted but dominate the Championship.
The Master Coaching Skills card had made the players trust him like he was some kind of tactical wizard.
Basically, the chests had been printing money and trophies for him.
Now, after winning the Championship, he had earned a Platinum Treasure Chest.
Platinum.
It sounded so good Arthur could almost taste the victory.
With a dramatic flair (he allowed himself just one small dramatic flair, because hey, it's a treasure chest), Arthur called out the system and pulled up the task interface.
Following his usual ritual, he cracked his knuckles, rubbed his palms together for luck, and hit the big shiny OPENbutton.
There was a flash of light so bright it nearly burned his retinas.
When his vision cleared, a single card floated in front of him.
The system's voice, always way too smug for its own good, spoke in his head.
[Congratulations to the host for winning the reward: Injury Recovery Card (applicable to any player), duration: 1 year!]
Arthur blinked, then grinned.
Oh, this sounded good.
He clicked on the card to read the fine print:
Injury Recovery Card: After use, if the target player is injured, the injury will be cured for 1 year. (Note: After the duration ends, the player will return to their previous injury state. Use with caution!)
Arthur leaned back, processing this.
At first glance, it was fantastic.
You could slap this card onto any injured player and boom — good as new for a whole year.
But then came the catch.
After that year?
The player's injury would snap back like an evil boomerang.
Arthur scratched his head.
It wasn't perfect, but it was still insanely valuable.
In the world of football, injuries were like that one clingy ex who just wouldn't let go.
No matter how good a player was, one torn ligament could turn them from superstar to commentator faster than you could say "medical report."
Arthur thought about some real-world examples.
There was Michael Owen — once the Golden Boy of English football, faster than a speeding bullet when he first burst onto the scene.
But thanks to injury after injury, Owen's career had deflated like a sad party balloon.
By the time he finally won a top-flight league title with Manchester United in 2011, he was more mascot than star.
And then there was Ronaldo.
Not the current one — the original Ronaldo. "The Phenomenon."
At his peak, he was basically a cheat code with legs.
But his knees had other plans.
Even so, Ronaldo still bagged three FIFA World Player of the Year awards, two Ballon d'Ors, a World Cup, and just about every other trophy except the Champions League.
All while fighting off injuries like he was in a lifelong wrestling match with his own skeleton.
Arthur shook his head.
Football was brutal sometimes.
Even the greatest players, the ones blessed with freakish talent, could get wrecked by injuries.
No amount of training or talent could save you if your body decided it was time to betray you.
Thinking about all that, Arthur realized this Injury Recovery Card was even more valuable than he first thought.
Sure, the "boomerang injury" thing was annoying, but in a crucial season, it could be a total game-changer.
Imagine having a star striker go down with a knee injury right before a Champions League semifinal.
Boom — slap the card on him.
He's back.
Fully operational.
You win the game.
Then, after a year, when the injury returns?
Well, by then, you either sell him for a good price or you've already milked a full season of magic out of him.
Arthur grinned like a kid who just found extra fries at the bottom of the bag.
He tucked the Injury Recovery Card safely into his system inventory.
He wasn't going to use it yet — no way.
He needed to save it for just the right moment, like a hidden ace up his sleeve.
Sitting back with his cup of tea, Arthur allowed himself to relax for a moment.
He had survived crazy media rumors, hyper fans, and being half-stripped by lipstick-wielding hooligans.
Now he had an injury-healing card, a Championship title, and a full summer transfer window to look forward to.
Life was good.
At least until he had to start answering a thousand phone calls about which players were "definitely" leaving Leeds according to the "exclusive" sources of some random gossip rag.
Arthur sighed.
Maybe he needed two cups of tea after all.
Arthur had always known one simple truth about Leeds United:
The team's lineup was held together by duct tape, hope, and a few prayers.
It wasn't exactly a secret.
Since Arthur took over as head coach halfway through the season, the squad had somehow managed to avoid a full-blown injury apocalypse.
But that wasn't because they were some kind of indestructible super team.
Nope.
There were two big reasons why things hadn't gone completely off the rails:
First, Arthur had quietly used some black technology on a few key players — the ones who were doing 90% of the heavy lifting.
He'd juiced their attributes and fitness levels until they looked like they could run through brick walls.
Second, and just as important, they didn't have a brutal match schedule.
Thanks to Blackwell — who had been smart (or lazy) enough to wave the white flag in the FA Cup early — Leeds pretty much only had to focus on one Championship match a week.
The players could rest.
Recover.
Pretend they were professional athletes with functioning knees.
It wasn't a glamorous plan, but it worked.
Unfortunately, Arthur knew that next season would be a completely different beast.
First off, his stockpile of black technology was looking dangerously thin.
At the moment, all he had left was a Peak Drogba Experience Card — which only lasted three months — and that brand-new Injury Recovery Card he had just unlocked. (Drogba card was one month at first, og Author wrote 3 months for that later on, which makes more sense, so went with that.)
Not exactly a warehouse full of miracles.
And the worst part?
The system handed out new rewards whenever it felt like it, not when Arthur actually needed them.
It was like trying to run a club with a lottery ticket for a budget.
Honestly, it was starting to feel a little tight.
Then there was the squad itself.
Arthur had plans, of course.
Big plans.
As soon as the summer transfer window opened, he was going to sign off on Adebayor's transfer to Arsenal.
Once that money landed in the club's dusty bank account, he was ready to dive into the transfer market like a starving man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.
He already had a few players in mind.
With his Master Coaching Skills, Arthur was confident he could whip the new recruits into Premier League shape before opening day.
But still… the Premier League wasn't the Championship.
It was a full-on gladiator pit.
The tackles were harder.
The pace was faster.
The referees were somehow even worse.
And Arthur wasn't planning to bail out of the FA Cup this time, either.
That meant more matches, more travel, and a lot more chances for somebody to snap a hamstring like a dry rubber band.
Injuries were going to happen.
It was just a question of when.
And that shiny new Injury Recovery Card?
It was more of a short-term patch than a long-term fix.
Sure, it could slap a band-aid on a broken player for a year, but after that, the old injuries would come roaring back like a bad sequel nobody asked for.
And who knew when Arthur would get another injury card?
He sat there for a moment, frowning so hard he looked like he was trying to solve a Rubik's Cube with his mind.
And then it hit him.
A lightbulb moment, brighter than anything he'd had all week.
He had been thinking way too small.
Arthur wasn't just the head coach of Leeds United.
He was also the club's manage And the owner.
He wasn't just responsible for tactics and transfers — he was responsible for the club's future.
Of course, he wanted to build Leeds United into a legendary club, a powerhouse that people would talk about for decades.
But that wasn't going to happen overnight.
And it definitely wasn't going to happen if he went broke trying to patch up players with chewing gum and prayers.
First things first:
He needed to build a money-making machine.
A proper football black shop.
Make a fortune now, build an empire later.
Strong finances were the foundation.
Championships could wait a bit.
Once Arthur understood that, everything else clicked into place.
The Injury Recovery Card wasn't meant to protect his current players.
It wasn't about saving tired legs.
No — it was a weapon for business.
He could use it to pull off one of the oldest tricks in the book:
Buy low, sell high.
The plan was devilishly simple:
Find a top-tier player who had been wrecked by injuries — the kind of guy the media called "injury-prone" or "made of glass."
Buy him at a bargain-bin price, because everyone else had already written him off.
Use the Injury Recovery Card to make him healthy again — at least temporarily.
Let him show the world that he could still run, score, and look amazing.
And then, before the year was up and before the injuries returned, flip him for a massive profit.
Genius.
Pure, unfiltered genius.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, feeling like he had just discovered football's version of printing money.
Howard had been his first flip — a goalkeeper whose value he boosted and sold.
Sneijder was his second — a young player with huge potential. Although he is actually talented.
But this?
This would be a whole new level.
Arthur grinned to himself and started running through names in his head like a football-obsessed stockbroker.
He needed someone with a big name.
Someone still young enough to fool the world.
Someone talented enough that once healthy, clubs would line up around the block waving checkbooks.
It was time for some serious hunting.
Arthur cracked his knuckles, refreshed his memory on the transfer lists, and prepared to dive into the beautiful, messy world of broken stars.