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Sunderland's players stood frozen on the pitch, looking at the wild Leeds United celebrations like they had just seen a UFO land in their backyard.They were completely baffled.How had this happened?They were winning. They were winning. And now? Leeds United had flipped the score on them like a pancake.
They barely had time to process the disaster when the fourth official on the sideline lifted the light board.
+5 minutes of injury time.
Five minutes.Three hundred seconds.It sounded short. It felt like forever.
Meanwhile, the Leeds United fans in the stands had turned into a full-blown party.Over 5,000 away supporters, waving scarves, jumping up and down, screaming their heads off.For the first time that night, they completely drowned out the home crowd.You could barely even tell it was Sunderland's stadium anymore. It felt like someone had rented it out for a Leeds United victory bash.
On the sidelines, Arthur had calmed down again.No more fist-pumping. No more wild celebrations.Now he was back to pacing like a man who just realized he left the oven on at home.He kept waving his arms, shouting at his players: "Defense! Focus! No mistakes!"
The players didn't need to be told twice.
They knew how close they were.Including stoppage time, they were maybe 10 minutes away from being crowned Championship winners.Nobody wanted to be the guy who messed it up now.
Every Sunderland attack was met with fierce resistance.Ground passes? Forget it.Leeds United's defenders were glued to their marks like annoying stickers you can't peel off.No matter how hard Sunderland tried, they just couldn't get through.
When the 90 minutes were up, and injury time started, Sunderland realized they had only one move left:High-altitude bombing.
Launch it into the box.Hope for a lucky header.Pray someone slipped, fell, sneezed, something.
Unfortunately for them, Leeds United had Schmeichel in goal.And Schmeichel wasn't having it.
Cross after cross flew into the box.And cross after cross, Schmeichel came flying out, fists swinging, punching the ball so far away it probably needed a taxi to get back into the stadium.
Every catch, every punch, every clearance was greeted with roars from the Leeds fans, louder and louder, drowning out even the commentary.
Arthur stood rigid on the sideline, clenching his fists so hard you could almost hear the leather of his shoes squeaking.He wasn't even breathing at this point. Just staring, stone-faced, waiting for the final whistle.
Then — finally — in the 95th minute...
Peeeeeeeeep!
The referee blew his whistle.Then blew it again.And one more time for good measure.
It was over!
At that very moment, the stadium exploded into two very different reactions.On the Leeds United side: pure madness.On the Sunderland side: the sound of about 30,000 people sighing all at once.
Arthur barely heard the final two whistles himself because the cheers from the Leeds players and fans nearly shook the stadium apart.
Back in the TV studio, Ere Geddy — the always hyper commentator — had completely broken down.He wasn't even trying to be professional anymore.
He slapped both hands over his face and shook like a washing machine on spin cycle.Through his fingers, you could hear him trembling out the words:"The game is over!!! The boys of Leeds United, they didn't disappoint us!!! They showed us the most perfect season in the history of Leeds United!!! Congratulations to Leeds United, they exceeded every goal this year — not just surviving, but winning the Championship!"
Meanwhile, on the field, total chaos.
The Leeds substitutes and staff had sprinted onto the pitch faster than some of the players during the game.Someone — it looked suspiciously like Allen — had somehow gotten hold of a bottle of champagne and was now chasing Tevez around the field, spraying it everywhere.
Tevez, the hero who had scored the winning goal, was running for his life, laughing and dodging champagne like it was acid rain.
Arthur took a deep breath and steadied himself.
He wasn't going to lose his head — not yet.
First, like a true professional, he walked calmly over to the Sunderland bench and shook hands with their head coach.
Polite. Respectful.No need to rub it in.
Only after that did he finally allow himself to join the Leeds players in their victory party.
But just as Arthur was stepping onto the pitch, ready to celebrate properly —Ding!
A familiar voice rang inside his head.
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for completing the task: winning the championship!]
[System rewards will be issued after settlement...]
Arthur smiled — not just a regular smile, but the kind of deep, satisfied grin that comes from knowing you absolutely crushed it.
He had done it.They had done it.
Leeds United wasn't just surviving anymore.They weren't just getting promoted.They had won the whole Championship.
Mission complete.
And now, Arthur was really looking forward to seeing what that fancy platinum treasure chest the system promised was going to give him.
Something good, surely.
After all, it had been a long, crazy season.
And this was just the beginning.
····
Early the next morning, Arthur returned to Leeds with the entire team.Tired? Yes.Hungover? Probably.Happy? Absolutely.
And along with them, sitting proudly on the seat next to Arthur on the team bus, was the big shiny Championship trophy they had won just yesterday.Arthur didn't even let anyone else touch it. He sat there the whole ride back like a dad protecting his kid's science project.
This was the first title Arthur had won since taking over Leeds United, and it meant a lot.After one more game next week to finish the season, the whole city of Leeds would throw a massive parade in their honor.
At least, that was the plan.Arthur thought today would just be a quiet ride back, maybe a few claps, a few pictures.
He was wrong.
As the bus rolled toward the Leeds United Club's entrance, Arthur saw something strange.A sea of people.Thousands of fans were packed around the gate, waving flags, banners, and who knows what else.
The bus couldn't move another inch.
It was a complete gridlock — like rush hour, but everyone was wearing Leeds jerseys and screaming Arthur's name.
There was no choice.Arthur and the players had to get off the bus and walk the rest of the way.
The moment Arthur's feet touched the ground, the crowd went nuts.Signs waved in the air. People shouted like they were auctioning themselves off.
Arthur squinted at the first few signs:
"Arthur, for you, I broke up with my boyfriend last night. Here's my address and phone number!"
"Arthur, I didn't break up, but if it's you, my boyfriend says he won't mind!"
"Arthur, I went straight to divorce court! Pick me!"
"Mr. Arthur, can I schedule an interview? Also... call me?"
"Arthur, thank you for dragging Leeds out of the mud. You're a legend!"
"Arthur, I know you're still single... are you strict about gender?"
Arthur barely had time to read any of them.Before he could even react, he was swallowed whole by the mob.Reporters, fans, random people — all shouting questions, shoving notepads, waving shirts, even tossing pens at him.
Milner, who had been right behind Arthur, took one look at the madness and made a business decision.He quietly retracted the foot he had placed outside the bus door, turned around, and signaled to the driver.
Close it. Close the door. NOW.
The bus door hissed shut, leaving Arthur to fend for himself like a man being tossed into a pit of wolves.
Allen, who probably deserved a medal for bravery, eventually fought his way through the crowd to rescue Arthur.Together, they inched their way toward the club's entrance.
It took over thirty minutes to walk about thirty meters.
Arthur lost a pen midway through from signing so many autographs.His hand cramped up.He was sweating buckets.He seriously considered borrowing someone's bicycle just to escape faster.
And it wasn't just the number of fans. It was the enthusiasm.
Male fans were manageable — a handshake, a quick autograph, a thanks.Easy stuff.
But the female fans?Arthur looked like he had been through a war.
By the time he finally stumbled into the building, Arthur's suit jacket was gone.Vanished.No idea where it went. Probably auctioned off online already.
His shirt was missing two buttons. His chest muscles were practically on full display, with several bright red lipstick marks decorating the exposed areas like a bad Valentine's Day prank.
His neck and face were smudged with kisses, smears of makeup, and what suspiciously looked like glitter.
It was like a human tornado had hit him.
As Arthur staggered into the locker room, the players burst into laughter.
Milner was the first to call it out:"Boss! Where'd you get all those red tattoos in half an hour?!"
The locker room exploded in howling laughter.Arthur just waved them off, half laughing, half threatening to make them run laps until they dropped.
"Change your clothes!" he barked. "Vacation starts soon!"
The players were still snickering, but they started packing up, already dreaming of beaches and barbeques.
Arthur, meanwhile, had already made a decision about next week's final game.He didn't care about the result anymore.
He planned to send out the full reserve squad and let the main players rest.They'd earned it.Besides, no one would blame him after a season like this.
While Arthur was still wiping lipstick off his forehead, the team bus radio crackled to life with sports news updates.Every station, every newspaper headline was screaming about Leeds United.
The headlines were popping up like mushrooms after rain:
"Arthur! The True God of Leeds United!"
"Championship Glory: The Resilient Rise of Leeds United!"
"The Miracle Manager from Nowhere!"
"Sir Alex Ferguson: 'I Really Admire Tevez.'"
"€27 Million Offer! Tevez Set to Leave Leeds United?"
"European Giants Scramble for Leeds Young Stars!"
"Chelsea Eyes Caldwell with €11 Million Bid!"
Arthur sat down in his office, reading the headlines on his laptop while still picking confetti out of his hair.
The endless reports about Leeds United players being targeted by big clubs made Arthur's head spin.
Some, like the rumor about Tevez, Arthur himself had quietly leaked through Allen.Gotta drive that transfer fee up, after all.
But the rest?The Caldwell stuff?Arthur hadn't heard a word about Chelsea making an offer for Caldwell.
Where did that come from?He hadn't gotten a single phone call. Not even a polite email.Nothing.
Still, if Chelsea really wanted to drop €11 million on Caldwell?
Arthur wouldn't just sell him.He'd gift-wrap Caldwell, throw in a thank-you note, and personally drive him to Stamford Bridge with free snacks for the trip.
Arthur leaned back in his chair, grinning.
This season had been pure chaos.And it wasn't even over yet.