Football Manager: Running a Rip-off club

The introductions had barely finished when Gaetalo, ever the polished agent, waved them all inside. With his hand cutting the air like a maître d', he led Arthur, Raiola, Allen, and Kaka through the arched doorway of the villa. The interior smelled faintly of olive oil and polished wood, the kind of subtle richness that whispered money without needing to shout.

Arthur, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets, took everything in with a glance. The tall ceilings, the quiet hum of air conditioning, the way the waiter bowed his head as they passed. So this is where negotiations happen when you're a Brazilian superstar married to a model, he thought.

Kaka walked slightly ahead, but even his posture gave something away. He wasn't striding like a man bursting with ego. He wasn't slouching like someone weighed down by resentment either. Instead, he moved softly, politely, a faint smile hovering at the corner of his lips. Arthur noticed how the young man nodded whenever Raiola cracked a joke, answered every small question with patience, and carried himself with the gentle awkwardness of a Sunday school teacher accidentally invited to a nightclub.

The contrast with Adriano was stark. Adriano had been a fortress under siege—moody, stubborn, the kind of man who could sink into silence like a stone into water. Kaka, on the other hand, radiated quiet acceptance.

Strange, Arthur mused as they reached the private room. If Galliani had sold me out from under my boots, I'd at least sulk for a week. But this lad? Not a trace of bitterness. Either he's a saint or he's hiding it well.

Inside the private room, the lighting was warmer, almost golden, bouncing off the walls and giving the polished wooden table a soft glow. Everyone settled into their chairs, the cushions sighing beneath them. Gaetalo excused himself with the kind of smile agents wore when they were about to charm the waiters into serving faster.

That left Arthur with Kaka directly across from him. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. Time to get down to business.

"Ricardo," Arthur began, using Kaka's first name deliberately. He wanted to cut through formality, talk man to man. "Your performances in the Champions League this season were excellent. That's one of the main reasons I pushed AC Milan to let me bring you in. And fortunately for me, Galliani accepted my offer."

The words hung in the air, pointed but not harsh. Arthur was testing him, watching closely for a flicker—resentment, resistance, anything.

But Kaka didn't frown, didn't stiffen. He simply smiled, modest and unbothered. It was as if Arthur had just complimented his tie.

That caught Arthur off guard. He had been bracing himself for the same stubborn fire Adriano had thrown at him days earlier. He'd prepared arguments, counterarguments, even a few sarcastic barbs for when Kaka inevitably said, "I won't join Leeds, I deserve better."

Yet here he was, calm, almost serene.

Arthur thought back to what he knew. In another time, another version of the world, Kaka had come dangerously close to leaving Milan for England—but not for Leeds. No, the club chasing him had been Manchester City, freshly taken over by Middle Eastern riches, splashing money like sailors in a casino. Arthur remembered reading the headlines: City's massive bid, the TV stations announcing the deal as if it were already done, Berlusconi practically drooling over the profit.

And then, the twist. Kaka had refused. Flat-out. He didn't want to be the poster boy for a nouveau riche side with no pedigree. He was still young, but proud enough to know his value.

Arthur remembered chuckling when he'd read about it in his previous life. Imagine, a player so principled he told one of the richest clubs in the world, "No thanks, you're not good enough for me." That was Kaka.

And now? Arthur studied him again. There was no sign of that same resistance. No fiery refusal, no indignation about being sold. Just quiet acceptance, a polite smile, and eyes that held no grudge.

Arthur tilted his head, bemused. Either he's already made peace with Milan cutting him loose, or he's the best poker player I've ever met.

For a brief second, Arthur thought about what would happen if things had played out differently. If Manchester City's golden chequebook had landed Kaka years ago, the entire balance of power in England might have shifted earlier. But that wasn't his concern now. His job wasn't to rewrite history—it was to convince this young Brazilian that Leeds United was the right place for him.

Still, it was odd. Before walking into this villa, Arthur had rehearsed half a dozen approaches. He'd been ready to appeal to ambition, to legacy, to challenge. He'd even thought about tossing in a cheeky joke about how Leeds fans would serenade him louder than anyone at San Siro ever did.

But Kaka was giving him none of the resistance he'd expected.

Well, Arthur thought, leaning back slightly in his chair, this might be easier than I imagined. Or… a lot harder, depending on what he's really thinking.

And across the table, Kaka just smiled faintly, waiting for Arthur to continue.

*****

"Thank you for your compliment, Mr. Morgan. Just call me Kaka," the Brazilian midfielder said with his usual polite smile, his voice warm but careful. He nodded slightly, but Arthur noticed how he very neatly skipped over the latter part of his compliment, as if sidestepping a puddle in the street without breaking stride.

Arthur caught it straight away. The lad wasn't biting. He smiled knowingly, leaned forward a little, and decided there was no sense beating around the bush. If you're here for a transfer talk, best to just stab the steak with a fork rather than push it around the plate.

"Kaka," Arthur said, his tone pleasant but direct, "what do you think about the transfer to Leeds United?"

For a moment, the midfielder's easy smile faltered. He exhaled through his nose, gaze dipping for just a second before he met Arthur's eyes.

"It's hard to accept emotionally," Kaka admitted, his face calm but his words carrying a tinge of sadness. "I hope you can understand my feelings. I didn't expect this… not now. Not just after helping my home team in Europe win the Champions League." His voice softened at the end, carrying a weight that felt heavier than the words themselves.

Arthur nodded quickly, his expression warm with understanding. He wasn't here to bulldoze anyone's emotions. "Of course. I completely understand how you feel. And that's exactly why I came here in person to Milan. This isn't a conversation you can have over a fax machine or through an agent—you deserved to hear it straight from me."

Kaka pressed his lips together, his eyes steady. He hesitated a moment, then his voice sharpened ever so slightly. "The most annoying thing is…" He paused deliberately, as though making sure Arthur was paying attention. "Gaetalo told me that you had reached an agreement with Galliani back in the winter. And as one of the parties involved, I only learned about it five months later. For me, this feels… unfair. And frankly, disrespectful."

The words weren't shouted, nor were they bitterly spat out. They were calm, measured, almost too calm—which somehow made them sting sharper.

Arthur felt the jab land. Even a man with a hide thicker than a goalkeeper's gloves felt a prickle of heat rise to his face. It wasn't just that Kaka had said it; it was the way he'd said it. Word by word, polite but piercing. And the worst of it was… the lad wasn't wrong.

The truth was that Galliani had been the real snake in the grass, not Arthur. But Arthur had still been in the garden when it slithered. And that meant he couldn't exactly walk away spotless.

He coughed lightly, adjusting his collar, but quickly shoved the embarrassment aside and threw Galliani under the proverbial bus with the elegance of a seasoned manager. "You're absolutely right. Galliani acted dishonestly in this. I'll be blunt—I told him right away that you should be informed, immediately, as soon as the agreement was reached. But as a manager, sometimes you can't control how an executive handles things. And to keep such vital news from a player like yourself… it's unacceptable. It damages trust, it hurts professionalism, and it certainly wasn't fair to you."

Arthur leaned forward, his tone earnest. "For my part, I genuinely thought you already knew. That's why, after your performance at Elland Road, I praised your professionalism to Simeone. I thought it was remarkable that, even knowing you'd be joining another club the following season, you gave absolutely everything for Milan. There was no slacking off, no holding back. That takes true character, and I respected it deeply."

The Brazilian blinked, his expression shifting, surprised. "Really?" His voice held doubt, almost disbelief. Years of dealing with men like Galliani had hardened him. He'd seen enough politics, enough manipulation. And here Arthur was, sounding almost too sincere.

"Absolutely true!" Arthur declared with a firm nod, chest puffed with righteous conviction. Then he added, perhaps a little too dramatically, "Englishmen don't lie to Brazilians!"

Kaka tilted his head, a bemused smile breaking across his face. "Aren't you English?"

"Yes, but my ancestors were from elsewhere. Still doesn't change the fact!" Arthur shot back, completely unruffled, waving away the detail with the confidence of a man who could sell umbrellas in the Sahara.

Kaka chuckled softly, shaking his head, a little of the earlier tension slipping away. "Okay… fair enough," he said, clearly amused by Arthur's display of justice and stubbornness rolled into one. Then, after a pause, his tone grew more serious again. "Mr. Morgan, in truth, apart from feeling deceived, I don't actually have much resistance to the idea of joining Leeds United. But I do have one request. A small one."

Arthur immediately straightened up. Finally, they were getting to the real heart of it. "Go on," he said, serious now. "As long as it's reasonable, I'll consider it properly."

Kaka seemed reassured by the respectful tone. He folded his hands, his expression thoughtful, and after a moment he said slowly: "I'm only twenty-five years old. I still have ambitions in my career. So when it comes to choosing a team, I want to join one that is young, energetic, and competitive at the European level. That's important to me."

Arthur almost laughed in relief. Of all the demands he had been bracing for—money, captain's armband, guarantees—this was practically a gift. He leaned forward, spreading his hands wide with a grin. "Believe me, Ricardo, you won't find another team in Europe that fits that description better than Leeds United. Young, hungry, full of fight. And next season, there'll be some adjustments to the squad—every single one of them positive. I'll never be stingy in building this club. That's a promise."

He held the midfielder's gaze, speaking with the steady conviction of a man who knew exactly where he was steering his ship. "And I won't lie to you. Our goals are clear: defend the Premier League title, and go even further in the Champions League. If fortune smiles on us, we might even be lifting that trophy again next season. Back-to-back Champions League titles—that's what we're aiming for."

Kaka's eyes widened a fraction. He wasn't easily swayed by empty boasts, but Arthur's words rang with something more than hollow ambition. It was the way he said it—with calm certainty, as though he'd already mapped out the road in his head and could see it unfolding.

The Brazilian leaned forward slightly, curiosity sparking. "You mean…" he asked carefully, almost testing the waters, "Leeds United has other signings besides me this summer?"