Football Manager: Running a Rip-off club

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Arthur brought Shakira and Allen to the Thorp Arch training ground later that afternoon, though this time, instead of heading straight to his office as usual, he led them toward the youth team's pitch. The late sun filtered gently over the fields, casting long shadows from the lean frames of teenagers sprinting across the grass.

"Thomas!" Arthur called out as he approached the touchline.

Tuchel, who had been intently watching the training session from the side, turned at the sound of his name. When he saw Arthur, a look of pleasant surprise came over his face. "Boss!" he greeted, walking over quickly. "Didn't expect to see you here today."

Arthur threw an arm around Tuchel's shoulder casually, a grin playing on his lips. "Just happened to have a bit of free time. Thought I'd come check on how these new lads we brought in over the summer are settling in."

Tuchel nodded, turning them both slightly toward the pitch as he pointed with a slight motion of his chin. "Some of them are raw, but there are definitely a few gems in here. Especially that one—" he gestured toward a lithe teenager weaving through cones with tight touches and impressive poise. "The kid playing through the middle. South American. He's got something, boss. Silky on the ball, good vision, timing. Kinda gives me Riquelme vibes, if you ask me."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the boy's face as he ran toward the edge of the box and released a precise through-ball to his teammate. There was something about the kid—the round, youthful face, the smooth gait. It tugged at a memory.

"Colombian?" Arthur asked, arching a brow.

Tuchel looked impressed. "Yeah. You remember him?"

Arthur smirked. "James Rodríguez. I asked Ron to track him last year."

Tuchel blinked, clearly surprised.

Back when Arthur first put together his blueprint for Leeds United's long-term development, he'd given Ron the task of quietly scouting the globe for uncut gems.

Among the long list of leads, Arthur had hand-picked two names he was personally intrigued by—Ángel Di María and James Rodríguez. Not just because of their raw talent, but because of what they'd once represented: brilliance that, for one reason or another, the top clubs had failed to nurture consistently.

Now here James was—barely fifteen, running drills in a Leeds tracksuit, feet gliding over the turf like it was second nature.

Tuchel spoke again, watching the boy line up for a finishing drill. "He's still rough in some areas. Doesn't like tracking back. You know how it is with young tens—wants to be the artist, not the craftsman. But his feel for the game? It's instinctual."

Arthur nodded slowly, watching as James shaped his run, received a pass at the edge of the box, and curled a left-footed strike into the top corner. "He reminds me of his older self," Arthur said quietly, almost to himself.

He remembered what James would go on to do. At 22, he was the breakout star at Monaco. That magical 2014 World Cup—six goals in five matches. That volley against Uruguay. The Puskás Award. The Golden Boot. Then, the €80 million transfer to Real Madrid. It was a meteoric rise.

But he also remembered the fall. Ancelotti's exit. Zidane's rigid midfield trio. James benched. Then a spell at Bayern under Kovac, where tactical demands outweighed flair. Injuries, dwindling confidence, and eventually a quiet fade from the spotlight.

Arthur snapped out of his thoughts when Shakira walked up beside him, wearing a light hoodie and looking amused. "You two look like you're plotting something," she teased.

Arthur turned to her. "Just reminiscing," he said with a grin, "about this kid's future stardom."

Tuchel chuckled. "You bringing in the big guns to motivate the youth now?"

"Only the best for Leeds United," Arthur replied, throwing a wink at Shakira.

He turned back to Tuchel and spoke more seriously, his voice lower now. "I know this kid. Watched a lot of footage. He's got genius in his left foot, but he'll need to adapt. That wandering number ten role? It's extinct in modern football. He has to press, recover, work off the ball. We don't have space for passengers—even if they're magicians."

Tuchel nodded in agreement. "He's young. Still moldable. I'll make sure he gets it."

Arthur clapped Tuchel on the back. "Good. Shape him the right way. Give him the work ethic early, and when the time comes, he won't fade like before."

Just then, James finished another sharp movement, glancing toward the sidelines and locking eyes with Arthur for a brief second. He seemed unsure at first, then offered a quick nod of acknowledgment. Arthur returned it with a subtle thumbs-up.

As they stepped away from the training pitch, Allen, who had been quietly observing the whole time, caught up with them. "So that's the plan?" he asked Arthur as they walked toward the car park. "Invest early in players like him?"

Arthur replied, "Not just invest—believe. We're not Real Madrid. We're not going to discard brilliance just because it doesn't fit a pre-set mold. If we can help a kid like James succeed the right way, we win more than just matches—we build legacy."

Arthur stood by the sideline, arms folded, watching as the U19 squad executed a coordinated high press. Their movements were sharp, organized. Tuchel's voice rang across the pitch like a conductor keeping rhythm, and Arthur couldn't help but smile.

Since joining Leeds United, Tuchel had bought wholeheartedly into Arthur's philosophy—especially the emphasis on high pressing and transitional play. And now, the results were beginning to show. These weren't just kids anymore. They were playing with structure, intensity, and purpose.

Tuchel stepped up beside him. "Did you see that last press?" he asked, his eyes gleaming. "Won the ball just outside the box. Perfect timing."

Arthur nodded. "Yeah. That's what I like to see. Quick triggers, collective movement. The defenders had no clue what hit them."

"I've been trying to embed it more deeply in them. Especially the front three. Once they recognize the opponent's backline is slow to circulate or panics under pressure, they collapse like a pack of wolves."

Arthur chuckled. "Sounds like you're becoming more like me every day, Thomas."

Tuchel grinned. "Don't insult me."

The two shared a laugh, but Arthur's expression slowly shifted to something more thoughtful. He watched the drills continue for another moment before nudging Tuchel's shoulder. "Hey, I didn't just drop by to watch training. There's something more."

Tuchel turned toward him with a curious look. "Oh?"

"I wanted to talk about your plan. The one you pitched last season—sending out youth players to tougher leagues to harden them in real competition." Arthur kept his eyes on the pitch. "It's time."

Tuchel raised his brows, slightly caught off guard. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Alan's already reached out to Real Sociedad and Espanyol. Both clubs are open to discussions. Now it's just a matter of choosing who we move forward with. I wanted your thoughts."

Tuchel's surprise didn't fade. "You're actually going through with it?"

Arthur turned to face him. "Of course. Why would I joke about something like this?"

For a few seconds, Tuchel just stood there, clearly digesting the news. It wasn't that he didn't believe Arthur would act on it—it was just that everything had moved quicker than expected. They had discussed this months ago, but back then, Arthur had been buried under logistical chaos—transfer windows, stadium upgrades, board politics, and sponsor negotiations. The plan was shelved, not forgotten. But now, here it was, back in the light.

Tuchel gave a nod, his mind already spinning. "This could change everything. The Youth Super League here is fine, but it's not enough. These kids need to be tested against real professionals, in real stadiums, in front of real pressure."

Arthur crossed his arms. "And Spain makes the most sense. You said it yourself—La Liga's tempo is perfect for developing technical ability and tactical discipline. It's not as physically punishing as the Premier League, but it's clever. Precise."

"And the ball stays on the ground," Tuchel added. "Perfect for nurturing decision-making and ball control."

Arthur smirked. "Exactly. We're not building hoof-it-and-hope merchants. We're building thinkers. Athletes with brains and technique."

As they walked a few paces along the sideline, Tuchel's thoughts were already racing ahead. "Between Sociedad and Espanyol… Sociedad's youth setup is excellent. They give youngsters real minutes. But Espanyol might offer more freedom for experimentation."

Arthur considered that. "Which club would be better suited to taking in three or four of our most promising kids? Not just James—others, too. Diogo, Rhys, even that little winger from Scotland."

Tuchel tapped his chin. "Espanyol. Sociedad's pretty stable at the moment; their first team's chasing a Europa spot. They'll prioritize results. But Espanyol's mid-table. They'll take more risks."

Arthur nodded. "Then we start with Espanyol."

Tuchel looked visibly relieved. "Thank you. This means a lot. To the boys, too. They need this step."

Arthur gave a sideways glance. "Just don't send me a full report every morning while I'm in Spain with my girlfriend."

Tuchel laughed. "No promises."

The two of them stood quietly again, watching James Rodriguez pick up the ball and glide past two markers before flicking a pass into the box. Arthur leaned on the railing, his voice low.

"You know, when I first saw his name on Ron's scouting sheet, I almost didn't believe it. I'd been tracking him from his Monaco days. The flair. The Puskas-winning volley. The Golden Boot. And then, the decline. Misused, misunderstood, benched."

Tuchel nodded. "It's a familiar story."

"But now," Arthur continued, "we have a shot at changing the script. He's got a second chance. We just need to make sure he's built for it."

Tuchel looked toward the boy. "I'll make sure he's ready."

Arthur reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, checking the time. "Speaking of ready—I've got a plane to catch."

Tuchel raised a brow. "Off to Spain already?"

Arthur grinned. "Shakira's got a concert. I'm officially on boyfriend duty."

"Does that include dancing?"

"I'll leave that to the professionals."

As they shook hands, Tuchel's tone softened. "Thanks for trusting me with this."

Arthur offered a quiet nod. "No—thank you for believing in the project. This club isn't just about the present. It's about what we leave behind."

Arthur leaned back in the chair across from Tuchel, legs crossed, fingers drumming against the armrest. The office at Thorp Arch was quiet now, save for the rustling of paper as Tuchel flipped through the reports handed to them by Allen that morning. The names Real Sociedad and Espanyol were printed in bold across two different folders. The future of Leeds United's youth development, at least part of it, hung in the balance between these pages.

Ten minutes passed in near silence before Tuchel finally closed the folder and looked up. "Boss," he said, "I've gone through both thoroughly. I think Real Sociedad might be the better fit for what we want."

Arthur set down the newspaper he was flipping through without much attention. "Oh? You'll need to sell me on it. You know I'm not just thinking about sending kids out on loan. There's a business side to this trip as well."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice casual, but his eyes focused. What he didn't mention was that while youth development was the official goal, Arthur had another card up his sleeve—he was quietly exploring the possibility of investing in one of the Spanish clubs. Preferably Sociedad. Part equity. Just enough to establish deeper ties. Football reasons aside, Arthur had always held a soft spot for Spanish football. Its rhythm, its tactics, its raw beauty—it called to him.

Tuchel nodded, unfazed. "I can't speak to the financial side, but from a purely footballing perspective, Sociedad makes more sense."

He handed Arthur the Real Sociedad report. "Look at their transfer activity in the last couple of seasons. Ever since Amorutu took charge, he's systematically reduced the average age of their squad. They've sold off most of their older players, including veterans like Pedro and Zaldua, and promoted heavily from their academy."

Arthur skimmed the summary: squad average age had dropped from 27 to 23 in just under two years. The names Tuchel mentioned were there. The pattern was clear.

Tuchel continued, "This tells me two things. First, they trust their youth setup. Second, they're not afraid to put youngsters into real match situations—Liga matches, not just Copa filler. That's key. We don't want our boys riding the bench. We want them tested."

Arthur nodded slowly. "So even without a 'mandatory appearances' clause, you think our players will actually get time on the pitch?"

"Exactly. That's the problem with some of the bigger clubs. They'll agree to take a kid on loan, but unless he's a phenom, he rots on the bench. Or worse, they throw him into pointless cup matches and call it 'development.'" Tuchel leaned in, his tone more animated now. "Sociedad's current setup tells me they're hungry. They're rebuilding. And they'll be open to talent, even if it comes from outside."

Arthur was impressed. Tuchel had clearly done his homework. He glanced at the other folder. "What about Espanyol?"

"Decent club, technically stable. But their current coach prefers structure and veterans. He's not one to take many chances. It's more likely our players would get sidelined unless there's an injury crisis. Not ideal."

Arthur tapped the edge of the folder. "And Sociedad's results this season?"

Tuchel's expression tightened a little. "Not great. They've had a poor start—some defensive issues, too many draws turning into losses."

Arthur gave a small, crooked smile. "And you think they can still claw their way into a Europa League spot?"

Tuchel hesitated. "Possibly, if they turn it around quickly. They've got the talent. But that's secondary to our objective. For us, it's about game time and experience."

Arthur leaned back again, silent for a moment. Tuchel made a solid case. But Arthur remembered how this story really went—at least in his mind. Real Sociedad wasn't just struggling. If things continued the way they had, they were destined for relegation by season's end.

Still, he wasn't particularly worried.

In his view, the difference between La Liga and the Segunda División wasn't enough to deter him. The important thing was exposure to adult competition—gritty matches, hostile crowds, bigger bodies. Pressure. That's what would forge his young players.

He looked down at the list of academy names they were prepping for international development: James Rodriguez, Diogo, Rhys, and a few other gems. They weren't ordinary youth prospects. These were boys with world-class potential. If they landed at Sociedad, they wouldn't just survive. They could become the very difference that saved the Spanish club from relegation.

Arthur set the report down and looked back at Tuchel. "Alright. Let's go with Sociedad. Allen will draw up the agreements. I'll handle the Spain side of things when I'm there."

Tuchel nodded, visibly satisfied. "Thanks, Arthur. This is going to be huge for the academy."

"Just make sure the boys know what's coming. Playing in Spain's no holiday. They'll need to earn their place, fight for it."

"They will. Trust me."

Arthur stood, stretching slightly as he glanced at his watch. Shakira was waiting for him back at the training entrance. He gave Tuchel a pat on the shoulder. "And Thomas—good call."

Tuchel smiled. "Try not to miss too many training sessions. I'm not ready to be head coach just yet."

Arthur laughed. "You'll do fine. Besides, I'll be back before the week's out. Just don't let the kids think they can relax because I'm not watching."

As Arthur stepped out of the office and into the corridor, he felt a quiet satisfaction. This wasn't just another training facility anymore. It was a factory. A vision. And now, with the right partnerships, the right philosophy, and the right people around him—it was beginning to take shape.

After leaving the academy, Arthur walked with Shakira towards the car. Shakira spoke with a smirk, " I didn't think you'd take my advice and get a Colombian player. I guess I have to keep my promise as well."

Arthur spread his arms, " Hey, if spending a million on a player can get me some extra time with you, it's worth it."

Shakira smiled warmly, " You are such a smooth talker."

Arthur grinned, " Only for you dear."

It was a good day.

And for Leeds United, it was just the beginning.