After Paris Saint-Germain was removed from the list, I led England to victory!

The press conference room at Old Trafford after the match.

The flashbulbs were going off non-stop as reporters crowded the small space, their cameras and microphones pointed at the man sitting in the main seat.

José Mourinho.

Although he was wearing a sharp dark suit, his tie was slightly loose, his hair was a little messy, and his face was full of undisguised fatigue and suppressed anger.

The reporters' chatter and the clicking of their cameras irritated him.

[Mr. Mourinho, how would you rate the team's performance in tonight's 0-3 loss to Arsenal?]

The first reporter's question went straight to the heart of the matter.

Mourinho took a deep breath, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a heavy sense of defeat.

"Extremely disappointed. That's the only word I can think of. It's unacceptable for us to deliver such a performance at Old Trafford against Arsenal."

He paused, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table.

"In this match, from focus and tactical execution to the ability to seize opportunities in crucial moments, and even... mentality, we lacked the determination and resilience to grit our teeth and fight to the end in adversity. That goal we conceded in the first half..."

Mourinho frowned slightly and said,

"That was a testament to Yan Yuan's individual ability, but it also reflected our serious lack of defensive discipline and focus! We had chances in the second half, very good chances, but we failed to capitalize on them."

When you squander a God-given opportunity, you must be punished. Arsenal seized their chance, while we... didn't.

A reporter asked a question.

[Mr. Mourinho, Rashford missed a golden one-on-one opportunity today. How would you rate his current form and performance? Has he disappointed you and the fans?]

Mourinho paused for a few seconds, then looked at the reporter who had asked the question with a complicated expression.

"Marcus, he possesses extraordinary talent. Speed, explosiveness, shooting touch... these are gifts from God. No one can deny that."

His tone was full of regret.

"But...talent needs to be nurtured with sweat, protected by self-discipline, and driven by a heart that is never satisfied and always strives for excellence. What I see now is a young man wasting his talent."

His voice suddenly turned cold, making no attempt to hide his disappointment in Rashford.

"Rashford's training attitude, his focus in matches, and his choices and decisions in crucial moments are all far from the level expected of a top player."

At least for now, I don't see the possibility of Rashford becoming a world-class striker. It requires a complete change, from his mentality to his habits, a radical transformation, otherwise...

Mourinho shook his head and didn't say anything more, but his unspoken message was clear enough.

The reporter then asked the next question.

[Mr. Mourinho, the atmosphere in the dressing room seems somewhat strained lately, with rumors of disagreements between the players and coaching staff. Also, Pogba wasn't included in the squad today; could you explain why? Is this related to dressing room issues?]

This issue directly touches on a sensitive area.

Mourinho's face instantly darkened.

"The locker room atmosphere? That's an internal team matter, and I can't comment too much. But for a team to succeed, unity, discipline, and a spirit of sacrifice are fundamental. Any behavior that undermines these fundamentals is unacceptable."

He avoided directly answering the question about the atmosphere, but then shifted his focus, pointing the finger directly at Pogba.

"As for Pogba, he wasn't on the roster today because his form and attitude didn't meet the requirements of the match. It's that simple."

Mourinho's tone turned cold after mentioning Pogba.

"There is no doubt that Pogba was an extremely talented player when he first started out."

But he was also a... cancer, a cancer within the team.

Mourinho used this extremely harsh word without any mercy.

"If you knew about Pogba's private life, you would understand why I said this."

His attitude! His discipline! His attitude towards the overall interests of the team! All of these are problematic! Huge problems!

Mourinho's voice rose a few decibels; his anger had been suppressed for quite some time.

"Pogba can't consistently and reliably contribute to the team! His presence often creates chaos and division! I've suggested this to the club's management more than once! More than once! I've suggested selling him! Selling him! It's necessary for the team's long-term development and the health of the locker room! But..." He shrugged, a look of helplessness on his face.

"As you know, the decision-making power is not in my hands."

The reporter then brought up the topic of the competition again.

[Mr. Mourinho, how would you rate Arsenal's performance tonight? Especially Yan Yuan? He scored a brilliant goal and provided an assist.]

When Arsenal and Yan Yuan were mentioned, Mourinho's displeasure faded somewhat, replaced by a complex emotion, a mixture of admiration, regret, and a touch of envy.

"Arsenal played a perfect game, I believe you all saw it," Mourinho said, his voice regaining its composure.

"For me, Wenger is a very good opponent. He sticks to his football philosophy and has built a dynamic, technically excellent, and tactically disciplined team. Tonight, their tactical execution and individual player performance were impeccable. They deserved this victory."

"As for Yan Yuan..." A glint flashed in Mourinho's eyes, the kind of gleam a top coach sees in a rough gem.

"That young man possesses incredible talent. Technique, speed, vision, basketball IQ, finishing ability—he has almost everything a top-class attacker needs! What's even more remarkable is..."

Mourinho emphasized his words.

"Yan Yuan's self-discipline, his professionalism, his leadership on the field, his ability to absorb the coach's tactical intentions like a sponge and execute them perfectly! He possesses that...natural winner's mentality. This is the kind of player every coach dreams of!"

At this point, Mourinho couldn't help but laugh self-deprecatingly.

"To be honest, we tried during the summer transfer window. At that time, Manchester United made a bid of £1.5 million for Hoffenheim."

We saw his potential, we saw the changes he could bring to the team, but in the end... you all know the result, Arsenal took him away for 1.58 million.

In hindsight, Arsenal made an incredibly shrewd investment; Yan Yuan's value far exceeds 1.58 million.

The reporter's last question was like the final straw that broke the camel's back.

[Mr. Mourinho, Manchester United are currently 6th in the league, their chances of advancing from the cup competition are uncertain, the team's form continues to be poor, and there are frequent problems in the dressing room... Would you consider resigning?]

The entire press conference room fell silent instantly.

All eyes were on Mourinho.

Mourinho suddenly raised his head, his eyes behind his glasses burning like flames.

His weariness and gloom vanished, replaced by his signature, untamed pride and indomitable fighting spirit.

"Resign?" Munirio chuckled softly, his voice firm and resolute.

"Absolutely not! I, José Mourinho, will never resign voluntarily. I am a fighter, and always will be!"

He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sweeping over all the reporters present.

"Throughout my career, I've experienced highs and lows. I led Porto to the Champions League title, Chelsea to break the Premier League monopoly, and Inter Milan to the top of Europe! I've also been fired, questioned, and ridiculed!"

But I never backed down! I never gave up! I will fight to the very last moment! I will use all my strength, wisdom, and experience to turn the tide and strive for victory. This is me, this is Mourinho's way!

Mourinho's words had a heroic air about them.

After saying that, he ignored all questions and stood up abruptly.

He straightened his suit, his eyes regaining their usual sharpness, and said briefly into the microphone.

"Alright, gentlemen, the press conference is now adjourned."

Then, surrounded by staff, he strode away from the press conference without looking back.

He left behind a flurry of flashing lights and buzzing discussions.

……

Back in his head coach's office, Mourinho slammed the heavy wooden door shut, shutting out the noisy world outside.

The office was dimly lit, and the atmosphere was oppressive.

Mourinho walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, turned his back to the door, and lit a cigarette.

Amidst the swirling smoke, he gazed out the window at the familiar red ocean, his eyes deep and complex.

Anger, resentment, exhaustion, and a strange sense of relief were all intertwined.

Just then, my cell phone rang in my pocket.

Mourinho's body stiffened slightly.

He didn't turn around immediately, but instead took a deep drag on his cigarette.

The shrill ringtone of the cell phone rang out sharply in the quiet office, sounding like a death knell.

Mourinho certainly knew who had called.

He also knew what the phone call meant.

He turned on his phone, and a number he knew all too well was flashing on the screen.

Ed Woodward, Executive Vice Chairman of Manchester United.

Mourinho stared at the name, his eyes flickering. He stubbed out his cigarette, the embers flickering briefly in the darkness before going out completely.

He took a deep breath, as if trying to inhale all the air in the room, then reached out and pressed the answer button.

"Ed." His voice was unusually calm, without any discernible emotion.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a voice that was equally calm, yet carried an unquestionable official tone.

"Jose, we need to talk. Now, please come to my office."

There were no pleasantries, no preamble, just a straight-up approach.

Mourinho's fingers tightened slightly as he gripped his phone.

He remained silent for a few seconds, then turned his gaze back to the red stadium outside the window, a place that held countless glories and struggles for him.

In the end, he spoke only one word into the microphone:

"it is good."

Mourinho hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket.

He walked to the coat rack, took down the dark long trench coat, and put it on meticulously.

Then, he opened the office door and went out.

The corridor lights stretched his lonely shadow long.