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

Ed Woodward's office is large and luxurious.

Outside the huge floor-to-ceiling windows, the silhouette of Old Trafford Stadium lay silent in the night.

Tonight, a verdict will be delivered here: the verdict against Mourinho by Manchester United.

The door was pushed open, and Mourinho walked in.

His shirt collar was slightly open, and Mourinho finally felt a little more relaxed as he thought about what might happen.

Mourinho did not immediately sit down opposite Woodward.

Instead, he walked straight to the French windows, turned his back to Woodward, and looked out at the red territory he had once longed to conquer. He was taking one last look at Old Trafford.

"Jose, please have a seat," Woodward's voice rang out, dry and professionally detached. "We... need to talk."

Mourinho didn't turn around; his voice was eerily calm.

"Talk? Ed, you called me here right after the press conference. I think we both know what we want to talk about, so let's skip the formalities."

Woodward choked for a moment, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table.

"The club thanks you for your contributions and hard work over the past two and a half years." Woodward seemed to be carefully choosing his words.

"However... based on the team's current performance, the atmosphere in the locker room, and future development plans... after careful consideration, the board believes... it's time for a change. Unfortunately, we have decided to terminate your position as head coach, effective immediately."

The figure standing by the window remained motionless.

After a few seconds of silence, Mourinho slowly turned around.

A cold, sarcastic smile played on his lips, his gaze sharp as a knife, piercing Woodward.

"Effective immediately? Ha, that's incredibly efficient, much more efficient than how you handled Pogba."

Mourinho's voice wasn't loud, but every word was clear.

"Results? Atmosphere? Development plan? Ed, tell me, what is your development plan? Is it to continue letting players like Pogba be 'cancers' in the locker room, and then expect the next coach to clean up the mess? Or is it to continue spending huge sums of money to buy star players, while ignoring the team's discipline, sacrifice, and fighting spirit?"

Woodward's face turned grim, and he tried to avoid the piercing gaze.

"Jose, this is a decision made by the board of directors after careful consideration, not by me..."

"All factors considered?" Mourinho took a step forward, his voice suddenly rising, carrying an undeniable authority.

"You think firing me will solve the problem? Ed, let me tell you, the problem has only just begun. The Manchester United dressing room has been spoiled by the management!"

Most of the players lack respect for Manchester United, a sense of responsibility, and reverence for the jersey. Your dismissal of a disciplined coach will only lead to deeper chaos!

His gaze seemed to pierce through time and space, directed towards an unsettling future.

"Look at Manchester United now, do you think changing managers will immediately bring them back to their peak? Dream on!"

For the next three years… no, five years! I dare say Manchester United will continue to struggle in the mid-table of the league.

In just a few years, even qualifying for the Champions League will become a pipe dream. You will keep changing managers, keep repeating the same mistakes, and keep paying exorbitant transfer fees and salaries to various internet celebrity players, but you will not see any substantial changes!

You will cherish the legacy Sir Alex Ferguson left behind, but you have destroyed the very foundation upon which it was built!

Mourinho's tone contained no anger, only a heavy, almost compassionate insight.

"Manchester United is a great club...it could have been better, it has the most loyal fans, the most glorious history, but it has lost its way now."

Lost in the pursuit of commercial value and the blind worship of so-called "superstars," they have forgotten the most fundamental aspects of football.

Winning requires warriors, not internet celebrities; Manchester United needs a team, not a bunch of mercenaries fighting alone!

Woodward was stunned by the cruel prophecy. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Mourinho waved him off.

"No explanation needed, Woodward. I know it's the board's decision," Mourinho said firmly.

"I don't regret any of the decisions I've made. I demanded locker room discipline, I demanded that the players sacrifice for the team, and I demanded that they respect this jersey! Was I wrong? If upholding these most basic principles of football is wrong, then I'd rather be wrong to the end!"

Mourinho took a deep breath, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with an inextinguishable flame.

"I will never abandon my principles in order to please the players or for the sake of so-called 'locker room harmony'."

That's not my football, that's not successful football.

You want a nice guy who just obeys the board's orders? Sorry, I'm not. I'm Mourinho, I'm a winner. My methods may not be popular, but they bring championships, as I've proven at many clubs.

But here? You've chosen a different path. All I can say is, good luck.

The office fell into a deathly silence.

Only Mourinho's slightly heavy breathing could be heard.

He stopped looking at Woodward and walked to his desk, deftly straightening his suit cuffs and smoothing out non-existent wrinkles.

"What about the termination papers?" Mourinho's voice returned to calm, somewhat indifferent. "Sign them, and I'll leave immediately. I won't stay a minute longer."

Woodward silently took a document from the drawer and pushed it in front of him.

Mourinho didn't even look at the contents, picked up the pen on the table, and quickly signed his name.

His handwriting was strong and powerful, without the slightest hesitation.

Mourinho put down his pen, without glancing at Woodward or the document again.

His gaze once again fell upon the silent red expanse outside the window, the place he had once longed to ignite but ultimately failed to illuminate.

"Take good care of this club, Ed. Manchester United deserves better." Mourinho's deep voice echoed clearly in the empty office.

After saying that, Mourinho turned around and strode towards the door.

He stopped in his tracks when his hand gripped the cold doorknob, without turning around.

Mourinho left Woodward with his last words.

Remember my words, the future will prove everything.

The door opened, then closed.

The madman's footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, gradually fading into the distance.

In the office, only Ed Woodward remained, along with the dismissal document signed by Mourinho.

The table lamp cast a dim light, and outside the window, the enormous shadow of Old Trafford enveloped everything, like a silent question mark.

Woodward feels much more relaxed now that Mourinho is gone.

He scoffed at Mourinho's prediction.

"Hmph, how accurate can your predictions be if you're a head coach who doesn't listen to the higher-ups?"

……

The following afternoon, Kearney Air Force Base.

After training, the Arsenal players left in twos and threes, their sweat-soaked jerseys draped over their shoulders, their tired faces bearing the satisfaction of post-training.

Yan Yuan had just finished showering, his hair still dripping wet. He sat on a bench and swiped his phone screen.

An official email from France Football magazine lay quietly in my inbox.

With a tap of my finger, I opened the email, and a few lines of concise yet dignified French text came into view.

Invitation to the Golden Globe Awards Ceremony

Yan Yuan's gaze swept over them, and a bright smile instantly appeared on his face.

"Brother Yan, what are you looking at? Why are you laughing so happily?" Saka, who was passing by, curiously came over.

Yan Yuan turned the phone screen towards him, his voice carrying a barely perceptible hint of excitement: "Golden Globe Awards ceremony, invitation."

"My God!" Saka exclaimed, his eyes widening instantly. "The Golden Globe! That's amazing! Congratulations, Yan!"

This shout immediately attracted the attention of the teammates who hadn't left yet in the locker room.

"What? A Golden Globe invitation?"

"Yan, you're awesome!"

Absolutely! Based on your performance this year!

"Treat us to a meal! You absolutely have to treat us!"

Aubameyang, Ramsey, Rodri, Odegaard... his teammates gathered around, their faces beaming with genuine joy and congratulations.

Professor Wenger happened to walk in and, seeing the lively scene, smiled with satisfaction after learning what had happened.

He walked over and patted Yan Yuan on the shoulder.

"Congratulations, Yan. This is the best recognition of your hard work over the past year. You deserve all of this." His eyes were full of praise and expectation.

"Thank you, boss! Thank you everyone!" Yan Yuan replied with a smile.

Upon returning home, he immediately dialed his parents' number. On the other end of the line, his parents' voices were so excited they seemed to pierce through the receiver.

Yan's father repeatedly said, "Good! Good! Good!" in a loud voice;

While laughing, Aunt Yan wiped away her tears, nagging him to take care of his health and not to be arrogant.

Yan Yuan listened patiently, a warm smile always on his face.

……

After hanging up with his parents, Yan Yuan took a deep breath, tapped the WeChat video call icon, and selected the pinned contact name, "My Xiaolin".

The screen lit up, and Lin Jianwei's face appeared on the screen.

The background is the familiar entryway of her apartment.

Lin Jianwei seemed to have just gotten home from get off work. She was still wearing a well-tailored dark business suit, carrying a bag in her hand, and her face showed signs of fatigue from work, with a few strands of hair falling across her forehead.

"Feed? Yan Yuan?" Her voice was a little tired, but when she saw Yan Yuan's face, she still smiled gently.

"Is training over for today? Are you tired?"

"Just finished, not tired today." Yan Yuan looked at the slightly tired but still beautiful face on the screen, and his heart inexplicably quickened. He adjusted his posture to look more relaxed.

"Xiaolin, you're off work too?"

Lin Jianwei blushed slightly upon hearing this address, but a sweet look flashed in her eyes. She said helplessly as she changed her shoes.

"Yeah, I just came in. I told you... don't call me Xiaolin... it sounds like you're calling a kid, and I'm clearly older than you..." She put her bag on the cabinet, walked to the living room sofa, sat down, and rubbed her temples.

"The company had a project wrapping up today, and we spent the whole afternoon in meetings. My head is spinning, ugh..."

Yan Yuan felt a pang of heartache seeing how tired she looked, but the excitement of the good news made him want to share it immediately.

"Xiao Lin, I have some good news to tell you."

"Hmm? What's the good news?" Lin Jianwei leaned back on the sofa, relaxed, and took a sip of water.

"I just received an email." Yan Yuan tried to keep his tone calm, but the light in his eyes was unmistakable. "An invitation to the Golden Globe Awards ceremony. An invitation for me to attend."

"Pfft...cough cough cough!" Lin Jianwei almost spat out the water she had just drunk. She choked and coughed repeatedly, her face turning red, her eyes wide open as she stared at the screen in disbelief.

"Wha...what?! The Golden Globe?! Really?!"

Lin Jianwei knew what the Ballon d'Or was and what its significance was in the football world.

She sat up abruptly, all her fatigue vanishing, replaced by a look of immense surprise and excitement.

"My God, Yan Yuan, I knew it, I knew it! Your performance this season has been absolutely phenomenal, that header the other day, and all those other goals! The Ballon d'Or! You absolutely have a chance! Absolutely!"

She was so excited that she became incoherent, like a little fan seeing her idol, completely losing her usual Goldman Sachs elite composure.

Yan Yuan was amused by her exaggerated reaction and laughed heartily.

"Hahahaha... Okay, okay, Analyst Lin, calm down. You look happier than I am."

"I'm so happy!" Lin Jianwei was still very excited, her eyes sparkling.

"Being invited is a recognition of your top-tier status, and I think your chances of winning are very high! The data speaks for itself, your influence is undeniable! You're so much younger than Messi and Ronaldo! The future is yours!"

She waved her arms, trying to convince him with data.

"And look at your goal-scoring efficiency, your assists, your key passes, and that record-breaking header—aren't all of those top-notch?"

Yan Yuan felt a warmth in his heart as he looked at her earnest expression, but he remained clear-headed.

"Kobayashi, my stats look good, but the Ballon d'Or... is a different story. Messi and Ronaldo are two real giants."

How many honors did they accumulate during their decade-long peak? How many moments of dominance in crucial moments? How many Champions League titles did they win?

"Ms. Kobayashi, I'm only 18 years old. What do I have? I only have a Bundesliga title? I haven't even stepped onto the Champions League final pitch yet, and I'm still a long way from the Ballon d'Or."

Lin Jianwei was momentarily speechless at his rational analysis, and then immediately retorted.

"So what if you're old? Youth is your greatest asset! And who says you have to have a Champions League title? Your performance this year has been phenomenal! It's groundbreaking! You've broken so many records! Besides..."

Her voice suddenly softened, her cheeks flushed slightly, her eyes darted around, and she muttered softly.

"You're much more handsome than them all..."

After saying that, Lin Jianwei felt embarrassed and quickly lowered her head to pretend to straighten her clothes.

She finally told the truth today.

Yan Yuan was taken aback at first, then burst into an even louder laugh, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Hahahahahahahaha... My dear Xiaolin, the last point you mentioned isn't in the Golden Globe selection criteria, but I still appreciate it. You have such good taste."

Then, Yan Yuan cleared his throat, looked at the girl on the screen who was lowering her head in embarrassment, and his tone became serious.

"Alright, Weiwei, let's get down to business. The invitation says we can bring one partner, so," Yan Yuan stared intently at her, his tone firm.

"Kobayashi, are you free that day? Would you like to come with me?"

"Huh?!" Lin Jianwei was completely stunned, her eyes widening even further, and she waved her hands frantically.

"Me? What? Is this...is this appropriate? That's the Golden Globe Awards ceremony! Live broadcast worldwide! So many football stars, celebrities, reporters...I...I'm just a..."

She was speechless, unsure how to describe herself.

"Just what?" Yan Yuan interrupted her again, his tone carrying a hint of domineering self-importance.

"You're my girlfriend. Messi brings Antonella, Ronaldo brings Georgina, so why can't I bring my Xiaolin? What's inappropriate about it?" Yan Yuan listed his reasons with righteous indignation.

Lin Jianwei was speechless, feeling as sweet as if a honey pot had been spilled, but the lack of confidence brought about by the grand occasion still made her hesitate.

"But... I've never been to an event like this before... I'm afraid I'll embarrass you..."

"No buts." Yan Yuan's voice softened slightly, carrying a hint of coaxing, but remained firm.

"Xiaolin, you'll have to get used to it. There will be many more opportunities to walk the red carpet with me in the future. Consider this a good opportunity to get used to the spotlight and build up your confidence."

"In the future...walking the red carpet..." Lin Jianwei blushed at his words, which carried the implication of future plans. She felt a surge of heat rush to her head, and her heart was pounding like a drum.

She was completely unable to resist Yan Yuan's straightforward and slightly domineering invitation, especially when he called her "Xiao Lin," which was incredibly effective.

She lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes, her voice barely audible, filled with deep shyness.

"Um...okay...fine, then...I'll go."

Yan Yuan smiled with satisfaction, like a cat that had successfully stolen some fish.

"That's right, Kobayashi, listen to your brother, okay?"

"Huh??? I...I'm the older sister!!"

"Hahahaha... Okay, okay, sister, Sister Lin, is that alright?"

Yan Yuan is becoming increasingly adept at "bullying the strong with the weak."

Lin Jianwei felt her cheeks burning hot enough to fry an egg, so embarrassed she wanted to disappear into the ground. She quickly changed the subject to cover up her panic.

"Oh! Right! So... what should I wear? Should I wear a very formal dress for that kind of occasion? An evening gown? I... I don't have one in my closet! Is it too late to order one now? I... I don't know much about these things..." She spoke quickly, somewhat anxiously.

Yan Yuan was amused by her flustered appearance and quickly comforted her.

"Don't worry, Kobayashi."

His voice was calm and reliable as he spoke.

"The club will take care of it. Arsenal has top designers or brands they collaborate with who will make custom suits for us. You just need to choose the style you like."

He looked at the face on the screen, which appeared exceptionally vivid due to shyness and anxiety, and spoke in a gentle tone with an undeniable certainty.

"Don't worry, I'm 120% sure you're good-looking, Kobayashi. You look good in anything."

These words were like a feather gently brushing against her heart, and Lin Jianwei felt her heartbeat, which had just calmed down a little, start to race again.

She could only blush and mutter a soft reply.

"Okay, then...we'll talk about it later. You...you should go and rest, training is so tiring..."

Lin Jianwei just wanted to end the call that was making her blush and her heart race as soon as possible. She couldn't guarantee that if the call continued, she might say something else "nonsense".

Yan Yuan looked at her flushed cheeks and evasive eyes, and his smile deepened.

"Okay, I'll listen to Xiaolin. Don't work too late, get some rest, goodnight."

"Goodnight... Yan Yuan." Lin Jianwei's voice was light and cheerful, yet still tinged with shyness. She still didn't have the courage to call him by a more intimate name like he did.

The video call ended, and the screen went dark.

Yan Yuan's deep, magnetic voice, and that uniquely affectionate "Xiao Lin," still seemed to echo in my ears.

Every word felt like a tiny hook, tickling her heart and making her cheeks flush uncontrollably.

She raised her hand to cover her face, feeling the warmth from her palm. Her mind was in turmoil, yet it also felt like it was filled with honey, sweet and overwhelming.

"Lin Jianwei, Lin Jianwei, you're so pathetic!" she muttered to herself, her tone tinged with frustration, yet she couldn't help but want to laugh.

"You're three years older than him, so why do you react like you've been acupunctured every time he calls you 'Xiao Lin'? You blush and your heart races... It's so embarrassing!"

She recalled her usual efficient and organized demeanor at the company, and then looked at herself now, completely flustered over a single title—it was like comparing two completely different people.

"But..." She lowered her hand, her eyes somewhat lost, yet also filled with a sweetness she herself didn't realize, "Why... why... why am I so used to it?"

She carefully recalled how Yan Yuan called her "Xiao Lin".

It's not the kind of dependence or coquetry a younger brother has for his older sister; on the contrary... it carries a slightly domineering sense of intimacy.

Even though she was the older one, when he called her that, she felt cherished and pampered like a little girl.

"Lin, then, Lin..." Lin Jianwei muttered softly, her voice carrying a sweet resignation.

"Anyway... it's his Kobayashi."