"Whether it works or not is still uncertain," William said, shaking his head. "I'm trying to capture a live vampire for testing. Until I can confirm things, be cautious."
"Understood."
The Black Ghost, having faced life-and-death situations multiple times, wasn't about to underestimate a potentially non-human adversary. After saluting William with his backpack in hand, he left the castle.
Once William confirmed with Sunday that the defensive systems of both the castle and the London estate were secure, he activated the portal and transported himself to the basement of the London estate.
By 5 PM, the medical equipment in the lab was installed and tested. Half an hour later, Sunday reported that Mourinho, team manager Kenny, and team captain Marcel Desailly had arrived outside the estate.
William, deliberately donning a white lab coat and a futuristic-looking single-lens smart glass, took the elevator up to the estate's main floor.
Stepping outside, he greeted the three visitors with a wave while his mother Lena, Abigail, and Jessie looked at him in surprise.
"Welcome to the Devonshire estate, gentlemen," William said with a smile as he approached. "I apologize for not being around earlier—my mother didn't realize I was busy in the lab."
Before Mourinho could respond, team manager Kenny jumped in. "It's no trouble, Boss. We're sorry for interrupting your experiments."
After shaking hands with William, Kenny stepped aside and gave Mourinho a look, as if urging him to behave. Mourinho cursed inwardly. As if I'd dare to offend such a wealthy, hands-off owner, especially when I'm in no position to act arrogant right now.
Quickly extending both hands, Mourinho clasped William's hand firmly. "Thank you for having us. It's an honor to be here, and I hope we're not disturbing you."
"Not at all," William lied smoothly. "Most of the time, I'm just thinking. Hands-on experimentation is relatively rare."
Letting go of Mourinho's hand, William turned to Marcel Desailly, who was seated in a wheelchair. "I know you—Marcel Desailly, the French defensive powerhouse. I heard you were recently named captain of the French national team. Are you interested in taking over the captain's armband at Chelsea as well?"
Everyone froze at the unexpected suggestion, except for Jessie, who wasn't familiar with football. The others all turned to look at William in surprise, while William simply smiled without offering an explanation.
Marcel Desailly's style was well-suited to Mourinho's tactics, and as the captain of the French national team, he was a natural leader. William figured it would be good for Chelsea to have him as the team captain, at least until John Terry matured into a suitable leader in a few years.
"Me? Really?"
Marcel, who had spent more than a decade in the sport, winning both the Champions League and the World Cup, found himself genuinely moved. Despite his accolades, meeting Chelsea's extremely wealthy owner while injured, and being offered the captaincy on the spot, was overwhelming.
Ignoring Mourinho's slightly stiff expression, William smiled and said, "After the winter transfer window, I'll invest heavily in reinforcing the squad for Mourinho. Next summer, there will be significant investments again to bring in new and younger players.
"We'll need experienced veterans like you to help manage the locker room. Of course, this is just my suggestion; the final decision is up to the coach."
William turned to Mourinho, who, hearing his boss promise substantial transfer funds, shrugged. "If you're willing to clear out some of the older players and the current captain, I see no reason to say no to having the captain of the French national team as our captain."
"'Clear out' sounds a bit harsh. I prefer the term 'amicable parting,'" William said with a chuckle before looking at Kenny. "What's the total value of the players who aren't part of our future plans?"
"Four players in total, with a combined value of around £6 million," Kenny answered after a moment of thought.
William shrugged. £6 million wasn't a negligible amount, so he refrained from acting overly generous and offering to let the players leave on free transfers. "Handle it as you see fit, just make sure they don't badmouth us after leaving."
Hearing this, Kenny felt relieved. Though the team's recent success had improved ticket sales and ended their streak of financial losses, £6 million was still a significant sum for the frugal manager.
Neither Mourinho nor Marcel showed any objections. Transfers were a normal part of football, and allowing players to choose their next clubs without obstacles was already considered generous.
"Let's head to the lab and take care of Marcel first," William said with a smile after Sunday informed him that paparazzi outside had already taken photos of their meeting.
As they entered the estate, the group took the elevator down to the basement. Passing through three security checkpoints on the way to the lab, everyone's anticipation for William's so-called self-healing technology grew.
Inside the lab, William had Marcel lie down inside a sealed medical pod and put on a breathing apparatus. Smiling, he asked, "Besides your sprained ankle, do you have any other injuries or health issues?"
Marcel hesitated before admitting, "I had surgery on my left foot a while ago. Does that count?"
"Relax," William said reassuringly. "To me, you're not just a player—you're my patient. As a player, you might be worth ten or twenty million, but this machine, and what it represents for the future, is worth more than 100 Chelseas combined. Understand?"
The reasoning was simple. If this machine could heal Marcel's sprain and other lingering issues, it would be a game-changer for athletes worldwide. For William, the inventor, the potential profits would be astronomical.
Marcel quickly grasped the implications and added, "I've had lower back pain on and off for the past two years. Can this fix that too?"
William nodded. "Of course. Bone fractures, sprains, muscle injuries—this pod can handle all of that. If it's cancer, genetic disorders, viral infections, or diseases, though, that's beyond its capabilities."
With a playful smirk, William teased, "I've been wondering why your performance has dropped in the last two years despite you not partying at bars anymore. Turns out this is the reason. That's probably why you were so eager to try this treatment, right?"
Caught off guard by the accurate guess, Marcel scratched his head awkwardly. William's reputation and wealth had made him more willing to try the experimental treatment.
William didn't mind Marcel's undisclosed issues. Most professional players had hidden injuries, and there was no point in holding it against them.
"Relax. By tomorrow's training, you'll probably feel like you did before your injuries. Although, if that's the case, I wonder if I should ask the French Football Federation to cover your treatment costs?"
Marcel laughed, "You know how it is, Boss. That might be a bit difficult."
"Fine," William said with a shrug. "I'll add your treatment costs to their bill the next time they come knocking for something."
Lena, amused by the exchange, lightly slapped William on the arm. "Alright, William, don't be so petty. Marcel is one of our players—consider it a perk."
"Okay, let's get started," William said.
The medical pod automatically closed around Marcel. A flat holographic display appeared before William, and with a few taps, the pod began to fill with self-healing liquid, quickly enveloping Marcel completely.
Although Marcel initially seemed a bit anxious about being submerged, he soon calmed down and drifted off to sleep.
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