Whether a coach can control his players depends on his ability, reputation, accolades, and the authority the club entrusts to him.
So Mourinho didn't hesitate for long before replying, "As long as your healing pod is truly effective and not available to players from other teams for the next few years, I don't think any player plagued by injuries would refuse our offer.
"And if you give me the authority to bench disobedient players indefinitely, no one would dare cause trouble."
"Heh," William chuckled. Hearing Mourinho's subtle demand for more authority, William thought for a moment before agreeing. "As long as it doesn't impact our results, who starts and who plays is entirely up to you."
"Understood, Boss."
Excited, Mourinho exchanged a glance with team manager Kenny, who rolled his eyes in resignation. With William's direct endorsement, Mourinho was confident that as long as the team performed reasonably well, he would have complete control over the sporting side of things.
And if he could win a few championships, he might even establish a Chelsea dynasty, much like Ferguson did at Manchester United.
As they continued talking, Jessie returned to the sitting room, a bright smile on her face. She said to Lena, "Madam, dinner is ready. Should we invite the guests to the table now?"
"Of course," Lena replied warmly. The news about potentially signing Ronaldo and Buffon had put her in an excellent mood, and Jessie's deference to her rather than William made her appreciate the young woman even more. With a smile, she added, "Thank you for your hard work."
Jessie, pleased by Lena's approval, offered a quick smile and glanced discreetly at Abigail, who returned the look with a subtle nod of gratitude. Observing the silent exchange, William gently squeezed Abigail's hand with a knowing smile.
The group moved to the dining room, where the chefs had prepared a meal of top-quality fresh cod, live prawns, crabs, and various shellfish—authentic Portuguese cuisine.
Mourinho, delighted by the thoughtful gesture, expressed his gratitude repeatedly, which made Lena even more pleased. She found Jessie increasingly likable, and Jessie, sensing the positive reception, smiled modestly while subtly signaling her thanks to Abigail again.
William, who had noticed everything, couldn't help but smile to himself.
As the group enjoyed their meal, chatting and laughing, the outside of the estate was now swarmed with dozens of paparazzi and journalists.
After news broke that William had personally welcomed Mourinho, Kenny, and the wheelchair-bound Marcel while wearing a white lab coat and futuristic blue-lit smart glasses, several English TV stations interrupted their programming to report the story.
Speculation spread rapidly. Why had Marcel, who was injured, visited William's estate? And why was William wearing a lab coat? Was it possible that William had developed a groundbreaking new technology for treating athletes' injuries?
Not long after, Chelsea fans, bundled up in winter coats and wearing team scarves and hats, began gathering outside the estate.
When one of the fan leaders, Old Swagger, arrived with his son Bob Lee Swagger and a few companions, other fans, aware of his good relationship with William, urged him to go inside and ask what was happening.
Before Old Swagger could make up his mind, William, having been alerted by Sunday, instructed the AI to invite the Swaggers into the estate. The gates opened automatically, and a servant politely welcomed the father and son inside.
"God, Old Swagger, I didn't realize your relationship with Mr. Devonshire was this close," one of his companions exclaimed in admiration.
Swagger simply smiled and, without responding, entered the estate with his son Bob. When they reached the main building, they were greeted by Abigail, who apologized politely.
"Apologies, Mr. Swagger," Abigail said, "William and Mrs. Devonshire are currently dining with Mr. Mourinho and Mr. Kenny. I was asked to welcome you, as William believes there's no need for formalities between friends like you two."
"Exactly," Old Swagger replied with a laugh. "With the relationship William and I share, formalities are unnecessary."
"Thank you," Abigail said with a smile, gesturing for them to follow her. "Please come this way. If you haven't had dinner, you're welcome to join us."
"Really?"
Old Swagger, though he'd already eaten, wasn't about to pass up the chance to dine with the team owner, coach, and manager.
"Of course. Before I came out, William had already instructed the chefs to prepare extra food for you," Abigail said with a smile. She added, "Since the coach is Portuguese, tonight's meal is Portuguese cuisine. If you don't like seafood, I can have the chefs prepare something else."
"No need," Old Swagger said quickly. "Seafood is fine. Though, if there's beer, that'd be even better."
"Would you prefer Pabst Blue Ribbon 1844?" Abigail offered without missing a beat. "If not, we also have Budweiser."
"Pabst will do just fine." Old Swagger, though familiar with the 20-pound-per-bottle beer, had rarely had the chance to drink it. With that option available, Budweiser was out of the question.
When they entered the dining room, William stood up politely and walked over to shake Old Swagger's hand. To Old Swagger's surprise, William even hugged his son, Bob.
"How've you been, buddy?" William asked with a smile.
Bob Lee Swagger grinned. "Not bad. I bought a big house near the stadium and started dating someone. The only downside is I've been drinking a bit too much beer lately."
"Hah! You sure work fast," William teased. "Ten days back, and your life's already complete. Come on, let me introduce you to the team's coach and manager. If you ever want seats near the bench, just talk to Kenny. Isn't that right, Kenny?"
"Of course, Mr. Devonshire," Kenny said immediately. "When I get back, I'll arrange for the two Swaggers to have the best season tickets at Stamford Bridge. And if they prefer, a box seat is also an option."
With the owner personally extending the offer, Kenny had no objections. Even if some seats were already sold, he could always upgrade existing ticket holders to a private box.
"Thanks, but..."
Seeing Old Swagger hesitate, William patted him on the shoulder with a smile. "Go ahead, buddy. Whatever it is, just say it. If I can help, I will."
Glancing at his father, whose hair had turned completely white, Bob hesitated briefly before blurting out, "Can I work for the team?"
"Work?" William was momentarily taken aback.
Old Swagger quickly explained, "After I returned, I met with Harry Hart, but you know how it is, William. That job doesn't require me to be there often. With my background, I need something to keep me busy..."
"Got it. Say no more."
William understood immediately. The "other job" Old Swagger mentioned was as a sniper instructor for the Kingsman agency. It was a position that didn't require daily attendance—sometimes, just once a week was enough.
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