Marcel had already fallen asleep inside the healing pod, and the treatment was set to take three hours. Turning to Jessie, William said, "Darling, could you help us prepare dinner?"
"Of course, sweetheart," Jessie responded sweetly with a nod. But just as she took a step, she paused and glanced at Lena. Only after Lena rolled her eyes and nodded did Jessie politely greet everyone and happily leave.
Watching Jessie leave and then glancing at Abigail, Mourinho and Kenny exchanged a look, their hearts filled with envy. The audacity to openly keep two women at his side and introduce them both to his mother—only someone like William could pull that off.
Satisfied that Marcel's treatment was proceeding without issue, William turned back to the group and said, "The treatment will take three hours. Let's head to the sitting room for some coffee and a chat in the meantime."
"Sounds good, Boss," Kenny said promptly, though he couldn't help but glance back at the healing pod one last time.
In the estate's grand sitting room, the staff, having been alerted by Sunday, quickly brought out coffee, tea, and an assortment of snacks. As they sipped their beverages, the conversation naturally turned to Chelsea's performance and future plans.
The team's recent success gave Mourinho the confidence to speak freely, and he passionately discussed tactics and strategies. Inevitably, the topic turned to criticism from some fans about his tendency to "park the bus" against strong opponents.
William waved a hand to cut off Kenny's attempt at an explanation. "I know you want the team to play attractive football to maintain the financial balance, but let's be honest, that's unrealistic.
"With Chelsea's current situation, we won't see results without significant investment. My expectations are simple: aside from the money allocated for a new stadium, training facilities, and transfers, as long as the team's day-to-day operations are financially balanced, that's good enough for me.
"If you can boost Chelsea's reputation in international markets, then you'll exceed expectations. As for whether we play attractive or ugly football, I don't care. Without results, no one will remember how well we played."
Mourinho, pleased by the clear support, eagerly agreed. "Exactly, Boss. I'd love for the team to play beautiful football too, but as you said, that's something we can aim for after we've won championships.
"Without titles, we won't have the leverage to attract star players or talented prospects. Rather than overpaying for players who are only interested in money, I'd rather target young talents with high potential."
Hearing this, William's thoughts turned to players he'd been researching over the past few days—Carvalho, Ferdinand, and Lampard. Snapping his fingers, he activated a holographic projection above the coffee table.
Images of the three players appeared in the air, causing Mourinho's face to stiffen slightly. William smiled knowingly. "I may be a football amateur, but I do know that having a strong defense is key to a team's success.
"Carvalho, Ferdinand, and Marcel, along with Terry, who's coming up through the ranks, are the four defenders I believe will secure Chelsea's future. I don't care how you do it, but I want Carvalho, Ferdinand, and Lampard signed to the team."
Mourinho's expression darkened as he considered the implications of William's words. William laughed, knowing exactly what was going through the coach's mind.
Patting Mourinho on the shoulder, William said, "How about I bring in Buffon?"
Mourinho, who had been stewing over William's interference, froze. After a moment, he asked in astonishment, "The goalkeeper from Parma?"
"That's right," William confirmed. "I've heard that Juventus plans to go after him next summer. How much do you think it would take to bring him to Chelsea instead?"
"How much?" Kenny interjected before Mourinho could respond. Shaking his head, he said, "Boss, it would take at least £30 million to sign Buffon."
"No, that's not enough," Mourinho countered with a sigh. "£30 million is less than €50 million, and under normal circumstances, that would suffice.
"But if Juventus is interested, Buffon wouldn't even consider Chelsea. Unless we outbid both Parma and Buffon himself, he won't come here."
"Then we'll outbid them," William said nonchalantly. "€60 million is my ceiling."
The room fell silent as everyone stared at William in shock. Leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, William addressed Kenny. "Tell Parma that whether it's pounds, euros, or dollars, I'll pay the full amount upfront. But I want Buffon to sign a minimum six-year contract with the team."
Lena grabbed William's arm, torn between excitement and dismay. "€60 million for a goalkeeper? Are you insane?"
"No, Mom, I'm perfectly rational. The euro isn't worth much—€60 million is only $53.3 million. If it means bringing in a high-profile player, I don't mind spending the money.
"In fact, I'd love to sign a superstar every year. It would make the fans happy and boost the team's reputation significantly.
"As for focusing on defenders and Buffon, that's because I believe in building a solid defense before worrying about offense," William said, glancing at Mourinho. "I imagine the coach feels the same way."
Caught under Lena's watchful gaze, Mourinho shrugged. "If the boss doesn't mind spending the money, I certainly won't say no to Buffon.
"However, with the four players you've requested, plus the attacking reinforcements I need, we'll be looking at a minimum of £100 million in transfer fees this winter."
Mourinho had no objections to Buffon's transfer—he'd happily take the world-class goalkeeper. And with William's insistence on Carvalho and his familiarity with Porto's players, Mourinho began to reconsider Ferdinand and Lampard as well.
"But you're essentially buying success," Lena protested, holding her head in frustration. "While other clubs are meticulously budgeting, you're throwing money around like confetti. Do you know how many teams will call us disruptors this winter?"
William shrugged indifferently. "Let them complain. I'm not short on cash. If we don't take advantage of other teams' financial struggles now, Chelsea's current reputation won't be enough to attract established stars.
"Oh, by the way," he said, suddenly remembering Ronaldo's situation. Turning to Sunday, he asked, "Pull up Ronaldo's file. Is he injured right now?"
"Yes, Sir," Sunday replied immediately. "In April of this year, during the Coppa Italia final, Ronaldo suffered a rupture of his patellar tendon after only six minutes on the field. He's been recovering for the past eight months."
Before William could respond, Lena spoke up eagerly. "Can our healing pod fix that kind of injury?"
"Please hold on, Madam," Sunday said. After a brief pause, it continued, "Although Ronaldo has suffered multiple injuries, my calculations indicate a greater than 90% probability of successful treatment."
"Damn it, Sunday! When did you start being so cryptic?" Lena complained before grabbing William's arm. "Buy him. You have to buy Ronaldo."
Smiling, William patted his mother's hand and turned to Mourinho. "Coach, can you handle Ronaldo?"
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