Achieving a perfect balance between keeping the self-healing technology exclusive and promoting its fame wasn't as difficult as it seemed. Lena had dreams of winning championships—wasn't that something William wanted too?
Of course, he did. From the moment he bought Chelsea, winning championships was always on his mind. And while he couldn't offer this technology to players from other football teams, who said it couldn't be available to athletes from other sports?
Every year, thousands of athletes around the world struggled with injuries. Surely a few hundred could afford the $100,000 treatment fee.
And for the ultra-wealthy athletes in the NBA, NFL, tennis, or Formula 1, charging anywhere from $1 million to $5 million for the treatment was more than reasonable.
Moreover, bringing in a few big-name football stars plagued by recurring injuries to Chelsea could work wonders for the club's reputation. Imagine these players arriving injured and, within days, appearing fully recovered in training or matches. The publicity would be unavoidable.
If Chelsea could go an entire season without any injury-related absences and then win a championship, the media coverage alone would be the best advertisement for the technology.
The only concern was the potential for lawsuits if they refused to make the treatment available to other football teams.
Considering this, William turned to his mother and asked, "If we keep this technology exclusive and don't offer it to other football teams, aren't you worried we'll get sued for violating fair competition rules?"
"Fair competition in football?" Lena scoffed, looking at William as though he were an idiot. "William, football has never been about fair competition.
"And even if other teams try to sue us, think about how long it would take. First, they'd have to file a case. Then the FA would have to review and discuss it. Do you think we'd sit idle during that time? We could easily spend a little money to find experts to argue on our behalf.
"By the time any decision is made, it could take one or two years—maybe even longer. If we still can't win a championship by then, we might as well focus on making money.
"As for the Champions League, as long as we don't violate any explicit rules, there's no need to care about them. And who says we're obligated to make medical technology publicly available?"
Hearing this, William nodded. Spending a few million dollars to get a bunch of experts on their side was easy enough. His gaze shifted to Abigail and Jessie, who had been quietly listening. "What do you two think?"
Abigail opened her mouth to speak but stopped when she felt Jessie's hand tighten around hers.
Glancing at the nervous Jessie, Abigail quickly understood the signal. Jessie was subtly reminding her that unless William had firmly decided, it was best for the two of them to avoid getting involved in any potential disagreements between him and Lena.
Touched by Jessie's gesture, Abigail patted her hand and whispered, "Don't worry." Then, turning to William, she said, "Honestly, darling, I think you've already made up your mind. And besides, your mother's birthday is only three days away."
"Exactly, exactly," Jessie quickly chimed in, grateful for Abigail's support. "Mrs. Lena is the most important person in our family right now."
"Very true," Lena laughed, clearly delighted by Jessie's flattery.
William couldn't help but laugh along. "Alright, then. We'll start by accepting treatment applications from athletes in other sports. As for football, we'll delay as long as we can."
Having gotten what she wanted, Lena happily kissed William on the forehead. "Good night, my sweet boy."
After Lena left, Abigail moved closer to William on the sofa. "Bringing in Ronaldo was a smart move," she said. "There are plenty of football players—geniuses and superstars alike—whose careers have been derailed by injuries. Their influence is enormous, and signing them could be an excellent strategy."
"Alright," William interrupted gently. "I understand everything you're saying. Don't worry—I'm not that petty."
The three of them chatted a bit longer before William led Abigail and Jessie back to their room for some "healthy exercise."
The next morning, just after 7 AM, William was having breakfast with his mother when Sunday's voice sounded in his ear.
"SIR, Swagger has just contacted me. I believe you should visit Chelsea's training ground."
Setting down his knife and fork, William frowned. "What's going on?"
"Swagger reports that Mourinho's behavior this morning has been rather unusual. It appears he intends to injure himself."
"What?!" William froze for a moment before angrily tossing his napkin onto the table. "That lunatic! Is he crazy, or did something happen to him?"
After explaining the situation to his equally concerned mother, William drove to Chelsea's training ground in an Aston Martin.
Upon arriving and parking the car, he spotted Swagger waiting for him near the entrance.
"What's that madman trying to do?" William demanded as he got out of the car.
"Relax, Boss," Swagger said with a chuckle. "Come with me to the training field—you'll see for yourself."
Reassured by Swagger's casual tone, William followed him to the training ground, where he was greeted by Gunnar and his 16-year-old daughter, Sophia.
"Good morning, Boss," Gunnar greeted. "Have you had breakfast yet? If not, I can grab something for you from the cafeteria."
William's eyes flicked between Sophia—youthful, radiant, and already curvaceous—and Gunnar, who was burly and rough-looking. He couldn't help but once again question whether Sophia was really Gunnar's biological daughter.
"No need—I've already eaten," William replied before motioning for Gunnar to step aside.
Shrugging, Gunnar said, "If you don't need anything else, Boss, I'll clock in and change into my uniform for work."
Watching Gunnar walk away, William turned his attention back to Sophia, who was smiling sweetly beside him. It didn't take him long to piece things together—Sophia had probably been the one to get Gunnar a job as a security guard at the club.
Shaking his head, William ignored Sophia and continued toward the training ground, where he spotted Mourinho walking with a noticeable limp but a wide grin on his face.
"Apologies, Boss," Mourinho said when he saw William. "I twisted my ankle during morning exercises with the players, so I wasn't able to greet you properly."
William shook his head, exasperated. "Should I criticize you for being reckless or commend you for using yourself as a guinea pig to prove the new technology works?"
Mourinho shrugged nonchalantly. "Winning is all that matters. A little sprain is nothing."
"Alright, let's make this a one-time thing," William said, turning to Swagger. "Head back to the estate and tell my mother to prepare a medical kit for ankle injuries."
"Understood, Boss," Swagger replied before leaving for the estate.
Half an hour later, Swagger returned with a portable medical box specifically designed for ankle injuries. He placed it in front of Mourinho, who was seated on the coach's bench.
William scanned the box with his phone, and it automatically opened. "Put your injured foot inside. If you can still walk, this should heal the sprain in about an hour."
After removing his shoe and sock, Mourinho hesitated for a moment before placing his foot into the box. To his surprise, the liquid inside was warm.
An hour later, under the astonished gazes of the players and staff, Mourinho laced up his shoes and began walking around.
When he felt no pain, he started jogging. After completing a lap, he returned to William, his excitement palpable.
"Boss, this is incredible! I didn't expect the results to be this effective.
"With this technology, our tactical options will expand significantly. For this afternoon's match, I think we can give Arsenal a little surprise."
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