"Mr. Morgan, there's a question I must clarify with you before we begin formal discussions," said Galliani, steepling his fingers with a calculated look. His tone remained polite, but there was an unmistakable firmness behind the words. The faint clink of a spoon stirring a coffee cup in the corner was the only other sound in the hushed café.
Arthur sat up straighter in his seat, curious. Galliani, skeptical as ever about Arthur's relationship with Raiola, clearly wasn't ready to play his full hand just yet. The AC Milan CEO took a breath and leaned slightly forward. "After we received word that you were interested in bringing in Kaka, the matter triggered a very serious internal debate. And let me be clear—the opposition was not minor. In fact, many voices within the club were against the move. Carlo and I included. We're both opposed to selling Kaka."
Arthur blinked.
That... was unexpected.
Galliani's voice remained steady, but there was a deliberate chill behind his words, like a lawyer reading out a verdict before the trial had even begun. Arthur could see what he was doing: setting the stage, creating friction, and planting seeds of doubt. A classic negotiation tactic. If they made the transfer seem impossible, anything Arthur could offer would appear like a miracle.
But honestly?
Arthur was confused. And not the "I'm being polite" kind of confused, either.
He looked at Galliani as if the man had just asked if the Earth was flat.
Wait a minute… was this some new Italian negotiation style? Was Galliani trying to raise the price by acting like they didn't even want to sell?
Because if AC Milan really had no intention of selling Kaka, then… what the hell were they doing here?
Arthur's brow furrowed slightly. He cleared his throat and leaned forward with a small frown. "Uh… Mr. Galliani," he began slowly, like he was trying to figure out if he'd misunderstood something obvious. "I don't quite follow what you mean."
His tone was polite, but the expression on his face said something else entirely: Are you two just here for the free coffee, or what?
He glanced between Galliani and Ancelotti, then added, "If AC Milan truly has no intention of selling Kaka, then what exactly is the purpose of you and Mr. Ancelotti showing up in this café tonight?"
Galliani, cool as ever, responded evenly. "I just wanted to see how sincere Leeds United really is…"
But before he could finish, Arthur cut him off.
"Forget it, gentlemen."
His voice was low and firm, and his sudden shift in demeanor sucked the warmth right out of the room. Arthur rose from his chair with a sharp motion, his coat still draped over the back. With one smooth gesture, he grabbed it and began slipping it on without even looking at them.
"In my opinion, it's AC Milan who's lacking sincerity," he said, not even trying to mask the edge in his voice now. "You can ask any club across Europe I've ever dealt with. Every single time I sit at the negotiation table, I do it with full sincerity."
His eyes flashed, and he jabbed a finger lightly toward Galliani as he straightened his collar. "And let me remind you, Mr. Galliani—I'm the owner of Leeds United. I'm here in person tonight, speaking to you—who, no offense, is just the CEO of AC Milan. That alone is the greatest show of sincerity you'll get from me."
Without another word, Arthur turned away, his coat now fully on. He waved one hand casually over his shoulder.
"Let's go, Diego!"
Simeone, who had been sitting nearby quietly sipping his espresso like a bouncer watching for trouble at a nightclub, blinked in surprise. He glanced over at Raiola—who looked like someone had just unplugged his brain—then quickly grabbed his own coat and followed Arthur out, nearly knocking over a chair in the process.
As they stepped outside into the chill of the Zurich evening, a sharp breeze whipped through the street, tugging at their jackets.
"Bloody hell, it's cold," Simeone muttered as he shoved his arms into his sleeves. "Boss, are we really just walking out like that?"
Arthur's lips curled into a smirk.
Oh, they weren't going anywhere. Not really.
He shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Course not."
This was all part of the play.
He was betting. Betting on Galliani's ambition… and desperation.
Arthur knew damn well that Serie A wasn't what it used to be. The days when Italian clubs dominated Europe were long gone. TV rights weren't pulling in what the Premier League was. Stadiums like San Siro, once the jewel of Milan, now had rows of empty red seats gathering dust every other weekend.
AC Milan's financial situation wasn't exactly glowing. And while Kaka was undoubtedly critical to their current success on the pitch, Arthur knew Galliani wasn't about to toss away a serious offer just to make a statement.
Not when Milan desperately needed revenue.
Not when Kaka's contract was entering dangerous territory.
Not when Arthur Morgan—young, flush with Premier League TV cash, and ambitious as hell—had shown up in Zurich personally.
Galliani's line about "testing sincerity" had said it all. Arthur had seen straight through the routine the moment the words left his mouth.
He knew exactly what that meant.
They wanted a higher price. That's all.
Plain and simple.
****
Arthur was under no illusions when it came to evaluating Kaka's worth.
He remembered all too well how, back in 2009, Real Madrid had thrown a staggering 65 million euros at AC Milan to pry Kaka away from San Siro. That transfer had shaken the football world—it had been the second highest fee in football history at the time. But that was Kaka at the very peak of his powers: Champions League winner, Ballon d'Or holder, World Player of the Year. A maestro in white and red who had danced through defenses and made the San Siro his stage.
Back then, that fee had made sense.
But now?
Kaka wasn't the same player. The injuries, the inconsistency, the passage of time—they had all taken their toll. He was still world-class, no doubt, but the days of him lighting up European nights with effortless brilliance were no longer guaranteed.
Arthur wasn't going to pay top dollar for nostalgia.
In his own estimation, anything above 50 million euros was out of the question. In fact, if everything went to plan, he was aiming well below that mark.
And Galliani's performance inside the café just now? That was a red flag.
The way he'd tried to play coy, acting as if Milan weren't even willing to sell, was a classic smokescreen. Arthur had seen it before. That fake reluctance, that talk of opposition inside the club—it was a setup. A prelude to asking for a ridiculous price tag.
That's why Arthur had stormed out.
If he didn't take the lead now, Galliani would try to drive the entire negotiation into the stratosphere. And Arthur wasn't about to let that happen.
Just as Simeone opened his mouth to speak, the glass door behind them swung open with a loud creak.
"Ssszzzle~"
The sound of freezing air rushing into the warm café pierced the silence, followed by the unmistakable clatter of hurried footsteps.
Simeone turned around—and nearly laughed.
There was Galliani, stumbling out onto the cold sidewalk in nothing but his suit and a scarf. No coat. No hat. Just desperation wrapped in expensive wool.
Arthur didn't even flinch.
Simeone looked from Galliani to Arthur and then back again, shaking his head like someone watching a magician pull a rabbit out of thin air.
"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "You really got him, boss."
Galliani, now rubbing his arms vigorously to ward off the biting Alpine wind, trotted over with an awkward, forced smile. His bald head was shining under the streetlights, and his breath came out in fast, cloudy puffs.
"Mr. Morgan! Mr. Morgan, please—don't misunderstand!" he called out, voice slightly hoarse. He looked like a man whose pride had just taken a snowball to the face. "You've misunderstood my meaning entirely!"
Arthur stayed where he was, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, unmoved.
"I wasn't questioning your sincerity," Galliani said hurriedly. "And we never rejected your interest in Kaka. Please, forgive the way I phrased it earlier. That was… that was entirely my mistake."
Arthur let the smirk creep back onto his face for just a second. The moment Galliani had burst through that door, he knew he'd won this round.
Still, now was not the time to gloat. Time to press the advantage.
With a cold stare, Arthur wiped the grin and replaced it with a frown, just enough to look annoyed but not unreasonable. He turned slowly to face Galliani, taking in the man's shivering form.
"Alright," he said coolly. "I forgive you, Mr. Galliani."
Galliani exhaled in relief.
But Arthur wasn't finished.
"The car's coming soon. Did you come out here to see me and Diego off?"
Galliani's eyes widened. "Yes, yes, I—"
Then the second half of the sentence sank in.
Wait. What?
He blinked. "Wait, wait! Mr. Morgan, you can't just leave! We haven't even gotten to the main point of tonight's meeting! It's freezing out here, and I'm an old man, you know—please, let's talk. Let's just go back inside, eh?"
Arthur paused dramatically, then gave Simeone a sideways glance as if asking, Should we keep him twisting in the wind a bit longer?
Simeone shrugged, pretending to consider it, then stepped aside. "Your call, boss."
Galliani took the opportunity and reached for Arthur's arm, gently but insistently guiding him back toward the café door.
"Come, come—it's warm inside, I promise. Let's not catch pneumonia before we even get to the numbers."
Arthur sighed with theatrical reluctance. "Fine. But next time, Mr. Galliani, try not to insult me before we sit down."
"Yes, yes, understood. Completely understood," Galliani said hastily as he ushered Arthur and Simeone back inside.
Once they were seated again, and the waitress refilled the steaming cups in front of them, the air was still a little tense—but Arthur was back in control.
He didn't give Galliani a second to reset or steer the conversation.
He picked up his coffee, took a casual sip, and placed the cup back down with a light clink.
Then, in a low, crisp tone, he said, "Mr. Galliani, I don't want to beat around the bush with you."
Galliani straightened in his seat, bracing himself.
"Thirty million euros," Arthur said, locking eyes with him. "That's my offer for Kaka."