Chapter 191: We Are Chelsea Now—The New Kings of London!
When Leon received the call from Mourinho, his reaction was a beat too slow.
Memories from his past timeline clashed with the vastly altered reality, and for a moment, he mistakenly thought Mourinho was calling him as Manchester United's new head coach.
It wasn't until he casually glanced at the calendar on the wall that it hit him—Moyes was the man in charge at United right now.
So Mourinho must be...?
"Boss, you just resigned two days ago—don't tell me you're already back in London?" Leon asked, a mix of excitement and nervousness in his voice.
He wasn't sure whether Mourinho had returned to England or... headed to Paris.
After all, PSG's coaching seat was vacant, and with Ancelotti having taken the Madrid job, it wasn't out of the question for the Parisians to swoop in.
Their squad was solid—young talents in midfield, Ibra up front, Thiago Silva in the back. It wouldn't be a bad place for him.
Except... that infuriating attacking midfielder was there. The thought of him made Leon wrinkle his nose.
Plus, Leon had never really warmed to PSG as a club. Given the choice, he'd much rather go to London, even if the food sucked and the weather was miserable.
Fortunately, Mourinho didn't drag things out. He cheerfully confirmed he was already at Chelsea's training ground.
The moment Leon heard the word "Chelsea", his emotions settled.
He didn't give any verbal promises, but he asked only one question:
"Does Mr. Roman believe he can beat PSG's bid?"
Mourinho, on the other end of the line, grinned from ear to ear.
"Pack your things. Report to Cobham in three days. Let Jorge handle the paperwork. Just get to London early."
Classic Mourinho—direct and no-nonsense. He hung up before Leon could even reply.
Leon stared at his now-dark phone screen, lips curling into a smile.
He'd expected this.
Ever since Mourinho resigned, Leon had known a call would come.
He just didn't expect it so soon.
And that one sentence—Mourinho's guarantee—was exactly what Leon needed.
"Maybe… it really is time to say goodbye."
Once his emotions calmed, Leon stood on the second-floor balcony of his villa, gazing toward the distant Valdebebas training complex.
There was a flicker of reluctance in his eyes.
Mourinho's Madrid wasn't born perfect.
They'd stumbled. In that first season, they were battered by Barcelona.
Leon wasn't good enough yet. He'd had to go to Milan on loan just to earn his place in Madrid's squad.
When Madrid lost 5–0 to Barça, the whole world mocked them.
But it was that humiliation that fueled their fire.
They returned in the Copa del Rey final and got their revenge.
Then came the titles.
Leon remembered every road that led to Valdebebas.
He remembered every extra training session, every drop of sweat, every breakthrough.
Together, they showed the world what Real Madrid really meant.
They polished the crown that had gathered dust and restored the club to its rightful place.
"We don't have regrets," Leon whispered. "If anyone does, it's those who had to leave before we reached the top."
His thoughts drifted to that night in 2012, the Champions League final, when they brought home Madrid's tenth European crown.
He remembered thinking, "A team as tough as Chelsea… might never be seen again."
But tonight?
Tonight, he was thinking about joining them.
"There will never be another Mourinho-era Madrid.
Never again…"
…
The day finally came—Mendes began formal transfer talks with Real Madrid.
Florentino Pérez stood firm.
He'd already rejected PSG's massive bid.
Today, he told Sánchez the same thing: Don't sell.
Pérez still had faith.
He believed that if they forced Leon to stay, then within a few months, once he realized he still had a starting spot under Ancelotti, he'd change his mind.
But Pérez was wrong.
Ten minutes into the meeting, Sánchez called him.
His expression changed instantly.
He hung up and rushed to the negotiation room.
He wanted one last, face-to-face conversation.
Leon had never seen Pérez like this—rushed, anxious.
Maybe "anxious" was too strong a word.
It's just that the Pérez he knew was always composed, always confident.
So when he saw that flash of regret and hesitation, the contrast hit hard.
But there was no need for small talk.
They'd already spoken once.
Leon had been very clear.
"Leon," Pérez said softly. "You really can't wait? Not even three years?
Do you know how much reputation and commercial value you'll lose if you walk away now?
Please… think carefully. Don't act out of pride."
His tone was as gentle as it could be.
But to Leon, the words felt familiar.
He thought back to when Mourinho had tried to stop him from leaving on loan.
So, he gave the same answer he'd given then.
Calm. Clear. Unshakable.
"I've thought it through, Mr. President. I made this decision after careful reflection.
A footballer's career doesn't have many three-year windows.
Empty promises mean nothing to me. I know what I'm capable of, and I live for today—not a hypothetical future."
Pérez said nothing.
He folded his hands on the table and stared.
Leon held his gaze.
After a long silence, Pérez's old confidence returned.
He reached out.
Leon rose and shook his hand — his last handshake as a Madrid player.
"Good luck, kid. Madrid will always be your home."
Pérez half-embraced him, patted his shoulder, and sighed.
"Thank you, Mr. President. I won't forget everything Madrid gave me."
Pérez turned and left without another word.
And just like that, the two sides accelerated the transfer process.
It wasn't that Florentino Pérez didn't want to keep Leon—it was that Real Madrid had lost control of the situation.
Chelsea's first offer came in at €81 million.
That was already above the buyout clause in Leon's contract.
€81 million wasn't just a show of intent. It was also a gesture of deep respect toward Real Madrid.
Florentino could do nothing but let go with dignity.
Meanwhile in London, upon hearing that the transfer was essentially complete, Mourinho finally let out a long-held breath.
Neither club had released an official statement yet on what was clearly going to be the most shocking deal of the summer.
But for fans still waiting on confirmation from Madrid, what they got instead was an unexpected bombshell—Leon's team had started packing up his villa.
PSG took the first hit, even though they had nothing to do with it.
Furious Real Madrid fans began marching with banners, protesting Paris's "dirty poaching."
Others turned their anger inward, furious at club management for selling their future midfield engine for a mere €75 million.
Confused PSG fans—misled by swirling news reports—were actually celebrating in the streets, chanting "We want Leon!" and "We want the Champions League!"
Meanwhile, PSG execs were just about to submit an €80 million offer—triggering Leon's buyout clause—when they were blindsided.
Wait… did Real Madrid already accept a transfer to avoid the buyout?
Ibrahimović, Pastore, Thiago Silva all called Leon in excitement: "Are you really coming to Paris?!"
Leon had to explain—they were too late.
Chelsea had already struck first.
PSG's players gritted their teeth, but held back. At this point, it was no longer about saving face.
Two days after the PSG rumors blew up, Real Madrid and Chelsea simultaneously released statements.
Leon had officially transferred to Chelsea FC.
He had even completed his medical at a Chelsea-affiliated hospital in Madrid.
Which meant, without a doubt—Leon was now a Chelsea player.
The summer's most earth-shattering transfer was now confirmed.
Real Madrid fans were devastated.
PSG fans felt the heartbreak of misplaced hope.
And Bayern fans? Still stuck in denial.
After all, Heynckes had openly endorsed Leon. Surely that meant the deal was close?
Why didn't it happen?
Simple: Leon didn't want Bayern.
He couldn't go to Barcelona. Bayern should've been the next-best choice.
Why go to Chelsea or PSG?
What did they have that Bayern didn't?
Just €75 million?
But when Sky Sports revealed Chelsea's offer had exceeded €80 million, Bayern fans went silent.
That's not €8 million.
That's €80 million.
Chelsea wasn't just playing rich—they were playing ruthless.
PSG's execs sat in a meeting, furious with themselves.
"I TOLD you—just trigger the buyout clause!" one director yelled.
"We could've had him if we stopped playing politics!"
Club president Nasser pounded the table.
From now on, he declared, PSG would change its transfer policy:
"For top-tier talents, no hesitation. We pay the clause. Period. If money can buy it—it's not a problem."
Anyone who disagreed would be shown the door.
While PSG scrambled, Chelsea's owner—Roman Abramovich—was already en route to Madrid on his private jet.
Bringing Leon to London wasn't just about sentiment or nostalgia.
It was about one thing: the Champions League.
For Abramovich, Mourinho's return was more than a reunion. It was a declaration of war.
So when Mourinho asked for Leon as his first summer signing, Abramovich didn't blink.
He paid the clause.
He'd always liked Leon. Since his first visit to Stamford Bridge, Abramovich had been watching him—the brightest young midfielder in world football.
After Chelsea's loss to Madrid in the Champions League final, Abramovich quietly asked Mendes if there was any chance to bring Leon to London.
At the time, Mendes answered:
"Florentino considers him untouchable. Truly untouchable."
So Abramovich dropped it.
Until now.
Now, Madrid was cracking. Mourinho was out.
And Leon? Available.
Signing Mourinho was already a triumph.
Getting Leon too?
A miracle.
Back in England, Sir Alex Ferguson—now retired—watched the news and slapped his thigh in frustration.
"If only I hadn't pushed for Moyes…"
He was just one month too late.
Had United moved when Mourinho resigned, they could've had football's best coach and its most promising midfielder.
It stung.
United still had their allure—still wore the Premier League's crown.
They had money. They had potential.
If they had moved fast, Mourinho and Leon might've rebuilt the club from the ground up.
But now it was too late.
As TV anchors reported Abramovich's arrival in Madrid to escort Leon to London, Ferguson could already imagine next season:
A younger, faster Chelsea dominating United's aging midfield.
Meanwhile, Chelsea fans?
They'd gone from confusion to euphoria overnight.
Their midfield had been their biggest headache.
Essien was aging, the depth lacking.
Now? They had Essien back—plus Leon.
Arsenal?
Spurs?
They'd better brace themselves.
Because now…
Chelsea runs London.
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