The Greatest Manager of All time

Early that morning, after waking up, Gavin Ward took a comfortable shower, then hummed as he dried his hair and shaved.

Finally, he put on a crisp suit, fastened his tie, and had breakfast at the Swansea Spa Hotel.

He did not believe Swansea would immediately nod and agree the moment Brentford, Port Vale, and Stoke City submitted their offers.

Negotiations were never that simple. Even when a wealthy owner threw money around, the other side would always greedily bargain for more.

All Swansea had to do was make a counteroffer. He could mediate from the middle and win more benefit for his company.

But after the three clubs made their offers at ten in the morning, Swansea's response was rejection.

No counteroffer at all.

Gavin Ward immediately panicked.

He sensed something was wrong.

Before he could go to Swansea to find Mo Yuan or Lynn and ask what was going on, Peter Coates's call came through.

"What the hell is going on? Swansea have no intention of negotiating with us at all! What exactly did you do in the middle? You've turned us into a laughingstock in front of the whole world!"

"Gavin Ward! You idiot! You were played by Swansea, by Lynn! That yellow monkey fooled you, then used you to fool us!"

"You did a brilliant bloody job, didn't you? You stupid bastard!"

Before Gavin Ward could even ask about the bidding process, Peter Coates hung up in a rage.

Smurthwaite also called to demand answers, while Cliff Boya simply called to tell him, "Don't ever contact me again. SFX is never coming to Brentford again!"

Gavin Ward was left dumbstruck. Even his direct superior called to ask what had gone wrong with his handling of the Swansea matter.

The three club chairmen were furious.

They had humbled themselves before Lynn, but in the end, not only did they fail to get the players they wanted, Lynn had even accused them of being hypocrites in an interview!

They had been utterly humiliated.

Even their own fans were standing outside their clubs' training grounds holding banners telling them to stop doing stupid things.

Gavin Ward sat in his car outside Swansea's training base. He saw Lynn and Mo Yuan finish speaking to the reporters and walk away. He immediately hung up on his superior, started the car, and chased after them.

Lynn and Mo Yuan were speaking quietly when a car suddenly stopped beside them.

Gavin Ward climbed out from the driver's seat, full of anger.

Lynn's expression first froze, then he immediately smiled at him.

"Mr. Gavin Ward, good afternoon. Would you like to have lunch together?"

Gavin Ward noticed that some reporters not far away had already spotted the movement around Lynn.

In a low, rapid growl, he snapped, "How could you do this? What exactly do you want? The respect and apologies you wanted—we bloody gave them to you! And you stabbed me in the back!"

Seeing Gavin Ward's furious, flustered state, Lynn clicked his tongue and said in a playful tone, "I remember the last time I saw you, you were so confident, so high and mighty, so full of masculine charm. Today?"

He paused briefly.

"I also remember that the last time I saw you, I said I would think about it. I simply forgot to tell you the result of my consideration: sorry, I'm not selling any players."

At this point, Lynn's expression changed.

His face became exceptionally cold as he said to Gavin Ward in a low voice, "Remember this. I am Swansea's Boss. You? You are nothing. You thought you could control me? Manipulate me? Thank you, truly, for the arrogance that runs through the bones of the British and stretches across the universe.

What exactly is inside your head? You want to poach my starters and threaten me? You even tried to lecture me about rules? Screw your damn rules!

This is Swansea. Remember that."

"Lynn's Swansea."

Gavin Ward stared at him, speechless.

In his eyes, perhaps Lynn only became a wild lion when infected by the fierce atmosphere beside the pitch. In normal life, Lynn should have been a refined gentleman.

He was wrong.

Completely wrong.

After Lynn finished speaking, a disdainful sneer curled at the corner of his mouth. He cast Gavin Ward one final look of disgust, then turned and walked slowly forward.

He took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pocket, lit one, and the smoke drifting away in the wind seemed to wrap him in another veil that made him impossible to see through.

Mo Yuan still stood in place, wearing a smile that revealed nothing unusual, calmly watching Gavin Ward.

Gavin Ward immediately turned his anger on Mo Yuan, grinding his teeth as he said, "You were acting the whole time! Fuck! You did a brilliant job!"

Mo Yuan kept smiling.

"No, I wasn't acting. From beginning to end, I was actually telling you that you were being played. But your arrogance blinded you, so you couldn't see it.

"You thought three club chairmen making solemn apologies would make us cry with joy? Make us feel endlessly grateful? Make us think we could finally fit into English football? Make us think we needed lots of friends?

"Because we live in Britain?

"Sorry, but that was all in your own head. Don't treat us like three-year-old children, and don't treat us like bumpkins from some uncivilized backwater who have never seen the world.

"Gavin Ward, in truth, you're no different from them. Deep down, you look down on us too. You thought you had control of the situation. No, you were just pleased with yourself.

"And by the way, plenty of people look down on me. Who the hell are you supposed to be? Just like plenty of people look down on you, and I happen to be one of them.

"Next time you deal with someone, bring your brain. Bye. See you around."

Mo Yuan had only taken one step when Gavin Ward said viciously behind him, "Don't celebrate too early! You've pissed me off this time. I won't let this go!"

Mo Yuan stopped where he was and scratched his head.

He let out a soft sigh.

Then he turned to look at Gavin Ward and said, "Looks like when I get the chance to step on you, I really can't afford to show mercy."

As soon as he said that, before Gavin Ward could react, Mo Yuan shouted toward the reporters walking in their direction.

"It's him! He's Gavin Ward from SFX! He's the one who represented Brentford, Port Vale, and Stoke City in privately contacting Swansea players! He tried to buy me off before, and now he's threatening me! I won't compromise! Stop harassing me, or I'll sue you!"

Although Mo Yuan was pointing at Gavin Ward and shouting with fierce anger, when his eyes flicked toward Gavin Ward, they were full of amusement.

Seeing the reporters swarm toward him, throwing questions from every direction, Gavin Ward was boiling with rage.

But he could not defend himself.

As long as his identity was exposed, whether there was evidence or not, he would be pushed straight into the center of the storm.

He watched Mo Yuan smile, turn, and quickly walk to Lynn's side. Lynn handed Mo Yuan the half-finished cigarette he had been smoking. Mo Yuan took a drag, then glanced back toward Gavin Ward.

Gavin Ward kept repeating "No comment" to the reporters as he rushed back to his car. After getting in, he fled as if running for his life.

Lynn had not only publicly rejected the bids from Port Vale, Stoke City, and Brentford, he had also accused them of hypocrisy and torn away the mask covering their dirty, despicable intentions.

This made the Welsh media extremely excited.

This time, the Welsh media and Fleet Street were actually aiming their guns in the same direction.

Together, they described Norman Smurthwaite, Peter Coates, and Cliff Boya as the most hypocritical chairmen in football.

That afternoon, Swansea supporters came to the outside of the training ground holding banners in support of Lynn, praising him for a job well done.

What excited the media most was that this weekend, Swansea would visit Brentford for the first leg of the Football League Trophy semi-final!

Enemies really were bound to meet on a narrow road.

Unfortunately, Lynn would still be suspended for this match and unable to command the team from the touchline.

The weather in Swansea had been good recently.

The afternoon sun was pleasant and warm, and when the occasional cold wind swept past, it felt wonderfully refreshing.

After afternoon training ended, Lynn returned to his office. Football director Tony Benn suddenly called him on the internal line and told him someone had come to see him.

After asking, Lynn learned that it was James Cook's older brother, Lance Cook.

Lynn knew that Lance Cook could essentially be considered James Cook's agent.

He did not think too much about it and told them to let Lance Cook in.

Lance Cook was wearing an overcoat today.

After he entered, Lynn personally poured him a glass of water and placed it on the coffee table, then gestured for them to sit on the sofa in the office and talk.

Lance Cook took off his coat and hung it on the coat rack. After sitting down, he first took a sip of water, then went straight to the point.

"Mr. Lynn, first of all, thank you very much for taking care of James and developing him over the past half year. He has always spoken highly of you. At the same time, I'm very proud of James's performances on the pitch. He is improving every day, so I've noticed a situation that I believe needs to be improved."

"Compared with other Swansea first-team players whose contributions are roughly similar to James's, their wages are much higher than his. I believe now is the time for us to discuss this matter and let James receive fair treatment."

After hearing Lance Cook's words, Lynn sighed inwardly.

He had come to ask for a pay rise.

Reasonable enough.

After all, if Lynn were James Cook, improving every day, rarely missing matches through injury, training hard, never giving the boss trouble, being not only a model professional in training but also an obedient kid, then when the team was in good form and everything was stable, it would be natural to start thinking about other things.

For example, paying attention to how much his teammates earned, then looking at his own income.

Once there was a gap, a sense of imbalance would naturally appear.

Lynn said to Lance Cook, "You should understand how much I value James. I think giving him a pay rise is reasonable. But the timing isn't right. Only half a season has passed. Swansea's momentum is good, but the league is not over yet."

"When the season ends, or when our points basically guarantee that Swansea will be promoted, I will take the initiative to give James a new contract. He deserves more. But right now, if I give him a raise, it will make the other players in the squad start thinking too much."

"As both manager and owner, I always have to consider the bigger picture."

Lynn's concerns were normal.

He had not actually expected James Cook, who had been recalled this season, to perform so well.

Among the seven Swansea players he had recalled or promoted, James Cook and Oliver Cromwell had the highest potential. The former was serious and hardworking, treating football as the center of his world.

As Guy Fawkes, the ball-control coach who often gave James Cook individual technical training after practice, joked: if you put a football and a beautiful woman in front of James, he would definitely choose the football, not the woman.

As for Cromwell, he was good at thinking and using his brain. He seemed to possess an innate sharp sense for the game.

His ability to read matches was extremely strong, and he liked competing with teammates. In a healthy competitive environment, Cromwell's growth rate was astonishing as well.

As for the other Welsh players, only Glendower and Brunel could be said to be developing steadily. But aside from Arthur Wellesley, Horatio Nelson and Robert Badenberg would occasionally produce brilliant performances too.

Overall, their potential was quite good. Even the lowest had a potential rating of 68, close to the level of an ordinary lower-to-mid Premier League player.

If they stayed at Swansea and could turn their potential into actual ability, they would still have their uses.

Besides, these were also Lynn's own direct-line players. He needed to develop them to maintain the local market and fan support.

So Lynn placed great importance on the Welsh players in the squad. Cromwell and James Cook acting as pioneers leading the way was something he was happy to see.

But when it came to pay rises, he still had to consider the bigger picture.

Precisely because they were Welsh players, he did not want to create the impression that Welsh players had special privileges or received extra attention. In the eyes of the foreign players, that would plant unstable seeds in the dressing room.

Lance Cook was not Swansea's manager. He was only James Cook's older brother, so he had to fight for the greatest benefit for his younger brother.

"Mr. Lynn, when Brentford came to my home with a very sincere contract, I did not persuade my brother to join Brentford. But since Brentford were able to offer my brother a better contract, that proves James's value has been recognized by the outside world. So I hope James's mother club, Swansea, can also give him the treatment he deserves."

Lynn understood Lance Cook's position very well.

Just as he had personally said to James Cook, while still young, earn as much money as possible. That was the truth. Outside football, it was also the truth.

But Lynn could only brace himself and say, "I'm very sorry, but I don't think we can reach an agreement right now. I hope you and James can be patient and wait a little. Four months at the fastest. After four months, you won't need to come to me. I will personally give James an updated contract, provided Swansea have secured promotion to the Second Division by then. What do you think?"

What else could Lance Cook say?

He could only say to Lynn, "All right. Then let's see what happens in four months."

His words carried a double meaning.

After seeing Lance Cook out, Lynn sighed inwardly. He did not want to lose James Cook, and when it came to one of his own people, he should still be more warm and considerate.

He walked to the window and saw that there were still players training on the pitch.

James Cook was among them. Ibrahimović, Villa, Tobias Rau, Cromwell, and several others were also practicing free kicks.

Clearly, they were doing extra training.

Lynn, who had already changed clothes, returned to the side of the training pitch and called out to James Cook, who was helping collect balls for his teammates.

"James, come here for a moment!"

James Cook looked toward the voice.

After seeing Lynn, he immediately kicked the footballs at his feet one by one toward Villa, who was standing near the free-kick spot.

He jogged over to Lynn, wiped the sweat from his forehead, and asked, "Boss, is something wrong?"

Lynn told James Cook about Lance Cook coming to speak with him just now, then said, "James, what I want to tell you is that I know your value. I also recognize your ability and contribution. But we are a team. As the manager, I have to treat everyone fairly."

"I can see your effort, and I'm happy for you. But David, Zlatan, Oliver, Fabio, Tobias, Danny, and the others—have they not worked hard and contributed too? They have."

"We are moving forward, but we have not yet reached the goal we're chasing this season. When we do reach that goal, whether you call it rewarding merit or simply giving all of you the returns you deserve, believe me, I will not shortchange any of you."

"You're a sensible lad. I believe you can understand my position."

James Cook looked shocked.

He stammered, "Boss, I... I... I didn't know! I really didn't know Lance would come to you and talk about these things. I didn't mean this. Not at all! I'm satisfied with what I have now. Actually, I even feel Boss has treated me too well. I'm not worth the club investing this much in me."

"Boss, you have to believe me. Please believe me. I really didn't know. I didn't know!"

Lynn was stunned.

He had not expected James Cook, now sweating anxiously, to have no idea that Lance Cook had come to ask for a pay rise on his behalf.