The publication of the Manchester Evening News sent shockwaves through the football world. Within a day, it shattered the year's single-day sales record for sports newspapers, cementing its place at the top. Young Hall, the journalist behind the story, instantly became an industry sensation, idolized by aspiring reporters.
But the real storm was just beginning. Tiger King's bold declaration had set the football world ablaze. The first to pounce was Wolf, a journalist from The Sun, who seemed to have a personal vendetta against him.
"Being young isn't a crime, and lacking ability isn't a crime. But arrogance? That's unforgivable. A rookie coach daring to claim his goal is the Treble? Someone should call Manchester United's medical team and check if Mr. Tiger has lost his mind."
Meanwhile, Sky Sports pundits Raman and Morris dissected the claim on live television.
Raman scoffed. "I understand Tiger King's confidence. After all, he inherited a title-winning squad and the legacy of Sir Alex Ferguson. If he had said his goal was to defend the title, I'd call that ambition. But the Treble? That's laughable. Even under Ferguson, they barely got past the Champions League group stage before being knocked out by Real Madrid. Does Tiger really believe his squad is stronger than Europe's elite?"
Morris, a longtime Manchester United fan, sighed. "Real Madrid just spent €170 million on top-tier talent, including Bale. Other European giants have also reinforced their squads. This season's Champions League will be tougher than ever."
Raman smirked. "Morris, you're forgetting—our Mr. Tiger also signed 15 'outstanding' players. Maybe he'll surprise us and win the Champions League after all."
Morris shook his head, unwilling to entertain Raman's sarcasm. "I just hope he gets good results and lasts the season."
Raman chuckled. "Yes, let's hope he makes it to May. Otherwise, the only thing he'll be winning is an early sacking. Ha!"
Tiger King's statement wasn't just a talking point in England—it echoed across Europe. Even in the distant East, newspapers ran bold headlines. One, particularly blunt and condescending, summed it up in a single word: Bluff.
After a two-day break, the players returned to training, chatting as they warmed up.
"Did you see yesterday's papers?"
"Which one? They're all running the same story."
"I watched the Sky Sports segment too."
"Yeah… do you think the boss is mad?"
"Mad? He must be fuming!"
"We better tread lightly today. If he vents on us, it won't be pretty."
Just then, Tiger King stepped onto the field, a copy of the Manchester Evening News in hand.
He scanned the squad, ensuring everyone was present, then spoke. "I assume you've all seen this." He held up the newspaper with the bold 'Treble' headline. "Maybe you also saw The Sun or watched Sky Sports."
Silence. The players shifted uncomfortably.
Tiger King continued. "You're probably thinking I'm furious, right?"
A faint murmur of agreement came from the back.
He smiled. "You're wrong. Why should I be angry? Ryan, tell me—why should I be upset?"
Giggs, standing at the front, met his gaze. "Because they're disrespecting you."
"No," Tiger King snapped. "They're disrespecting you!"
His voice rose with intensity. "They aren't doubting my coaching ability—they're doubting your talent, your strength!"
He pointed at them, one by one. "Ryan, they say you're too old and should retire! Rooney, they think your prime is over! Robin, they believe you'll never win a third Golden Boot! Carrick, they say your passing has lost its magic!
Nani, Young, Valencia—they claim your crossing is useless!
And you—Kanté, Van Dijk, Toby, Mahrez, and the rest of you new signings—they think you're not fit to wear the Manchester United shirt!"
The squad bristled. A fire lit in their eyes.
Then Tiger King's tone softened. "But let me tell you something… they're talking complete nonsense."
He held up the newspaper again. "Treble. That's not just my expectation—it's my belief in you."
His gaze swept over them. "Buy a copy. Keep it. And at the end of the season, we'll use these same newspapers to slap those so-called 'football experts' in the face!"
Silence hung in the air for a moment. The players stood still, processing what Tiger King had just said. Then, like a spark catching fire, murmurs of agreement spread among them. Faces hardened, jaws clenched, and eyes burned with determination. One by one, the players nodded. Rooney clenched his fists. Van Persie smirked. Giggs stood tall.
Wayne Rooney was the first to step forward. He pounded his chest and declared, "I don't care what those journalists say. I've still got plenty left to give!"
Van Persie smirked. "Three Golden Boots? Why stop there? I'll take four."
Giggs, the veteran, simply nodded. "We've proved doubters wrong before. We'll do it again."
Kanté, the new signing, clenched his fists. He had fought his way up from the lower leagues—he wasn't about to let some journalists define his worth.
Tiger King smiled as he saw the fire reigniting in his players' eyes. This was exactly what he wanted. Let the world doubt them. Let them mock. By the end of the season, they would be the ones laughing.
He turned back to his squad, voice steady but filled with steel, "Then let's get to work. We have a Treble to win."
Silently observing the scene, Scholes couldn't help but smirk. Thank you, Sun and Sky Sports, he thought. That was one hell of an assist.