At the FA Awards Ceremony, Sir Alex Ferguson was receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award. The room was filled with dignitaries, coaches, and footballing legends, all coming to pay tribute to the legendary manager.
Let's cut back to the conversation between Ferguson, Moyes and Tiger.
After Everton coach Moyes talked to Sir Alex Ferguson, he turned his head and looked at Tiger King next to Ferguson: "Mr. Tiger, I have always wanted to find an opportunity to thank you, my friend."
Ferguson said to the two, "You two chat. I'll go sit down for a while—getting too old to stand for long."
Tiger King wanted to help Ferguson, but he waved his hand, motioning him to stay. As Ferguson moved to a chair, people instantly gathered around to talk to him.
Now, it was just Tiger King and Moyes. "Moyes, what do you mean by thanks?" Tiger King asked.
Moyes forced a smile. "Everton's finances aren't great this season. Loaning Januzaj and Cleverley from you was a huge help. I appreciate it."
Tiger King nodded. "Our clubs have always had a good relationship. It's no problem."
Moyes hesitated, then added, "But let's be honest, I always thought I'd be in your position at United. Feels strange, doesn't it?"
Tiger King met his gaze and smirked. "Football's unpredictable, Moyes. You just have to make the most of your opportunities."
The conversation lingered for a moment, an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Moyes, though maintaining a cordial expression, couldn't entirely mask his frustration. "Well, Tiger, enjoy the ride while it lasts," he said with a faint smirk, his words carrying an edge of both jest and resentment.
Tiger King, unfazed, simply offered a knowing smile. "Football is full of surprises, Moyes. But it's not just about where you start—it's about where you end up."
Before Moyes could respond, Sir Alex Ferguson called over to Tiger King. "Looks like I'm needed elsewhere," Tiger King said, offering a polite nod to Moyes before turning away.
Moyes hesitated for a moment before sighing and walking off in the opposite direction, the weight of what could have been still lingering on his mind.
When Tiger King returned to Sir Alex Ferguson, he found two strange yet familiar figures standing beside him.
They were strange because he had never dealt with them personally before; they were familiar because he saw them on TV almost every week.
Arsene Wenger and Jose Mourinho.
As the managers of Arsenal and Chelsea, respectively, these two were longtime rivals of Ferguson. The legendary manager had spent years battling them, trading victories and verbal barbs in press conferences.
But now, seeing the three of them sitting together again, it felt like a reunion of old warriors—competitors who had shaped an era of football, now sharing a moment of nostalgia.
Just a few moments ago, with Ferguson, Mourinho and Wenger.
"Wenger, now that I'm gone, you must be feeling lonely," Ferguson quipped, swirling his drink with a knowing smile.
Wenger smirked. "Not quite. You may have left, but..." he gestured toward Mourinho, "he's back. The Premier League will still be as lively as ever."
"With Manchester City and Tottenham spending heavily this season, the landscape is shifting," Mourinho remarked in his usual deadpan tone.
Ferguson chuckled. "Ah, Jose. Always so serious. You've been here before, yet I still can't remember ever seeing you smile." He took a sip of his drink. "Relax a little."
Mourinho shook his head. "Sir Alex, you've got the luxury to sit back and enjoy now. I don't. I'm here to fight for titles."
Ferguson gave him a knowing look. "You know, I did consider bringing you to United after I retired—thought you'd be the perfect fit." He paused, then smirked. "But I changed my mind."
Wenger raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And why is that?"
Ferguson turned to Mourinho. "Because this man here has too much of a thorny personality. He'd never go to a club still carrying the shadow of its previous manager."
Mourinho finally allowed himself a small smile. "You're right, Sir Alex. If I were sitting at home a few years from now, maybe I'd consider United. But at this stage? Never."
Ferguson exchanged a glance with Wenger. "Spain has made him even more cunning. You better be on your toes this season."
Wenger scoffed. "Not just me." He nodded toward the other end of the hall, where Tiger King was deep in conversation with Moyes. "Him too."
Ferguson waved Tiger King over. "Tiger, come, sit."
As Tiger King took his seat, Ferguson leaned in with a grin. "When you face these two this season, make sure you give them hell. Understood?"
"Okay, I will do my best," Tiger King replied. Wenger and Mourinho both laughed.
Wenger patted Tiger King's shoulder. "Young man, that 5-1 win was impressive."
"Thank you, Professor. That means a lot coming from you," Tiger King replied politely.
Wenger gave him a knowing smile. "I must admit, I'm curious—how exactly do you manage to unearth so many young talents?"
Tiger King spread his arms. "It's all thanks to our scouts. I just take advantage of their good work."
"No, no," Wenger chuckled. "You haven't just picked up bargains—you've picked up gold. We'll have to sit down sometime and discuss your methods."
"I'd love that, Professor." Unlike Wenger's warmth, Mourinho remained cold and unreadable. Tiger King knew that the Chelsea manager had no personal opinion on him—yet.
Mourinho simply raised two fingers. "See you at Old Trafford in two days."
Tiger King met his gaze and smirked. "I'll make sure to welcome you properly."
Ferguson, watching the exchange, observed Tiger King closely. Despite his youth and inexperience, he showed no fear in front of two of the greatest managers in football. Calm, composed, and confident—Ferguson nodded to himself. His choice had been the right one.
After a few more exchanges, Wenger and Mourinho took their leave, leaving Tiger King alone with Ferguson once again.
Just as Ferguson was about to speak, another figure approached, standing in front of them. "Mr. Sir, congratulations on receiving the Lifetime Achievement Award," the man said.
Ferguson looked up and nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Rodgers."
It was Brendan Rodgers, Liverpool's manager, who had taken over in the summer of 2012. A young and ambitious coach, Rodgers was still proving himself among the Premier League elite.
Rodgers didn't sit but remained standing, his smile carrying a hint of provocation. "Sir Alex, now that you're retired, I must say—I'll finally have it a little easier when facing Manchester United. Next time Liverpool meet them, the result might make you uncomfortable."
Oh?
Hearing this, Tiger King's gaze sharpened as he turned to look at Rodgers.
If Wenger and Mourinho were rivals, Rodgers was something else entirely. A true enemy.
Ferguson smirked but remained composed. "Oh, is that so? Well, Brendan, football is a long game. Let's see how things play out over the season."
Tiger King leaned back slightly, studying Rodgers. "You sound confident. Seventh place last season must've given you quite the boost."
Rodgers' expression twitched, but he maintained his smile. "It's about building. This year, we'll be above United when it ends."
Tiger King chuckled. "Ah, that explains the optimism. No European football, no midweek distractions—yes, you should be well-rested."
Ferguson nearly choked on his drink, then burst into laughter. Heads turned toward them as he clapped Tiger King on the back. "That's a good one, lad."
Rodgers, clearly irritated, jabbed a finger at Tiger King. "Laugh all you want. When we meet in the third round, we'll see who's talking then."
Tiger King slowly stood up, towering over Rodgers. He looked him dead in the eye. "I'll make you a promise. This season, United will do the double over Liverpool. And if I fail—" he paused for effect, "—I'll jump off Tower Bridge myself."
Gasps echoed around them. Rodgers blinked, stunned by the audacity. From a distance, Mourinho smirked, watching the scene unfold. Wenger frowned, lost in thought.
Rodgers exhaled sharply. "Fine. Let's see if you can back that up."
With that, he turned and stormed off.
Ferguson, still grinning, patted Tiger King's shoulder. "I've got some people to catch up with. Enjoy the party."
Tiger King watched Rodgers vanish into the crowd, his jaw set.
This season, Liverpool wouldn't just be an opponent. They'd be his battlefield.
After Ferguson left, Tiger King lingered, preferring solitude. Though the reception buzzed with familiar faces, he wasn't one to initiate conversations. Instead, he settled in a quiet corner, observing the scene.
Despite the elegant spread of food and drink, he held only a glass of warm water. A lifelong habit—alcohol never interested him, even during his playing days. He swirled the glass absentmindedly, lost in thought.