The moment Tiger King switched to Fox Sports Channel 2, his face dominated the screen. Bold headlines blazed beneath his image: "Manchester United vs. Liverpool—The Battle for Supremacy!"
In the featured photo, he was mid-shout on the touchline, veins bulging in his neck, an image carefully chosen for maximum drama. Typical media sensationalism. His intensity, frozen in that frame, painted him as a man on the edge—a warrior ready for battle.
Narrowing his eyes, he let the scene sink in. The studio set was sleek and modern, bathed in bright lights that exuded authority. But his attention quickly shifted to the host—Kate Abdo. An experienced sports presenter, she had charm, wit, and a sharpness in her gaze that hinted at intelligence and control.
With a playful smirk, she leaned toward the camera. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we take a closer look at English football's most talked-about figure—Manchester United's fiery manager, Tiger King! And let me tell you, he's not just making headlines for his tactics on the pitch. Let's talk about his upcoming clash with Liverpool."
A split-screen flashed, showing clips of his heated press conferences, his infamous FA reception bet to double-kill Liverpool, and his impassioned sideline antics against Chelsea. The energy in the studio crackled. This wasn't just football analysis; this was entertainment.
Another pundit chimed in. "That's right, he's bold, he's brash, and let's not forget—he's made a promise as outrageous as it is risky! Will he really follow through if United fails to beat Liverpool twice this season? Or was it just a heat-of-the-moment boast?"
Tiger King clenched his jaw. He had expected media buzz, but this was turning his words into a circus act. This wasn't about football anymore; it was spectacle.
A new video package rolled, highlighting Liverpool's sharp attack and Rodgers' growing influence. Kate Abdo's voice carried a hint of amusement. "With Liverpool looking stronger by the day, has Tiger King bitten off more than he can chew?"
He exhaled sharply. The cameras, the critics, the endless debates—this was part of being Manchester United's manager. But this? This was personal.
His gaze shifted to the man sitting beside Kate—Wolfe, correspondent for The Sun. The name alone made his stomach tighten. Medium build, strikingly thin, with sharp, beady eyes that darted around with a cunning glint. His gaunt, beardless face only exaggerated his calculating expression.
For months, Wolfe had circled like a vulture, tearing into him with every article. No matter what Tiger King did, Wolfe found something to criticize, twisting facts, painting him as reckless, undermining his authority. Tiger King had learned to ignore him—but the relentless attacks had begun affecting his players.
Now, here Wolfe was, no longer hiding behind a newspaper column but sitting in a TV studio, poised for another attack.
Kate turned to him with a teasing glint in her eyes. "Mr. Wolfe, are you worried about Manchester United's future?"
Wolfe waved a hand dismissively. "Worried? No. Not optimistic? Absolutely."
Kate leaned in, feigning curiosity. "Why?"
Wolfe exhaled dramatically. "This season, United's squad is aging. Ferdinand is 35, Vidic is 31, Giggs is 39, Carrick is 31. Even Van Persie, last season's Premier League Golden Boot winner, is 30. And who among the younger players can carry the team forward? Alonso? A rookie defender. Rafael? Reckless and defensively suspect. Anderson? A dribbler with no direction. Kagawa? A talent who doesn't fit into the system. Let's be honest—United won the title last season purely because of Sir Alex Ferguson's sheer willpower. But now? With an inexperienced Tiger King at the helm? No chance."
Kate arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into an amused smile. "But Tiger King's record isn't bad so far. A win and a draw in two league games. Plus, that emphatic 5-1 victory against Swansea."
Tiger King smirked. At least someone in the studio had some common sense.
Wolfe scoffed. "A win over Swansea and a draw against Mourinho's defensive Chelsea—hardly convincing. If he wants to prove himself, let's see how he fares against Liverpool."
Kate nodded. "Mr. Wolfe, in your latest column, you dedicated an entire piece to Tiger King's 'Double Kill Liverpool' pledge."
Wolfe chuckled smugly. "That's right. I swear, it's true. I didn't make it up."
The audience chuckled, familiar with his flair for exaggeration.
"At an FA reception a few days ago," Wolfe continued, "I heard Tiger King tell Rodgers directly: 'This season, Manchester United will double-kill Liverpool. If not, I'll jump off Tower Bridge into the Thames!' I still remember the confidence in his voice."
Kate smirked. "Do you think he will win?"
Wolfe scoffed, leaning forward with a smug grin. "Even Ferguson never made such bold claims. With United's current squad? They'll be lucky to keep it respectable. No chance. And let's be honest—this rookie coach has been riding on Ferguson's coattails long enough. The period of borrowed prestige ends now. Liverpool will rip United apart, and then what? No more hiding behind legacy. No more empty bravado. Just cold, hard reality."
Then, Kate pressed a finger to her earpiece, her expression shifting in surprise. She turned to Wolfe, smirking. "Well, Mr. Wolfe, you're in luck. We have Tiger King's number. We can call him now."
The audience gasped. Wolfe paled slightly.
A few minutes earlier, Victoria clutched Tiger King's hand. "Darling, what can we do?"
Tiger King leaned back, smirking. "Let's see what Wolfe has to say to me directly."
He picked up his phone and called Ed Woodward. "Ed, are you watching Fox?"
"Yes. The Sun is insane. I'll be retaliating shortly."
"I want to talk to Wolfe live on air. But only if I'm paid for it. My salary is low as it is."
"I'm not your agent."
"Are we challenging them or letting them humiliate us in tomorrow's papers?"
Ed hesitated. "Give me a few minutes."
Moments later, Ed called back. "Fox will pay you £250,000 if you provoke Wolfe into a fight."
Tiger King laughed. "Done."
Ed relayed the deal. "Tiger, you'll get £250,000 in your account by tomorrow."
Back in the studio, Wolfe tried to backpedal. "I need to check with my editor. Mr. Bright, what do you think?"
Bright grinned. "Call him. Now."
Wolfe had no choice. He dialed.
A single beep. Then Tiger King answered.
"Mr. King, I'm Wolfe, a reporter for The Sun. I think—"
"I agree!" Tiger King cut him off.
Wolfe blinked. "What?"
"You want exclusive rights to my Tower Bridge bet? Fine. Three million pounds. Deal?"
The studio erupted in murmurs.
Wolfe scrambled. "Uh, I'll confirm the details later. Goodbye, Mr. Kingtag."
"Wait," Tiger King's voice was sharp. "I have two conditions."
Wolfe swallowed. "Go on."
"First, if I win, you still pay the three million."
Wolfe turned to Bright. He nodded. "Fine. And the second?"
Tiger King's voice was laced with amusement. "I have a bet; this is a gambling agreement. Since you are paying me three million, if I win, I will compensate you. But if I win, I am also willing to preside over the 'Jumping From The Tower Bridge Into The Thames' event for you."
Wolfe's face drained of color. His usual smug expression faltered for the first time that evening. He blinked, then forced a chuckle, attempting to regain composure. "Wait... Who will be jumping from the bridge if United wins?"
Tiger King's voice was as sharp as a blade. "You, Wolfe. You'll be the one making the dive."
A stunned silence filled the studio. The audience gasped. Even Kate Abdo, ever the composed host, widened her eyes before biting her lip to suppress a grin. Bright, on the other hand, roared with laughter.
Wolfe's mouth opened and closed, searching for words. "That's... that's not what I agreed to!"
"You wanted a wager, Wolfe. Now you have one," Tiger King said smoothly. "Or are you backing out already?"
Silence. Then Kate, barely containing her laughter, turned to the camera. "Well, viewers, it looks like Mr. Wolfe has a decision to make. Will he put his money where his mouth is?"