Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio
Twain recovered from the trance and realized that Shania had not come downstairs yet. Feeling a little odd, he walked up the stairs, and the two of them bumped into each other at the stairwell.
“Ah! Uncle Tony…” Shania was startled by Twain, who suddenly came up.
Twain glanced at her. It turned out that she went to change her clothes.
“Are you going out?” He asked.
Shania nodded, then pulled Twain’s arm. “I want to go shopping with you. It’s not nice to always stay at home.”
Twain thought this was a good suggestion. It was a shame to coop up at home and not make use of the one day of vacation.
If the two of them were to go out, they both needed to “dress up” a little to hide their identities. It was mainly to cover up Shania’s identity. If Twain went shopping alone, he did not need to conceal himself. Even if he were to be recognized on the streets, it was no big deal. At best, he just had to chat a little, sign a photograph or something.
A manager was also a person. No matter how famous a manager was, he also had his own life. If paparazzi wanted to come sniffing around, track him, and take photographs of ordinary things such as shopping to publish in newspapers, wouldn’t the readers tear them up?
Therefore, there was not much gossip about the managers in the various English media because managers were mostly older men with families and their lives were more regular and low-key. The reporters from The Sun could squat and keep watch over some big star player’s mansion, go through their trash cans to find sex tapes, but the paparazzi would not creep around the doorsteps of a certain manager’s house.
Shania was different. Currently the hottest supermodel in the world, her each and every move would be of great interest to those entertainment media. Most importantly, if the media were to find out any gossip that Shania, who had been scandal-free, was holding hands and shopping with an old man, and that older man was not her father or grandfather, who knew what kind of rumors were going to come out?
From that point of view, it was necessary for them to disguise their identities. Even if they were not in London and Manchester, which was concentrated with the paparazzi prowling the streets.
Shania put on a pair of large-framed sunglasses that covered almost half her face and wore an elaborate hat. That way, unless someone stared carefully, they could hardly recognize her. Twain was dressed more casually. He just wore a pair of sunglasses. The two went out the door hand in hand.
While waiting for Landy’s car at the door, Twain glanced at Shania, who held his hand as she stood beside him. He thought about the way he and Shania appeared now. If outsiders were to see them, what would they think?
— They are a father and daughter, aren’t they? How nice!
Although he was only thirty-eight years old, it was reasonable that people would mistake him for Shania’s father from his appearance. Caucasian faces looked older.
Twain did not want to look older in other people’s eyes, but now he really wanted people to view the relationship between the two of them in that way. It was better than being seen as a sugar daddy, who bought trendy gifts for young girls to coax them into bed, wasn’t it?
Landy came very quickly and drove to the front of Twain’s house. He waved to the two from the car and laughed. “What a nice father and daughter!”
Twain smiled with relief. Landy did not say he was a sugar daddy, but Shania’s reaction next gave him a headache.
Shania happily said, “yes, yes! Then I’ll call you Daddy today, Uncle Tony! I was still worrying about what to call you when we are outside. This is settled! Thank you, Landy!”
Twain’s mouth pulled back at the corners and he looked embarrassed. He did not know whether to laugh or cry.
Shania opened the car door and pointed inside. “Let’s get in the car, Daddy!”
Twain glared at her and got into the car helplessly. Shania followed suit. After she closed the car door, she asked, “where are we going, Daddy?”
The driver, Landy, saw Twain’s awkward expression in the rearview mirror and laughed happily.
“Shania… we’re not in a public place yet…” Twain coughed.
“This is a warm-up! I’m afraid I won’t get into the role and give the game away!” Shania answered justifiably.
Twain’s eyes bulged, and he raised his right hand. “If you’re mischievous again, Daddy will give you a spanking!”
“Wow. Daddy’s so fierce! You’d agreed!” Shania shouted exaggeratedly. She pointed to Twain and smiled smugly. “Daddy, I want new clothes! Daddy, I want a new toy! Daddy, I want some pocket money! Will you, Daddy… Daddy!” She held Twain’s hand and acted like a spoiled child.
Landy laughed until he bent over the steering wheel and could not get up.
Twain was afraid to get mad at Shania, so he said gruffy to Landy, “drive your car, Landy! Hold the steering wheel steady!”
Shania got away with her scheme and leaned smugly against Twain’s shoulder.
Landy glanced at the rearview mirror. No matter how he looked at them, they looked like father and daughter… But it was a shame that it was only a father and daughter…
※※※
Twain and Shania returned home with many bags of stuff in their arms when the sky darkened.
While they were out, Shania had fully showcased her acting skills. She played a spoilt daughter who liked to whine to her father very well. She would hang on if she saw something she liked and not let go and insist that “her Daddy Twain” buy it for her. Luckily, all the things she liked were small toys, and nothing too expensive.
“Your daughter is so beautiful, sir!” An oblivious salesperson would often smile while Twain paid, or they would say to Shania, “your father treats you very well, Miss!”
It often made Twain roll his eyes, and Shania buried her face in the plush toys and giggled.
When they got home, Twain piled the things in his arms on the table, fell on the couch, too tired to get up again. “It’s tiring to go shopping with women!”
Shania pouted. “Every man says that. Daddy, you’re such a cliché! Ah…”
As she finished, she suddenly realized that they were no longer in a public place, so she did not need to address him like that.
Twain turned his head and looked helplessly at her. She stuck out her tongue and giggled. “I got used to calling you that after doing that the entire day… I didn’t mean to, Dad… Uncle Tony!” She saw Twain raised his palm, so she hurriedly straightened and corrected herself.
“I’m going to be angry, Shania!” Twain warned with an evil grin.
Shania did not give him a chance. She made a face and ran up the stairs, carrying a bunch of soft toys.
Twain was so tired that he laid down again. He felt a hard object press against his waist. He got up again to touch it and found that it was his cell phone.
The screen lit up and he was surprised to find that there was a text message.
Both before or after his transmigration, Twain did not like texting people. He thought it was too slow to type on his cell phone’s keyboard with one finger. If he had anything to convey, he would call. People who were familiar with him called him if they had anything to discuss. Few people would text him — unless the phone call could not get through or no one picked up the phone. Shania was the only exception. She would text Twain to chat when she was bored while she was out doing runway shows. Twain could only patiently reply with text messages.
He opened the Inbox and found the text message came from an unfamiliar number.
“Goodbye, Mr. Twain. Hopefully we’ll have another chance to play against each other in the future.”
Not able to make heads or tails out of it, Twain was confused. The text message was sent three hours ago, while he and Shania were on a shopping spree and playing the role of a “loving father of a daughter.”
He stared at the string of numbers for a long while and could not think of whose phone number it was. He wanted to call them to find out, but when he saw that the person’s text message did not even give an introduction to their identity, he could not be bothered to meddle. Whoever it was and whatever the matter was, he was just going to let it be.
His lips pulled at the corners and he put his finger on the “Delete text message” button. But he thought again, and finally moved his finger away.
“Shania, are you hungry?” Twain yelled as he looked upstairs.
“A little!” Shania shouted back.
“I’ll make you delicious Chinese food today!” With that, Twain got up and went to busy himself in the kitchen.
Shortly, Shania changed her clothes and came down to help. She was curious and wanted to learn how to cook Chinese food from Twain.
The two were so busy that it was a flurry in the kitchen, but they were very happy.
Twain also forgot about that bizarre text message amid the laughter and cheerful talk.
※※※
The next day, Twain got up early. He was going to get back to work today. With Dunn not around, he needed to get busy with more things.
At the dining table, he picked up a newspaper and habitually flipped to the sports section.
“Hey, Uncle Tony!” Shania found him reading the newspaper again while he was eating. She frowned.
This time, Twain did not listen to her and put the newspaper down, but held the newspaper as if he were possessed.
“Uncle Tony, Uncle Tony…” Shania grabbed the newspaper from Twain’s hand. Twain did not reproach her. She was surprised to see Twain pull out his cell phone.
She glanced at the newspaper that enraptured Twain, and a large headline on it stood out:
“Goodbye, José— José Mourinho leaves Chelsea”
The subheading below was:
“Abramovich: This was an amiable breakup.”
She knew who Mourinho and Abramovich were, and she understood why Uncle Tony behaved that way.
Twain flipped to the text he had received yesterday, and dialed the number.
When Mourinho’s voice sounded on the other end of the line, Twain was stunned and did not know what to say. He had called on the spur of the moment and did not think about what to say if he got through.
“Hello? Mr. Twain, if you’re going to call early in the morning to wake me up just to waste your phone bill, then I don’t mind putting the phone aside and continue my sleep.”
“Ah, ah…” It was only when he heard Mourinho’s sarcasm that Twain returned to normal. “Well… damn, I just read the news and suddenly wanted to call you. But I don’t know what to say… How did you know my phone number yesterday?”
“Jorge gave it to me.” Jorge Mendes was Pepe and Rafinha’s agent and also considered Twain’s “old acquaintance.”
“Oh…” Twain’s tone implied “that’s it” but he had not thought through what he was going to say next.
It was Mourinho who rescued him. “Is the news of my departure so shocking that even Mr. Twain, who has always been quick-witted and sharp, does not know what to say?”
Twain’s brain became clearer a little to reply, “No, I knew early on that you would leave Chelsea.”
Mourinho became very interested in his words. “Oh? Since when?”
“Since the day you became the Chelsea manager.”
Mourinho laughed in a low voice.
“I’m not joking. You and Abramovich have a mismatch of personalities. One of you was bound to leave sooner or later. The club chairman was much less likely to walk away than the manager, so it was bound to be you who would leave.”
Mourinho listened with interest to Twain’s analysis and then asked, “you… are also considered kind of a tough guy. So why are you still doing well as the Nottingham Forest manager?”
“My boss is smarter than your boss. He knows when to give in, to delegate to his men, and to sacrifice his personality to satisfy others…”
On the other end, Mourinho grunted. “Yes, you’re right about that.” He seemed to be nodding his head and spoke with the beat.
After a brief silence, Twain asked, “may I ask what you intend to do next, Mr. Mourinho?”
“I have a deal with Chelsea and cannot coach any Premier League teams in the next year. That way, I can get more “breakup fees.” I want to have a good rest for a while, anyway.” It could be the first time that Mourinho and Twain were in atmosphere without any daggers drawn and no of the explosive communication.
This feeling was so fresh and wonderful that Twain forgot to eat breakfast. Shania also did not urge him. She just waited quietly beside him.
“Then may I buy you a drink?” Twain raised the old topic again.
Mourinho found it strange and asked, “why are you so obsessed with asking me for a drink, Mr. Twain?”
“Uh, um… One of my reasons to be a coach: to take advantage of my position and have a drink with all the world’s leading managers after a game.”
Hearing Twain’s strange reason, Mourinho laughed. “Only in England. There’s this quirky tradition to have a drink after the game, Mr. Twain. But I’m still going to turn you down.”
“Why?” asked Twain.
“Because we are still enemies. I did not say I was going to give up football and retire. You’re continuing to coach Nottingham Forest and it looks like the team is unlikely to be relegated in the next few years. It will often be in Europe’s top tournaments… So, Mr. Twain, we’ll always have a chance to play against each other again. As long as there’s that possibility, you’re still my enemy. I never drink and make merry with the enemy.”
“All right.” Twain gave up the idea. “Are you going back to Portugal?”
“Yes, go home and rest.”
“You’re not coming back to England?”
“No, I did not sell the house in London. The agreement just states that I can’t coach a Premier League team for a year, but it did not state that I can’t a year from now. Who can tell clearly what’s going to happen in the future?”
“Very well. I wish you good luck.”
“I wish you good luck, too, Mr. Twain.”
After he hung up the phone, Twain looked at Shania, and Shania looked back at him.
“You don’t look very happy, Uncle Tony,” Shania said as she tilted her head to look at Twain.
“Why do you say that?” Twain did not deny it. He just asked.
“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. You’re not happy.”
Twain smiled. “I should be happy.”
“Why?”
“Because I would have one fewer powerful enemy.” Twain pointed to the newspapers. “But my real thought is: ‘God, there’s one less interesting opponent!’ I can’t be happy at the thought of it. You’re right, Shania. I’m not happy. I feel a little empty inside. It’s like… it’s like, losing a very important friend…”
Twain laughed again self-deprecatingly.
“Have you ever heard anything like that, Shania? ‘In fact, the person who knows you best and cares about you the most is often your greatest enemy.’ Look at what these papers are saying…” He picked up the newspaper and pointed at the photograph of Mourinho waving with a small caption below, and he read, “Goodbye, José. Without you, the English Premier League will feel lonely.”
“I agree with The Sun for the first time. I feel a little lonely.”
Shania looked at Twain, who was staring at the newspaper, without saying a word.
※※※
When Twain arrived at the gate of the Wilford training base, he found that a number of reporters had gathered here. He was a little surprised. Should the center of the world’s attention not be at Stamford Bridge in London? The dismissal of José Mourinho, the fanatic manager, could be counted as a piece of sensational news in the world.
“Why are you all here?” Twain looked at the reporters. “Aren’t you going to London? Big things are happening there.”
One of the reporters came forward. “It turns out you know, too, Mr. Twain.”
“Thanks to you reporters, I got wind of it during breakfast.” In fact, he knew yesterday afternoon.
The reporter continued, “According to some of Abramovich’s trusted aides, the Russian admires your coaching results and wants you to go to Stamford Bridge. We’re here to seek confirmation…”
Before he could finish his words, he was interrupted by Twain’s laughter. Twain laughed happily. He was really very happy and definitely did not fake it.
“Thank you for letting me hear the funniest joke of the day. Thank you, Mr. Reporter.” Twain said to the confused reporters when his laughter subsided.
“No, it’s not a joke. It’s true, I have a reliable insider source…” That journalist felt that his integrity was insulted, and he stressed the veracity of his source very seriously.
Since he was being serious, Twain looked somber.
“Well, if what you’re saying is true, that you do have an insider source who is Abramovich’s trusted aide and he tells you that Abramovich is interested in me, then I would like to trouble you to return a message to that trusted aide and Mr. Abramovich himself.”
A group of reporters stood at attention and turned on their phones and recording pens in succession, ready to record Twain’s response to the rumor. The television reporters extended their microphones to Twain, and the camera lens faced the man.
“Dear Mr. Roman Abramovich…” “Twain cleared his throat and looked directly at the cameras.
“F**k you.”
