Godfather Of Champions

Translator: Nyoi-Bo Studio Editor: Nyoi-Bo Studio

A soiree, for a common man like Twain, was only interesting if he regarded it as a gathering of all kinds of characters in a tavern in a fantasy novel. Therefore, he spent most of the time on the balcony enjoying the breeze. Occasionally, other people would come to have a private moment. After they were surprised to find Twain hidden in the dark corner, they would hope that Twain would tactfully give up the space, but Twain was too lazy to move. So, instead, he leaned against the railing and met their gazes. In the end, the other party could finally not take it and would retreat, leaving the balcony empty again for Twain to enjoy alone.

This evening, he had to compete with a number of people like that. There were strangers who intended to rendezvous hidden away from the others, men in suits who wanted to talk business, as well as chattering women who wanted to gossip behind other peoples' backs. Twain drove them out of the balcony again and again, just like a lion king on the African plains guarding his territory.

Why did he not want to go to the brightly lit hall and party with the other people and take the initiative to get know the strangers? Twain blamed it on his antisocial and bizarre character. But…

"It's really strange that I clearly like the stadiums with tens of thousands of roaring people together, but surprisingly I hate this level of hustle and bustle." He murmured as he looked across the hall.

When it was time to say goodbye, Giorgio Armani personally saw each guest off at the door. As he observed the master of the fashion world, who had no airs at all, Twain thought he somehow understood why this man was so successful.

"Tony, it looks like you did not enjoy yourself." By the time to say goodbye, Armani had already switched to calling Twain by his name. Their relationship progressed quickly. "I did not take good care of you as a host."

Twain hurriedly waved his hands and said, "no, no, not at all… It's just that…" He did not know how to put it. Could he simply tell Armani that he actually hated this kind of event? That would be rude.

"Mr. Twain must be worried about the Champions League semi-final." Mourinho seemed to be omnipresent. As long as there was a situation that would embarrass Twain, he would immediately appear and stab him in the back.

But at the sight of Mourinho, Twain quickly reacted. "Aha, my friend, Mr. Mourinho, I can't agree with you on that. There's nothing to worry about the semi-finals. Either I win or you lose; the result will still be the same anyway."

Mourinho froze for a moment before he understood the meaning of Twain's remark. He had brought it upon himself. After saying goodbye to Armani, he reached out to Twain and said, "when we shake hands again the next time, it won't be in such a relaxed environment, Mr. Twain."

Twain took Mourinho's hand and smiled. "Do you mean before or after the game?"

Mourinho did not bother to answer his meaningless question. He politely said goodbye to Shania and turned to walk away.

Once Mourinho left, Armani could continue his conversation with Twain.

"Jor has complained to me more than once about what terrible taste her 'Uncle Tony' has in clothes." Armani grinned at Twain.

Twain was a little uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He fidgeted and said, "a man only need two sets of clothing all year round. One for the summer and the other for the winter."

Giorgio Armani was very interested in Twain's "brilliant opinion" and asked, "Where did you hear that, Tony?"

"Well, I came to the conclusion myself."

The old man smiled brightly and said, "I half agree with you on that view. A man's wardrobe does not need to be filled with all kinds of seasonal clothing like a lady, but it does not mean that a man can only wear one suit all year long. If that were the case, when you went out on the streets, your eyes would soon get tired of the world, and you would only see dark suits and more dark suits… just like the weather in London. In fact, a man can dress as he wishes, as long as he knows how to coordinate. No matter what he wears, he will look fashionable and unique. Because everyone's build and appearance is different, the same style of clothes will have very different effect on a stout or skinny wearer."

Twain wholly agreed with that point. "Unfortunately, I lack the eye and taste to choose clothes."

"That doesn't matter. Just wear what you feel good wearing. Do you like the bowtie, Tony?"

Twain shook his head. "If I don't need to wear a tie, I won't. This is my first time wearing a bow tie."

"Very well." Giorgio Armani suddenly reached out to untie the bow tie and handed it to Shania next to him. He then unbuttoned the two top buttons on Twain's shirt, leaving the collar open. "Relax, don't feel so restrained and proper in front of your friends." Armani clapped his hands and took two steps back as if he was admiring a signed model and cocked his head to the side to re-evaluate Twain.

"Not bad, Tony. You've kept your body in good shape. Interested in becoming a spokesperson for my brand?" The eighty-one-year-old man winked at Twain.

Twain was stunned.

The face of Armani?

He'd never thought about modelling — before or now, he had never considered it. In his mind, Armani had always been a representative of the world's luxury fashion brands. Wouldn't a popular singer or mega movie star be the face of such a brand? When would it fall to a football manager like himself?

"Is it making things difficult, Tony?"

"Ah, no, no, no. I'm just a little surprised. Mr. Armani, I don't understand why you would want me to be… a spokesperson."

"Because I like you very much, Tony. You have an air that fascinates me."

This old man also spoke like he sung the same tune as Woox… Did people in the fashion world like this kind of thing? Twain shuddered.

"Unlike my other models, you're irrepressible wild horses. No one can put reins on you and tame you. You're free and liberated. You say what you think, you show the side you want to show and never care what the public and media say about you. You live freely. It is very much in line with Armani's brand values. You know, my fashion design only pursues one principle — simple, free, relaxed. You're a good match, Tony."

Twain did not expect to receive this type of assessment from Armani. He froze a little and then nodded. "Well, it's good to make more money."

Armani laughed. Next them, Shania and Fasal also laughed along. Shania's efforts finally paid off.

As they were about to leave, Armani gave Twain one last piece of advice. "Tony, you say you lack the taste and eye to pick out clothes. I'll teach you an all-purpose method." He mysteriously put his mouth next to Twain's ear and whispered as if his "secret recipe" had to be kept secret.

He hurried to look like he was listening attentively as a sign of respect.

The silver-haired Giorgio Armani leaned next to Twain's ear and he looked past towards Shania and Fasal behind Twain. He smiled slyly at the two people and said, "if you really do not know what to wear, just wear Armani and you can't go wrong!"

Twain, who was being teased, was not angry, and laughed alongside the old man. "That really is a good all-purpose method."

※※※

It was getting late, and they had to rush back to Nottingham because Twain had to go to Wilford for team training the next morning. Although it was late, Shania was still in high spirits. She sat with Twain in the back of the car, constantly humming along with the car radio.

Twain was a little tired. He leaned his head against the seat and closed his eyes. A lot had happened that evening. Mourinho, Giorgio Armani, and the story behind Billy Woox and George Wood.

That loan note, which had been set on fire, and Billy Woox, who smiled behind the flame. Having dealt with the damned agent for two years, Twain felt that for the first time, he did not know him at all.

He actually turned out to be Wood's relative…

He was not sure if it was George's and his mother's luck or misfortune to have a relative like him?

Twain raised his hands to rub his temples, only to find that his right hand could not move. He opened his eyes and found that Shania, who had been humming, was leaning on his side. She had fallen asleep with her head resting on his arm and both her arms wrapped around Twain's body. Her face had a peaceful smile and was docile like a kitten.

Looking at Shania, who slept so sweetly, Twain carefully freed his right hand and gently stroked her hair. A burst of refreshing fragrance permeated the air in the small car.

It was Shania's favorite shampoo. Even as a model, where many hair stylists and others would style her hair, Shania only used a specific brand of shampoo with this distinctive fragrance. It had almost become her signature fragrance.

From the first time he met her and carried her to the hospital for treatment, her hair already exuded the now familiar scent.

Twain could not help but take a deep breath.

Fasal looked up at the rearview mirror and the corners of his mouth curled up before he lowered his head to focus on driving.

The music from the stereo had long been turned off by the considerate Fasal and the windows were closed. The cars on the freeway could not be heard, and it was quiet inside the car. Only the sound of Shania's breathing while she slept could be heard.

It sounded gentle and melodious.

Listening to the sounds next to his ear, feeling the warm breath coming out of Shania's nose, and then letting the scent fill his nose, Twain leaned back and closed his eyes again.

※※※

It was already past one o'clock in the morning the next day by the time they returned to Nottingham. Twain did not wake Shania up, but gently carried her out of the car. After he said goodbye to Fasal, he turned back to his home.

He carried Shania from the car to her bedroom on the second floor, and then gently put her on the bed. Due to propriety, he did not take off her evening dress; he simply pulled the blanket over her.

After doing all that, Twain was tired and sweaty. He breathed heavily. This was only the second time he had carried Shania. The first time he carried her was when she was thirteen years old and thin like a dandelion that would drift away when the wind blew.

And now…

"Damn…" Twain took a breath and sat down on the floor beside Shania's bed. "She really has grown up. Sleeping like a pig, you're killing me. Hoo hoo—"

After taking a break, Twain's breath gradually became even again. He turned around, knelt on the floor, and leaned over the bed to look at Shania, who slept sweetly. The girl's beautiful face was covered by a few strands of scattered hair. Twain hesitated for a moment before he reached out to gently sweep her hair aside and then leaned over the bed again to observe her.

Looking at Shania in front of him, Twain suddenly thought of a fairy tale he had read as a child — Sleeping Beauty.

"Sleeping Beauty, Sleeping Beauty… Who will be your Prince Charming who rides a white horse, cuts through the brambles on the dangerous path, and finally kisses you to save you?" murmured Twain.

"Be sure to find a good man and be happy…" Twain took Shania's arm, which had come out from under the blanket, and put it back under. He then got up to dim the lamp on her nightstand and quietly left the room.

※※※

The next day, Twain did not let Shania be his wake-up call. He got out of bed himself and went downstairs after he washed up.

"Good morning! Uncle Tony!" Shania poked her head out of the kitchen and waved a spatula with an egg in her hand.

"Good morning…" Twain gave a feeble hello at the thought of eating the devil's breakfast provided by Shania.

Toto sprang out of the kitchen. With breadcrumbs still on its mouth, it rubbed its head against Twain's pants.

"Don't wipe your mouth on my pants!" Twain very much wanted to kick the stray cat out, but he reckoned he would be kicked out by Shania for doing so, so he just shook his leg hard to try to deter the cat. He did not expect Toto to use its teeth and claws to hook onto Twain's pants. Twain could not shake off the cat no matter how hard he tried.

When Twain was tired from the shaking, he looked at the wicked cat, who was still rubbing against his pants and said through gritted teeth, "Very well, you're not getting off, are you? You vile cat!" He began to unbuckle his belt to remove his pants.

Shania came out of the kitchen with the breakfast just at that moment and Twain was also right in front of the kitchen door. He stood up just in time to see Shania, carrying a tray and staring at the area between the bottom of his shirt and above his knees…

Frozen for only a second, Twain quickly bent down again to pull up his pants with Toto still hanging onto them.

Shania saw there was nothing to look at and pulled a face as she took the breakfast to the table, and then said to Twain, "Uncle Tony, are you going to be a spokesperson for Armani's underwear line? You're outstanding in that area." She pointed between Twain's legs.

That was when Twain realized he had just woken up, and that meant certain things.

This is so embarrassing. No wonder she did not move her eyes when she saw it just now!

Twain reacted and hurriedly pulled his pants, with the cat still attached, up the stairs.

After a few minutes, he came back down again. Although the cat was still on his pants leg, his embarrassing "wake-up" state was gone.

"All good?" Shania asked without lifting her head as she ate her breakfast and read the day's newspapers, which she had collected from the outside.

"The little brother was disobedient, so I slapped him a few times to keep him in line." Twain casually sat across from Shania and began to tuck into his breakfast.

Shania sprayed the imported milk that she had just drank all over the newspaper in her hands and began to cough. Twain did not understand why and just stared blankly at Shania who collapsed on the table and laughed very hard.

After a while, Shania slowly composed herself while she looked up at Twain and said very seriously, "come on, Uncle Tony, can you give me a heads up the next time you plan to tell a joke?"

"What? Ah! You twisted it in your head. At such a young age, your mind is already so complicated. The fashion world really corrupts your mind, turning red into yellow, black into white…" Twain did not argue with Shania. He just shook his head to poke fun at Shania, unfolded the napkin and began to eat. Having eaten so many days of Shania's breakfast, his stomach was completely used to it… Luckily I'm not a foodie, or I'd have starved to death in a place like England.

"Hanging out with an old man all day long, there's no way to be innocent." After living with Twain for a long time, Shania had also learned to talk glib. "Ah, poor me, I'm still a seventeen-year-old young girl~~~~~~"

Twain rolled his eyes and ignored Shania acting silly.

After breakfast, Twain went out to knock on Dunn's door and said goodbye to Shania with him and walked to Wilford to "go to work."

Shania happily waved goodbye at the two men at the door and did not return into the house to clean up until she could not see Twain and Dunn anymore.

※※※

"She looks like a wife," Dunn who had been silent, suddenly blurted out, confusing Twain.

"What?"

"I meant Shania. You and her, when she walked you out of the house just now," Dunn added.

"What do you know? You're a virgin who has never touched a girl's hand," Twain retorted disdainfully. He did not buy into Dunn's nonsense.

"Are you talking about yourself? This body is yours, virgin boy." Dunn was another person who was corrupted by Twain.

Twain rolled his eyes and twisted his head around to look at Dunn. "Okay, you tell me the truth, Dunn. This body." He pointed to him and asked, "was it a virgin before me?"

Dunn hesitated for a moment before he nodded.

"Then we're even. Then… it's no longer a virgin, so I'm ahead." Twain laughed with great pride.

It was too awkward for Dunn to go deeper into this topic. He frowned and interrupted Twain's laugh. "Don't discuss this pointless topic so early in the morning. Don't you want to think about our semi-final opponent, Chelsea?"

Twain stopped laughing but he was still smiling when he said, "speaking of Chelsea, yesterday when I accompanied Shania to Mr. Armani's private party, guess who I ran into?"

Dunn responded with a straight face, "I'm not interested in playing a guessing game."

"You're such a boring man! I ran into Mourinho."

Dunn's expression changed at the mention of this name.

"He challenged me in front of so many people." In reality, there were not as many people as Twain said. There were just three people, Armani, Shania and Fasal. However, he liked to exaggerate.

"Dunn, I don't have to think about Chelsea at this time. I've been studying Chelsea since a long, long time ago. You know that. I haven't lost to Mourinho before and I won't lose to him now." He said the last remark resolutely, with no sign of his previous impish expression.