When Pearson stepped into the press room, he was surprised to find it packed with reporters.
Looking at the crowd, he knew exactly who they were waiting for.
Not him.
The other main attraction.
The moment he pulled out his chair and sat down, Blues manager Mourinho strode into the room.
Every camera and lens swung toward him.
Click.
Click.
Flash.
At that moment, there was only one star in the room.
It was no wonder the media were so drawn to Mourinho.
From the start of his career, the “Special One” had been a figure of outsized personality and controversy, a man who made headlines with every word.
The relationship between the media and Mourinho was like zoo keepers and animals.
The media were hungry beasts, staring at keeper Mourinho the second he appeared, waiting for him to reach into the bucket and toss them fresh meat.
Mourinho was long used to it.
Dressed in a suit and long overcoat, his features sharp and cold, the Special One radiated an air of crisp efficiency.
He didn’t sit down right away.
Instead, he extended his hand to Pearson and shook it.
“Sorry I’m late.” Pearson blinked, then replied, “No problem.
I just got here myself.” This was his first personal encounter with Mourinho.
The media had painted the Portuguese manager, with his “Special One” moniker, as a hard, difficult man.
But in person, he was surprisingly polite.
Both managers were now present.
The pre-match press conference began.
At the nod of the press officer, a reporter from the Leicester Mercury took the microphone first and directed his question at Pearson.
“Mr.
Pearson, facing a Premier League side versus a Championship side—what’s the difference?” “Not much, really.
No matter the opponent, we give it everything.
Besides, this isn’t our first time facing a Premier League team.” After a couple of brief questions for Pearson, a reporter from the Daily Telegraph got his turn.
“First of all, José, happy birthday!” The match was on January 26, 2014.
Mourinho’s 51st birthday.
Hearing the familiar reporter’s well-wishes, Mourinho’s lips curled into a smile and he cracked a joke.
“Maurice, you’re the seventh or eighth person to say that to me today.
So… thank you.” “But more than well-wishes, I’d rather celebrate with a win today.” That line sent the photographers’ shutter fingers flying and the journalists hammering at their keyboards.
Classic Mourinho.
The reporter, delighted, pressed on.
“You sound very confident about this game?” “I always want to control a match from the first minute.
But it won’t be easy.
Leicester City are not to be underestimated.
Sitting top of the Championship table says plenty.” “Mr.
Mourinho, are you aware of Leicester’s number twenty-three?” Mourinho didn’t blink.
“I know him.
I’ve watched his match tape.
He’s a good young player.
The way he handles the ball on the pitch is impressive.” “In the last round of the FA Cup, Leicester came back to beat Stoke City thanks to his two assists off the bench.
Do you think this eighteen-year-old could cause problems for your team?” “I believe in my players.” The press conference turned into a near-exclusive Q&A session between Mourinho and the reporters.
Pearson was happy to stay quiet and answer fewer questions.
After the press conference ended, both managers returned to their dressing rooms for a final team talk.
Then the match slowly began to unfold.
The players filed out of the dressing rooms and gathered in the tunnel.
In the starting lineup for the first time, Leo stood at the back of the group.
His expression was calm, but his heart was pounding.
His gaze drifted to the Chelsea line next to them.
An hour before the match, he’d learned Chelsea’s starting eleven.
Every name was one he knew by heart as a lifelong fan: King Hazard, Lampard the Lamp, former Premier League left-back king Ashley Cole, Ivanovic the Terrible, El Niño Torres, David Luiz, Matić, Willian… Even after heavy rotation, Chelsea’s starting lineup was still star-studded.
Hazard alone was worth almost as much as the entire Leicester squad combined.
Standing in the tunnel, Leo felt a surreal, dreamlike sensation wash over him.
These Premier League stars, players he’d only ever seen on television, were now standing right beside him.
So close he could hear them talking to each other.
And he was about to share a pitch with them.
It was every football fan’s dream.
His heart racing, he suddenly noticed something worth paying attention to: Matić, standing in the opposing line, kept glancing his way.
No discretion.
Just a full, up-and-down stare.
From that look, Leo was absolutely certain: Matić was going to be marking him closely this match.
He glanced at Matić’s towering frame, then down at his own smaller build.
A sudden premonition hit him.
This match was not going to be easy.
As the stadium DJ introduced the lineups, the two teams walked out of the tunnel and onto the pitch.
The camera immediately found Leo, standing last in the Leicester line.
When his face appeared on the big screen, the King Power Stadium erupted in a deafening roar.
His recent substitute performances had clearly won him the recognition and approval of the Leicester supporters.
And their calls for the club to give him a start had been answered.
How could they not be thrilled?
Many fans felt the club truly listened to them.
That was their beloved Foxes.
In the VIP section, Simon and Julia Hale, like every other Leicester fan, waved their scarves and cheered for their son.
“Come on, Leo!” “Go on, son!
Destroy Chelsea!” The words were barely out when Julia’s face shifted.
“Hey!
Language!” The man on the receiving end straightened up and snapped a salute.
“Yes, ma’am!” 30+ chapters are available now and daily updates!