The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening.

Leon stood in his apartment, the city lights of Liverpool a distant, glittering tapestry outside his window. He thought of the two suns.

He thought of the tactical conflict, the battle for the spotlight, the potential for a clash of egos that could derail their entire season. It would be so easy, so logical, to say no.

To protect his own status, to maintain the perfect, delicate balance of their current attack.

But then he thought of something else. He thought of the roar of Anfield. He thought of the fierce, unshakeable ambition of this club. He thought of the words of his new captain, Virgil van Dijk:

We are Liverpool. We should not be afraid of anyone.

He took a deep breath, and in that single, profound moment, a decision that was bigger than tactics, bigger than egos, bigger than himself, crystallized in his mind.

"Gaffer," he began, his voice calm, clear, and filled with a new, unshakeable authority.

"A team that wants to win everything cannot be afraid of competition. A team that wants to be the best in the world should want the best players in the world." He paused, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. "If we have the chance to sign Lamine Yamal... then we should sign him. We will make it work. Champions are not afraid of a challenge. They welcome it."

The week that followed was a strange, beautiful, and slightly bizarre return to normality.

The football world was a raging tire fire of Lamine Yamal speculation, but inside the sanctuary of the AXA Training Centre, the focus was singular: Brighton away.

The mood in the dressing room was light, the players still buzzing from their heroic comeback against Manchester City. And, of course, the Yamal rumors were the main topic of the day's philosophical debate, led by their resident madman.

"Okay, so," Julián Álvarez began, holding up a banana like it was a prop in a Shakespearean play.

"If a player costs two hundred million euros, does he have to pay for his own snacks at the training ground? Or does the fee include a lifetime supply of complimentary, club-sponsored bananas? The economics are very confusing."

Mo Salah, who was in the middle of a complex stretching routine, just laughed, a deep, booming sound that filled the room.

"For that much money, my friend," he called out, a grin on his face, "he should be the one bringing us the snacks!"

"I don't care if he's made of solid gold," Andy Robertson grumbled good-naturedly from the massage table.

"If he comes here, he still has to do the running. No exceptions."

It was a perfect, beautiful, and utterly Liverpool way of dealing with the biggest transfer rumor on the planet: with a healthy dose of skepticism and a terrible joke.

Arne Slot's pre-match briefing was a masterclass in focused, single-minded leadership. He didn't mention Yamal.

He didn't mention Paris Saint-Germain. He just tapped his tactical tablet, and the intelligent, free-flowing formation of their next opponent, Brighton, appeared on the screen.

"Alright, lads," he began, his voice a calm, analytical hum.

"Forget the noise. Forget the newspapers. Forget the two-hundred-million-euro teenagers. Our world, for the next ninety minutes, is this." He pointed to the screen. "Brighton. A very good football team. They are brave on the ball. They will play through our press. They will try to pass us to death."

He looked around the room, his eyes sharp and clear. "We will not let them. We will be a red wall. Our pressing must be intelligent, coordinated. And when we win the ball," he said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face, "we will be a hurricane. We will be too fast, too strong, and too good. Go and remind them why we are the champions."

That night, after a long day of training, Leon was relaxing at home when his phone rang. It was Sofia.

"So," she said, her voice a warm, teasing melody. "I see you're trying to add another superstar to your little collection. Are you not entertained enough with the ones you have?"

He laughed, a comfortable, happy sound. "It was the gaffer's decision. I just gave my... expert opinion."

"And what was your 'expert opinion', oh wise and powerful leader?" she asked.

"That a team of champions should not be afraid of a little competition," he said simply.

He heard her smile on the other end of the line. "Good answer, footballer," she said softly. "Very... leader-like." She paused. "Speaking of which, don't forget we have that charity gala next month. I've already found a dress. It's very sparkly. You have been warned."

They talked for a while longer, an easy, happy conversation that was the perfect end to his day. He felt a profound sense of peace. He had a team that felt like a family. He had a coach who trusted him. He had a girl who made his world feel bigger and brighter. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

He hung up the phone, a contented smile on his face.

He was about to get ready for bed when his phone buzzed again.

It was a news alert from the one journalist whose word was gospel, Fabrizio Romano. His heart did a little nervous flutter.

Was it about Yamal? Had PSG accepted the offer?

He opened the notification. The headline was not what he was expecting. It was a completely different story, a new, unexpected, and utterly chaotic twist in the transfer saga of the century.

[Fabrizio Romano exclusive: Paris Saint-Germain have rejected Liverpool's opening bid for Lamine Yamal. Sources confirm PSG have made a stunning counter-proposal: a world-record, player-plus-cash offer. They are demanding Inter Milan's Lautaro Martínez as part of a complex, three-way deal.]

Lautaro Martínez, the heart of Inter Milan, the captain, the man who bled blue and black, was being demanded as a ransom payment for Lamine Yamal.

It was a move of such breathtaking, galaxy-brain arrogance that for a moment, the entire footballing world was united in a single, stunned silence.

The Liverpool dressing room, when the news finally filtered through the next morning, was a scene of beautiful, glorious, and slightly horrified chaos.

"WAIT. Let me get this straight," Trent Alexander-Arnold said, his face a mask of pure, bewildered confusion. "So, PSG wants Lautaro from Inter, so that Inter will allow Liverpool to buy Yamal from PSG? My head hurts. I think I need a diagram."

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