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Before the start of the season, Mourinho hadn't wanted to come to the Champions' League final. His job wouldn't take him there anyway, with Roma playing in the Europa League, and he wanted a chance to relax after what would undoubtedly be another long season.
But then he met Terzic during a Weird Managers' Club group dinner in Marseille. Then he and Terzic started hanging out more in their spare time, even getting a pair of matching goldfish (which was completely Terzic's idea and not his own). Mourinho got fired and moved into Terzic's house in Dortmund, and then all of a sudden, Dortmund started playing well. Then they got into the Champions' League final.
Most people, including the press, figured that Mourinho's presence was because he used to coach Real Madrid. That was only partially true. Mourinho wanted to see how his former team had done--but he was also there for Terzic.
When Real scored the first goal, Mourinho already had a feeling that it was over for Dortmund. And indeed, it was. Real scored the second, the ref blew the final whistle, and Dortmund had lost yet another Champions' League final.
Mourinho knew Klopp was also in Wembley since Dortmund had personally invited him to the game. However, he hadn't betted on crashing into Klopp while he searched for Terzic.
"Watch where you're going, man!" Mourinho groaned, picking himself off the dusty Wembley halls. "You can't just gallivant around the halls like a wild horse when you don't even know where you're going!"
"What do you mean? I've been to Wembley four times in the last two years." Klopp chuckled, but then his face grew serious. "Could you help me with something?"
Mourinho raised an eyebrow. Klopp's off-pitch plans tended to be drawn-out, wild, and chaotic, to say the least. They also took time, which Mourinho didn't have. "I can't, Jurgen. I'm looking for Edin."
"But so am I. I just came back from talking to Marco, and I couldn’t find Edin, so now I’m looking, too.” Klopp opened the broom closet door and promptly closed it. "You live with him, Jose. Do you know where he is?"
"Nope." Mourinho suddenly remembered Terzic's story of how Dortmund lost the Bundesliga. "But I do have a clue."
Mourinho led Klopp to an empty interview room. Sure enough, Terzic was at one of the desks, staring into space.
"I thought you'd be here," Mourinho said, only half-sarcastically. "You're not very original in your hiding places, you know."
"I didn't think you'd be here." Terzic turned to Klopp, shrinking into himself. "I can't believe I let you down again."
Klopp inhaled deeply as if trying to find words to say. Mourinho didn't blame him. What did you say to a manager who'd started the final matchday on top of the table and still ended up losing, on goal difference? "Edin, losing this final doesn't mean you let me down. I'm disappointed that we lost, but only because I love Dortmund as much as you do. You worked so hard to get here, you beat PSG! That's not easy whatsoever, and you still did it."
"But I couldn't finish the job. What's the point of having my dream job when I keep disappointing everyone?" Terzic asked, to nobody in particular. "First the Bundesliga, now this. I'm a specialist in failure."
"No, you are not," Mourinho insisted firmly, and--much to Klopp's surprise--warmly. "Leave that label for Arsene, okay? You're an idiot, but you're my idiot."
Terzic wasn't convinced. "Dortmund doesn't need an idiot as their manager."
He turned away from them and walked towards the corner. Mourinho watched for two seconds before pulling Klopp to the other side of the room.
"We can't leave him like this. I'm not the feelings guy or anything, but...Edin's my friend, okay? I can't see him suffer like this. I wish we could turn back time and change things so he'd win today."
Klopp stared at Mourinho as if he'd willingly picked up a kitten and cuddled it. "You would do that for someone that's not yourself?"
"I know, I'm a self-centred bus-parker with a callous sense of humour. But..." Mourinho cast a glance at the distraught manager in the corner of the room. "Edin's done something to me. It's disgusting, but I like it. Why do I like it?!"
"It's called love, Jose, and you've had it in you forever." Klopp paused, furrowing his brows as he thought. "I have an idea that could cheer up Edin, but I'll need your help."
Mourinho nodded without a second thought. "I'll do anything."
"Then get Edin to Arsene's old house, immediately." Klopp took out his phone and dialled a number, holding the phone up to his ear. "I'll join you two, but first I have to make a few calls."
*
"Why did we come here instead of a hotel?" Terzic asked, leaning on Mourinho's shoulder as he devoured a packet of chocolate Flakes. "Marco and the others are in the hotel right now. Imagine how they feel now, not knowing where I am."
"For the ninth time, this wasn't my idea. Jurgen told me to drive you here. He said he would handle everything else."
Terzic raised an eyebrow at Mourinho, a Flake sticking out from his mouth. "And you agreed?"
"Well, yeah."
"Why?"
"Because..." He shuddered at the words that came to mind. But he had to say it. "I love you, Edin."
Terzic's eyes lit up, and suddenly he was smiling. "I love you too, Jose. Definitely not romantically, though."
"What? No, never!"
"Thank goodness. I'm...I'm glad I met you last year."
For once, Mourinho allowed himself a smile that wasn't out of spite and schadenfreude. "Me too."
"Guess who's back? Back again?" Marsch cartwheeled through the doorway and crashed onto the couch, landing between Terzic and Mourinho. "Jesse's back, tell a friend!"
Mourinho pushed Marsch away from him as if he were a special species of vermin. "What are you DOING here?! I thought you were loitering around in Canada!"
"Are you kidding me, Jesse?" Vieira shouted, walking in with a large cat carrier. "You ruined their gay moment!"
Terzic glared at Vieira. "I'm forty-one years old and Jose's sixty-one!"
"Oh, my mistake." Vieira calmly set the carrier down and opened it, allowing Monique and Calista to run out and explore. "I thought you were at least fifty-five with that complexion."
Mourinho proudly rubbed two fingers over his cheeks. "I knew my skincare routine would pay off. Did you know snail cream..."
"WELLNESS CHECK!" Milner rolled in through the chimney, surrounded by what looked like lightning. "Hello, losers!"
Marsch high-fived Milner, grinning like an idiot. "Bestie!"
Milner pulled his hand away from Marsch. "Ew, stop acting like you're from Wisconsin or something."
"But I am from Wisconsin!"
Mourinho crept out of the room as the others got involved in Marsch and Milner's fight. He bumped into Klopp, who was walking through the living room door with his arm looped around Buvac's.
"You brought Jesse here?!" he whisper-yelled. "I thought you said this plan would work!"
"His joy is infectious!" Klopp argued. "Right, Zel?"
Buvac grumbled under his breath and broke away from Klopp, heading towards the kitchen for coffee.
"Jesse is infectious!" Mourinho groaned. "He's literally agreed to coach Canada!"
Klopp shrugged. "If it makes you feel any better, I brought Patrick, Pep, Milly, David, and Zel, too."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better?!"
"Do you want to cheer up Edin or not?"
"Fine. But if we all get killed, my ghost will sue you."
"Very well." Klopp turned to Milner. "James, do you mind telling us what we're doing?"
Vieira's jaw nearly dropped to the worn, long-overdue-for-replacement carpeting. "You mean you don't know what the plan is?!"
Klopp exchanged a look with Milner. "Milly?"
Milner nodded, producing a metal drink mixer from hammerspace. "While I was scrolling on TikTok, I found a 'drink mixer challenge', where different people add various beverages to a mixer and then try the resulting flavour. I thought it would be good 'team bonding' for us all."
Mourinho raised a sceptical eyebrow. "What are the rules?"
"The rules are simple. One, no toxic substances." Milner announced, pacing back and forth in front of the group. "That means no 2003 Britney Spears songs, no descriptions of Henry VIII's marriages to any of his wives, and no Irn Bru, capiche?"
"Capiche, Milly."
Silence from Mourinho. "Am I really supposed to answer that?"
Klopp elbowed him. "Jose!"
"Fine, fine. No Irn Bru, whatever the flipping Fortaleza that is."
Milner nodded. "Two, no telling anybody what you put in the cocktail mixer. You will be stating what you put in the mixer to the camera, which is set up in front of the table. Third, and most importantly, no adding two drinks at once. Are we clear?"
Everybody nodded. The challenge was about to begin.
*
"Hello, I'm Zeljko, and I'm sixty-two years old. My ex-teammate invited me to do this challenge. Now, I'm afraid of what Jesse might put in, so I'll go with simple water." He poured half a bottle of spring water into the container. "Nobody can get drunk from that."
*
"Hey, I'm Jurgen, and I'm fifty-six years old. I organized this challenge, hehehe! I am going to add a mug of hot chocolate to the flask because everybody here likes hot chocolate."
*
"Hi, I'm Patrick, and I'm Jesse's best friend and housemate. I'm adding limonade, which is French sparkling lemonade, to the mixer. Hopefully, nobody's added alcohol already, because Jesse's a wildcard."
*
"Good evening, I am James Phillip Milner, aka The Undefeatable Time Lord James Milner. I will add a bottle of low-sugar, diluted Ribena to the mixer. And if you're watching this, Robbo, fork Irn Bru."
*
"Hi, I'm Pep, and my best friend thought of this challenge. I'm afraid of what Jesse's going to add to this, so I will add a large cup of espresso coffee to the mixer. I really hope nobody added diet soda to this."
*
"Guten Tag, I'm David. I'm the coach of Norwich--"
BLEEEEEP!
"Oh, we're doing take 2? Okay. Guten Tag, I'm David. According to my boss, I WAS the coach of Norwich until pretty recently. My ex-teammate and good friend invited me to this party, and I'm adding a shot glass of diet soda. If I die from whatever combination is in here, make sure Jurgen and Zel finally get together."
*
"Hello, I am Jose. You will respect me and my important trophies--"
BLEEEEP!
"Hey, who cut me off?!"
"Horty-hor-hor!"
"JURGEN! We have an invader in the house, and he's only won a single Apex League!"
"Um, that is Jurgen."
"It's better than your record, Zeljko! And I was talking about Arsene!"
"ATTACK!!!"
*
"Hello, sorry for that failed invasion. Although considering who attempted it, I'm not surprised it failed. I am Jose, and I am adding a bottle of Oporto port wine. Deal with it."
*
"Wagwan, fam--"
BLEEEEP!
"Stefan-Harvey-Ibra-Trev, there he is AGAIN!"
"Oh, just let him. He's the best Arsenal representative we'll ever get. Unless you'd rather have Basque Vulture or Spanish Dracula?"
"Fine."
*
"Greetings, fam, I am Arsene, head of Arsene Fan TV and a distinguished member of FIFA. I gatecrashed this party, and now I am adding twenty-nine shots of Bordeaux bourbon, and NOT twenty-nine shots of whatever energy drink Mesut Ozil drinks, because his energy levels are FLIPPING SHARPIE MARKERS, BLUD! AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT, MESUT FREAKING OZIL RETIRED FROM FOOTBALL THREE YEARS BEFORE I EVEN RETIRED!"
*
"I cannot believe Jurgen let him in here--oh, are we live? I'm Edin, and I am shaping up to be just as much of a specialist in failure as Arsene--"
"RUDE, CUZ!"
"Nobody asked your wrinkly French opinion on anything! As I was saying, I am going to add a blend of calming tea, BUT it's just the herbs and not the water, AND we'll mix it up with some ginger ale."
*
"Heya dudes, I'm Jesse, and I'm Patrick's best friend, housemate, and...well, a lot of other things. I am adding a whole bottle of vinegar barbecue sauce, AND I've got fries cooking in the kitchen! And now, I'm going to mix this up!"
*
They all gathered in the living room around the coffee table. As soon as everybody was settled, Buvac took out a fancy-looking piece of paper and slammed it down onto the table.
"This is a contract. It says that we legally cannot sue each other for any potential complications, and if all of us die except one, that one person takes all of our jobs."
Mourinho's eyes lit up. "Cher-CHING!"
Wenger glared at Mourinho, unimpressed. "Is there any way to make sure that only he suffers?"
Wagner poured the concoction into champagne glasses as the rest of his colleagues glared at him as if he'd invented Monday. They took a glass, stared into the brownish-red liquid, and exchanged awkward glances at each other, as if each was waiting for somebody else to drink it.
"Hashtag awkward," Wenger muttered, swirling the liquid in his glass around. "Nobody seems to want to be the sacrificial lamb. So Jose will do it."
"What?!" Mourinho squawked. "I'm too old for this! If anybody should drink this first, it should be Jurgen, because all THIS was HIS idea!"
Klopp eyed the drink suspiciously. "In my defence, I only added ho--"
"Whoa whoa whoa, boss! Spoilers!" Milner raised his glass. "Look, none of us is going to take the plunge first, so let's do it all together, okay? To the Weird Managers' Club!"
Everybody clinked their glasses. Almost simultaneously, they looked into their glasses...and threw the contents back into the mixer. Vieira then hurled the mixer across the room, and Klopp headed it out the window.
"What are you doing, fam?!" Wenger screeched as he watched his cocktail mixer fall through the window. "That's prized German silverware!"
"It's also the only silverware you won in international football." Terzic chuckled. "At least I won the Pokal in 2021!"
"And I won several FA Cups," Wenger pointed out. "Sorry, Edin, it turns out that you're more of a specialist in failure than was ever deemed possible. And you earned that title without coaching Spurs!"
"I guess you're right. We lost the league to Mainz."
"HEY!" Klopp, Wagner, and Buvac shouted at the same time.
Terzic shrugged half-heartedly. "Look on the bright side, though. At least I didn't take ten years to reach the Champions' League final."
"DAMN YOUUUUUU EDIN!!!!!"