Tyrell Green remained seated for a mont after dismissing his team. His arms folded across his chest, his gaze locked on the sleek presentation screen, which had now faded to black.
The directive had been clear: Pull Izan Hernández away from Adidas—carefully, surgically, like a heist without the alarms.
Outside the conference room, the mood was lighter.
Jokes, murmurs, and small talk about the coming weekend as staff dispersed through the halls, folders tucked under arms and tablets glowing with briefs.
One mber of the crew, Nate—an analyst sharp with numbers and even sharper with gossip—trailed behind the others.
He didn't take the elevator down with them. Instead, he moved past it and slipped into a quiet stairwell, letting the door fall shut behind him with a hollow click.
He waited a beat, listening for footsteps. Nothing. The silence was clean. Then, slipping a hand into his blazer pocket, he pulled out his phone.
No nas. No introductions.
Just a low voice as he leaned against the cool cent wall and made the call.
"They're going for Hernández," Nate said simply.
"Full strategy built around poaching him by the end of the season. You were right—they think the Adidas deal is soft. Already laying groundwork."
There was a pause, then a tinny voice on the other end—neutral, professional. No real tells. But it wasn't Nike.
"Good. Keep posted."
Nate nodded silently, even though the person couldn't see him. "You'll have it first."
He ended the call and slipped the phone away, expression unreadable. Just another cog in a machine with more than one blueprint.
Far from there, in an office sowhere cloaked in neutral tones and modest branding, soone leaned back in their chair—thumb slowly tracing the Mizuno emblem carved discreetly into the tal of their desk lamp.
The ga, it seed, had already begun.
...….
At Adidas' global headquarters in Herzogenaurach, Germany, the atmosphere was charged with urgency.
Hans Webber, recently elevated to Head of Athlete Relations, convened a high-level eting in the sleek, glass-walled conference room.
His promotion was not rely a reward for tenure but a recognition of his pivotal role in securing Izan Hernández, a prodigious talent whose teoric rise had significantly enhanced Adidas' brand equity.
"Let's get to the point," Hans began, his tone asured yet firm.
"Are we aware of any competitors making moves on Izan?"
Claudia, the head of strategic relations, responded, "We've received intelligence suggesting that both Nike and Mizuno are expressing interest. However, the details are nebulous, and the source of the leak remains unidentified."
Hans nodded, absorbing the information.
"We anticipated this. Izan's current contract, while substantial, doesn't reflect his current market value or his potential trajectory. It's ti we consider a more comprehensive, long-term engagent."
He unveiled a proposal for a 'lifeti' contract, drawing parallels to the agreent Adidas holds with Lionel ssi.
This contract would encompass:
Annual Base Compensation: A significant annual salary, reflecting Izan's market value and performance trics.
Performance Bonuses: Incentives tied to individual accolades, team achievents, and brand engagent trics.
Signature Product Line: Developnt of a personalized line of boots and apparel, leveraging Izan's brand.
Global Ambassador Role: Positioning Izan as a central figure in Adidas' global marketing campaigns.
Equity Stake: Potential equity in Adidas or affiliated ventures, aligning long-term interests.
The legal advisor, Markus, interjected with caution.
"Hans, while Izan's potential is undeniable, committing to a lifeti contract carries inherent risks," he paused letting his words ring through the room before continuing.
"Should his performance plateau or decline, the financial implications could be significant."
Hans responded decisively, "Markus, risk is inherent in all high-stakes ventures. Our data indicates that Izan's trajectory is upward, and his alignnt with our brand ethos is unparalleled. This is an investnt in our future."
The room fell silent, the weight of the decision palpable.
After a mont, Claudia spoke, "If we proceed, we must ensure the contract includes performance clauses and exit strategies to mitigate potential risks."
Hans agreed, "Absolutely. Let's structure the contract to protect our interests while offering Izan a compelling proposition."
"Contact Miranda," he said, "Tell her we want to renegotiate but don't show her any cards we have on our hand. That woman is very demanding and we don't want her driving up the prices by making us fight against the other brands"
As the eting concluded, Hans remained, contemplating the path ahead.
Securing Izan's long-term commitnt would not only fortify Adidas' position in the market but also signal to competitors that the brand was prepared to invest boldly in its future.
...…....…
The next afternoon, sunlight washed across the living room in long golden stripes, softened by the sheer curtains that fluttered faintly with the breeze.
The Arsenal recovery training session had ended hours ago, and Izan had finally allowed himself to unwind.
His body still humd from the drills, the gym work, and the long tactical briefing Arteta had delivered post-session.
He was on the couch now, freshly showered, in an oversized hoodie and athletic shorts, mindlessly flicking through a ga on his phone while Olivia scrolled beside him, feet tucked under a blanket.
The house slled faintly of sandalwood from a candle Olivia had lit earlier, mixing pleasantly with the afterglow of post-training calm.
Izan had barely sunk into the cushions when his phone buzzed again. Miranda, flashing across the screen.
He squinted, before laughing at the thought that she might have called to complain about sothing like she always did.
He answered imdiately. "Hey."
"Izan," Miranda's voice ca through, brisk but tightly wound like she'd just walked out of a storm and hadn't had the ti to brush off the rain.
"You got a second?"
"Yeah," Izan said, sitting up straighter.
Olivia glanced over, sensing the shift in his posture.
He stood and walked toward the balcony again, sliding the glass door closed behind him.
Miranda didn't waste ti. "I just got word. Soone's been sniffing around your Adidas deal. Multiple soones."
Izan blinked. "Okay? Who"
"Nike," she confird. "Puma and a few others. They're quiet. Quiet, but aggressive. This isn't just casual interest. There's a full strategy in play. etings, projections, internal reports. They're treating you like an open target."
Izan frowned, resting his arms on the cool tal railing.
"How? We haven't spoken to anyone."
"We wouldn't. That's how they play this ga," Miranda replied.
"They don't go through you. They go through channels and relationships. I wouldn't even know if one of my people didn't catch a leak."
"A leak?" he asked, voice low.
"Soone from inside Nike," she said, frustration barely contained.
"They're not being subtle. They're planning a coordinated pitch. Even have a whole segnt in their internal campaign lineup about 'taking the crown from Adidas.' You are the crown, Izan."
He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of her words settling fast.
"I had no idea."
"I know. I just found out this morning," she said.
"That's why I'm calling now. Adidas have caught wind too. But they don't know where the leak ca from.
Just that soone's been getting fed info—internal projections, contract terms. Might be Mizuno, might be Puma. Nobody knows who's actually pulling the strings yet."
A pause.
"Izan," she added more softly, "this is the big mont. This isn't about so boot deal or promo shoot. This is empire-building."
He didn't say anything, letting her words sink in.
"Adidas," Miranda continued, "already had sothing in motion before but they scrapped it. Now if what I think will happen then it's early Christmas for us."
"Eight-annual figure salaries. Signature boots that you already have but think more exclusive. Global campaigns, full creative input" she said breathing in after rapping all those words,
"You'll be the face. The face. Not just the rising star. They're pivoting from the post-ssi era, and you're their anchor."
"…What's the catch?" Izan asked, suspicious.
"There isn't one. Not from Adidas," she said.
"They just want to lock you in before things spiral. They're spooked now."
"And what do you think?" Izan asked.
"I think you've already outpaced your deal," Miranda said plainly.
"Twenty million over seven years? That was a steal—for them. You've paid that back in dia value already. With interest. You've broken into superstardom before even hitting your physical peak. If they're willing to give you ssi's treatnt, it's not blind faith. It's late recognition."
Izan stared out over the city, expression unreadable. Cars passed below. Birds drifted lazily overhead.
"I still don't want to leave Adidas," he said eventually.
"Not unless they fumble it. If they can match the tone of the others—doesn't have to be more, just close enough—I want to stay."
"I'll tell them," Miranda replied.
"But this won't be calm waters for long. Puma's preparing sothing flashy. Nike's coming with legacy talk. And Mizuno? They're quiet, but when they speak, they do it with impact. They'd want you to be the spearhead of their football resurrection."
"So we're in the middle of a brand war now," Izan muttered.
"We always were," she said. "Now it's just visible."
The call ended soon after, leaving Izan staring into the horizon.
When he walked back inside, Olivia looked up from the couch. "Everything okay?"
He nodded slowly and collapsed beside her again, the weight of the conversation still lingering in his gaze.
"Just hungry," he said finally.
She laughed and tossed him the remote. "Well, lucky for you—I already ordered sothing."
He leaned his head back against the couch and exhaled.
Another kind of battle would be ensuing soon and he was the prize.
"Nice- oof" Izan tried saying but Olivia jumped onto him, trying to enter the oversized hoodie too.
"You're clingy," Izan said looking at Olivia who had poked her head out, the latter staring back with a smile
"Ahh, but you love it," she said as she pulled the hoodie over Izan's head, hers going into the hoodie which held Izan's head in place.
A/n: Second of the day. Have fun reading and I will see you tomorrow.
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