Once the wild post-match celebration finally died down, Raul brought John and Michael Felix straight into the club's main office building.
After parking Michael and John in the waiting area to catch their breath, Raul pushed open the heavy double doors and marched into the general manager's office.
"Uncle John, do you really think that one trial is gonna be enough to bag a big contract?" Michael asked, catching the massive, shit-eating grin plastered across his agent's face.
"Of course it will, Michael! Your performance out there today was fantastic. No, scratch that—it was absolutely fucking outrageous!" John was practically glowing, clutching a scouting report in his hand like it was a winning lottery ticket.
"Do you know what Raul's staff just graded your goalkeeping potential? An 'S'! If you can keep performing like this in actual matches, the starting spot is gonna be yours sooner rather than later."
"Thanks a million," Michael said, genuinely thrilled. "But I'm still gonna have to bother you to look over the actual contract terms later. Once all that legal bullshit is down on paper, there's a hundred percent chance I won't understand a damn word of it."
"No problem at all," John reassured him. "Just relax."
While he waited, Michael quietly ran the numbers in his head.
Right now, he desperately needed cash.
If the starting salary was high enough, he could finally wipe out his family's suffocating debts, and every leftover cent could go straight toward his grandmother's dical treatnt.
...
anwhile, inside the general manager's office...
"Mr. Herman, our team just stumbled onto a literal genius goalkeeper," Raul urged. "You absolutely have to sign this kid! With him at the back, we might actually be able to push for another promotion this season!"
"Don't get ahead of yourself, my dear coach," Herman said, casually waving him off. "A new player? A genius? Please. I've seen plenty of 'talented' players in my ti, and most of them fizzle out and disappear before they ever amount to a damn thing. We just signed a whole batch of players this morning, and the club's budget is already stretched dangerously thin."
"No, he's different. Please, you have to actually pay attention to this kid. Look at the footage from earlier today. Just watch it. If we sign him, I swear to God you won't regret it."
Without waiting for permission, Raul whipped out his phone, loaded up the video, and shoved it into Herman's hands.
A minute later, when Herman watched Michael pull off that god-tier triple save right before full-ti, the bored look on his face vanished.
He suddenly looked incredibly excited.
"Raul... go bring them in. I want to et this player."
Out in the lobby, Michael was mindlessly staring at the digital screen on the wall, watching it cycle through photos of the club's star striker, Morandi.
Suddenly, Raul popped his head out. "Co on, you two. Follow inside."
...
The second Michael walked through the doors, he was greeted by the sight of a middle-aged man with a massive belly wedged into the boss's chair.
The guy was so big that the fancy office desk almost looked comically small for him. Sitting right in the center of the desk was a flashy golden coin sculpture.
Seeing John and Michael walk in, Herman quickly stood up, loudly clapped his thick hands together, and extended one over the desk.
"Hello, John! Thank God we t! It has been a very long ti since I've seen such an excellent goalkeeper. Thank you for choosing Racing Santander." He flashed them both a wide, perfectly practiced smile.
John didn't miss a beat.
He imdiately stepped forward and warmly shook Herman's hand.
"You're far too kind, Mr. General Manager! I heard you were a bit short on talent over here, so I imdiately rushed one of our absolute best players over for a trial." John bead, his smile just as warm and just as fake.
'What a pair of foxes,' Michael thought to himself, holding back a smirk.
On the surface, everyone was all sunshine and smiles.
But underneath it all? It was pure, cutthroat business and hidden blades.
After the two older n finally wrapped up their polite round of mutual dick-sucking, Herman got straight to the real issue.
"Our squad is already close to full capacity at the mont," Herman said smoothly. "So, what kind of contract are you looking for?"
The underlying ssage was loud and clear: We don't have much money left, so you better be very careful with your asking price.
"I completely understand your difficulties," John countered, "but our player isn't exactly short on options either. One fixed price: €2 million in base salary, plus performance bonuses and add-ons. Image rights to be discussed completely separately. Mr. Herman, that is already our bottom line."
Herman violently sucked in a sharp breath.
A starting goalkeeper for a title-chasing Segunda División side would only be sitting around €3 million.
How the hell did this guy have the balls to ask for €2 million for a kid?
And he still wanted to keep image rights separate?
Was he out of his fucking mind?
"That simply isn't realistic, John," Herman sighed, shaking his head. "We don't have a single goalkeeper at this club earning €2 million. Besides, even the starting keeper for a promotion-chasing side wouldn't usually earn much more than €3 million. Maybe you should think this through a bit more carefully."
John just smiled, looking like he couldn't care less. "Just because you don't have one doesn't an he isn't worth it. In fact, it's exactly because you don't have a top goalkeeper on high wages that you aren't currently the Segunda División champions."
'Beautiful!' Michael was secretly thrilled, cheering in his head. 'Uncle John really was built for this bullshit job. No doubt about it.'
If they actually managed to close this deal, Michael swore he would give John the fattest possible commission.
For the next ten minutes, John and Herman went back and forth like prize fighters.
Every single ti John calmly dropped another massive figure, Herman visibly flinched like his heart was aching.
Finally, Herman aggressively rubbed his nose, his mood completely souring.
"John, on behalf of the club, the absolute highest I can offer Michael is €1 million plus bonuses on a five-year contract. As for image rights, fine, they can belong entirely to the player. But the release clause will be strictly set at ten tis his salary."
At that point, John paused and looked over at his client. "Michael, tell us what you think."
Michael quietly ran the calculations in his head, but then a crazy idea suddenly hit him.
"Mr. Herman," Michael spoke up, his voice steady. "How about €800,000 a year on a three-year contract, with a guaranteed twenty percent salary increase each year. I want a €10,000 clean sheet bonus for one match, €20,000 for two consecutive clean sheets, and it scales up from there. Also, if I break any league or club records, each individual record cos with an extra €500,000 bonus. Image rights stay exactly as they are. The release clause stays exactly as you proposed. And if the club gets promoted to La Liga, we imdiately renegotiate. What do you think?"
Before Herman could even open his mouth, John whipped his head around to stare at Michael in pure shock.
'The kid hasn't even learned to walk yet, and he's trying to run a marathon?' John thought frantically.
'Isn't this basically a massive performance-based gamble? Did one good training match completely fry his brain?'
But when John t Michael's eyes, he saw no hesitation.
The kid's gaze was burning with absolute, terrifying confidence.
After taking a deep breath, John swallowed his doubts and chose to back his player's play.
Herman sat back in his chair, quietly mulling it over.
'What team can realistically keep clean sheets over and over again?' Herman reasoned to himself.
'And for a total rookie like him, how could he possibly avoid conceding long enough to stack those bonuses? As for breaking records... that's just downright absurd.'
Plus, they were signing Michael primarily as a backup keeper.
His actual playing ti was going to be heavily limited anyway.
Herman's eyes shifted slightly as the math clicked in his head.
Yeah. This deal could absolutely work in his favor!
"Michael, you are a very wise young man," Herman finally said. "This proposal is perfectly acceptable. Allow to wish us a very happy partnership in advance."
As Herman spoke, he reached his hand out again.
When he smiled this ti, his cheeks pushed up so high that his eyes narrowed into slits, making the whites almost impossible to see.
"Happy partnership," Michael replied, stepping forward and shaking Herman's hand firmly.
'Old fox,' Michael thought. 'Just wait until the day you're staring at the payroll numbers in absolute disbelief. I hope to God you'll still be smiling this brightly then!'
Both sides officially signed the agreent right then and there.
After the ink dried, the club inford them that they planned to unveil several of their new signings together at the beginning of October at their ho ground, El Sardinero.
...
Later that afternoon, John helped Michael rent a decent little apartnt in a quiet neighborhood about five kiloters from the club.
Once the bags were dropped and everything was settled, Michael pulled out an envelope and handed it to John.
"Uncle John, seriously, thank you so much for your help today. This is the cut you deserve."
"Oh, put that away, Michael," John laughed, waving it off. "Your uncle already paid plenty for helping you out. We all believe in you, kid, and we genuinely hope you can succeed here."
After John stubbornly refused the cash, Michael insisted on taking him out to a nice restaurant for dinner instead.
Even after the al, Michael tried to slip him a gift, but John dodged it again, quickly making up an excuse about needing to leave.
But right before John took off, Michael made one final request: he desperately needed John to find him two proper goalkeeping coaches.
Truthfully, Michael knew his actual goalkeeping fundantals were straight-up dogshit.
Relying blindly on his ti-rewind ability just wasn't safe enough long-term.
But more importantly? Michael felt that his saving technique looked unspeakably ugly.
Throwing his ass in the way of a ball completely ruined his whole vibe on the pitch.
Mainly, it was the ugliness.
Being goodlooking out there was a lifelong commitnt, and he refused to look like an uncoordinated idiot on television.
After hurrying back to his new apartnt, Michael imdiately dialed his uncle.
"Uncle Wu, I did it! I successfully signed the contract!" Michael practically yelled into the phone.
"€800,000 base! I already received half of my wages upfront today, and I've transferred the money straight to you. Please, go wipe out all the debts from before first, and then take my grandmother for a proper dical checkup..."
Because of the ti difference, Michael couldn't call his grandmother directly to share the good news, but he knew she'd be well taken care of now.
After handling all the heavy load, he finally collapsed onto his new bed, completely exhausted.
...
That night, Michael had one hell of a dream.
In it, he beca the single most famous, untouchable player in the whole world.
A total sweep of every major trophy... A massive, roaring crowd of followers chanting his na...
Winning it all? Yeah. None of it was a problem!
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