The morning after Dinamo Tbilisi’s victory over Iberia 1999, Giorgi’s schedule looked nothing like that of an ordinary sixteen-year-old.
Training was still in the afternoon.
Schoolwork still had to be completed.
But before any of that…
He had his first business meeting.
Eric McCain was already waiting inside a modern café overlooking the Mtkvari River.
The former football manager looked more like a businessman these days, dressed in a tailored navy suit with a leather folder resting on the table.
As Giorgi and Charlotte approached, Eric stood to greet them.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” Giorgi replied, shaking his hand.
Charlotte smiled.
“I hope we’re not late.”
“Actually,” Eric chuckled, glancing at his watch, “you’re three minutes early.”
The three sat down, ordered coffee for the adults and a hot chocolate for Giorgi before getting straight to business.
Eric opened the folder.
“Right.”
“Let’s talk money.”
Giorgi shifted awkwardly in his seat.
Money had never really interested him.
Football did.
He expected the contract to be straightforward.
A few promotional photos.
Maybe one television commercial.
Sign a few papers.
Done.
Eric slid the contract across the table.
“This is Mount Kazbegi Cola’s opening offer.”
Giorgi looked down.
His eyes skimmed over the pages before stopping on one particular figure.
He blinked.
Looked again.
Then looked at Eric.
“…You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
He checked again.
“No…”
“There has to be a mistake.”
Charlotte leaned over to see the amount herself.
Even she raised her eyebrows.
“They’re paying…
that?”
Eric nodded.
“They believe you’re the future face of Georgian football.”
“They’re investing early.”
Giorgi stared at the number for another few seconds before bursting into laughter.
“They think I’m Cristiano Ronaldo or something.”
“The way they’re throwing money at me…”
Eric couldn’t help laughing as well.
“Trust me.”
“If you become half the player they think you’ll become…”
“They’ll consider this cheap.”
Giorgi shook his head in disbelief.
“This is insane.”
“No.”
Eric corrected.
“This is football.”
The rest of the meeting focused on the finer details.
The commercial would be filmed after training on designated days.
There would be billboards across Georgia.
Social media campaigns.
A television advertisement.
Several public appearances.
Nothing that would interfere with football.
Exactly how Giorgi wanted it.
Satisfied, he picked up the pen.
For a brief moment he hesitated.
It felt strangely significant.
His first endorsement.
His first major contract outside football.
Then…
He signed.
Eric smiled.
“Congratulations.”
“You’re officially a brand ambassador.”
Charlotte squeezed her son’s shoulder proudly.
Nikoloz would have been smiling if he had seen this.
An advertising deal worth 500 000 Georgian Lari.
( €166 000 )
As they packed away the paperwork, Eric pulled out another file.
“One more thing.”
Giorgi looked up.
“I’m also going to speak with Dinamo.”
“About what?”
“Your contract.”
“My contract?”
Eric nodded.
“You’ve outgrown it.”
“You signed your current deal before becoming a first-team player.”
“Since then…”
“You’ve become one of the biggest stories in Georgian football.”
“You deserve to be paid accordingly.”
Giorgi scratched the back of his head.
“I hadn’t really thought about that.”
“That’s why you hired me.”
Eric smiled.
“I’ll negotiate.”
“You focus on football.”
“Leave the business to me.”
Four days later…
Attention shifted back to the league.
Fixture number six.
FC Kolkheti 1913 away from home.
Inside Dinamo’s analysis room, Klaus Zimmer once again broke down the opposition.
“Kolkheti defend in numbers.”
“They stay compact.”
“They’re patient.”
“They’ll wait for us to make mistakes.”
Video clips rolled across the projector.
Every player watched carefully.
When the analysis ended…
Zimmer walked toward the tactical board.
Without saying a word…
He pinned up the team sheet.
Players leaned forward.
Starting striker…
Tornike Morchiladze.
Beside him…
Number 55.
Giorgi Loria.
The teenager quietly smiled.
Back-to-back starts.
As the squad made their way toward the buses, the mood felt unusually relaxed.
One of the senior defenders nudged Giorgi with his elbow.
“So…”
“When did you two stop fighting?”
Several teammates laughed.
Another joined in.
“Yeah.”
“Did Zimmer finally apologise?”
“No chance.”
“I bet Giorgi apologised.”
“I definitely didn’t.”
The group laughed louder.
Even Tornike joined in.
“Maybe you just got tired of shouting.”
Giorgi shrugged with a grin.
“I still think I’m right.”
The players burst into laughter.
At that exact moment…
Zimmer walked past.
Everyone immediately became quiet.
The German looked at the group suspiciously before continuing toward the bus.
Only after he disappeared around the corner did everyone laugh again.
Matchday arrived.
FC Kolkheti 1913 welcomed league leaders Dinamo Tbilisi.
The stadium wasn’t particularly large.
Barely three thousand spectators filled the stands.
Yet the noise echoed around the compact ground.
A small pocket of travelling Dinamo supporters occupied one corner.
There couldn’t have been more than three hundred of them.
But they sang loudly enough to sound like three thousand.
Blue scarves waved proudly.
Drums echoed through the stadium.
The players noticed.
Giorgi applauded them before kickoff.
The away supporters responded by chanting his name.
The referee blew his whistle.
The match began cautiously.
Neither side committed many players forward.
Kolkheti defended with almost everyone behind the ball.
Dinamo circulated possession patiently.
Exactly as Zimmer wanted.
The commentators quickly summed up the opening half-hour.
“This isn’t exciting football.”
“But it is controlled football.”
“Dinamo are dictating everything.”
“They simply haven’t found the breakthrough.”
Half chances came and went.
A speculative header.
A blocked shot.
A free kick comfortably caught by the goalkeeper.
Nothing truly dangerous.
Giorgi barely touched the ball inside the penalty area.
Every time possession reached him…
He found himself surrounded.
Recycle.
Pass.
Move.
Recycle again.
It was disciplined.
Efficient.
Safe.
And…
He was growing tired of waiting. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Thirty-seven minutes had passed.
Giorgi received another pass with his back to goal.
The obvious option was simple.
Lay it off.
Start another passing sequence.
Exactly as Zimmer usually demanded.
He glanced around.
Something caught his eye.
The defenders.
They weren’t tight enough.
Giorgi Kobuladze stood almost two metres away.
Akaki Giunashvili watched rather than pressed.
Both expected the same thing.
Another safe pass.
Another reset.
Without realising it…
They had gifted him space.
A dangerous amount of space.
Giorgi smiled to himself.
Thank you.
His first touch pushed the ball forward.
His second exploded into open grass.
Both defenders reacted a fraction too late.
“What?”
Kobuladze lunged desperately.
Too slow.
Giunashvili turned to recover.
Already beaten.
Within seconds…
Giorgi had burst straight between them.
The crowd gasped.
“He skipped right through them!”
the commentator exclaimed.
The goalkeeper rushed from his line immediately.
Still outside the penalty area…
Giorgi slowed his run.
The keeper slowed too.
Trying to delay the shot.
Waiting.
Waiting.
The goalkeeper finally committed.
He spread himself wide.
Expecting the finish.
Instead…
Giorgi calmly rolled the ball toward his left.
A perfectly weighted pass.
Waiting there…
Completely unmarked…
Was Tornike Morchiladze.
The league’s top scorer smiled before side-footing the ball into the empty net.
Goal.
The travelling Dinamo supporters exploded with joy.
Players sprinted toward the two forwards.
Tornike grabbed Giorgi by the shoulders.
“You made that too easy.”
“You finished it.”
“No.”
Tornike laughed.
“You gave me an open goal.”
The scoreboard changed.
<>FC Kolkheti 1913 0–1 Dinamo Tbilisi<>
The pair jogged toward the far-right corner where the travelling supporters celebrated wildly.
As Giorgi applauded them…
Something caught his attention.
A group of teenage girls stood against the barrier.
All of them were wearing Dinamo shirts.
One held up a homemade sign written in thick blue marker.
GIORGI LORIA!
CAN WE HAVE YOUR NUMBER?
For a split second…
The sixteen-year-old froze.
Then his face turned bright red.
The television cameras zoomed in immediately.
“Oh, would you look at that!”
one commentator laughed.
“It seems our young superstar has admirers.”
His partner burst into laughter.
“I think someone’s becoming a bit of a Casanova.”
Even the Dinamo players noticed.
Tornike pointed toward the sign before laughing uncontrollably.
Several teammates whistled teasingly.
One shouted loudly enough for the microphones to catch.
“Careful, Loria!”
“Focus on football!”
The bench erupted with laughter.
Even a few Kolkheti players couldn’t hide their smiles.
Embarrassed beyond belief, Giorgi rubbed the back of his neck before giving the supporters an awkward wave.
The girls screamed even louder.
“Well…”
the lead commentator chuckled.
“It looks like goals aren’t the only thing Giorgi Loria is collecting these days.”
“And I have a feeling…”
“This won’t be the last time we see that kind of sign.”