On Monday morning, Rafael carried Sunday’s match into the classroom in his legs.
He had almost reached his seat when he heard his name shouted from someone’s phone.
Three classmates were gathered around the screen. The recording had caught only the final seconds of the equaliser. Rafael appeared near the penalty spot, the ball reached the net, and the view lurched toward the sky as everyone behind the barrier celebrated.
For a moment, the camera caught Rafael’s mother with both arms raised before sleeves and hands covered the screen.
When the view settled again, Rafael was already jogging back toward halfway.
"You didn’t even celebrate," one of his classmates said.
Rafael lowered his bag beside his chair. "There were still three minutes left."
"You scored in the eighty-seventh minute and thought about defending."
"That’s why we qualified."
The boy replayed the finish. "I still think you should have slid on your knees."
"On that pitch?"
"Good point."
Several students farther across the room had begun watching. Rafael sat before the attention could become a second celebration.
Their teacher entered with a folder beneath one arm.
"If that video contains the answers to Friday’s examination, turn up the volume. Otherwise, put it away."
The phone vanished.
Rafael took out his books while the room settled. The classmate beside him pushed over a notebook containing the work he had missed during an academy appointment.
"I need it for the next lesson," the boy whispered.
"I’ll copy it now."
Rafael pulled a sheet of paper from his folder and began before the teacher reached the board.
She called for silence and started the lesson. Rafael copied the missing section while she reviewed the topics for Friday’s examination. Two goals had earned him a few more eyes in the classroom. They had not removed the examination waiting at the end of the week.
That afternoon, the players who had completed most of Sunday’s match remained inside the academy building.
Rafael spent twenty minutes on an exercise bike before moving through stretches under the supervision of the conditioning staff. The room smelled of disinfectant and the menthol gel used on sore muscles. Treatment tables occupied one side, while the players who needed more attention waited with ice packs strapped around knees or ankles.
Through the windows, those who had played fewer minutes trained on the grass.
Once they left the bicycles and moved onto the stretching mats, Yanis took out his phone.
"The recording starts too late," he said.
"It shows the goal."
"It shows the last pass and your finish. Everything before that has disappeared."
"You can explain it to everyone."
"I have. They think I’m trying to claim the assist."
"You are trying to claim the assist," Rafael said.
"I’m claiming the move. There’s a difference."
"Tell the others you want joint ownership."
Yanis stared at him for a second before laughing. "Strikers are terrible people."
"You’re a winger."
"Exactly. I understand sacrifice."
The conditioning coach called for the next stretch, and Yanis put the phone away.
Once recovery finished, the squad gathered in the analysis room. Nobody had changed out of the academy training kit, and several players were still eating fruit or drinking from recovery bottles when the coach entered.
"The quarterfinal is in two weeks," he said. "Today is recovery, and tomorrow is a rest day. We return to technical work on Wednesday before preparing for the team we draw."
He placed the list of eight qualifiers on the screen.
"Finishing second means we travel to a group winner. Yesterday kept our season alive. It did not prove we are ready for the strongest teams left."
The room quietened.
"Manage your schoolwork this week. I do not want anyone using the quarterfinal as an excuse after an examination has already been announced."
The coach ran through the schedule, answered one question about the draw and dismissed them.
Rafael collected his bag from beneath the chair. Before he reached the door, his phone vibrated.
His mother had sent one message.
The lawyer approved the changes. Moreau tomorrow after school.
The following afternoon, Rafael and his mother returned to Julien Moreau’s office.
The narrow reception area was empty. Behind Moreau’s desk, one metal cabinet had been left partly open, revealing rows of labelled folders. A printer rested on a separate table with two clean copies of the agreement beside it.
Moreau stood as they entered.
"Your lawyer sent his final comments this morning," he said. "I accepted them."
Yellow tabs marked the amended sections.
Their lawyer had already confirmed that Moreau’s FFF licence was current and that he had completed the additional course required to represent a minor. The final page recorded that Rafael and his mother had received independent legal advice.
Rafael’s mother took the chair nearest the desk and opened her copy. She did not reach for the pen Moreau had placed beside it.
"I want to hear the important parts from you," she said.
"Of course."
"What can you do after we sign this?"
Moreau folded his hands on the desk. "I can receive enquiries and pass them to you. If you authorise me, I can communicate on Rafael’s behalf."
"Communicate how?"
"Ask what a club wants, request written details and arrange a meeting. I cannot accept an offer, reject one or begin negotiating terms unless you have instructed me to do so."
She placed one finger beside the first marked clause. "This says the agreement is non-exclusive."
"Yes. Rafael is not tied to me. You may take advice from another representative at any time."
"And if we decide we no longer want you involved?"
"Either side can end the arrangement by written notice. There is no penalty."
His mother moved to the next tab.
"Could Rafael owe you money?"
"Not for my work under this agreement. I cover my own expenses while he is a minor."
"What if something else needs to be paid for?"
"I bring it to you first. If you approve it, you pay the independent provider directly. I cannot spend money and send you a bill afterward."
That answer made her pause.
Moreau opened his own copy and indicated the final page.
"The agreement also ends on Rafael’s eighteenth birthday. If we want to continue after that, we sign a separate adult contract. Nothing renews automatically."
"And if Rafael signs a sporting contract before then?"
"I cannot receive commission, compensation or any other financial benefit from that contract, even after he turns eighteen."
He moved his finger to the clause printed in bold.
"The restriction has to appear in writing, and I will submit a signed copy of this agreement to the federation within one month of it taking effect."
Rafael’s mother read the paragraph without speaking. Then she raised her eyes.
"Why would you do the work for nothing?"