“Tomás!”
After signing the contract, Tomás found Rashford and the rest of his U16 teammates waiting for him in the hallway.
He had been the only over age player left on the U16 side, and now he was the first to sign a formal contract.
As of today, he was no longer a United U16 player.
Tomorrow, he would report to the U18 squad.
Today was both his final exam and his goodbye.
Who knew when they would all be together like this again?
Tomás looked over at his parents.
“Tomás, go on, be generous tonight,” his mother said, slipping a bank card into his hand.
“Mom…”
“Don’t stay out all night.”
“Okay.” Tomás nodded.
He jogged toward Rashford and the others.
“Brother, congrats on the fortune!”
“Haha, Tomás, you are absolutely treating us tonight!”
Rashford led the charge, pulling Tomás into a hug.
His teammates crowded around him, patting his back and shaking his hand.
Among the faces, Tomás noticed one missing: his longtime rival, Joe Palmer.
“Joe left the team,” Dwight McNeil said, noticing Tomás looking around.
McNeil had come up to the U16s alongside Palmer.
“Left the team?” Tomás asked.
Palmer still had two years left on his mentorship contract.
Leaving would require a serious release fee.
“Did some club try to poach him?”
Poaching talented kids from rival academies happened.
Liverpool had paid Queens Park Rangers a £2 million development fee for Raheem Sterling.
Ethan Hamilton, a current U16 teammate, had been poached from a Scottish club.
Palmer was a promising player, already a key contributor at fourteen.
A player with that kind of promise leaving meant a serious development fee attached.
Nobody pays that kind of release fee unless a club is specifically swooping in.
McNeil shook his head.
“No club came for him. He chose to leave on his own. Said he’s done with football entirely. Changing careers.”
Tomás went quiet.
“Brother, don’t worry about Palmer,” Rashford said.
“It has nothing to do with you. Besides, he’s not changing careers. He’ll probably just wait out his mentorship deal and go somewhere else on a free.”
The others agreed.
It was a common path for academy players.
“I’m not worried about Joe,” Tomás said.
“I just think he acted impulsively.”
Palmer could have waited.
Even with Tomás improvement, Palmer would have stayed the undisputed starting midfielder now that Tomás got promoted.
If he kept playing well, someone might have tried to poach him.
If he wanted to leave, he could have left on his own terms.
Leaving now, with no professional setup for two years, meant playing amateur football on his own.
It was career suicide.
The gap between amateur and professional football was enormous.
Tomás had been a streetball prodigy himself.
That meant nothing in a professional setup.
“I heard Joe’s mum pulled him out,” someone muttered.
That tracked.
It wasn’t the kids acting impulsively.
It was the parents.
Even if Palmer was innocent in this, having an overbearing mother didn’t help.
“Maybe Mrs. Palmer figured she could pressure the club into promises,” Rashford said.
“She overestimated her son. Only someone at the level of Marcus, or Tomás, or Axel could actually force the club’s hand.”
“Alright, enough about Palmer,” Tuanzebe said.
Lucia Loi was Rashford’s focus.
Around her, he was devoted and entirely sappy.
She was beautiful, outgoing, and had a wide circle of friends.
The pack of United players howled and laughed when Tuanzebe said her name.
Tomás grinned.
A real party.
His first one.
He was curious to see how the night would go.
They arrived at a high-end pub in Manchester in a line of cars.
Lucia had booked the entire place, filling it with friends there to celebrate the signing.
“Tomás! Congratulations on signing with United!” Lucia called out over the noise.
“Everyone, come meet him! Manchester United’s newest signing straight out of the academy: Tomás Eusébio Ferreira, from Portugal!”
The room descended on him.
People shook his hand, pulled out phones for photos, and asked questions.
Tomás’s face flushed.
He didn’t know what to do with his hands.
Being fussed over wasn’t his thing.
Still, beneath the awkwardness, he was enjoying it.
The happiest person in the room was Rashford, showing off for her.
“Tonight we’re celebrating my best mate Tomás and his official Manchester United contract!” Rashford shouted.
“Everything is on me—my brother is paying! Eat, drink, whatever you want! Let’s have a blast!”
Tomás stared at him.
This was Tomás’s first time at a place like this.
Rashford clearly wasn’t a stranger to it.
If this was Rashford’s first time too, the kid was a natural at partying.
Tomás didn’t try to pull him away.
While everyone else let loose, having the time of their lives, Tomás quietly slipped away.
He had been drinking wine all night.
He walked to the bar to settle the bill.
“Here is your total, sir,” the manager said.
Fifty percent off venue fee: £500.
Buffet: £50 per person, forty people, £2,000.
Buffet drinks: £30 per person, £1,200.
Total: £3,700.
Tomás drew in a breath.
In one night, he had blown through what his family used to earn in a month.
His parents, working in Manchester, brought in less than £4,000 a month combined.
He glanced back at Rashford and the others, still laughing and shouting, and pulled out his bank card.
He had signed a three-year contract today, at £1,000 a week.
On top of that, there was a signing fee.
United’s signing fees for seventeen-year-olds fell into three tiers.
Ordinary cases earned between £5,000 and £30,000.
A rising prospect who drew attention at England youth levels could command over £50,000.
A regular youth international could push past £200,000.
The top tier—talents good enough to draw competition from other clubs—was different.
For someone like Rashford, a signing fee north of a million pounds wasn’t impossible.
Chelsea and Manchester City had been locked in a bidding war over academy talent, throwing around massive signing fees.
It drove up prices across the league.
That was why Chelsea and City’s academies were so strong; they were willing to spend.
United and Liverpool played it differently.
United didn’t pour money into outside youth recruitment like Chelsea, but they invested heavily to retain the talent they already had.
United had rated Tomás as third tier, but his wage and signing bonus sat at the top of that tier.
In English academy circles, signing fees were also called commitment fees.
If the club committed to renewing the deal at eighteen, the player was locked into accepting those terms.
Offer too little, and holding onto talent became difficult.
United had paid Tomás a signing bonus of £500,000.
After a 45 percent tax rate, that left him around £290,000.
United had probably promised Rashford something even bigger.
But Rashford wasn’t seventeen yet, so he hadn’t received his payout.
Beneath all the swagger for her, Rashford was completely broke.
Tomás smiled.
“Card, please,” the bartender said.
“Yes.” Tomás handed it over.
The waitress gave him a warm smile.
I should get used to swiping the card.
Wasn’t that what the tabloids said about footballers?
With the bill paid, he checked the time.
It was time to head home.
“Heading home, sir?” the manager asked.
“Yes.”
“We’ll get you there.”
A Rolls-Royce pulled up to the curb.
“Do you do this for every customer?” Tomás asked.
“Of course not. You’re a paying guest. This one is on the house.”
“What if I want to send all my friends home too?”
“A tip might be in order for that, sir. The cars won’t be quite this fancy. And if it’s out of the way, a taxi might make more sense.”
Tomás nodded.
He swiped the card for another £500.
Having already dropped £3,700, what was another £500?
Getting everyone home safe mattered more.
The streets weren’t always safe at night.
Swiping the card felt good in the moment.
But if he kept doing it carelessly, there wouldn’t be anything left to feel good about.
It hurts.
Was he always this generous?
Maybe.
They had just been too poor for it to show.
Being poor meant being careful.
It didn’t mean being stingy.
His parents weren’t stingy people.
Sitting in the Rolls-Royce, watching the city lights blur past the window, Tomás felt disoriented.
His fate had changed in a single day.
Back at the pub, Rashford and his friends partied into the early hours.
By the time he realized Tomás was gone, the bill had been settled.
Stepping outside, the group stopped.
A Rolls-Royce led a line of luxury cars waiting for them at the curb.
Lucia eyes lit up.
She lifted her chin, feeling a swell of pride in front of her friends.
Rashford grinned, his chest puffing out.
What a brother.
If Tomás had been there to see it, he would have been shocked.
That £500 had stung, but it had been worth every penny.
Spending it felt good.
This, apparently, was the rich life.
At home, Tomás lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
He shifted, unable to sleep.
What about tomorrow?
What about everything after that?
Tomorrow, the U18s.
What would that be like?
With McGuinness watching out for him, it probably wouldn’t be bad.
Tomás finally closed his eyes, still smiling, and drifted off to sleep.