While Michael and head coach Raul fielded questions at the post-match press conference, general manager Herman sat alone in his office, aggressively rubbing his temples and sighing.
Winning the match was obviously a good thing.
But why the hell did the final, game-winning goal have to be scored by Michael?
A goalkeeper scoring a goal meant he had just created a brand-new club record.
Did that mean another €500,000 had to be paid out immediately?
‘I really was out of my fucking mind back then,’ Herman groaned internally.
He had genuinely thought this random dude wouldn’t amount to anything more than a cheap benchwarmer.
Sigh…
The expression on Herman’s thick face twisted into something ugly.
Then, as if he had finally made a difficult decision, he pulled out his private phone and dialed a number.
“It’s Herman.
About that matter we discussed last time…
I think we can continue talking.”
…
After packing his gear, Michael returned to his quiet apartment.
His phone buzzed.
It was Levis.
“Michael!
My uncle just got back to me.
He introduced you to a massive sports agency, and the agent’s lead assistant is going to contact you soon!”
“Thank you so much, man.
Good luck in your match tomorrow!” Michael replied, sending his friend a genuine blessing.
Lying back on his bed, Michael was in an incredibly good mood.
Today alone, he had casually earned a cool €560,000 in bonuses.
Michael mentally tallied up the things he desperately needed to work on during this upcoming stage of his career:
Yoga and flexibility.
Getting a driver’s license.
Goal-line reflex technique.
Upper-body strength training.
Free-kick delivery practice.
…
The next morning, the second Michael arrived at the training base, he was immediately summoned to the general manager’s office.
“Michael, your recent performances have been very, very good.
There are two minor matters I need to discuss with you,” Herman said, narrowing his eyes as he looked the rookie up and down.
“Don’t be nervous.
They’re both small matters.”
“All right, Mr.
Herman.
Please go ahead.”
Looking at the old fox’s forced smile, Michael immediately threw his guard up.
“Recently, many clubs have come knocking to ask about your price tag, and I rejected every single one of them with righteous certainty!” Herman declared, puffing his chest out.
“You are not for sale.
You are a cornerstone of this club’s future, There is no doubt about that!
I promise you, I will not give in easily to these vultures.”
After a dramatic pause, Herman leaned across his desk.
“So!
The club is fully prepared to sign a brand-new contract with you.
Your base salary will rise directly from the original €800,000 to €2 million!
You heard that right, kid.
Two million euros!
I firmly believe you’re worth it.”
“Signing a new contract would be the responsible move for both sides.
What do you think, Michael?” Herman looked at him expectantly.
“Mr.
Herman, I’m very grateful for the club’s generous recognition.
Working hard on the pitch is just what I’m supposed to do,” Michael replied smoothly.
“So, just to clarify: how many years would this €2 million contract lock me in for?
What exact adjustment percentage would there be after we secure promotion to La Liga?
Are the record-breaking bonuses and previous consecutive clean-sheet bonuses still active in this new deal?
And what would the new release clause be set at?”
Michael flawlessly fired the questions back at him in one single breath.
well…”
For a moment, Herman was totally caught off guard.
The kid was way too sharp!
“As for those details, here’s how it would work,” Herman stammered slightly, recovering his footing.
“Since the club’s operating funds are quite limited right now, the €2 million salary would be for a standard three-year contract, with the release clause firmly set at ten times the salary.
After promotion to La Liga, your wages would cap at €3 million.
The record bonuses and clean-sheet bonuses would unfortunately no longer apply, but…
we would throw in a €500,000 signing bonus today!”
Herman sat back, highly confident that a massive upfront cash offer would blind the young player.
Unfortunately, he was severely underestimating his goalkeeper.
“I don’t agree to this proposal,” Michael said, his face completely deadpan.
“We’ll just continue operating under the previous contract.
After all, it’s not like we signed it that long ago anyway.”
“Michael, if that’s how you want to handle this, then I’m going to need to recalculate your recent clean-sheet bonuses,” Herman warned, aggressively rubbing the front of his suit jacket.
“Your consecutive clean-sheet streak officially ended in the last match.
Furthermore, your club record bonus is highly debatable.
A goalkeeper scoring a goal is strictly not part of your normal job description, so we’ll need to hold a formal board meeting to discuss whether that payout is even valid.”
When the soft approach completely failed, Herman decided to bring out the heavy threats.
“That won’t work either,” Michael said calmly, standing up.
“If the club doesn’t want to honor the legally binding contract we signed, then you can continue this conversation with my lawyer.”
Without another word, Michael turned and walked straight out the door, leaving Herman standing in his office, raging uselessly at the wall.
Herman’s cheap little scheme had been ticking loudly enough for anyone in the room to hear.
…
After leaving the administrative building, Michael went straight to the pitch and continued training as normal.
Twenty minutes later, a club assistant frantically ran over to Raul, who was directing the session from the touchline.
After a whispered conversation, Raul looked furious and hurried inside the building with the assistant.
…
Once training ended, Michael’s phone rang.
“Hello, Mr.
Chen.
I’m Peter, the manager of Jorge Mendes’s agency branch for the Asian region.
I’m currently in Santander.
Do you have time today?
I need to meet with you in person to explain a few matters.”
“Oh, yes, no problem at all.
I have time.
I’ll text you my apartment address shortly.
Thank you.”
After hanging up, Michael rushed straight home.
Standing downstairs outside his apartment complex, an Asian-looking man in a sharp suit was already waiting for him.
The moment they made eye contact, the man reached out.
“Hello, Mr.
Chen.
I’m Peter, the lead representative for Mendes Agency’s Asian division.”
“Hello, Peter.
Are you Asian?” Michael asked, having just hopped off his electric bike, still holding the handlebars with one hand.
“No, I’m actually European, but I studied and lived in China for three years.”
“Got it.
Give me a second, Peter Cao.
Let me just park this bike.”
The two headed up to Michael’s apartment, sat down, and quickly hashed out a basic agreement regarding the agency representation.
“Mr.
Chen, I won’t take up any more of your time today,” Peter said, standing up and buttoning his jacket.
“The formal contract will be drafted and sent over within two days.
Until then, I will temporarily step in and serve as your official agent.”
A highly professional operation.
Levis’s uncle really had some serious industry influence if he could get the head of Mendes’s Asian division to personally fly out and act as a rookie keeper’s agent.
Michael was more than satisfied with that.
Soon, it was the final training session before the weekend fixture.
Raul stood on the touchline, watching Michael seamlessly run through his handling drills, and couldn’t help but sigh heavily.
‘What an incredible prospect,’ Raul thought bitterly.
‘Damn it, and now Herman, that greedy old bastard, has actually started scheming against him.’
Over the past week alone, Michael had visibly improved again.
His fundamental goalkeeping technique was cleaner, his upper-body strength had noticeably increased, and during the free-kick drills, he had even started to grasp the basic mechanics of striking a knuckleball.
“Everyone, gather up!” Raul shouted, blowing his whistle.
The squad quickly jogged over and formed a semi-circle.
Everyone knew the manager was about to announce tomorrow’s starting eleven.
“Forwards: Miguel…”
“Midfielders: Granero…”
“Defenders: Seth…”
“Goalkeeper: Mario…”
“Substitutes: Fede, Curio…”
Raul read the team sheet all the way down to the final reserve player.
Michael’s name never appeared.
He was completely dropped from the matchday squad.
Michael kept his face perfectly neutral.
He had already guessed this was coming.
Over the past few days, rumors had flooded the locker room that Raul and Herman had gotten into a screaming match in the GM’s office.
Even the digital photos looping in the main lobby had quietly been changed back to Morandi.
“Coach!
Why isn’t Michael in the squad?!”
Oriol was the very first person to jump out of the line, openly questioning the manager.
“Everyone saw what Michael did out there last week!”
“Are you trying to teach me how to do my damn job?” Raul’s temper flared instantly, his eyes locking onto the defender.
“Don’t comment on upper management decisions that have nothing to do with you!
Keep your mouth shut, or you can sit on the bench and rest too!”
“Then I’ll rest!” Oriol fired right back, completely fearless.
“If Michael doesn’t play, we’ll definitely concede goals, and in the end, the backline is probably going to take the blame for it anyway!
Why the hell is Michael dropped when he’s been the most stable player on this entire team?!”
In the middle of the crowded huddle, Mario was suddenly stuck in a deeply awkward and painful position.
The way his teammates were looking at him carried a heavy, undeniable hint of contempt.
Jokes were jokes, and locker room banter was fine, but wasn’t it painfully obvious to everyone with eyes that Michael was just a better goalkeeper than Mario right now?
Why keep playing these shady, political little games?
Mario felt incredibly wronged.
‘I’m completely innocent this time!’ Mario cried internally, staring at his boots.
‘I already accepted my fate playing the cup matches!
Why the hell did Herman suddenly shove me back into the starting lineup?!
It wasn’t me!’
This time, the veteran really was innocent.
But nobody in that circle believed it.
“Shut your mouth, Oriol!
You’re resting for the next match too!
Fede, you start in his place!” Raul barked, completely losing his patience.
“Anyone else unhappy with the squad list can go complain directly to the general manager!”
Raul violently turned and marched toward the dressing rooms.
Oriol looked ready to chase after him and keep arguing, but Michael quickly grabbed the back of his training shirt and yanked him back.
“Oriol, stop.
Don’t go after the coach because of me,” Michael said quietly.
“This isn’t his problem, and he didn’t make this choice.”
“Then whose problem is it?!
Michael, just tell me who it is.
I need to challenge him properly!” Oriol looked like he was ready to physically fight whoever was responsible.
Michael lightly smacked the back of the defender’s head.
“Nobody.
Just drop it and come train with me.
How have you been practicing that explosive jumping exercise I taught you last time?”
A few minutes later, the far corner of the training pitch echoed with loud voices counting in a steady rhythm.
“One, two, three, four…”