[A week ago]
The sun baked Rio in golden light, the cheers from the World Cup stadium still distant but thunderous.
High above the noise, in a private penthouse suite secured by both American and Brazilian agents, sat two men — generations apart, yet equally calculating.
Touya adjusted the cuffs of his suit, the custom Krown pin gleaming on his collar.
Across from him sat Donald Trump — arms folded, face skeptical, the very image of political power and business acumen.
“You flew across the world,” Trump said, voice flat.
“A week to the World Cup finals.
No invitation, no clearance, no background I recognize.
So what makes you think I’ll sit through whatever pitch you’ve come to make?”
Touya smiled.
“Because what I’m offering is bigger than a pitch.
I came with a plan to kill three birds with one stone.”
Trump raised an eyebrow.
“Go on.”
Touya reached into his bag and placed a sleek USB drive on the glass table between them.
“On that drive is a proven process.
A method me and my team used to convert plastic into fuel — petrol and diesel — with low-cost tech.
Efficient.
Scalable.
Clean.”
Trump leaned back.
“You trying to sell me a patent?”
“No,” Touya said.
“I came to give you a deal.
You get the process, the blueprint, and the production plan… if you agree to three conditions.”
There was silence.
Then, Trump leaned forward, eyes sharp.
“Alright, kid.
Let’s hear them.”
Touya raised one finger.
“Condition one: I want to join Interpol.”
Trump blinked.
“Interpol?”
“Not as an observer or intern.
I want to be trained as a cadet under their most elite unit.
Their most active task force.
Under the strongest captain they have.
Full training.
One year.
No favors.”
Trump narrowed his eyes.
“You think you’re Jason Bourne or something?”
“No,” Touya said calmly.
“But I plan to build something so powerful that I must be strong enough to protect it with my own hands.”
Another finger went up.
“Condition two: I want a thirty-second ad played in the second half of the World Cup final.
Not halftime.
Not pre-match.
During play.
When global attention is at its peak.”
Trump shook his head.
“FIFA doesn’t allow mid-game ads.
I don’t own the sport.”
“You own the voice that can make them bend,” Touya said, unfazed.
“And you love pulling the impossible.”
A third finger.
“Condition three: I want you to fund a Krown Factory in Washington D.C.
A twin-division setup.
One half mass-produces the Crown Phone using interns from colleges in exchange for credit and accommodation.
The other half refines plastic into fuel using homeless and unemployed workers.”
Trump blinked slowly.
“No wages?”
“No.
Instead, they get a place to stay, daily meals, clothing, and their kids will attend school.
The factory’s fuel goes to your government.
Clean energy, local labor, zero drilling.”
“And what do you get?”
Touya smiled.
“A base.
On American soil.”
Trump stood and walked to the window, looking down at the city.
“You realize none of this makes sense?
No personal profit, a wild public debut, and recruiting literal homeless people as part of a fuel operation?”
Touya stood too.
“It solves three national issues at once, homelessness, plastic waste and joblessness.
The media will love it.
Public support will spike.
The phones bring in money.
The fuel brings in influence.
And the ad?
It gives me a face.”
Trump turned.
“You’re mad.”
Touya chuckled.
“That’s why it’ll work.”
There was a long pause.
Then Trump grinned.
“You remind me of me when I was younger.
Only you’re crazier.”
He turned to the agents by the door.
“Bring in the lawyers.
Let’s draft history.”
The legal advisors entered the suite, confused but obedient.
Trump waved them off with a brief signal.
“Not yet.”
He returned to the table and sat across from Touya, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
“So explain this to me like I’m one of your investors.
What’s in it for you?
And why the hell would you give me most of the profits?”
Touya clasped his hands.
“Because influence is louder than profit.
Let’s say I keep 100% profit — I become rich.
Billionaire, maybe.
But if you control the majority cut, and I’m the name attached to the plan, I become important.
Global.
Untouchable.”
Trump watched him carefully.
“So you’re playing the long game.”
“Not just long.
Eternal.”
There was a silence between them — tension almost reverent.
Touya leaned forward, voice lower.
“You’ll get a hundred senators behind you overnight.
Environmentalist support.
Job rehabilitation support.
A miracle youth story.
You’ll be seen as a visionary.
All I need is three things: training, a signal boost, and a base.”
Trump finally gave a genuine nod.
“And the phone?”
Touya slid a sleek prototype across the table — The Crown Phone.
“Custom OS, advanced AI named Oracle, 30x x-ray scope camera.
Designed for high-tier function but mid-tier affordability.”
Trump tested the weight in his hand, whistled low.
“You’re not joking about this.”
Trump’s expression hardened again.
“You’re still underestimating one thing.
FIFA.
They don’t bend.
No mid-game interruptions, no political ads, no experiments.”
Touya shrugged.
“So you’re saying you!
can’t convince them?”
Trump narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t play me.”
“I’m not.
I’m challenging you.”
Trump stood again, pacing.
“Even if I could — and that’s a big if — the kind of attention you’re demanding puts a target on your back.”
Touya’s gaze didn’t flinch.
“Let them aim.”
Trump spun back to him.
“You’re too young to be this arrogant.”
“I’m too aware to be afraid.”
Another long pause.
Then Trump chuckled.
“You got answers for everything.
You trained for this?”
Touya shook his head.
“No.
I just need this.”
Trump stepped to a small cabinet, opened it, and retrieved a glass decanter.
He poured himself whiskey, then offered Touya some.
The boy declined.
“So what do you call this?” Trump asked.
“This?” Touya gestured around them.
“This is just Act I.
Scene One.”
Trump laughed.
He tapped the side of the phone again, looking at the Krown emblem etched on the back.
“You really think one ad and one deal makes you the king?”
Touya stood.
“It doesn’t.
But it starts the story.”
He reached his hand out.
Trump stared at it for a long moment… then finally took it.
They shook hands — history tightening between their palms.
“Alright, kid,” Trump said.
“Let’s wreck the world.”
The next morning, in the same penthouse suite now filled with a different kind of tension, three thick folders sat on the center table.
Official seals, Interpol letterheads, and FIFA digital correspondence attached.
Trump sat at the head of the table, his legal aides beside him.
Across from him stood Touya, dressed sharper than before — a tailored black suit with the silver Krown logo on the collar, his prototype Crown Phone in his hand, Oracle’s interface softly glowing.
The room was quiet, save for the flipping of pages.
A FIFA rep on call had already confirmed: “You’ll get 30 seconds.
End of second half.
Only if there’s a temporary injury break.”
Trump’s influence had bought the impossible.
The Interpol paperwork was official.
A cadet file had been created.
Touya’s name already sat under “Probationary Assignment: Special Division.”
The Krown Factory’s U.S.
branch had funding authorized.
Trump had bypassed standard bureaucracy using his executive grant power, framing it as a federal job reform initiative.
Everything was ready.
Touya picked up the pen and, one by one, signed the three documents.
Each stroke carried the weight of a revolution.
The Interpol papers felt like iron chains — commitment to suffering and growth.
The FIFA ad contract felt like lighting a match in a powder room — bold, risky, impossible.
And the Krown Factory partnership?
That was the crown itself.
His foundation.
Trump watched him closely.
“You’re either going to make history or make enemies.”
“Hopefully both,” Touya replied with a calm smile.
The last signature went down.
Trump stood and extended his hand again.
This time, it wasn’t business.
It was approval.
“Welcome to the game, Touya.
No turning back now.”
Touya shook it.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Now, seated quietly in the back of a black armored SUV, Touya stared out at the glittering streets of Rio.
The roar of the World Cup final echoed in the far distance.
The pen he’d signed the papers with still sat in his lap.
Cold.
Heavy.
Real.
He closed his eyes briefly, replaying Trump’s last words:
> “Once the finals end, everything changes.”
His phone vibrated.
Oracle lit up.
> [Reminder: Final match broadcast begins in 00:43:28]
> [Special Ad Slot confirmed]
Touya opened a secret photo file.
One image.
The Krown logo.
And below it: “I Am the One Who Wears the Crown.”
He smiled.
The world was watching.
It was almost time.
The stadium was electric.
The World Cup final had gripped billions around the globe — even those who never cared for football.
At halftime, the lights dimmed.
The big screen flickered.
The Krown logo appeared, sleek and glowing.
A calm, authoritative voice began:
“I am the one who sits on the throne.
I am the king.
I am the one who wears the crown.”
The voice was Touya’s.
The ad flashed scenes of the Crown phone — the AI Oracle scanning, the 30x scope camera revealing hidden layers of the world.
Then a subtle cut to a shadowed meeting room — just vague silhouettes talking.
The audience saw faces but heard nothing understandable.
No clear context.
The message was cryptic, compelling — a challenge whispered on a global stage.
From Rio to New York, Lagos to Tokyo, the world paused.
News anchors debated the meaning.
Social media exploded with theories.
“Who is this mysterious ‘king’?”
“Is this a new tech giant or a political power move?”
“Is this the future or just a marketing stunt?”
At Touya’s college, the pillars exchanged worried looks.
The world didn’t know the full plan.
Back in the penthouse, Touya exited Trump’s suite, calm and unshaken.
He headed straight to a waiting black car.
Before entering, he pulled out an old iPhone.
Quickly, he called the pillars:
“Take care of the company.
No mistakes.”
Rin answered.
His only word was cool, confident:
“See ya.”
He didn’t call Max or Jeff.
The phone switched off.
Then he powered on the Crown phone.
No distractions.
One year.
He entered the car, the doors sealed shut.
The journey to the throne had truly begun.
The Krown logo was now on the world’s radar.
Inside the penthouse, Touya’s signature had dried on paper, but its ripples were only starting.
Trump remained seated at the long table, staring at the signed contracts.
He leaned back and chuckled.
“Kid’s got nerve,” he muttered.
His aides rushed in with breaking news: “The ad’s already trending.
Millions asking who this ‘Krown’ guy is.”
Trump only nodded.
“Good.
That’s how legends begin.”
He opened a private folder — a presidential override authorization.
Without hesitation, he stamped it.
In the White House, gears were already turning.
Within hours, a task force was assembled.
Plots for the Washington Krown factory were approved.
Homeless shelters were contacted for recruitment; top-tier interns were scouted.
Plastic collection units were announced in a subtle press release.
It looked like a social initiative — but it was a revolution in disguise.
Trump watched it all unfold from his private screen.
“He wants impact, I’ll give him a storm.”
And yet, even he felt a sense of unease.
This wasn’t just a deal.
Touya had planted a flag in history.
In a dark room, somewhere undisclosed, ten silhouettes sat around a large round table.
Each had a dossier in front of them: Project Krown.
One voice, deep and composed, spoke first.
“His idea… is reckless.”
Another, lighter and amused, replied, “But it’s bold.
And potentially world-shifting.”
“Do we intervene?”
“No.
Not yet.
Let him play his game.”
The leader finally concluded, “He has potential.
But potential cuts both ways.
Observe.
If necessary… we shape him.”
Touya stepped into the car and through out the drive he said nothing, upon reaching the airport said nothing, upon reaching interpol HQ he said
“Finally, date of arrival 13th of July 2026, date of departure 15th of July 2027” he said while smiling
“Well then let’s get started”