Building the Dream Team III

Upon arriving at Toulouse-Blagnac Airport, Aymar Zambo was greeted by the warm hues of the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the tarmac. The air carried a mild, pleasant warmth, typical of southern France in early summer. As he stepped out of the terminal, the distinct scent of blooming jasmine and distant culinary aromas wafted through the air, offering a sensory introduction to the city known as "La Ville Rose" (The Pink City), a nickname derived from the terracotta bricks used in many of its buildings. 

Gazing around, Aymar took in the harmonious blend of historical and modern architecture. The distant silhouette of the Basilica of Saint-Sernin stood proudly against the skyline, while nearby, the sleek lines of contemporary structures showcased the city's evolution. The gentle murmur of French conversations, punctuated by the occasional laughter, filled the air, creating a lively yet relaxed atmosphere. 

He had arranged to meet Marc Delacroix, the agent of promising left midfielder Franck Tabanou, at the renowned Restaurant Émile, situated in the heart of Toulouse on Place Saint-Georges. Known for its exquisite cassoulet and authentic regional cuisine, the establishment was a testament to the city's rich gastronomic heritage. Aymar had secured a reservation, fully aware that the restaurant's reputation warranted its prices. A typical three-course meal was priced around 35 euros, a reasonable expense considering the importance of the meeting. 

The rendezvous was set for 7:30 PM, a customary hour for business dinners in France, allowing for a leisurely meal and ample discussion time. To ensure punctuality and perhaps gather his thoughts beforehand, Aymar decided to arrive 30 minutes early. 

Opting for the convenience of a taxi, Aymar provided the driver with the restaurant's address. As they navigated through the city, he observed the charming streets lined with pink-hued buildings, bustling cafés spilling onto sidewalks, and the occasional street musician adding melody to the evening air. The drive offered glimpses of Toulouse's vibrant culture and the Garonne River's serene flow, reflecting the day's fading light. 

Upon arrival at Restaurant Émile, Aymar was greeted by the maître d'hôtel, who guided him through the elegantly set tables adorned with crisp white linens and softly flickering candles. The ambiance was a blend of sophistication and warmth, with walls adorned with vintage photographs capturing the essence of Toulouse's history. 

Seated at a table near a window overlooking the picturesque Place Saint-Georges, Aymar glanced at his watch. It was 7:00 PM. He had arrived 30 minutes early, as planned. This cushion of time allowed him to mentally prepare for the forthcoming negotiation, ensuring he was composed and ready to convey the significance he placed on acquiring Tabanou for his team. 

As he waited, the soft hum of conversations around him, the clinking of glasses, and the distant notes of a piano created a serene backdrop, allowing Aymar to gather his thoughts in anticipation of the meeting. 

... 

... 

Franck Tabanou stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his dark button-up shirt. His mind was restless, replaying the phone call he had received from his agent, Marc Delacroix, just days ago. Even now, as he prepared to leave for the meeting, he still couldn't fully process it. 

Torino. 

Serie A. 

How was this even possible? 

He had only just started playing for Toulouse's reserve team in the Championnat de France amateur, France's fourth division. Five matches. That was all. He had barely gotten used to the step up from youth football, yet now a club from one of Europe's top five leagues had made an offer for him? The idea seemed absurd. 

At first, he had thought it was a mistake. Maybe his agent had misheard the club name. Maybe they had confused him with someone else. But Delacroix was never one to joke about transfers, and when he confirmed that the offer was real, the shock settled in. 

Torino might have been a struggling side, battling relegation every season, but they were still in Serie A. The idea of leaving France at such a young age had never even crossed his mind. Ligue 1 was his goal, not Italy. Yet here he was, dressing up for a meeting with a Serie A club's head coach. 

But why him? 

That question had haunted him since the call. 

"Why would Torino be interested in me?" he had asked his agent, skepticism laced in his voice. 

"Because their new coach wants you," Delacroix had replied without hesitation. 

That answer only deepened the mystery. 

"Who is he?" 

"Aymar Zambo," his agent had said, pausing before adding, "He's 24." 

Tabanou had blinked in disbelief. "Did you say twenty-four?" 

His agent confirmed it. The coach of Torino was barely older than some of his own teammates. 

At first, it sounded ridiculous. How could someone that young be leading a Serie A club? But when Delacroix started explaining, things began making sense. 

Aymar Zambo had arrived at Hellas Verona in January when they were dead last in Serie B, with only four points to their name. In just half a season, he had completely transformed them, making them competitive enough to fight for the promotion playoffs before ultimately finishing ninth. 

Hearing that had left Tabanou speechless. 

His agent had continued, telling him how Zambo had achieved this dramatic turnaround. The key had been his recruitment. He had scouted unknown young players from obscure teams, signed them, and turned them into vital pieces of Verona's revival. 

"Zambo has an eye for talent," Delacroix had said. "And if he's interested in you, that means he sees something in you." 

That sentence had stuck with him. 

If Zambo wanted him at Torino, it meant he believed in his potential. 

For a young player struggling to make a name for himself, that was both flattering and intimidating. 

But there was still uncertainty. 

Could he really make the leap from France's amateur division straight to Serie A? Could this coach who played such attractive, attacking football in Serie B replicate his success at a higher level? 

There were too many unknowns. 

Yet the fact remained—this was an opportunity most players could only dream of. 

He glanced at his reflection once more, smoothing down his shirt. This meeting could change the course of his career. 

A sharp knock at his door snapped him out of his thoughts. 

"Franck, we need to leave," Delacroix called from outside. 

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door. 

The car ride to Restaurant Émile was quiet. The streets of Toulouse were lively as the early evening crowd filled the cafés and bistros. The golden glow of the streetlights reflected off the pink brick buildings, the signature of La Ville Rose. 

As they approached the restaurant, Delacroix finally spoke. 

"Listen to me, Franck. When we get inside, let me do the talking. This is a negotiation. You're young, and they already know that. The last thing we want is for them to think you're uncertain or hesitant. Understood?" 

Tabanou nodded. 

Delacroix gave him an approving look before stepping out of the car. 

Franck followed, his heartbeat quickening slightly as he stood in front of the elegant entrance of Restaurant Émile. 

This was it. 

Taking one final deep breath, he stepped forward, ready to meet the man who saw something in him before the rest of the world did. 

... 

... 

Aymar stood up the moment he spotted Franck Tabanou and Marc Delacroix entering the restaurant. He extended a hand towards them, greeting them with a polite nod. 

"Bonsoir, messieurs," he said, his French flawless. 

Delacroix, a seasoned negotiator, maintained his professional composure, but Tabanou couldn't hide the brief flicker of surprise on his face. He knew Aymar Zambo was African—it had been mentioned in every article he read about him—but seeing an African head coach in charge of a Serie A club was still an unfamiliar sight. 

They shook hands, and Aymar gestured towards the seats. "Please, have a seat." 

The restaurant's warm lighting and soft murmurs of conversation around them provided an intimate setting. Tabanou sat opposite Aymar, with Delacroix taking the seat beside him. 

"I imagine you must be a little surprised by my interest in Franck," Aymar began, offering a reassuring smile. "But you really shouldn't be. I believe he has the talent to make it in Serie A with the right structure and development." 

Tabanou listened intently, though his expression remained guarded. 

Aymar continued, leaning slightly forward. "To be honest, when I first took over at Hellas Verona, Franck was already on my radar. He was among my top choices for recruitment. But as you may know, Verona was in serious financial difficulty at the time. Signing a promising young player from Toulouse would have been almost impossible—not just financially, but also in convincing him to join a struggling Serie B club. The situation is different now." 

Delacroix nodded, taking in the words before responding in his measured tone. 

"We understand your interest, Mister Zambo, but Franck would be leaving behind his home, his family, and his club to take this leap. If he's to move to Italy, we need assurances. A player of his age cannot afford to waste time in a youth squad or reserve team. If that were the case, he could stay at Toulouse and develop in a familiar environment." 

Tabanou shifted slightly, glancing at Aymar as his agent continued. 

"To be clear, we are not asking for guarantees that he will start every match. That would be unrealistic. But Franck needs playing time. He needs to be part of the first-team squad, not an afterthought." 

Aymar smiled, as if he had expected this very concern. 

"I was just about to address that," he said, his tone steady and confident. "Let me be very clear—I did not come all this way just to recruit Franck and then let him sit on the bench for an entire season. If I didn't intend to use him, I wouldn't be here." 

He let that statement sink in for a moment before continuing. 

"Franck will be given every opportunity to prove himself in Serie A. He will train with the first team from day one, and his development will be a priority for us. I don't believe in signing young players just to stash them away—I want players who can contribute." 

Tabanou's eyes lit up slightly. It was clear that Aymar wasn't just throwing empty words at them—he truly believed in his potential. 

Delacroix studied Aymar carefully, then leaned back in his chair. "That is what we needed to hear." 

Aymar nodded, knowing that this was the most important part of the conversation. 

"Of course, the contractual terms and details will be handled by our sporting director. I won't interfere with that side of things. But from a footballing perspective, I look forward to seeing Franck in our training camp for pre-season." 

Tabanou exchanged a glance with his agent before finally speaking. 

"I like the way your team plays, coach," he admitted. "I watched some of Verona's matches from last season. It's an attacking style that I think suits me well." 

Aymar's smile widened. "Then I expect you to show me exactly what you can do when you arrive." 

Delacroix extended a hand. "Torino will have our answer soon, but I don't think there will be any obstacles." 

Aymar shook his hand firmly. "Good. Then I'll see you soon, Franck." 

Tabanou shook his hand as well, this time with more confidence. The doubts were fading—this was starting to feel real. 

As the meeting wrapped up, Aymar watched them leave the restaurant, satisfied. He had done his part. Now, it was up to the club to finalize the deal. 

... 

... 

The next day, Aymar Zambo found himself in Poland, stepping into the cool morning air of Pruszków. His destination was a small but well-regarded local restaurant, Karczma Rycerska, a traditional Polish eatery known for its warm atmosphere and hearty meals. It was the kind of place that locals frequented, not the luxurious establishments favored for high-profile football negotiations, but Aymar had chosen it deliberately—he wanted this meeting to feel personal, not just another business transaction. 

As he entered, he spotted Cezary Kucharski, Robert Lewandowski's agent, already seated at a table near the window. Beside him sat Lewandowski himself, a lean but athletic young man with sharp features and an attentive gaze. At just 18, he had already made a name for himself in Polish football, finishing as the top scorer in the Polish third division (III Liga) with Znicz Pruszków, leading them to promotion to the Polish second division (II Liga). 

Aymar approached, extending a hand. "Pan Kucharski, Pan Lewandowski, dziękuję za spotkanie." (Mr. Kucharski, Mr. Lewandowski, thank you for meeting me.) His Polish wasn't perfect, but it was enough to make a strong first impression. 

Kucharski smiled, clearly surprised by the effort. "It's rare for a foreign coach to speak even a word of Polish," he said as they shook hands. 

"I try," Aymar replied with a chuckle before turning to Lewandowski. "Robert, it's good to meet you. I've been following your progress for a while now." 

They all took their seats as a waitress approached to take their orders. Aymar opted for a Żurek (a traditional sour rye soup) and a bottle of water, keeping things light—he wasn't here for the food. 

Once the waitress left, Aymar leaned forward slightly, focusing on the young striker. "Robert, I'll be honest with you. What you did last season with Znicz Pruszków was incredible. Fifteen goals in the third division, leading your team to promotion? That's not something that happens by accident." 

Lewandowski listened intently, but he remained reserved. He had been hearing rumors about Torino's interest but wasn't sure what to expect from this meeting. 

Aymar continued. "I watched the way you move in the box, the way you anticipate where the ball will land. Your finishing is exceptional for your age. Strikers like you—players who know how to find the goal—are rare. And I believe you can do it at a much higher level." 

Kucharski gave a small nod but remained quiet, letting his client absorb the words. 

"I know moving to Italy is a big decision," Aymar went on. "Leaving Poland, adapting to a new country, a new league—it's not easy. But I'm restructuring Torino. We're not just looking to survive in Serie A; we want to build something strong, something lasting. And I need a striker who has the hunger to prove himself." 

Lewandowski leaned forward slightly, his tone firm but eager. "I know Serie A is a different level, but scoring goals is what I do. If I get my chances, I'll prove I can do it there too." 

Aymar smiled. "That's exactly why I'm here. I believe that if you're given the right opportunities, you can prove that your goalscoring ability translates anywhere. You'll have the chance to fight for the starting spot. If you perform in training, if you score in matches, you'll play. It's that simple." 

Kucharski interjected, his tone more measured. "Robert is young, but he's ambitious. If he moves, it has to be for the right reasons. You're offering him a chance, but what guarantees does he have? He doesn't want to be just a backup." 

Aymar nodded. He had expected this. "I'm not in the business of making false promises. But here's what I can say—I didn't fly here just to sign Robert as a reserve player. I need a striker who can score goals, and I believe he can be that player for Torino." 

He turned directly to Lewandowski. "If you continue to score the way you have, if you work hard and adapt to the league, I believe you can reach the very top of world football. I see a player who, with the right development, could one day be among the best. Maybe even win the Ballon d'Or." 

Lewandowski raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the bold statement. "The Ballon d'Or?" he repeated. 

Aymar nodded, his expression serious. "Yes. I'm not saying it will happen overnight. But with your work ethic, your natural instinct for goals—why not? Many great players start from humble beginnings. What matters is how much you want it." 

Lewandowski exchanged a glance with Kucharski, who seemed to be considering the words carefully. The young striker looked back at Aymar. "It's a big step." 

Aymar smiled. "The biggest steps are the ones that take you the furthest." 

Kucharski sighed, then extended his hand. "We'll discuss the details with Torino's sporting director. But I have to say—you've given us a lot to think about." 

Aymar shook his hand firmly. "Good. I look forward to seeing Robert at Torino." 

Lewandowski offered his hand next, a slight smirk on his face. "I guess I'll have to start learning Italian." 

Aymar grinned. "And I'll have to make sure you're scoring goals in Serie A."