Chapter 25 : One Of A Kind (Bonus Chapter)

The next morning, Nico woke up early and went through his usual routine—light stretching, a cold shower, and a balanced breakfast. Even on a rest day, discipline was key.

By the time he finished, the clock had just struck nine.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Jorge Mendes.

Nico took a deep breath before answering. "Hello?"

A smooth, confident voice came through the speaker. "Nico, my boy! Finally, we talk. I've been looking forward to this."

Nico smiled slightly. "Good morning, Mr. Mendes."

"Please, call me Jorge," Mendes said with a chuckle. "I have to say, I've seen a lot of talents over the years, but what you're doing at your age? It's… special. Pep tells me you don't have an agent yet?"

"That's right," Nico replied.

"Good, good," Mendes said, his voice carrying a hint of excitement. "I'd love to meet you in person today. No pressure—just a conversation. I'll explain what I can do for you and why I believe we'd be a great team."

Nico leaned back in his chair, considering his words. Mendes was a powerhouse in football negotiations, known for securing massive contracts and ensuring his clients were at the top.

After a brief pause, Nico responded, "Alright. When and where?"

Mendes didn't hesitate. "I'm in Manchester already. Let's meet at noon—somewhere private. Pep recommended a place."

"Sounds good," Nico agreed.

"Perfect. I'll send you the details. I look forward to meeting you, Nico."

As the call ended, Nico sat back, tapping his fingers lightly against the armrest.

This was a big step. Mendes wasn't just any agent—he was the best in the business.

And now, he wanted him.

_______________

By noon, Nico had dressed himself in a simple yet stylish outfit—a white hoodie, denim jeans, and a black mask to cover his identity. He knew how crazy fans could get, and in Manchester, footballers were easily recognized.

Stepping out of the car, he entered the private lounge Mendes had arranged for their meeting. It was a high-end spot, discreet and away from prying eyes.

As expected, Jorge Mendes was already there. The super-agent sat comfortably, dressed in a sleek navy suit, radiating the confidence of a man who had negotiated some of the biggest deals in football history.

When Nico approached, Mendes stood up with a warm smile and extended his hand.

"Nico, my boy! It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Nico shook his hand firmly. "Likewise, Mr. Mendes."

"Jorge," Mendes corrected with a grin. "Sit, sit. We have a lot to talk about."

As they settled in, a waiter came over, but Mendes waved him off. This was business—no distractions.

"So," Mendes began, leaning slightly forward, his sharp eyes studying Nico. "You don't have an agent yet. That means you haven't signed anything binding, and your future is completely in your hands."

Nico nodded. "That's right."

"Good. That's very good," Mendes said, his tone approving. "Because with your talent, your name, and what you're already doing on the pitch, you need someone who can maximize your potential—not just in football, but everywhere."

Nico remained silent, letting Mendes continue.

"You're at Manchester City now, playing under Pep. That's already an advantage. But let me be clear—I don't just want to be your agent. I want to build your legacy. You have everything to be the next global superstar, and I can make sure you get there without any obstacles."

Nico listened intently. He knew Mendes wasn't exaggerating—this was the man behind Cristiano Ronaldo's rise, the mastermind behind some of football's biggest moves.

Mendes leaned back, crossing his legs. "I won't pressure you into signing anything today. That's not how I work. I want you to think about it. Look at my track record. Talk to people. Then, when you're ready, we'll make history together."

Nico smirked slightly under his mask. This was going to be interesting.

_______________

Jorge Mendes leaned forward, his eyes locked onto Nico's. His voice was smooth, confident—he had given this speech before, but now, he was speaking to a potential generational talent.

"Nico, let me tell you why I'm the best agent in the world," Mendes began. "I don't just negotiate contracts. I engineer careers."

He spread his hands slightly. "Look at Cristiano Ronaldo. When I took him from Sporting CP to Manchester United, he wasn't just some talented winger. He had the potential to be the best, but talent alone doesn't make you the greatest. I made sure he went to the right club, under the right manager, in the right environment to thrive. And look at him now—one of the greatest to ever play the game."

Nico remained silent, absorbing his words.

Mendes continued, his voice carrying an undeniable intensity. "James Rodríguez. Nobody in Europe knew him like that before the 2014 World Cup. But I saw what he could be. When he became the tournament's top scorer, I didn't just get him a transfer—I got him a dream move to Real Madrid. A move that changed his life."

He tapped his fingers on the table. "I have done the same for Falcao, Di María, Bernardo Silva, João Félix, and so many others. I don't just find my clients a club—I find them the perfect club. The place where they will shine the brightest. The place where their legacy begins."

Mendes leaned back slightly, giving Nico a knowing look. "And let's be real—right now, there isn't a single agent in football who can pull the kind of deals I can. You can ask anyone—when Jorge Mendes picks up the phone, the biggest clubs in the world listen."

Nico exhaled softly. The weight of what Mendes was saying wasn't lost on him.

The agent smiled, sensing that his words had landed. "Now, I won't ask for an answer today. But think about it, Nico. If you want to become the best in the world, you need the best team behind you. And when it comes to building a career, no one does it better than me."

Mendes folded his hands on the table, his sharp eyes never leaving Nico.

"I watched your Betis interview," he said. "It was impressive—mature, composed. You spoke like someone who already understands what it takes to reach the top. But I don't just want to rely on interviews. I want to hear it straight from you."

He leaned forward slightly. "Nico, tell me—what do you want?"

The ball was now in Nico's court.

______________

Mendes listened carefully, his sharp eyes studying Nico as he spoke.

"I'll tell you things that weren't in the interview," Nico began. "I've never eaten sweets since I was eight—not even once. And I only eat meals prepared by my nutritionist."

Mendes chuckled at that, clearly impressed. Before he could respond, Nico continued.

"Also, you don't have to worry about me going to nightclubs. I promised my grandfather—I will never drink. Ever."

Mendes nodded, his smirk fading into something more serious. He had worked with many talented players before, but discipline like this at such a young age was rare—almost unheard of.

Then Nico leaned forward slightly, his voice steady but carrying a weight that made Mendes pause.

"To be frank, Jorge, I don't care about people calling me the best in the world. I don't care about the Ballon d'Or. If I deserve it, of course, I want it—but it's not what drives me."

Mendes raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Then what does?"

Nico's emerald-green eyes held nothing but sincerity. "I enjoy playing football. It makes me happy. And I want to make people happy with my style of play. If I can do that in my career, it's more than enough."

For the first time in the conversation, Mendes was silent. He had expected ambition, hunger, even arrogance—but this? This was different.

Mendes leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers against the table as he processed Nico's words. In all his years as an agent, he had met countless young players brimming with ambition—some obsessed with fame, others driven by money, and many consumed by the dream of individual accolades like the Ballon d'Or. But Nico? He was different.

He wasn't fueled by the desire to be called the best. He wasn't chasing the spotlight. He simply loved football.

Mendes studied the teenager in front of him. Nico's posture was relaxed, his voice unwavering, and there wasn't a single trace of arrogance in his tone—only pure, unshakable passion. The kind of passion that was rare, even among the greatest footballers.

"You know," Mendes finally said, his voice lighter but laced with curiosity, "I've represented some of the biggest names in football. They all have different reasons for playing. Some want to prove themselves to the world. Some want to leave a legacy. Others are addicted to winning. But you…"

He leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "You just want to play."

Nico nodded, a small, knowing smile forming on his lips. "That's right. Football makes me happy. Everything else—trophies, awards, records—it's just a bonus. If I can make people smile with my style of play, if I can bring joy to the fans, that's all I need."

Mendes exhaled, shaking his head in amusement. "You're an old soul, kid. You sound like someone who's been through it all already."

Nico didn't say anything, only offering a faint smile. If only Mendes knew the truth.

Mendes took a sip of his coffee, mulling over his next words. "Discipline like yours is rare. No sweets since you were eight? No alcohol? No nightclubs? You're telling me if I ever see a tabloid story about Nico Cruyff at a party, I should assume it's fake?"

Nico chuckled. "If that ever happens, you have my permission to personally hunt me down and slap some sense into me."

Mendes laughed at that, shaking his head. "I might just take you up on that offer."

There was a brief pause before Mendes leaned in, his tone turning serious again. "You know, with your mentality and talent, there's no ceiling to what you can achieve. You might not care about the Ballon d'Or, but trust me—if you keep going like this, the world will hand it to you whether you like it or not."

Nico simply shrugged. "If it happens , ill be happy . If it doesn't, I won't lose sleep over it. What matters is that I enjoy the game while I play it." 

Mendes let out a deep breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Well, Nico, I have to say—I've never met a player quite like you. And I've met a lot of players."

He extended his hand across the table. "So, tell me—do you want me as your agent?"

Nico glanced at Mendes's outstretched hand. He had already made up his mind long before coming here. Jorge Mendes wasn't just a great agent—he was the best. If Nico wanted to navigate the footballing world without distractions, without unnecessary complications, he needed someone who could handle everything off the pitch while he focused solely on his game.

And Mendes? He was the perfect man for the job.

Nico reached out and shook his hand. "Let's work together, Jorge."

Mendes grinned. "Now that is the best decision you'll make today."

Mendes watched as Nico signed the contract, his movements smooth and precise, not a single hint of hesitation in his actions. When the final stroke was done, Nico placed the pen down and looked up at Mendes.

"I trust you, Jorge," he said, his voice steady. "Completely."

Mendes raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the declaration. Before he could respond, Nico continued.

"You don't have to tell me about every endorsement offer I get. You can choose the ones you think are best for me, and I'll do them. I have no reason to argue with someone who only wants the best for me."

Mendes leaned back, listening carefully. This was the kind of player agents dreamed of—talented, disciplined, and completely focused on his craft. But what Nico said next surprised him even more.

"I won't give you any trouble outside the pitch—no scandals, no unnecessary drama. If I ever get a girlfriend, you'll be the first to know."

Mendes chuckled, shaking his head. "First to know? Not even your grandfather?"

Nico smirked. "He won't care as long as I keep playing well. But you—you need to know in case it ever affects anything. So, like I trust you, I want you to trust me too. I will never let my performances drop."

Mendes studied him for a moment, then exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You know, kid… I don't think I've ever met someone like you."

Nico tilted his head. "Is that a good thing?"

Mendes laughed. "It's a great thing. I don't know about the other players you've worked with, how much trouble they gave you," Nico continued, his expression calm, "but I'm looking forward to not giving you any."

Mendes shook his head with a grin. "You're making my job too easy, Nico. But I won't complain. If you keep this up, you won't just have a great career—you'll have a legendary one."

Nico nodded. "That's the plan."

Mendes extended his hand, and Nico shook it firmly. "Alright, kid. Welcome to the family."