Chapter 15 : Agent

As Nico sat in his hotel room, the adrenaline from the match still coursing through his veins, he grabbed his phone and opened Instagram. His notifications were exploding—thousands of tags, comments, and reposts.

Clips of his long-range goal, his precise assist, and—most of all—the winning free kick were flooding his feed. The Invisible Hand had struck again, this time at the heart of Madrid.

One post from ESPN read:"14-year-old Nico Cryuff stuns the Santiago Bernabéu with a world-class performance! Youngest goalscorer in El Clásico history. A prince in the making!"

Underneath, comments were going wild:

@barcaforever "THIS KID IS UNREAL. HOW IS HE ONLY 14??"

@laligafan99 "La Masia's crown jewel shining on the biggest stage. Barcelona, you better recall him ASAP!"

@footballexpert "Invisible Hand?? More like Divine Intervention!"

@madridista7 "Ronaldo might have scored twice, but this boy walked into the Bernabéu and stole the show."

Even players were reacting. His own Espanyol teammates had reposted his goal, hyping him up in their stories. Some Barcelona first-team players—@neymarjr, @3gerardpique, even @5sergiob—had posted fire emojis and clapping hands.

Then, he saw a comment from an unexpected name. @cristiano had commented:"That was a beautiful free kick, kid. Keep working hard."

Nico blinked. A message from CR7? That was something. He smirked, shaking his head before liking the comment.

His phone buzzed again. @aitanabonmati had texted him:"You really had to go and steal the show, huh? 😉 Proud of you."

Nico stared at Aitana's message, a small grin forming on his lips. Without hesitation, he tapped her name and called her. The phone rang twice before she picked up.

"Took you long enough," she teased, her voice soft but carrying that usual playful edge.

"Sorry, I was busy reading my fan club's comments," he joked. "Did you see? Even Ronaldo commented."

"Oh? So now you're too famous to call me first?" she said with a fake pout.

He chuckled. "Never. You're the first person I wanted to call. How'd I do?"

"Hmm... let's see. A goal from outside the box, an assist, and a last-minute free kick winner at the Bernabéu?" She paused dramatically. "Meh, I've seen better."

Nico scoffed. "Liar."

She laughed. "Fine, fine! You were incredible, Nico. I don't know how you do it. I still can't believe you're just 14 and doing all this. You're ridiculous."

"I had to make it special. It's Madrid, after all," he said. "And I guess I wanted to impress someone too."

Aitana went quiet for a moment before responding, her voice softer. "Well... mission accomplished."

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke, just the quiet sound of their breathing over the phone. It was moments like this that made it all feel real.

"So... when are you coming back?" she asked.

"Not sure yet," Nico admitted. "But I'll be back soon. Then we'll train together again. And I'll destroy you in free kicks."

"You wish," she scoffed. "Anyway, you should rest. Big game and all. You need your beauty sleep, Prince Nico."

He smiled at the nickname. "Goodnight, Aitana."

"Goodnight, champ," she said softly before hanging up.

Nico stared at his phone for a few more seconds before placing it down, a warmth spreading in his chest. This—these conversations, these moments—felt just as important as any goal he scored.

__________

The next morning, Nico woke up early, his body still buzzing with energy from last night's match. He stretched his arms, cracking his neck before rolling out of bed. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden hue over Barcelona.

He started his day with yoga, focusing on his breathing and flexibility. Each movement was precise, controlled—just like how he played on the pitch. After finishing his session, he went for a jog through the quiet streets, the cool morning air refreshing against his skin. He took his usual route, passing by familiar spots, his mind drifting as he replayed last night's game in his head.

After the jog, he headed straight to the training facility for a gym session. Strength training, core workouts, balance drills—everything needed to keep his body in peak condition. He was meticulous, pushing himself but never overdoing it.

Once he was done, he washed up in his room at the facility before heading home. He walked through the door, the scent of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. His grandparents were already at the dining table, sipping their morning drinks.

Danny looked up first, raising an eyebrow. "You look like you fought a war."

Johan chuckled. "A war he won."

Nico smirked. "I have to stay ready. You never know when the next battle is."

Danny rolled her eyes but smiled. "Sit down, eat something. You're not just surviving on football, you know."

He grabbed a plate and sat down, feeling the warmth of home settle around him.

___________

As Nico ate the carefully prepared meal from the club's nutritionist, his grandmother watched him with a knowing smile. He had barely taken a few bites before she casually dropped the question.

"So… when are you going to introduce your girlfriend to me?"

Nico nearly choked on his food. He quickly took a sip of water before looking up at Danny, who was now grinning mischievously.

He sighed, knowing there was no point in denying it. "Soon."

Danny raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Oh? So you're finally admitting it?"

Johan chuckled from behind his newspaper. "Took him long enough."

Nico leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, yeah. She's my girlfriend."

Danny clapped her hands together, delighted. "I knew it! You've been acting all suspicious for months. You call her every day, spend all your free time with her, and now you even admit it? My grandson is growing up."

Johan smirked. "So, when do we meet her?"

Nico smirked, shaking his head. "I'll bring her over when the time is right."

Danny sighed dramatically. "I suppose I can wait. But not for long, young man."

_____________________

Nico sighed, shaking his head at their teasing, but a small smile played on his lips. He pulled out his phone, scrolled through his gallery, and then turned the screen toward his grandparents.

"Here she is," he said, showing them a picture of Aitana.

Danny leaned in immediately, her eyes lighting up. "Oh my, she's beautiful!" she gushed.

Johan peered over his newspaper and gave a small approving nod. "She has the look of someone serious about football," he remarked.

"She is," Nico said proudly. "She plays at La Masia, just like me. Her name is Aitana Bonmatí. She's the same age as me—14. We even have the same birthday."

Danny's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Fate is working hard on you two."

Nico chuckled. "You could say that. But she's not just any player. She's training with the first team already, and you could call her a footballing prodigy."

Johan smirked. "Another one, huh?"

Nico nodded. "And she's the only one I've taught the Invisible Hand to."

Danny's mouth fell open slightly. "You taught her that?"

Nico grinned. "Yeah, she's the only one I've ever taught it to."

Johan gave a rare look of genuine surprise before a slow, proud smile formed on his face. "Well then… I think I'd like to meet this girl sooner rather than later."

Danny nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, absolutely. Nico, you better bring her over soon. I need to see her in person!"

Nico just laughed, shaking his head as his grandparents kept going, their curiosity now fully locked onto Aitana.

__________

The next day was a rest day again. Nico woke up early, going through his usual routine—yoga to ease his muscles, a light jog to keep his stamina sharp, and then an intense gym session to maintain his strength. He returned home feeling refreshed, showered, and changed into something comfortable.

By the afternoon, he was lounging on the couch with his grandfather, watching an old classic football movie. Johan had a habit of choosing films that had some kind of deeper meaning, always tying them back to football in some way.

As the movie played, Johan suddenly spoke, his eyes still on the screen. "I got a call from Jorge Mendes earlier."

Nico turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What did he say?"

Johan smirked. "He's coming to meet you in the evening."

Nico furrowed his brows, setting the popcorn aside. "Jorge Mendes, huh? I haven't even signed with him yet… Why's he coming in person?"

Johan leaned back, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Maybe he wants to convince you."

Danny, who had been quietly knitting nearby, chimed in. "Or maybe he's just heard about my grandson making Real Madrid kneel at 14 and wants to secure the future Ballon d'Or winner before someone else does."

Nico chuckled, shaking his head. "I mean, I do need an agent… but I didn't expect someone like him to come knocking this soon."

Johan nodded. "He probably sees what everyone else is seeing—that you're special. But don't rush into anything. Listen to what he has to say first."

Nico exhaled, leaning back against the couch. "Yeah… I'll hear him out."

But deep down, he knew—if Jorge Mendes was coming in person, this wasn't just some casual meeting. It was the start of something bigger.

_________

In the evening, Nico was sitting on the couch with his grandfather, analyzing a match on the TV. Johan pointed at the screen, rewinding a play.

"See that movement? That's how you manipulate space. You don't always need to run—sometimes, just standing still in the right place is more dangerous."

Nico nodded, eyes focused. "Yeah, it forces the defender to make a decision. If he steps up, the passing lane opens. If he stays, you have time to shoot or pass."

Before Johan could respond, the doorbell rang.

Danny, who had been reading a book nearby, looked up. "That must be your guest."

Nico exhaled and stood up, adjusting his shirt. Johan smirked. "Nervous?"

"Not really… just wondering what he's going to say."

Johan gave him a knowing look. "Well, let's find out."

Nico walked over and opened the door. There stood Jorge Mendes, dressed sharply in a dark suit, his ever-present confident smile on his face.

"Nico Cryuff," Mendes greeted, extending a hand. "We finally meet."

__________

Jorge settled comfortably onto the couch, exchanging a polite nod with Johan before turning his attention to Nico. His expression was calm, but there was a sharpness in his eyes—an agent who had seen it all, who had built empires for players.

"The first time I got a report about you," Jorge started, leaning slightly forward, "you were just 12. It was a match against Sevilla U-16's, I think. You scored seven goals." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Seven. That's when I started keeping tabs on you."

Nico listened quietly, his face composed, but inside, he was a little surprised. He didn't expect Jorge Mendes had been following him for that long.

"Since then, I've watched your progress closely. 950-plus goals and 450-plus assists for Barcelona in the youth league—outrageous numbers, even for La Masia's greatest talents."

Jorge's eyes flickered with something close to admiration. "And now, you've stepped into professional football like it's nothing. A hat trick against Eibar, an assist and a brace against Real Madrid at the Bernabéu… You've already proven you're ready for the big leagues."

He then turned to Johan, his tone respectful but firm. "I'd like to speak with Nico alone, if that's alright."

Johan studied him for a second before nodding. He patted Nico's shoulder as he stood. "I'll be in the next room if you need me."

With that, Johan walked away, leaving Nico alone with Jorge Mendes.

________

Jorge leaned back slightly, his smirk unwavering, exuding the confidence of a man who had shaped some of the greatest careers in football history. His sharp eyes studied Nico, as if sizing up whether the boy in front of him was truly ready for what was coming.

"So, Nico," he began, his voice smooth yet commanding, the tone of someone who had sat across from presidents of football clubs and never left a negotiation without winning. "I usually play a little game with the players before I sign them. It's a simple one. First, I'll explain why you should sign with me. Then, you'll tell me why I should sign you. Fair, right?"

Nico leaned forward slightly, intrigued. This wasn't the approach he had expected. He had thought Jorge would come in with a contract ready, numbers laid out, a pitch about how Mendes was the best agent in the world. But this? This was different. It felt like a test.

Jorge noticed the curiosity in Nico's eyes and chuckled. "Alright, let me begin."

He adjusted his posture, now fully focused on Nico. His voice was steady, deliberate. "I don't just sign players—I build legacies. I don't look for talent—I look for the future of football. Cristiano Ronaldo? He wasn't just a great player when I took him under my wing—he was a kid with potential. I turned that potential into reality. When he moved to Real Madrid, he didn't just break records—he shattered them. And that wasn't by luck. That was by careful planning, negotiation, and positioning him in the right place at the right time."

Jorge's gaze didn't waver. "That's what I do. I don't just make sure my players succeed—I make sure they dominate. You, Nico, are already making history. Youngest player to play in La Liga, youngest to score, youngest to score a hat trick, youngest to score a free kick goal. That's not normal. That's legendary. And I know exactly how to take that and turn it into something bigger than you can even imagine."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly as if revealing a secret. "Clubs? They already want you. But I know which ones will give you the best platform, where you'll grow the most, where you'll be treated like a prince, and where you'll be wasted. Sponsors? They'll come knocking. But I'll make sure they don't just offer you deals—I'll make sure they beg to have your name attached to theirs. I'll build your brand, your name, your legacy. Because I don't settle for average. I make sure my players become the best in every aspect of the game—on the pitch, in business, in history."

Jorge sat back, confidence radiating from him. "Now," he said, tilting his head slightly, "your turn. Tell me why I should sign you."

_________