Chapter 16 : Signed

Jorge watched Nico closely as the boy gathered his thoughts. He had expected confidence, maybe even a bit of cockiness—most young stars had that. But as Nico spoke, there was something different about him. Something... calculated.

"Let me tell you a few things about me other than my stats," Nico began, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, something almost solemn. "I've never eaten sweets since I was five. I've eaten meals made by a nutritionist since I was eight."

He chuckled lightly, but Jorge could see it wasn't a joke—it was just the truth. "You don't have to worry about me going to nightclubs, because I made a promise to my grandfather that I would never drink. Ever."

Jorge raised an eyebrow. That was rare. Young footballers, especially ones who had fame and money coming their way, always said they were disciplined—but very few actually lived it.

Nico leaned forward slightly, his emerald green eyes locked onto Jorge's. "I don't know about the other young talents you've worked with, but I am a little different."

There was no arrogance in his voice—just a quiet conviction, the kind that was built over years of discipline.

"I think I was five when my grandfather told me I had the talent to be the best in the world. But then he told me something else—something that stayed with me."

Nico took a breath, his jaw tightening slightly, as if repeating the words gave them weight. "He told me that many have talent, but very few have the spirit and the will to work hard. He told me that if I ever felt like slacking off, or taking a day off, I should remember this quote—"

Nico's voice dropped just slightly, as if he were reciting something sacred. "If you have the talent to be the best in the world, it is a sin to football if you don't work hard to fulfill it."

Jorge sat back, truly surprised. This wasn't just another wonderkid with a dream. This was a boy who lived, breathed, and sacrificed for the game.

He nodded, processing Nico's words, before finally asking, "And what about your ambitions, Nico? Tell me—what do you want?"

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Jorge studied Nico carefully, his fingers interlocked as he leaned slightly forward. He had heard countless young players talk about their dreams—some wanted Ballon d'Ors, others wanted to break records, and many just wanted wealth and fame. But Nico... Nico was different.

The boy took a deep breath before speaking, his voice calm but firm. "Jorge, let me be frank with you. I don't really care about the individual awards. Whether it's the top scorer, top assister, Golden Boy, or even the Ballon d'Or… If I deserve it, of course, I want it. But that is not what drives me."

Jorge raised an eyebrow. "Then what does?"

Nico's emerald-green eyes flickered with something deep—something more than just ambition. "I love football." He said it so simply, as if it was the most obvious truth in the world. "I want to play beautiful football. I want to make people fall in love with the game the way my grandfather made people love it."

He exhaled softly, looking down for a second before meeting Jorge's gaze again. "After I retire, when people think about me, I want them to smile. I don't care if they call me the best in the world, or if they remember me for the trophies or the Ballon d'Ors. I just want them to remember how I played—the joy, the beauty, the magic of it."

Jorge was silent for a moment, letting the words settle. This kid wasn't just aiming for greatness. He was chasing something purer—something far more difficult to achieve.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Jorge's lips. "You're something else, Nico."

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Nico leaned back slightly, his expression unwavering. "And if you sign with me, Jorge, I can promise you one thing—you'll never have to worry about me, whether it's on the pitch or outside of it."

Jorge tilted his head, intrigued. "Oh? That's a bold promise. A lot of players say that."

Nico smirked slightly. "I mean it. You won't find me in nightclubs, skipping training, or making a fool of myself in public. You don't have to lecture me about discipline—I live by it. I don't drink, I don't party, and I don't waste time."

Jorge studied him closely, his curiosity deepening. "And off the pitch?"

Nico shrugged. "You don't have to talk to me about all the endorsements either. You pick the ones that fit me, the ones you think make sense—I'll trust you. I won't be a problem."

Jorge let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "You're making this too easy for me, Nico. Usually, players fight over sponsorships and marketing deals."

Nico's voice was calm, but firm. "I'm here to play football, Jorge. Everything else is secondary."

Jorge exhaled, rubbing his chin as he looked at the 14-year-old in front of him. This wasn't just another talented kid. This was something rare. Something different.

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Jorge studied Nico for a few more moments, as if weighing his decision one last time. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. "Alright, kid. You've convinced me. Let's make history together."

Nico didn't hesitate. He reached out and shook Jorge's hand firmly, his grip steady, his emerald-green eyes locked onto Jorge's. It was an unspoken agreement—one built on mutual respect.

Jorge then pulled out a neatly prepared contract from his briefcase, placing it on the table. "This is a standard player-agent agreement. Nothing shady, nothing complicated. You focus on football, and I'll handle everything else."

Nico took his time reading through it, his sharp mind processing every word. Johan had always taught him to be thorough, to never sign anything blindly. After a few minutes, he nodded in approval.

With a steady hand, he picked up the pen and signed his name at the bottom.

Jorge leaned back, watching as the ink dried. "Welcome to the family, Nico."

Johan, who had been waiting in the other room, walked back in and saw the signed contract. He gave a small nod of approval, pride shining in his eyes.

Jorge stood up, shaking Johan's hand as well. "You've raised a special one, Johan. He's got something… different."

Johan chuckled softly. "I know. That's why I made sure he found the right people around him."

Jorge turned back to Nico. "Get ready, kid. Things are only going to get crazier from here."

Nico simply smiled. "I'm always ready."

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As Jorge gathered his things and prepared to leave, he suddenly paused and turned back to Nico with a smirk.

"By the way, kid… do you have a girlfriend?"

Nico, who had been leaning back on the couch, blinked at the unexpected question. His grandfather chuckled softly but stayed quiet, clearly interested in how he'd respond.

Nico hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Yeah."

Jorge raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Really? Who's the lucky girl?"

Nico smirked slightly, leaning forward. "Her name is Aitana Bonmatí. She's also a footballer at La Masia. We've got the same birthday, same age. She's insanely talented—probably the best midfielder of her generation.

Jorge's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, wait—Bonmatí? The girl who just got promoted to the first team? Damn, you don't mess around, huh?"

Nico laughed. "What can I say? I have good taste."

Jorge shook his head in amusement. "Well, just don't let her distract you too much, alright? Football comes first."

Johan, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up. "Don't worry, Jorge. Nico's always been focused. If anything, she pushes him to be better."

Jorge nodded, clearly impressed. "Alright then. Just don't let the media find out too soon. They'll have a field day with 'La Masia's Golden Duo.'"

Nico smirked. "They'll find out eventually."

Jorge laughed, shaking his head as he made his way to the door. "Kid, you're going to take over football, and you don't even realize it yet."

With one last handshake, Jorge left, leaving Nico and Johan sitting there, the weight of the future settling in.

____________

Later that evening , he met with Aitana at the training grounds .

For the next hour, they trained together, pushing each other like they always had. Nico took shots while Aitana played as the goalkeeper, then they switched. They challenged each other to free kicks, trying to outdo one another with placement and power. It was effortless, fun—just two footballing prodigies lost in their shared love for the game. 

By the time the clock struck 7, they were lying down on the pitch, side by side, staring up at the darkening sky. The floodlights hummed softly above them, illuminating the empty field. 

Aitana broke the comfortable silence. "I'm starting tomorrow." 

Nico turned his head to look at her, his emerald-green eyes widening in surprise. "Wow. Debut at 14? That's insane." Then, a slow, proud smile spread across his face. "Awesome." 

She chuckled, nudging his arm. "Just like you." 

Nico let out a small laugh, then without thinking, he turned on his side and pulled her into a hug. "I'm proud of you." 

Aitana melted into his embrace, resting her head against his chest. "Thank you, Nico." 

His fingers absentmindedly played with a strand of her hair. "You're gonna be amazing." 

She smiled, closing her eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his presence. "I hope so." 

"You will be," he said confidently. "And I'll be watching."

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The next day, Nico sat in the living room with Danny, his grandmother, as they watched the match together. The television screen flickered with the familiar colors of Barcelona's kit as Aitana lined up alongside the senior team for the first time.

"She looks so small compared to the others," Danny remarked with a soft chuckle, sipping her tea.

Nico smirked. "Yeah, but she plays like a giant."

From the very first whistle, Aitana played with the same intelligence and elegance that Nico knew so well. She moved between the lines effortlessly, her passes crisp and precise, always a step ahead of the opposition. Then, in the 28th minute, she carved open Sevilla's defense with a perfectly timed through-ball, setting up the opening goal.

Danny clapped her hands together. "Oh, that was beautiful!"

Nico grinned, leaning forward. "I told you, she's special."

As the game continued, Aitana didn't slow down. In the 67th minute, she delivered another assist—this time, a lofted cross to the far post that was headed in.

"Two assists on her debut," Danny said, shaking her head in amazement. "You two really are something else."

Nico leaned back, arms crossed, a satisfied smile on his face. "I knew she'd be great."

Barcelona held on to win 2-1, and as the final whistle blew, Aitana's name was being sung by the crowd. Nico felt a surge of pride swell in his chest.

His phone vibrated. A message from Aitana.

Aitana: Did you watch?

Nico smiled as he typed back.

Nico: Of course. Two assists? You're ridiculous.

Aitana: Coming from you? That's a compliment.

Nico: I'm proud of you.

She sent back a heart emoji, and Nico chuckled, shaking his head.

Danny watched him, eyes twinkling. "You look like a lovesick puppy."

Nico rolled his eyes. "Come on, Grandma."

_______________

Nico smirked at his grandmother's teasing and leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out. His phone buzzed again, another message from Aitana, but before he could reply, Danny nudged him playfully.

"Well?" she asked. "When do we get to meet her properly? You can't keep her hidden forever."

Nico chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe after the season ends."

Danny raised an eyebrow. "Maybe?"

"Okay, okay," he surrendered, laughing. "I promise, after the season ends, I'll bring her over."

Danny clapped her hands together, looking pleased. "Good. I need to see the girl who managed to steal my grandson's heart."

Nico rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his grin. His grandmother always had a way of making things sound more dramatic than they were.

His phone buzzed again.

Aitana: What's funny?

Nico smirked and typed back.

Nico: Just my grandma being nosy. She wants to meet you.

A few seconds later, her reply popped up.

Aitana: Oh? And what did you say?

Nico: That I'd bring you over after the season ends.

Aitana sent back a winking emoji.

Aitana: Hope she likes me.

Nico smiled, staring at his screen for a moment before replying.

Nico: She already does. She just doesn't know it yet.

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