Chapter 27 — The Man Behind the Curtain

6 October 2012

The café wasn't flashy. A small place tucked between a bookstore and a tailor's in Deansgate. Brick walls, quiet jazz, and the smell of strong espresso. Nani sat near the back, hood up, sunglasses on, stirring a cappuccino like he was in a spy movie.

Alex walked in cautiously, glancing around. It was a rare off-day — no media, no attention, just jeans and nerves.

Nani looked up and grinned."You're late."

"I'm early."Alex glanced at the clock."By ten minutes."

"Exactly. He's already here."

Alex blinked."Wait—what? Who's here?"

Nani tilted his head toward the booth behind him."See for yourself."

From the shadows, a man stood.

Tall. Impeccably dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt. No tie. Calm posture. Smile like a poker player who already knew how the hand would end.

Jorge Mendes.

Alex's jaw slackened slightly. "That's… that's Jorge Mendes?"

Nani laughed quietly. "Don't look so shocked. You nutmegged half of Liverpool last week. He's not here for me."

"You said we were just hanging out," Alex muttered, suddenly hyper-aware of his wrinkled hoodie and the cereal stain on his left sleeve.

"We are," Nani said. "But I also figured it's time you met someone who sees the bigger picture."

Alex hesitated for a beat — then took a breath and stepped forward.

Mendes offered his hand with the calm confidence of a man who knew the future was already in motion."Alexander. Or do you prefer Alex?"

"Alex's fine," he replied, shaking his hand.

Firm grip. Dry palm. Watch worth more than his house.

They sat.

Mendes wasted no time.

The Pitch

"You're already on every scout's radar," Mendes began, voice calm but precise. "But what you'll need soon isn't attention. It's protection. Strategy. Elevation."

Alex raised an eyebrow."I've only played a handful of senior matches."

Mendes smiled faintly."That's enough. Clubs are watching. Brands are watching. And one wrong step — one injury, one ego move — and it can all fade. I'm not here to rush you. I'm here to prepare you."

Nani sipped his drink, lounging like this was all normal."He doesn't push kids. He helps them grow."

Mendes leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"Let me tell you something, Alex. When Cristiano first came to Manchester, he was raw. Wild feet, wild hair, and wild ambition. Everyone wanted to slow him down. Sir Alex wanted to shape him. I made sure he was surrounded by the right people, not the loudest ones."

Alex listened, eyes narrowing just a bit.

"And when Madrid came calling, people thought it was too early. Too soon. But we planned it. Not just the move — everything. Physio, diet, press training, personal growth. You don't become a machine by accident."

He sat back, letting the weight of that sink in.

"Sir Alex has plans for you. I respect that. Immensely. You should stay close to him as long as you can. But when the world opens up — and it will — I want to be there. Not to drag you through the door. To make sure you walk through it standing tall."

Alex tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. Mendes watched, patient.

"This isn't a signing. It's a conversation. A beginning. You don't have to say yes. Not today. Not this year. But remember..."

His tone dipped, serious now.

"Talent gets you noticed. But timing? That's what makes legends."

Mendes leaned back, the calm in his eyes never breaking. He had said his piece. Now he waited.

Alex stayed quiet for a moment.

'What am I doing here?' he thought.Just weeks ago, he was doing extra shooting drills on empty training pitches, trying to prove he belonged in the U21s. Now Jorge Mendes — Cristiano Ronaldo's agent — was sitting across from him, talking like the future was already carved in stone.

He looked at Mendes, then over at Nani, who was casually sipping his coffee like this happened every day.

'It doesn't feel real. But it's happening.' All of it.

The debut. The goal. The press. The Liverpool match. Now this.

And yet… he didn't feel big-headed. He felt a weight. Like every step he took was being watched now — not by enemies, but by expectations.

'Do I really need an agent already? Or am I just afraid of what comes next?'

His mind drifted briefly to the days at the local park in Manchester — his dad shouting instructions from the sideline, his older brother grumbling every time Alex made him look bad. The dreams were always big. But now they were real. Real enough to affect the people around him.

He glanced back at Mendes.

"Timing is what makes legends," the man had said.

Alex knew he didn't just want to play football. He wanted to change the game. To build a career that left a legacy, not just stats.

And Mendes?He wasn't promising shortcuts.He was promising tools.

Alex nodded slowly, more to himself than anyone.

Still not ready to say yes.But no longer able to say no.

Later That Night — The Marshall Home

The living room was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the muted glow of Sky Sports News in the background. A low murmur from the TV mentioned his name again — third time in the past hour.

Alex sat at the kitchen table with his parents and older brother.A manila folder lay in the center — the beginnings of a professional contract and a potential lifelong partnership with Jorge Mendes.

Untouched.

His mum gently set down her tea.

"He seemed kind?"

Alex nodded."Professional. Smart. Not pushy."

She gave a small smile, though worry lingered behind it."I just don't want them turning you into something you're not. You're still… my Alex."

"I will be," he promised softly.

His dad leaned back in his chair, arms folded — the same posture he always had when he was thinking deeply."What's your gut say?"

Alex paused, fingers lightly drumming the edge of the table.

"That I'm not ready," he admitted. "But I might need to be."

His older brother snorted."That's deep. You go full Yoda since scoring a goal?"

Alex grinned."Wisdom comes with cereal endorsements, apparently."

They all chuckled.

Then his brother leaned forward, eyes more serious.

"Look… you're killing it right now, and I mean it — we're all proud of you. But just make sure you don't turn into some brand puppet. Don't let them tell you who you are just 'cause they think they can sell it. You're not Ronaldo yet."

Alex raised an eyebrow."Yet?"

"...Don't push it."

Laughter again. Softer this time. The kind that comes with shared memories and mutual pride.

His dad spoke next, voice firm but supportive.

"You've got something rare, son. Not just talent — you've got your head screwed on. You can take their help, but you run your own race. Understand?"

Alex nodded."Yeah. I'm not signing anything until I talk to the gaffer anyway. Or the older lads. Just… wanted to see what you lot thought first."

His mum got up and placed a hand on his shoulder."We just want you to be happy, love. And healthy. If Mendes helps you, great. If not, we'll still be right here. With or without the private jet."

His brother raised his glass of orange juice.

"To staying grounded."

Alex clinked it with his water.

"To staying me."

Next Day — Carrington

Carrington – The Office

Sir Alex's door was always slightly open — a message in itself. Alex knocked once out of habit, then stepped in.

Sir Alex sat behind his desk, flipping through notes. He glanced up over his glasses, then motioned for Alex to sit.

"So," he said, without preamble. "Mendes?"

Alex blinked.

"You already knew?"

Sir Alex gave a short chuckle.

"Son, I knew the moment you nutmegged Martin Škrtel that someone would come calling."

Alex smiled sheepishly.

"He wasn't pushy, just… prepared. He talked about timing. Strategy. Avoiding bad moves before they happen."

Sir Alex leaned back, folding his hands over his stomach.

"Jorge's smart. He's got a track record, no denying it. But remember this — agents work for you. Not the other way 'round. You don't need someone to shape your brand. You need someone to protect your career."

A pause.

"You've got something rare, lad. Grit. Presence. Don't let the world polish that into some shiny nonsense."

Alex nodded slowly.

"You think I should sign?"

Sir Alex stood and walked over to the window.

"I think… you talk to the people who know you. And when you decide — do it with conviction. Not because you're afraid to say yes, or too proud to say no. But because you know who you are."

Alex looked up. "And who am I?"

Sir Alex turned, eyes gleaming with pride and fire.

"You're a bloody United player. Now act like it."

Later that day, after weights and stretching, Alex wandered into the recovery lounge where Rooney, Carrick, and Evra were lounging with protein shakes and compression socks.

"Heard Mendes sniffing around you," Rooney said, without looking up from his phone.

"Did Nani tell you?"

"Nah. He posted a photo with you tagged in it. Real subtle."

Carrick grinned.

"Big step though. Mendes doesn't waste time with prospects who don't pan out."

Evra leaned forward, mock serious.

"You sign with him, he'll probably have you doing ads for hair gel by next week."

Rooney cracked up.

"Beats doing them for shampoo — trust me."

They all laughed.

Then Carrick quieted slightly.

"Just make sure the football comes first. All this other stuff? Agents, deals, media — it's noise if your head isn't straight."

Alex nodded."I want to do it right. I want someone in my corner, but… I don't want it to change me."

Evra pointed at him.

"Then you stay the one holding the pen. Not them."

Rooney raised his bottle in a toast.

"To the next generation. Just don't forget who passed you the ball first."

"You still owe me an assist stat," Alex shot back, smirking.

That Night — A Simple Text

To: Jorge Mendes

"Thanks for the talk. Let's keep in touch. I'm not rushing. But I'm listening."

The reply came minutes later.

*"Perfect. That's all I ask."

[Some of you will be like, why is Mendes is the agent in every football story. Well he is the biggest name, and for my story having mendes as the agent will create more links with others characters and can open up storyline to explore.]