AND WE ARE BACK
The line used in the halftime shows of the Champions League quickly disappeared.
The thrills at Munich already felt far away, but for the fans — though not forgotten — But after it all it wasn't the only match they were thinking about. Because the first leg of the Champions League quarter-finals had delivered.
From the beginning, that thrilling 3–2 in Munich — where the rising star Mateo King staged a stunning hat-trick — was the story everyone spoke about. Yet, its partner match that same day told a very different tale.
Unlike the electrifying Bayern vs Barcelona showdown, where no one could predict the winner until the final whistle, the Chelsea vs Porto clash took another route entirely.
After a thrilling goal by Mason Mount in the 39th minute — a composed finish after a swift buildup — Chelsea took control of the match with complete authority. Porto, though fierce and stubborn in defense, could not find a single shot on target. Still, their defensive wall made sure Chelsea couldn't add to the scoreline for most of the second half. It wasn't until the 85th minute, when Mount once again displayed brilliance, threading a spectacular assist through to Ben Chilwell, who calmly rounded the keeper and slotted home to seal the match 2–0.
That brought an end to Day One — thrilling, but decisive.
Day Two was no less entertaining.
Just like the first day, the main event featured another Spanish team — Barcelona's eternal rival, Real Madrid — up against the defending champions from two seasons ago, Liverpool.
The setting: the Santiago Bernabéu.
Despite the home advantage, few truly believed Madrid would dominate, not with their recent dip in form. Most expected a slightly difficult contest, simply because they were Real Madrid and had pride to defend. Still, even the betting odds leaned toward Liverpool pulling off the win.
But football has a way of humbling expectations.
Liverpool dominated possession, created chance after chance — yet failed to convert. And as the old saying goes: miss your chances against Real Madrid, and you will be punished.
In the 27th minute, Toni Kroos delivered a perfectly weighted through ball that sliced open Liverpool's back line. The lightning-quick Vinícius Júnior sprinted into the gap, leaving defenders chasing shadows. One touch to control, another to glide past the last man, and then — bang — a ruthless strike into the bottom corner. The Bernabéu erupted. In that instant, the entire world was reminded: never doubt Real Madrid in the Champions League.
Klopp's shouts from the sideline, Salah's runs, Mané's dribbles — all became useless noise against Madrid's growing storm.
Just sixteen minutes after the opener, Madrid struck again. A quick one-two between Vinícius and Asensio, and the latter made no mistake — burying the ball in the back of the net. 2–0.
The second half began, and before Liverpool could even reorganize or execute the tactical adjustments Klopp had demanded at halftime, they were struck once more — this time not from a swift counter or a neat passing move, but from pure chaos, carved by the same man who was tormenting them all night: Vinícius Júnior. This day would be known as the start of Vinicius torment to Liverpool fans
After picking up the ball on the left, he danced through three defenders — a feint, a burst of pace, a drop of the shoulder — leaving each one spinning helplessly. He then tricked Alisson, shaping to shoot far post before tucking it near side. The Bernabéu exploded.
The roar was like thunder, echoing through Madrid — the kind they hadn't heard since that final home game of the 2017/18 season, after a 2–2 draw with Villarreal — the night Cristiano Ronaldo last played in the stadium.
Now, that same level of wild screams, of uncontrollable joy, of roaring celebration, was directed at the young Brazilian wearing the number 20: Vinícius Júnior.
After the third goal
Liverpool's entire morale died instantly.
You could see it — heads down, shoulders slumped, passes played without belief. The match carried on like that, dragging slowly towards its end. The energy was gone, the fight drained out of them. Then, right at the death — in the 93rd minute — number 66, Trent Alexander-Arnold, stepped up and struck an absolutely insane free-kick from 35 yards out, curling it past Courtois and into the top corner. It was the kind of goal that didn't change the result, but gave Liverpool a lifeline — a vital away goal — and something to hold on to for the return leg.
And then came the fourth and final match of the quarter-final first legs — and it was no less dramatic than the rest.
Back in Germany again, Manchester City vs Borussia Dortmund.
Almost everyone had called it before kickoff. The odds, the pundits, the fans — all said the same thing: this would be one-sided. City, the undisputed kings of England, the team that turned the Premier League into what people were now calling a farmers league, against a Dortmund side struggling badly — even sitting outside the top four in the Bundesliga. Nobody gave them a chance.
And at first, it seemed everyone would be proven right.
In just the 19th minute, after a crisp series of quick passes, Phil Foden, buzzing with energy and confidence, finished off a smooth move by tapping the ball into the net. City 1–0. Everything looked normal.
But before City could even fully celebrate, Dortmund showed exactly why, despite their poor domestic season, they were still standing in the Champions League. Their response came fast — and with the same style.
A sharp one-two between Jadon Sancho and Jude Bellingham, who drove the play right through the middle, caught City's defense sleeping. Jude found space at the edge of the box and fed it forward where the competition's top scorer — Erling Haaland — was waiting. One touch, one finish. Calm. Ruthless. Past Ederson.
Just like that, 1–1.
But the bookmakers weren't completely wrong either.
After the game slowed down into a stale, tense battle, City found another gear in the 67th minute — the kind of move that defined their football under Pep that season. Quick triangles, patient buildup, precision. Kevin De Bruyne slicing through midfield, linking with Gündoğan, who laid it off wide to Foden. Foden, sharp and alert, cut it across the box for Riyad Mahrez, who swept it home with that effortless left foot. A textbook City goal. 2–1.
The game looked done.
City were heading for an away win, Dortmund looked beaten, and Germany was about to lose both its home legs in one week. But football never stays still — and in the 87th minute, chaos arrived.
What followed could only be described as pure brute force.
Erling Haaland, hungry and unstoppable, bullied his way through two defenders. First he brushed off Rúben Dias, then barged through John Stones like they were training cones. A heavy first touch, then a thunderous strike — a rocket that tore past Ederson before anyone could even blink.
The net shook. The stadium exploded. 2–2.
And as Haaland celebrated, roaring like an animal, Dias lay on the ground — the same man who had been the one that tried to stop him now being stretched off despite him being the one that went for the tackle, injured from the sheer physical clash. It was a clear reminder of just how terrifyingly strong the Norwegian was.
With that, the match ended 2–2, and the first leg of the Champions League 2020/21 quarter-finals came to an end.
Barcelona edging Bayern at the Allianz Arena 3–2, Chelsea dominating Porto 2–0, Real Madrid reminding the world whose competition this really was with a sensational 3–1 thrashing of Liverpool, and Manchester City's clash in Germany ending 2–2.
Erling Haaland, now with nine games played, stopped being tied with Kylian Mbappé at the top of the Champions League scoring chart — with him now sitting on 10 goals in just 9 games. Mbappé followed right behind with 8 goals in 8 games, while third place was a crowded list shared among eight names — Benzema, Salah, Rashford, Neymar, Morata, Giroud, Youssef En-Nesyri, and Mateo King.
And that last name — Mateo King — was the real shocker.
With only two Champions League appearances, he had already climbed into the top three of the scoring list. Incredibly, he was already Barcelona's top scorer in the Champions League, surpassing even Lionel Messi, who sat just behind him with 5 goals. It was the kind of stat that made the football world blink twice — a 17-year-old, new to the tournament, already being his teams highest goal scorer in the champions league.
But the real chaos didn't start on the pitch.
It started after the matches ended.
The analysts, the football shows, and every sports channel online — they all began to notice something strange.
When the official Man of the Match awards were listed, they all pointed toward one theme: youth.
Mateo King took it for Bayern vs Barcelona, thanks to his hat-trick.
Mason Mount for Chelsea vs Porto.
Vinícius Júnior after that electrifying performance against Liverpool.
And the most surprising one of all — Jadon Sancho in the Manchester City vs Dortmund clash, even though he didn't score or assist.
At first, fans questioned it — until they looked at the stats.
Sancho had 12 successful dribbles, the most ever recorded in a Champions League quarter-final, breaking a record that stood for years. On top of that, he created 6 key passes, completed 90% of his dribbles, and was involved in nearly every Dortmund attack. For anyone who actually watched the game, it was no robbery. It was genius.
Then the analysts started connecting the dots.
Those who truly understood football, who studied patterns, generations, and transitions, saw something historic happening. This was the first time in football history that every Man of the Match in a Champions League quarter-final leg was a young player — not the usual faces in their late twenties or thirties, not the polished veterans who'd ruled football for a decade.
No.
This time, it was the kids.
The oldest among them was Sancho at 21, and the youngest — unbelievably — was Mateo King, just 17 years old.
And when you added Foden's goal and assist, Haaland's two goals, Alphonso Davies' strike, and the performances of Musiala and Pedri, plus Trent Alexander-Arnold's worldie of a free kick — it was madness.
The analysts went crazy.
Plenty of them, bold enough to say it out loud, began claiming that this was no longer the era of Ronaldo, Messi, Neymar, or Salah.
That football was evolving — slipping away from the hands of the old kings and being reborn in the feet of the young.
They called it the new generation, the movement, the takeover — the era of Mateo, Saka, Haaland, Mbappé, and the rest of football's rising prodigies.
The talk grew so big that even ESPN, arguably the biggest sports network in the world, joined in.
Their latest post went viral instantly — a picture of the four Man of the Match winners side by side, with the headline in bold letters across the top:
THE START OF A NEW ERA.
As if validating it, the start of the weekend arrived on Friday, and all eyes were on Kylian Mbappé. Already credited as the Firestarter of the new era, the ultimate young player of the generation, he carried the frustration of being constantly compared, sometimes overlooked, and now newly not being the number one name when people spoke of the next wave of football stars.
He put all that into Lille OSC, the team that had been dominating the league, sitting at the top as if the title was theirs for the taking. In another universe, they might have lifted it this season — but in this reality, Mateo King and Barcelona had eliminated PSG early from the Champions League, leaving a fired-up Mbappé ready to make a statement.
The match arrived: 33rd round of the league, PSG vs Lille. And Mbappé did not disappoint. He tore through Lille's defense with the kind of precision and pace that seemed almost unfair, scoring all four goals in a 4–2 victory. The first time since December that PSG had reclaimed the top spot, it felt like the torch had really passed — the young generation, led by Mbappé, was firmly staking its claim.
Meanwhile, Mateo King was becoming a phenomenon in his own right. Away from the chatter of stats and goal records, after he posted a picture that would ignite debates across social media. The image showed Mateo standing by the Bayern stairs, the iconic Bayern logo looming above. He looked down, a smug grin on his face, performing his signature celebration as his hands looked like he was holding the Bayern Munich logo.
Reactions were instantaneous. Some called him arrogant, rude, saying he had no respect for the legacy of the club he had just beaten. But the majority loved it. Fans were enthralled, his following growing by the thousands within minutes. Even the Barcelona faithful joined in, playfully trolling Michael Owen, who had publicly said Mateo was not at his level. The kid was becoming a cultural force — his personality as much a headline as his goals.
Inside a spacious Barcelona office, the air was thick with tension and excitement. The walls were adorned with the Barcelona logo, trophies glinting under the lights, and banners celebrating the club's storied history. Around a polished table sat three figures. Two men, and a young boy wearing a suit that was just a touch too big for him, but somehow it added to his charm — Mateo King. His grin was wide, uncontainable, full of mischief and confidence.
Beside him was Andrew King, his uncle and agent, a calm, grounded presence contrasting Mateo's youthful energy. Across from them sat Deco, the new sporting director of FC Barcelona, a figure now holding two documents in his hands. The contracts for Mateo King.
This moment was about to change everything. The three were preparing to sign a deal that would not only decide the future of Mateo, but would also set a new precedent for Barcelona's new philosophy in handling young talent, a revolution in contract signing. Some might call it bold, others radical — but make no mistake, this was a moment that would save Football Club Barcelona. And it all started after that match.
Mateo, who had made up his mind, decided to take a far more active role in his career — not just through his on-field performances, but by taking control of the decisions that would shape his future. The moment he landed back in the country, he went straight to meet his uncle.
The conversation was intense. Mateo poured out his dreams, explaining exactly what he wanted, what kind of player he wanted to become, and how he wanted his career to unfold. He made it clear that his uncle should not just see him as his nephew, but as one of the hottest young talents in world football, and as his agent, Andrew had a responsibility to guide him with that perspective in mind.
Andrew listened, nodding, occasionally interjecting with warnings, expressing his fears about Barcelona, and laying out the other options on the table — PSG, Chelsea, and even some of the top teams across Europe. For someone like Mateo, who practically bled Blaugrana, even hearing these offers made him pause, shake his head, or whistle under his breath. The numbers were staggering, money that could make most players' heads spin. Yet, Mateo had been clear from the beginning: he had only one place in mind. The lure of money could not sway him; the pull of Barcelona, the club that had shaped his passion, was too strong.
Seeing his nephew's conviction, Andrew put down his guard. Respecting Mateo's vision, he picked up his phone and called Deco, Barcelona's sporting director. For the past few days, they had been discussing preliminary matters, but now, with Andrew fully on board, the negotiations intensified.
He cut off all contacts with other teams, signaling to Barcelona that they were serious about this signing. In return, Barcelona demonstrated their own commitment — sending draft contracts, opening serious talks about salary structure, performance bonuses, release clauses, image rights, and even details like accommodation, training facilities, and personal development support. These are the steps that happen when a player of this caliber is about to sign a major contract with a club — a delicate balance of negotiation, trust, and long-term vision. Every meeting, every phone call, every document exchanged added to the weight of what was about to happen.
After four days of discussions following his talk with Andrew, everything came to a head. Mateo was finally going to sign his contract with Barcelona. He was about to officially become a professional footballer, stepping into a new chapter of his life that he had dreamed about for years.
But just as he was about to put pen to paper, something happened…
Andrew, looking at Deco holding two contracts, furrowed his brows. He glanced between Deco and the papers in his hand, his confusion growing.
"Mr. Deco…" Andrew started, his voice tense, slightly hesitant, "…why are there two documents here? Weren't we done with the drafts? I thought we were just here to sign the main contract."
Deco smiled — the kind of smile that suggested he had everything under control. He leaned back slightly, his posture calm and measured, the aura of a seasoned businessman surrounding him.
"Mr. King," Deco began, his voice smooth, authoritative, "it's not like that." He gestured slightly toward the contracts. "Yes, you did come here to sign the main contract. But both of these documents are the main contract."
Andrew blinked, his confusion deepening. "Pardon… both are the main contracts?" he asked, his brows still furrowed, his tone a mix of skepticism and incredulity.
Mateo, sitting beside him, glanced around the room, his eyes wide, sensing the tension but not fully understanding the nuances. Deco, on the other hand, was grinning, almost impossibly wide, clearly enjoying the little suspense he had built.
"Mr. King, please, check this one out," Deco said, stretching out his right hand. Andrew took the document, still frowning, still unsure, but careful not to let his confusion interfere. He placed it in front of Mateo as well, giving the young player a chance to see it for himself.
As Andrew examined the contract, his frown softened slightly. He recognized it immediately — this was the contract they had been negotiating over the past few days, the one they had meticulously gone through, point by point. He thought to himself, so this is it… the culmination of all the talks.
The first thing he checked was the base salary. After hours of back-and-forth discussions, they had finally settled on €9 million per year before taxes, paid in 12 monthly installments on the 5th of every month. As Andrew scanned the numbers, he noticed Mateo's eyes were wide, almost sparkling. The boy had already been told the amount, but seeing it in writing seemed to hit him differently. Andrew smiled faintly, hiding it behind the seriousness of the task, and continued reviewing the rest of the document.
The next critical section was the release clause — the part that had caused nearly 70% of the negotiation to take so long. Barcelona had insisted on a release clause of at least €500 million, something Andrew had flatly refused to entertain. He had argued, negotiated, and pushed for a clause no higher than €100 million, knowing it was a massive sticking point.
After days of discussion, compromise, and intense negotiation, they had arrived at €200 million — a figure covering both domestic and foreign clubs. But there was an added layer: if any club triggered the clause, Barcelona would have first rights to know about the transfer and a maximum period of two weeks to match any offer.
Andrew's eyes lingered on that clause for a moment. He understood the significance. Barcelona had given in on a substantial compromise, showing trust and commitment to Mateo. He nodded slightly to himself, acknowledging the weight of the deal, and decided that enough was enough — they had reached the point where the contract was fair, solid, and in the best interest of all parties involved.
The next thing that caught Andrew's eye was the performance bonuses. This was one area he had almost no issues with — it was straightforward and fair, and he could see how it would motivate Mateo without being excessive.
For every goal in any competition, Mateo would receive a bonus of €30,000 per goal. Goals in the finals were higher stakes: €50,000 for any goal in a domestic final, and €60,000 for a goal in the Champions League final. Assists were more uniform — €10,000 for every assist, final or not.
Hattricks had their own layer of reward. Mateo would still receive the individual bonuses for the goals, and on top of that, an additional €50,000 for completing a hat-trick.
But that wasn't all. There were also team achievement bonuses. Winning La Liga would earn him €100,000, while any other domestic trophy would bring €70,000. Intercontinental and European competitions, such as the Club World Cup, carried €80,000, and winning the Champions League itself earned him €200,000.
Recognition bonuses were included too. Mateo would receive €20,000 for accolades such as Player of the Month, Player of the Week, or any other domestic and foreign awards, with €25,000 for UEFA competition recognitions.
Reading all of this again, Andrew felt reassured. He had no problems with the structure — it was generous but fair, incentivizing Mateo without undermining the club's interests.
He moved further down the contract, reaching the second major point that had caused much of the negotiation time — the length of the deal. According to Spanish federation rules, players under 18 could only sign for a maximum of three years. Barcelona wanted the full three-year term, but Andrew disagreed. He insisted that Mateo should only sign for two years, arguing that his nephew was still very young and needed room to grow, both as a player and as a person.
After a series of discussions, the two-year term was finally agreed upon. Seeing it written clearly in black and white, Andrew felt satisfied. Mateo was already insanely talented, but he was still just 17 — Andrew wanted to make sure that they weren't locking him into a contract that might limit his potential if he continued to grow at the incredible pace he was showing. One extra year in a small contract, Andrew thought, could be wasted opportunity. Two years, however, provided security and flexibility, a perfect balance.
Andrew kept reading, examining the remaining clauses. There was a €1 million signing bonus for simply putting pen to paper. Then, another €1 million would be awarded if Mateo honored the contract through its full term. And finally, another €1 million was allocated as recognition for his past contributions — goals and appearances with the first team — acknowledging the exceptional performances he had already delivered despite his youth.
Having no qualms against that, Andrew kept going, reaching the image rights portion of the contract. This part was relatively straightforward. Barcelona would retain 100% of Mateo's image rights for use in kit and merchandise promotion, club campaigns, commercial videos, social media, and media campaigns associated with sponsors — for example, Nike or Rakuten. Mateo, meanwhile, would retain all rights to his personal endorsements, subject to the club's approval. On top of that, the club guaranteed sponsorship participation bonuses totaling up to €500,000 per year.
Then came the perks — the first-team packages. Every club offers perks to first-team players, but at a major club like Barcelona, the scale and detail were staggering. Mateo, now officially part of the first team, would have access to:
A choice of a new Cupra series car every year
Provision for a fully furnished apartment in Barcelona or Castelldefels, with utilities paid
Private travel for personal trips, up to €15,000 annually
Private boot seats for family and friends — up to 8 people, year-round, for all home games
Full access to first-team training facilities, including nutritionists, fitness coaches, and physiotherapists
Club-funded education and training programs, supporting the youth-to-first-team transition
Full insurance coverage — medical, dental, accident, including family
Customized kit and boots from Nike, as well as potential access to luxury partnerships — watches, suits, tech gadgets, all customized for Mateo as a first-team player
Exclusive access to the club's network of sponsors for private connections, with Barcelona's full backing to help secure individual awards or recognition
Reading through the perks alone, Andrew found his mind fluttering. He thought back to his own youth, remembering the times his friends would ask him to go out and play ball, and how he'd always say no to study instead. He smiled to himself, a little ruefully, thinking, why didn't I just play ball then?
He shook his head slightly and glanced to the side. Mateo was still dazed, his eyes wide, trying to absorb the scale of everything laid out before him. Andrew allowed himself a small, proud smile. Mateo's life is about to do a full 360, he thought. In that moment, he silently vowed to protect him. He knew there was a reason behind all of this — no company, no club, gave away perks and money like this for nothing.
Mateo would have to perform, stay disciplined, and earn every reward. The temptations would be immense, and the stakes even higher. Andrew's mind drifted to one particularly delicate responsibility: he would need to speak with Mateo's mother soon, the two of them discussing the number-one hazard that could derail a young athlete's career — women. He could already imagine the flood of attention that would descend on Mateo, the women appearing seemingly out of nowhere, each hoping for their lucky break in his life. The thought made Andrew frown slightly, but also steel himself — he would be ready to guide Mateo through it all.
But before Andrew could dwell further on all of that, he removed his gaze from Mateo and the contract, returning it to Deco. Deco still stood there, composed, his eyes not on Andrew, not on Mateo, but on the second contract in his arms.
Andrew finally broke the silence, his eyes fixed on Deco. "This is the contract I knew we were coming for," he said, his tone measured but curious, "but if you don't mind me asking, Mr. Deco… what is that on your other arm?"
The question snapped Mateo out of his trance. His gaze lifted from the contract, finally meeting Deco's, a flicker of curiosity and concern crossing his young face.
Deco sighed, the weight of the moment evident in the slow slump of his shoulders. He leaned forward, placing both hands firmly on the desk, a gesture of seriousness that immediately commanded attention.
"My King," Deco began, his voice steady but heavy, "honestly, what I'm about to tell you is… sensitive."
Andrew's brows furrowed slightly, his instincts as both uncle and agent sharpening. "You can go on," he said, his tone clipped but calm, ready to listen.
Deco took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before continuing. "There's no easy way to say this, but the truth is… for the meantime, we cannot sign Mateo as a first-team player."
Mateo's eyes widened instantly. "What?" he blurted, his voice a mixture of shock and disbelief. "Is… is something wrong? I thought you all had agreed. I've agreed! Did I do something? Is it… because of the picture?"
Doubt and panic flickered across his features, and Andrew immediately stepped in, placing a reassuring hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Mateo, calm down. It's nothing you did. Just relax, let me talk to him."
Deco leaned back slightly, his expression apologetic yet firm. "Yes, Mateo, it's not about you. Honestly, if we could, we would give you a 10-year contract right now. If we could, we would. But… the issue is with the league."
Andrew's eyebrows shot up, skepticism mixing with frustration. "The league?"
Deco nodded, adopting the calm, measured tone of a seasoned businessman. "Yes. La Liga, or more specifically, President Tebas, is implementing stricter salary structures. Unfortunately, Barcelona is already over the cap. It's not an impossible situation, but under current regulations, we cannot register new players at this time."
Andrew leaned back slightly, absorbing the words, his lawyerly instincts flaring. He could feel the intellectual dishonesty in the moment — the way negotiations had been carried out, the hopes raised, only to face a bureaucratic roadblock. He shook his head slowly. "Honestly, Mr. Deco, this is a breach of trust. Do you understand? Are you playing with us. This isn't even the best offer we have received— Clubs no less of Barcelona that are serious about Mateo. And now you tell us he cannot be registered?"
Deco opened his mouth to apologize, his tone quiet and hesitant, but Andrew cut him off immediately. "This isn't the time for sorry. What are your plans to sort this out?"
Deco leaned back slightly, a calm, measured look on his face. "Of course," he said, "we already have a plan for that. Thankfully, most of our players' contracts run out around this time. This gives us room to restructure, and in the new structure, Mateo is our top priority. He would be a first-team player in a matter of weeks, I assure you."
Andrew tilted his head, still cautious. "And what about the rest? Those who don't make the cut?"
Deco's expression shifted slightly, a hint of maneuvering in his posture. "We have plans for that as well," he said carefully, his voice smooth. "Even if we didn't, there are alternatives…"
Andrew didn't miss a beat. "Removal and selling?"
Mateo's voice shot up immediately. "Selling?" His eyes widened, disbelief flashing across his face.
Deco held up his hands in a calming gesture. "No, it wouldn't come to that," he said firmly. "Mr. Andrew, please don't worry. Mateo will be safe, no matter what. His place is secure, and he will be protected."
Andrew leaned back slightly, his tone softening but still measured. "I know I might be prying too much, but this is all for Mateo's future. You know how much a good, competitive work environment means to a young player like him."
Deco's expression softened, a slight smile appearing. "We assure you, Mateo's future is the first thing on our minds," he said. "This is only a temporary situation. Before you know it, everything will be resolved, and he will be fully registered."
Andrew exhaled, relaxing slightly. "If that's the case, then what is that?" he asked, gesturing toward the other document on the desk.
Deco's smile widened just a fraction. "This is just an extra precaution," he said, extending the second document toward them. "It's for our peace of mind, a temporary measure before we can register the main contract with the league. You shouldn't worry — it's simply an additional layer of security."
Andrew took it over carefully, scanning the pages. Mateo whispered softly beside him, barely audible, "It's… a youth contract?"
Indeed, it was. Nearly identical to the first, professional contract in structure, but with one massive difference: the base salary. Instead of €9 million, it was €500,000, a huge decrease, but still likely the highest they could offer a youth player under the rules.
Going through the bonuses, Andrew noticed the pattern — each one had been scaled down by a factor of ten. Where the professional contract offered €30,000 per goal, this one offered €3,000. Hattrick bonuses, assist bonuses, and tournament rewards followed the same trend. First-team perks, of course, were absent. Yet even so, Andrew recognized it as arguably the best youth contract in the world of football.
Despite that, he wasn't pleased.
"This is a nice contract, Mr. Deco," Andrew began, his tone neutral but firm.
Deco's smile widened slightly, ready to reply. "Isn't it—"
Andrew cut him off sharply. "But frankly, I do not see the relevance of it."
Deco blinked, momentarily shocked, before opening his mouth to respond. Andrew beat him to it again. "My client already has a youth contract with the club. He sees no need for this. And since you've said it will take a couple of weeks before the professional contract can be effective, we will simply wait on that."
Andrew placed the youth contract back in front of Deco deliberately, his gesture final.
Deco picked it up, a small, understanding smile playing on his lips. "I see what you mean by that," he said calmly. "So, I'll just cut to the chase for you. I'm sure you'll like that."
Mateo's eyes lit up immediately. "Please do," he said eagerly, his voice brimming with anticipation.
Deco's smile deepened. "We already know the number of clubs reaching out to you," he began. "This contract is exactly for that. It gives us the right of first professional contract — a clause we put in specifically. Even though we can't pay the full professional salary yet, Mateo will already have access to the perks and benefits. And when we finally register him, his pay will account for this time. He will be a first-team player — just not officially yet."
Andrew's gaze sharpened as he leaned forward slightly. "But we've already given you our word," he said firmly. "We had other clubs reaching out, yet we came to you first. Isn't that a show of our seriousness?"
Deco's calm, businesslike demeanor didn't waver. "Mr. King," he replied smoothly, "you're a lawyer. You should know that in this world, as long as it's not black and white, it's not anything. Promises alone don't carry weight in contracts. This is also about the fans — they need news, they need clarity. Our media team is already ready to shoot Mateo's promotional video. After the heartbreak of the Neymar-to-Paris incident, our supporters are already accustomed to sudden disappointments. This is simply protecting both them and the club's interests."
Before Andrew or Mateo could even respond, Deco continued, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of reassurance threading through his words. "Of course, for the professional contract, we would make it worth your while. We would increase the base salary to €10 million per year, add an extra €1 million to the signing bonus, and an extra €2 million to the loyalty bonus."
Andrew and Mateo exchanged a glance, both stunned. The magnitude of the offer left them momentarily speechless. Andrew's mind raced, calculating, weighing, analyzing — yet at the same time, a small, subtle push on his side drew his attention. He followed Mateo's eyes, the silent gesture clear: he wanted to sign.
Andrew exhaled slowly, letting a small smile form despite himself. "Okay then, Mr. Deco," he said, finally conceding with measured authority. "We agree to it all."
Deco didn't waste a second. He reached into his folder and produced a third contract, already drafted with the proposed increases, demonstrating just how meticulously he had prepared the entire meeting. Every clause, every bonus, every precautionary measure had been thought through in advance, leaving no room for hesitation.
And so, on the 9th of April, 2021, Mateo King signed his first professional contract, stepping officially into the life of a professional footballer. With the pen on the paper, he not only launched his pro career but also secured his first million-dollar deal.
At 17 years and 49 days old, Mateo King became a millionaire.
A/N
If you want to read 20 chapters ahead with daily uploads and to support me subscribe to my Patreon below There is also a picture of how mateo looks like posted and later there would be votes and all on the site some you wont need to pay to vote but you can if you want to support me thanks
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I've also created a Discord channel to make communication easier, where I'll post updates, cover/character pictures for all my books, and more. Here's the link:
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