When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 116 This is the price of fame
In the early morning of December 16, 2003, Real Madrid president Florentino Pérez's private plane returned to Madrid from Basel.

Inside the cabin, champagne was already opened, and Florentino and Real Madrid executives clinked glasses in celebration.

Sporting Director: Valdano; Financial Director: José Ángel Sánchez; Marketing Director: Butragueño; Technical Secretary: Paco Casillas.
"Zizou's award is working perfectly,"

Florentino took a sip of champagne and said to the public relations director beside him, "The votes for those national team coaches and captains are exactly as we expected."

Valdano flipped through the data report in his hand: "Ronnie's bronze medal is not bad either; at least we have two in the top three."

He turned to look at the dark night sky outside the window. "But Henry's stats are really impressive. It's not easy to keep him in check."

The PR director added with a smile, "The votes in Africa and Asia were a huge help; we started working on it three months in advance."

As the plane began its descent, Florentino straightened his tie: "Tell the Bernabéu to prepare for the celebration the day after tomorrow, and remember to have the photographer take plenty of pictures of Zidane and Ronaldo together."

A burst of lighthearted laughter filled the cabin.

Florentino put down his champagne glass, then suddenly turned to Valdano as if remembering something: "Speaking of that young man from Monaco, Roy, he came up to me for a toast after the awards ceremony. That kid is smarter than we thought."

He recalled: "Remember to tell Migliaccio that our previous transfer strategy with Roy was too tough. Look at Portillo's example, and you'll see that young players these days don't buy into that."

“We need to change our approach to talking to these young players about transfers. We can’t always think about ‘what Real Madrid can get’, but rather we need to make them understand ‘what they can get from coming to Real Madrid’.”

He counted on his fingers as examples:

"First, the Champions League stage – no matter how well he plays at Monaco, he's at best a quarter-finalist. But at Real Madrid, he's a title contender every year."

"Secondly, individual honors—we have complete experience in operating two major individual awards. From media hype to national team voting, he doesn't understand these intricacies yet."

“Third, commercial value—” He paused meaningfully, “Do you know? Nike, Adidas, and Puma are all eyeing this kid. But he only signed a performance-based agreement with Nike, and even that was a variable one.”

Sanchez couldn't help but laugh out loud: "This kid doesn't know how to monetize his fame yet."

“That’s right. In Monaco, he’s only getting offers from French brands, and he has to haggle over the price with each one. But at Real Madrid?” He looked around at everyone. “As soon as he puts on our jersey, those big brands will hand him their checkbooks, with at least an extra zero at the end of the amount.”

The PR director interjected, "Should we have Beckham's team teach him a lesson?"

“No rush,” Florentino gave a knowing smile. “He’ll understand when he makes his debut at the Bernabéu. Then he’ll thank us for teaching him his true worth.”

Sanchez interjected, "But Mr. Chairman, what about Roy's image rights contract?"

"Does that kid think he's signed a great contract?" Florentino laughed. "Getting 100% image rights at Monaco is nowhere near as valuable as getting 10% at Real Madrid. What he earns in a year now, he could probably earn in a month at Real Madrid."

Butragueño nodded in agreement: "Just like Beckham, his commercial income nearly tripled after he came to Real Madrid."

"Of course, David's transfer was never just a football deal. Real Madrid needed his star power, and his business team needed Real Madrid's global platform. Just look at those skyrocketing sponsorship contracts and Asian market figures. But the real magic is that we will turn a top player into a cross-industry commercial icon, a value that will last for twenty years, far exceeding his few years at the Bernabéu."

Florentino Pérez is undoubtedly a benchmark figure in the commercial operation of modern football.

He pioneered and reshaped the operating model of football clubs, mainly in three aspects:
First, he pioneered the concept of "star economy," achieving astonishing commercial returns through the "one superstar per year" Galacticos strategy.

Take Beckham as an example: his €3500 million transfer fee generated €1.2 million in commercial value in the first year.

At the same time, he accurately grasped the commercial cycle of star players. For example, when Zidane joined at the age of 29, he was still able to bring the club a 37% increase in revenue from the Middle East market.

Secondly, he established a three-pronged globalization strategy encompassing "sports, business, and geopolitics".

Beckham helped expand into the Asian market, attracting eight new sponsors in Japan alone. His 2003 Asia tour led to a five-year, €100 million sponsorship deal with Emirates Airlines. Cristiano Ronaldo's arrival later provided an opportunity to expand into the North American market, with their 2011 summer tour setting a club revenue record.

Finally, he successfully transformed the traditional club into a diversified business entity. This included establishing its own television channel (Real Madrid TV), developing digital content products (partnering with LG to develop the Metaverse Stadium), and building the first transnational business network in football history, encompassing telecommunications partnerships in Latin America and infrastructure investments in the Middle East.

These innovative initiatives have enabled Real Madrid to maintain its competitive level while achieving sustained growth in commercial value.

His approach was 20 years ahead of its time!
Under his management, Real Madrid's commercial revenue skyrocketed, from €1.2 million in 2000 to €8.3 million in 2023.

During this period, the team also won six Champions League titles, and its brand value increased twelvefold.

They've taken the business of football clubs to a whole new level, achieving both competitive success and commercial profits, leaving other clubs only able to watch helplessly.

Later, all of Europe learned his method, but to be honest, there were very few people who could play it so well.

The decision to let Makelele go did indeed create an imbalance in the game, directly leading to the difficult period of being among the "Round of 16" in the Champions League.

But looking back, before he took charge of Real Madrid, this century-old powerhouse was actually a rather conservative club.

Barcelona, ​​on the other hand, went to an extreme, not even allowing sponsors to appear on the front of their jerseys at the time—"Catalan tradition" became a shield against commercialization.

Ironically, the catalyst for Laporta's first resignation was precisely his sweeping commercial reforms, which challenged the club's established principles.

The reaction of Barcelona's management and die-hard fans at the time resembled a group of heartbroken officials lamenting the impending collapse of the Zhou dynasty.

In their eyes, allowing chest advertisements is like a feudal lord overstepping the bounds of propriety, and developing commercial sponsorships is like a high-ranking official using the emperor's rites and music without permission.

This conservative mindset, which views commercial activities as a sign of moral decay, precisely reflects the deep-seated cultural conflicts that football clubs face during their modernization process.

When the opposition, including Russell, came to power and attempted to restore the old system, they discovered that the club's finances would soon become unsustainable.

This proves the old saying: one should not blindly follow the ways of one's ancestors.

Without the emergence of two business geniuses, Florentino Pérez and João Laporta, La Liga might have fallen behind in the wave of global football commercialization, just like Serie A.

The growing pains of this transformation are, to some extent, the price that clubs must pay for modernizing.

“So we have to show him the numbers during negotiations,” Florentino tapped the table, “to make him understand what playing at the Bernabéu means – not just the numbers on his paycheck, but the opportunity to become a world-class star.”

Florentino turned to the public relations director and instructed, "Talk to Mico and try to arrange a meeting in Madrid, take him to see the Hall of Fame. Remember to have Raul 'coincidentally' at training, and also arrange for Zidane to 'stop by' for a chat."

"This kid is currently very ambitious, having a smooth ride at Monaco and yet to experience real setbacks. He'll understand when they're knocked out of the Champions League knockout stage."

Valdano chimed in knowingly, "You only understand the value of top teammates when you're giving it your all on the field but feeling isolated and helpless."

“Exactly,” Florentino nodded. “That will be the best time for us to make our move. I heard he and Zidane are on good terms?” He turned to his technical secretary. “Have Zidane talk to him as a friend, about his experience playing for Real Madrid.”

The PR director understood immediately: "I'll prepare a document right away, listing all the difficulties he might encounter and the solutions Real Madrid can offer."

Florentino added, "Remember, he needs to realize it himself. It's not that Real Madrid needs him, but that he needs Real Madrid as a platform."

The plane slowly landed on the private helipad at Madrid-Barajas Airport, and in the distance, the headlights of Real Madrid's official vehicles were already on.

Henry stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Basel Hotel, the silver trophy gleaming coldly on the table behind him.

His wife, Nicole, gently wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind: "A silver medal is great. We still have the Golden Globe to strive for." She paused, "Even if we don't succeed this year, next year..."

"Next year?" Henry shook his head, his gaze still fixed on the distant night. "Pires' knee can no longer allow him to play a full match every week. Gilberto's back injury is on and off, and Ljungberg has had muscle discomfort for the third time this month."

His fingers tapped unconsciously on the windowpane. "Bergkamp might retire next season, and Vieira and Campbell are older than me."

Nicole felt her husband's shoulders stiffen slightly.

The Rhine River flows quietly below, reflecting the lights on both banks.

“We’re unbeaten this season,” Henry finally turned around, “but look at the standings—Manchester United are one point ahead, and Chelsea are only three points behind us.” He smiled wryly and pointed to the trophy on the table, “This silver medal is like Arsenal right now, beautiful, but not enough.”

December 16, Basel Daily Sports Brief:
"Stars Shine for Charity Night, Football Warms Basel"

Last night, St. Jacob Park hosted a unique football feast. A charity match against poverty, spearheaded by Ronaldo and Zidane, took place, with over 40 football stars contributing to a spectacular 4-4 goal-fest.

The match was a rollercoaster ride: Zidane scored twice, showcasing his mastery, while Brazilian prodigy Robinho also shone brightly with two goals. The most spectacular goal came from rising star Roy in first-half stoppage time, who dribbled past two players, twisted at a tight angle, and unleashed a powerful shot, drawing a standing ovation from the crowd. Beckham's precise crosses, Rivaldo's exquisite play, and Carlos's powerful long-range strikes—these classic moments were a feast for the eyes of the fans.

Following the match, the organizing committee announced that the event raised a total of 246 million Swiss francs, all of which will be used for aid projects for children in Africa. A representative from the United Nations Development Programme highly praised the players' philanthropic spirit, calling it a "perfect combination of sportsmanship and humanitarian concern."

It is reported that the event attracted more than 12000 spectators from 17 countries.

The mayor of Basel gave a special thank you after the event, saying it was "one of the most influential charity events in the city's history."

(By Mark Schneider)

December 17, 2003, apartment on a back street of Boulevard Montaigne in the 8th arrondissement of Paris.

At six o'clock in the morning, while the sky over Paris was still bathed in indigo, a warm yellow wall lamp was already lit in Roy's apartment.

He threw back the covers and stepped barefoot onto the oak floor; the cool temperature instantly sobered him up.

Five sets of explosive push-ups, five sets of pull-ups, and thirty minutes of core training—his morning workout never needs an alarm clock; muscle memory is more accurate than any cue.

He walked into the bathroom as sweat dripped down his chin.

The running water washed away the fatigue, and the razor slid across the foam-covered cheeks, gradually revealing the sharp contours where the stubble had faded.

After drying himself off, he put on a cotton sweatshirt and headed to the kitchen.

The olive oil in the frying pan was just beginning to smoke when the eggs sizzled as they were slid into it.

Just as the whole wheat bread pops out of the oven, the coffee machine finishes its final extraction.

He carried the plate containing fried eggs and bread to the window, gently poked the yolk with a fork, and the golden egg liquid slowly flowed out.

At that very moment, the first rays of morning sunlight pierced through the clouds and fell upon the dining table.

At exactly seven o'clock in the morning, Roy pressed the button on the stereo, and Eminem's "Lose Yourself" immediately started playing in the apartment.

The subwoofer on this Bose speaker made the water in the glass tremble slightly, and the lyrics shot out like bullets:

"Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity
(Listen, if you only have one chance in your life)
To seize everything you ever wanted, one moment
(Seize everything you've always dreamed of, in this very instant)
Would you capture it or just let it slip?”

(Will you fight for it, or let it slip away?)
He stood barefoot on the wooden floor, and with a gentle flick of his toe, the black and white Nike soccer ball obediently jumped onto his knee.

With the rhythm of the drums, the football bounced back and forth between his feet, as if it were magically stuck to them.

Sometimes he would deliberately nudge the ball with the instep, making it leap half a meter into the air before it landed steadily back on his foot.

Half an hour later, fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.

With the final kick, the football drew a beautiful arc and slammed into the corner of the basket with a "thud".

He wiped his sweat and turned the volume up two notches, instantly silencing Eminem's roar.

At 7:30, Roy dialed Heathlen's number.

The phone had barely rung three times when the assistant's signature flat, straightforward explanation came through the receiver:

"Today's itinerary is confirmed. The flight from Paris to Nice is at 10:15 AM, and the car will arrive at the apartment on time at 8:30 AM."

Half an hour before leaving, Roy turned on the TV and casually pressed the remote to change the channel.

The sports channel presenters are still going on and on about Zidane.

"One Zidane, two Zidanes, three Zidanes"

He muttered to himself, changed three channels in a row, and finally stopped at an entertainment and sports program.

A family special featuring Zidane is playing on the screen.

The scene cuts to a faded old photograph: a 19-year-old Zidane wearing a Cannes jersey, standing next to a Spanish girl.

"This is Veronique," the narrator introduced. "Back then, no one could have imagined that this Spanish dancer would become the woman behind a football legend."

Roy took a bite of toast, watching a series of images flash by on the TV: a young Zidane shyly embracing his lover on the training field; Veronique's fashion shoot after giving up his dance career; and the warm daily life of their three children at their home in Madrid.

"In 1988, Zinedine Zidane, who had just received his first professional salary of 5000 francs, met 19-year-old dancer Veronique on the beach in Cannes. This girl from a Spanish flamenco family was touring France with her dance company at the time."

Three years later, she took off her dancing shoes for him and transitioned into modeling. Look at this cover shoot for ELLE; even in the face of fierce competition in the French supermodel circle, this Marseille woman still managed to break into the core of the fashion world.

"Interestingly," the host said mysteriously, "Zidane's transfer to Real Madrid in 2001 was actually Veronique's idea. She preferred the sunshine in Madrid, while Turin was always rainy."

The scene cuts to Zidane smilingly admitting in an interview: "After having a second child, I listen to her in everything at home."

The last thing shown was a home video: Zidane, wearing an apron, was frying eggs in the kitchen, while Veronique watched tenderly from the side.

The subtitle reads: "Three-time FIFA World Player of the Year, still a 'henpecked husband' at home."

Roy kept changing channels until a Chelsea transfer news item caught his attention.

The television screen switched to Stamford Bridge, and the announcer's voice rang out: "Following the unexpected exit from the League Cup, Chelsea owner Roman Abramovich is ready to open the purse strings again. Acting chief executive Smith announced today that the club will spend £1 million on signings during the winter transfer window."

The camera cuts to Smith at the press conference, where the interim head of the organization pushes up his glasses and says, "We won't pay £3000 million for a mediocre player, but if Pelé were still available on the market today, we'd be willing to pay £1 million."

“First, we need experienced defenders; Desailly needs to be rotated on the bench.” He paused. “The midfield also needs reinforcements; Veron’s return date is still unclear.”

A commotion broke out at the scene.

When a reporter brought up the rumors surrounding Valencia center-back Ayala, Smith shook his head: "He's already registered for the UEFA Cup, so he can't represent us in the Champions League."

This answer sparked further questions until a veteran reporter from The Daily Telegraph posed the crucial question: "Who exactly is that £100 million going to buy?"

Smith suddenly smiled: "We did inquire about Henry, but Arsenal rejected us. However, there are younger options on the market."

At the end of the news report, Smith denied the possibility of signing Zidane: "What we need are the cornerstones for the next ten years, not superstars who only have two or three years left at their peak."

The camera panned across Abramovich in the stands, the Russian tycoon thoughtfully stroking his chin.

The TV presenter put down the information card in his hand, raised an eyebrow at the camera, and said: "According to the information we just received, Chelsea is prepared to make the same offer as Van Nistelrooy for this rising star - about £6000 million."

His commentator partner gave a sly smile:

"Honestly, I really can't guess who Stamford Bridge will buy. After all, there are no more than three young people in all of Europe who can get Abramovich to spend this much money."

Before Roy left the apartment, his phone suddenly vibrated. The screen displayed a caller ID for "Claire Bertrand".

He pressed the answer button, and the female manager's signature cool voice came through the receiver: "Dior Homme wants to sign you as their spokesperson. This luxury brand's high-end menswear line has only been established for a little over two years, mainly targeting young men aged 18-35 who pursue avant-garde, rebellious, and elite styles. Now Emporio Armani has signed Beckham, and Dolce & Gabbana has Totti and Nesta. Dior needs a football star of the same caliber to maintain its market competitiveness."

Claire continued, "And you, the 19-year-old Ligue 1 star, along with the huge 18-25 fan base, are perfect for opening up the young, high-end menswear market for them. More importantly, their creative director, Eddie Slimane, feels that your handsome appearance perfectly matches their 'rebellious yet elite' brand image."

“I wore their suit once at the awards ceremony the day before yesterday, and…” “Not bad? Eddie Slimane was watching you all night backstage. You know what their marketing department emailed me this morning? ‘This Ligue 1 star’s physique is practically tailor-made for our suits.’”

She suddenly chuckled: "Eddie Slieman's slim-fit suit is like the light armor that Milanese craftsmen made for mercenaries in the 15th century. It won't affect your explosiveness when dribbling, and it will prevent L'Équipe's cameras from capturing the bruises under your shirt."

Roy chuckled and joked, "Armor on the battlefield of capital?

Claire got out of the car and walked towards the Dior headquarters entrance while making a phone call.

"Of course, I'm planning to charge at least 80 euros for this modern suit of armor."

Claire said casually, “That’s exactly six hundred times the budget Leonardo da Vinci had for designing the armor for Caesar-Borgia. Inflation is wonderful.”

She had just put her sunglasses back on when a familiar figure stepped out of the revolving door.

Charlotte Cassiracchio stepped lightly down the stairs in her high heels, followed by two shop assistants who carried Dior's latest gown as if it were a fragile item—delicate embroidery could be faintly seen under the dust cover.

“What a coincidence,” Claire whispered into the phone, “I saw your little princess.”

Claire watched Charlotte get into the black Maybach, a smile still playing on her lips.

"Do you remember what she looked like in the mixed zone last time?"

Claire whispered into the phone, "Holding up a recorder and acting all professional, asking questions that sound more like a real journalist."

Laughter came from the other end of the phone.

"It's been a long time since I've seen this 'special correspondent'."

On December 20, 2003, in the 19th round of Ligue 12, Monaco played away against Rennes.

Under the lights of Roazón Park, Rennes manager Boloni once again deployed his signature 5-4-1 defensive formation.

Monaco faced a tough battle from the start of the match.

In the 7th minute, Roy dribbled past Dido and Sorin in midfield before delivering a precise through ball.

Morientes took a one-on-one shot, but Cech blocked it with his leg.

"It's Cech again!" the commentator sighed. "Could this be the Czech's 11th clean sheet this season?"

As time went on, Rennes' defenses tightened.

In the 18th minute, Roy and Rothen executed a brilliant one-two, and Giuly's volley inside the penalty area headed straight for the top corner, but Cech once again made a diving save to tip the ball over the crossbar.

"Unbelievable!" the commentator exclaimed. "That's Monaco's third shot on target!"

Roy's brow furrowed even more deeply.

In the 25th minute, he dribbled past three players from the backfield, chipped the ball over the last defender on the edge of the penalty area, and then delicately chipped it over Cech. The ball arced through the air, but just as it was about to go in, it was touched by Cech's fingertips and flew out of bounds, grazing the crossbar.

A deafening roar erupted from the stands as Rennes fans waved scarves in celebration of the heroic save.

Roy watched the ball glide past the crossbar and fly out of bounds, but a confident smile crept onto his lips.

He wiped the sweat from his face with the back of his hand, his eyes fixed intently on Cech behind the goal.

"I'll definitely go next time."

He murmured to himself, his voice devoid of any frustration.

The Czech goalkeeper was patting his gloves when he noticed Roy's gaze, and the two stared at each other for a second.

Cech nodded slightly, as if to say, "Bring it on."

Roy turned and ran back to midfield, patting Pedretti on the back as he passed him: "Keep going, they won't last long."

His steps remained light and quick.

When Deschamps saw this, his furrowed brows relaxed.

He shouted something to the field, and Roy turned around and nodded, his eyes gleaming with an indomitable spirit.

In the second half, Rennes' defense became even more resolute.

In the 67th minute, Roy received a back pass from Rothen at the edge of the penalty area.

Before Rennes' defenders could block him, he had already adjusted his footing, straightened his right leg, and unleashed a powerful shot!

The ball hurtled away like a cannonball, flying almost straight towards the top left corner of the goal with almost no spin in the air.

Cech dove to make the save, but his glove was half an inch off target.

"Boom!"

With a muffled thud, the ball slammed heavily against the junction of the crossbar and the post, causing the entire goal to tremble.

The rebounding ball landed on the edge of the six-yard box and was cleared by a Rennes defender with a long kick.

Roy maintained his shooting posture, his right foot still raised high.

He looked at the slightly swaying beam, licked his dry lips, and suddenly grinned.

"Just two centimeters short," Deschamps groaned regretfully from the sidelines.

The commentator shouted at the top of his lungs, "The crossbar saved Rennes! That was Roy's fifth threatening shot of the game!"

Cech got up and patted the goalpost, as if thanking his "teammate" for his help.

Roy jogged back to defend, slowing down as he passed Morientes, and the two ran side by side for a few steps in perfect unison.

“Their defense is too deep,” Roy said in a low voice, his eyes fixed ahead. “We need to draw the center-backs out.”

Morientes nodded slightly, wiping the sweat from his face: "Next time, you feign a breakthrough, and I'll support you on the wing. Wait until I get Vadu out of there."

“Then I’ll suddenly cut diagonally into the middle,” Roy’s eyes lit up. “I’ll time it right and give you a through pass.”

The two exchanged a look.

Morientes: "Remember to use the outside of your foot. That Czech guy's anticipation of the instep is too accurate."

In the 78th minute, Monaco won a free kick just outside the penalty area.

Giuly stood in front of the ball, hands on his hips, surveying the wall of players.

Roy was quietly flexing his right ankle, and the two exchanged a glance.

The referee blew the whistle, and Giuly suddenly started moving.

But he deftly stepped over it the instant he touched the ball!
Roy followed with two running steps and unleashed a low slash with the inside of his right foot!

The ball bounced through the gap in the wall of players and headed straight for the bottom right corner of the goal.

"Beautiful tactical coordination!" the commentator exclaimed.

But Rennes defender Escudé desperately stretched out his leg to block the ball, which deflected off the post and flew out of bounds.

Roy exhaled a breath of stale air, sweat dripping down his chin.

Juli ran over and bumped his shoulder: "So close!"

Deschamps on the sidelines clapped loudly and gestured to the field to continue pressing forward.

Cech was directing the wall of men to reposition themselves when he glanced back at Roy.

Their eyes met, and he nodded slightly, as if to say, "Good shot, but not good enough."

In the 89th minute of the match, the air seemed to freeze.

Rothen stood in the corner flag area, took a deep breath, and raised his right hand in a gesture.

This is a tactical code they've practiced countless times.

The corner kick was taken, and the ball arced in a tricky arc towards the near post.

Morientes suddenly started moving, leaping up with great effort despite being sandwiched between two defenders, his forehead lightly brushing against the ground.

This seemingly weak header altered the ball's trajectory, sending it bizarrely flying towards the center of the penalty area.

Just as the Rennes defenders were stunned, a figure darted out from the crowd like lightning!

Roy leaped forward like a spring, his neck muscles tensed, and his forehead slammed into the ball!
"boom!"

The ball hurtled towards the goal like a cannonball, hitting the underside of the crossbar before bouncing downwards.

Although Cech made a diving save, his fingertips were still a full ten centimeters away from the ball.

The ball bounced twice inside the goal line before finally settling quietly into the net.

The entire stadium exploded instantly!

Roy staggered a couple of steps after landing, and once he confirmed the ball was in, he immediately turned and sprinted, tearing at his jersey while letting out a beast-like roar.

He had just run to the corner flag area and hadn't even had time to stand up when he was knocked to the ground by Evra, who was the first to pounce on him. Then, Giuly, Morientes, and Rothen were piled on top of each other, and all that could be seen was Roy's outstretched arm, which was waving frantically.

"Get up! You bunch of bastards are going to crush me!"

Roy's muffled laughter and curses echoed from the crowd.

His jersey was torn and twisted, and his hair was covered in grass clippings, but his smile was brighter than the winter sun.

The commentator, his voice hoarse, exclaimed, "A last-minute winner! Absolutely the most dramatic last-minute winner of the season! Roy finally broke through Cech's defenses with his ninth shot of the game!"

The moment the final whistle blew, the Monaco bench erupted in chaos.

Assistant coach Jean Petit roared backward as the substitutes charged onto the field like wild horses unleashed.

The statistics are particularly glaring: 28 shots, 15 on target, 68% possession but only 1 goal.

“Listen,” Deschamps clapped his hands, his voice not loud but enough to silence everyone, “starting tomorrow, we’ll have a ten-day holiday.”

The locker room erupted in chaos. Giuly grabbed Roy's shoulder: "Hey, where are you planning to go? Maldives or Santorini?"

Roy, who was unfastening his shin guards, smiled when he heard this: "I'm not going anywhere. I have a lot of things to take care of."

"Come on!"

Juli rolled his eyes dramatically. "Even Cech has been breached, what could be more important than that?"

Although Cech was already a top goalkeeper in Ligue 1 at the time, he was not as famous as he would become later.

Roy, however, remained resentful about his decision last season to assist Shabani Nonda instead of taking the shot himself in the game against Rennes.
Juli and the others had also heard Roy occasionally mutter about it in the locker room.

Today I can say that I've finally put one thing off my mind.

Roy stuffed his soaking wet jersey into a laundry bag and said casually, "My agent has scheduled three business meetings for me, plus testing Nike's new shoes."

There are still things left unsaid.

FIFA game promotion, double cover shoot for Vogue and GQ, Christmas ad reshoots—these words flashed before his eyes.

He sighed softly. These tasks were indeed important, but at that moment he missed the smell of grass on the training field even more.

Juli's exclamation brought him back to his senses.

Are you on vacation or working overtime?

In the locker room, Roy's exaggerated expressions made him twitch his lips.

He thought about his schedule, and those densely packed appointments felt like shackles.

Personal brand sample inspections and OEM factory meetings all reminded him: you're no longer just a player.

"The most critical issue is Nike's situation."

As Roy put on his hoodie, his fingertips rubbed his right knee, where the bruises from today's game still lingered.

He recalled his childhood, when holidays meant spending all day on the concrete sports field in the neighborhood.

What now?
I need to go to the lab to be a test subject for "plantar pressure distribution".

Roy shook his head and put his phone in his pocket.

The star players in the shop windows look glamorous, but no one tells them how much time they have to spend off the field to maintain that glamorous image.

Roy is working to terminate his contract with his agent, Migliorgio, but his professional team is not yet fully assembled, and he needs to oversee many matters personally.
What's more complicated is that he doesn't have anyone he can completely entrust with his affairs.

Manchester United stars partyed at a nightclub! Scholes drank heavily with whiskey, Ferdinand danced drunkenly, and 18-year-old Ronaldo was surrounded by hot girls! Ferguson was furious: "These bastards ruined Christmas training!"

—The Sun

Makelele admits: Chelsea are a level below Real Madrid! The French midfielder acknowledged that while Chelsea have spent lavishly, they still fall short of Real Madrid's star-studded squad. However, he praised the intense atmosphere of the Premier League and thanked his compatriots, including Desailly, for helping him adapt to life in London.

—Daily Mail

Van Basten slammed the Dutch team for their lack of discipline: "The players think of themselves as stars, not warriors! Going to Portugal is for football honor, not to walk the red carpet!"

—An interview with Voetbal International

In 2003, Beckham ranked third among global athletes with an annual income of $3520 million, behind only Woods ($1 million) and Schumacher ($6200 million). His commercial value far exceeded his athletic achievements—although he only won the Spanish Super Cup, he became the first football player to surpass NBA stars in income, and he enjoys extremely high recognition among non-fans. Jordan remained in the top ten after retirement ($2150 million), while Serena Williams topped the list of highest-paid female athletes.

—Data source: German SID Sports Information Agency
(End of this chapter)