When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 147 Real Madrid should pay back what they owe you by now.

On April 10, 2004, the rain in Paris had just stopped.

Migliorgio climbed out of the black Mercedes and stood in front of the Athena Plaza Hotel, adjusting the collar of his Armani suit.

It was still a bit chilly in Paris in April, and he instinctively shrank his neck.

Looking up, the hotel's iconic red canopy and the golden revolving doors gleamed in the sunlight.

The phone rang again.

He glanced at the caller ID; it was Arsenal's sporting director, Dane.

"Arsène wants Pedretti?"

Migliorio held the phone between his shoulder and pulled a document from his briefcase. “Listen, David, 800 million euros wouldn’t even buy his left leg. The currency is pounds, that’s the basis for us sitting at the negotiating table.”

Mendes' assistant, who wore gold-rimmed glasses, was already waiting by the revolving door. He immediately bowed slightly when Mendes approached.

“Mr. Migliaccio,” the assistant said respectfully, “Mr. Mendes is waiting for you.”

They walked through the marble-paved hall, where several guests having afternoon tea looked up at them.

Inside the elevator, the assistant maintained a half-step distance behind Miliacho, like a well-trained butler.

When the elevator came to a stop with a "ding" at the top floor and the doors opened, Migliaccio saw Mendes's smiling face.

The Portuguese man opened his arms to greet him, the custom-made gold buttons on his suit cuffs gleaming under the lights.

"Miko, my dear friend!"

Mendes' tone was almost exaggeratedly enthusiastic, even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to come together.

He hugged Miliacho tightly and patted him on the back.

The movement was so forceful that Miliajo almost choked.

“Jorge,” Miliacho entered the hall, “how much is Florentino prepared to ask for his ‘lost item’ this time?”

Mendes paused for a moment, then smiled: "People often only realize the value of something after they've lost it."

Miliacho deliberately used the word "lost item," implying that the item was extremely expensive.

The atmosphere in the suite immediately became formal.

Mendes personally pulled out a chair for Miliacho, his movements as respectful as if he were serving a king.

Miliajo knew perfectly well that this attentiveness wasn't for him, but for the trump card he held.

"President Florentino attaches great importance to this meeting."

As Mendes poured the wine, his voice was a few octaves lower than usual. "He specifically instructed me to make sure to show you respect."

Miriam looked at the expensive glass of red wine in front of him, but didn't rush to drink it.

He knew that the real contest was about to begin.

The more respectful Mendes is, the stronger Real Madrid's desire for Roy is.

The 32nd round of Ligue 1.

Monaco will play away against Lens at the Stade Borralte in Lens.

Roy only played the first half, and in the 29th minute, he received a cross from Giuly and easily slotted the ball into the net.

Deschamps substituted him at halftime.

Before the start of the second half, veteran assistant coach Jean Petit pulled substitute Franck Ribéry aside and whispered in his ear, "Frank, play well. Roy has brought us a lot, but..."

The old man paused, a hint of helplessness flashing in his cloudy eyes, "After this summer, the team needs a new leader."

Ribery nodded, but his mind was in turmoil.

His agent, Miliajo, just told him yesterday that Marseille, Lyon, and even Arsenal in the Premier League are interested in him.

A few days ago, he secretly asked Roy for his opinion.

“Frank, listen to me,” Roy said calmly. “What you need right now is a place where you can play every week. Don’t rush to those so-called big clubs; they’ll only keep you on the bench. With this team, you need to make sure you’re a starter and play the whole season.”

"But what about the conditions offered by those big clubs?"

"No matter how good the conditions are, what's the use of sitting on the bench? Look at those talented players, how many of them were ruined because they went to big clubs too early? You need time, you need games, you need opportunities to make mistakes. In smaller teams, fans will forgive your mistakes, and coaches will give you a chance to grow. But in big clubs? One mistake can be the end of you."

"But I'm afraid of missing the opportunity."

"Believe me, if you're truly talented, opportunities will always be there. I'm able to go to those teams now because I made it in Monaco. First, prove yourself in a team where you can guarantee a starting position, and then go to a top club when you're truly ready. At that time, you'll not only be able to establish yourself, but also become a key player and a world-class player."

Where do you think I should go?

"Frank, listen to me honestly. Monaco will be very different next season, and many key players will leave. But the fans here already know you and like you, the coaching staff understands your strengths, and you've already established authority in the locker room. Go to another team? You'll have to prove yourself from scratch. Stay here? You're the undisputed starter for the new season."

"Comico says now is the best time to go to a big club."

“Mico lives off transfer fees, but you only have one professional career. Play for Monaco for another year or two, lead the team forward, and put up impressive stats. By then, your skills will be more mature, your market value will be higher, and you'll have more options. Why rush to leave now? If you don't adapt to the new environment, you might miss the chance to truly reach the top forever.”

After saying that, he patted him on the shoulder, his eyes giving a meaningful look.

When Ribery ran onto the field, the chants of the Monaco fans in the stands were still loud.

But he knew that next season, a completely new team would likely be standing on this pitch.

2004 04 Month 11 Day.

The 32nd round of La Liga.

An eerie atmosphere permeated the Bernabéu Stadium that night.

Real Madrid had just been eliminated from the Champions League, and fans were hoping the team could bounce back in the league, but instead they were met with a complete disaster.

The accident happened just two minutes after the opening whistle.

Former Real Madrid player Baldo easily slotted the ball into the net, delivering a brutal blow to his former club in the most ruthless way.

Boos rose and fell from the stands, while the Real Madrid players on the field were clearly still reeling from their Champions League defeat.

To make matters worse, Ronaldo was injured and had to leave the field in the 23rd minute.

The Brazilian's pained expression said it all—this was going to be another long injury layoff.

While Borja was hurriedly warming up on the bench, the situation on the field had already taken a sharp turn for the worse.

He glanced at the sign in the North Stand—"We want Roy!"

White lettering on a black background swayed in the hands of fans.

He suddenly remembered that a few days ago, during the match against Monaco, the 19-year-old boy had crossed him like he was crossing the street in the early morning.

The assistant coach gave him a shove: "What are you daydreaming about? It's your turn."

Just before halftime, Casillas made a rare mistake coming out of his goal, allowing Pablo Garcia to easily lob the ball into the empty net, making it 0-2.

In the second half, Real Madrid attempted a comeback, but their attack lacked any coherence. Beckham's long passes were among the few bright spots, while Zidane and Figo seemed completely out of sorts.

In the 60th minute, Osasuna scored again, completely sealing the victory.

In the final half hour, large sections of the Bernabéu stands began to empty out, with fans leaving early expressing their dissatisfaction in silence.

When the final whistle blew, the 0-3 scoreline stung everyone's eyes.

Zidane stood in the center circle and didn't move.

Beckham limped toward the sidelines, and the sporadic boos from the stands made him instinctively shrink back.

Reporters on the sidelines were already pointing their cameras at him – they were more concerned with whether Victoria had really taken the children back to London than with the result of the match.

Beckham lowered his head and quickly strode into the players' tunnel, skipping even the usual thank-you.

Raul walked quickly toward the locker room with his head down, while in the VIP box in the stands, Florentino's face was even more unpleasant than the scoreboard.

A deafening chorus of boos erupted from the Bernabéu, and white handkerchiefs fluttered like snowflakes in the stands.

This scene didn't even occur during last month's Champions League quarter-final 3-5 defeat to Monaco.

This season, Real Madrid may face the embarrassing situation of ending the season empty-handed.

The helicopter landed on a helipad near Paris, the wind whipped up by the rotor blades making Claire's suit jacket flutter.

She watched Roy bend over and climb out of the cabin, his hair a mess from the turbulence.

Roy approached the black van parked next to the tarmac, where Claire was leaning against the door, flipping through documents.

The April wind ruffled her long golden hair, and her sharply tailored dark gray suit made her look exceptionally capable.

“Hey, workaholic,” Roy tapped the roof of the car, “your lipstick color suits you really well today.”

Claire closed the folder without looking up: "Thanks for the compliment, but when you complimented my earrings last week, you made me work overtime until the early hours of the morning the next day."

“I’ve really been wronged this time,” Roy said, raising his hands in surrender. “I was just about to arrange paid leave for you and double pay as compensation.”

Claire chuckled: "Make me take a break during the crucial stage of the Champions League? Boss, you just want to lose a few million in sponsorship fees, don't you?"

Roy climbed into the back seat of the van, and before the door was even fully closed, he asked, "What's the plan and budget for the cycling race advertising?"

Heathlen slid into the passenger seat like a shadow.

Claire placed her laptop across her lap and swiped open a folder labeled "AETHOS Sports Marketing".

Claire: "We analyzed several feasible advertising options. First, for amateur races: sponsoring an aid station for an amateur Tour de France costs €5, including a branded tent and equipment display; naming a Gran Fondo stage (a long-distance mass cycling event in France, Italy, and Spain) costs €3-€5, which can include test rides. For niche races, sponsoring a mountain bike marathon team for the whole year costs €8-€10, while sponsoring a single fixed-gear race costs €2. In professional race peripheral partnerships, sponsoring secondary prizes in the Vuelta a España/Giro d'Italia costs €7-€8, and advertising on team uniforms for small and medium-sized teams costs €10-€12. The most basic option is track fencing advertising, a package deal of €5000 for three stages. We recommend prioritizing Gran Fondo and mountain bike team sponsorships, and keeping the total budget under €20 will provide good exposure."

Roy: "Let's proceed with this plan."

"The store in the Marais district has been renovated, and the designer said it was completed two weeks ahead of schedule."

Claire flipped through the guest list: "Currently confirmed attendees include Monaco teammates Giuly and Rothen, Evra, and coach Morientes Deschamps has also expressed his support. Blanc and Cantona have also given positive responses."

“However,” she lowered her voice, “Cantona specifically instructed that a VIP room where he can smoke be reserved for him.”

"Zidane's side might be a bit sensitive."

She carefully chose her words, "After all, the media hyped up these two Champions League matches way too much. French sports channel is still replaying those goals on a loop."

Roy leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers lightly on the table: "I'll contact Zidane; he'll definitely come."

"Maybe we can even bring Raul and Beckham together."

Roy had already taken out his phone, and his contacts were on the "Zizou" screen: "That's why he should come even more."

He hovered his fingertip above the dial button. "Guess what Florentino most wants to see right now?"

Claire paused for a moment, then realized what was happening.

Looking at the familiar smile on Roy's face, she thought to herself that her boss was really "cunning".

She knew this tactic all too well: outwardly showing enthusiasm and goodwill, but in reality, taking steps carefully, keeping Real Madrid hopeful while always maintaining a distant and ambiguous relationship.

This tactic of feigning indifference to lure the enemy is a perfect way to manipulate the Bernabéu leadership.

Now they're even "borrowing" Real Madrid's star player to make an appearance?

“So this time,” she deliberately drew out, “you plan to have Zidane act as a lobbyist and get Marca to write a story about Roy being very close to the Bernabéu?”

He raised an eyebrow and retorted, "So tell me, did I get close to the Bernabéu or not?"

Claire remained silent.

She silently wrote "Media press release needs to be revised" in her notebook, and sighed inwardly: Real Madrid should pay back what they owe you by now.

"Congratulatory videos from Armstrong (five-time Tour de France champion) and Tony Parker (Spurs star) are all arranged, and their agents say they can be recorded anytime."

Roy suddenly remembered something and added with a smile, "Oh right, there's also my 'never met' little brother LeBron. I'm going to go with him to film his 'coronation' commercial this summer. I've already worn his collaboration sneakers in public, so he won't refuse to film a video for me."

"Let's find some local street athletes, skateboarders, parkour and the like."

He recalled how he used to peek into the window of a sporting goods store when he was a child, "so that the store could prepare some free sports protective gear for the children in the nearby community."

After a pause, he added, "20% of the first month's revenue will be donated to community football youth training. Remember to let a reporter from L'Équipe 'accidentally' photograph the donation check."

"Understood. Also, Nike would like to send a representative to the opening."

Claire pushed the proposal in front of Roy and flipped to the production progress page: "The first batch of 5000 pieces with no PERMISSION has already been contracted with the factory in Milan."

She pointed to the technical specifications section with the tip of her pen: "Italian 220g pure cotton, treated with a special washing process, ensuring that the pattern will still be bright and new after ten washes - of course, we suggest that fans don't actually wash it that many times."

She pushed a stack of printed sales proposals in front of Roy: "As you requested, the limited edition will be priced at 150 euros, with only 5000 pieces made worldwide. The other basic models will be 79 euros, with no production limits."

"NO PERMISSION" is positioned as an accessible luxury streetwear brand. The limited edition is priced at 150 euros, which is comparable to the entry-level price of luxury goods. The basic model is priced at 79 euros, which is similar to the premium streetwear price of Supreme. It is designed to target wealthy fans who seek scarcity and buzz.

She flipped to the second page and saw a screenshot of the eBay webpage. "The online channels have been agreed upon; eBay will provide a banner ad space on the homepage."

Roy suddenly stopped flipping through the proposal and tapped his fingertips on the table: "Wait, that specially customized coronation dress."

He looked up at Claire and said, "Send one to LeBron in a VIP gift box, with a handwritten card attached."

“Just write ‘To the future collaboration between the two kings—from your European brother whom you have never met.’”

The van slowly pulled up in front of the Crillon Hotel, and Roy straightened his suit sleeves.

Mendes was already waiting for him in the suite – the Portuguese agent apparently thought it was a secret meeting he had requested regarding a “transfer to Real Madrid,” since Roy’s current agent, Miliacho, was unaware of it.

As the elevator ascended, Roy adjusted his tie in front of the mirror.

What he wanted to talk about today wasn't transfers at all, but rather to probe Mendes' views on the future development of the agent industry.

His schedule this week also includes meetings with Raiola and Barnett, just like an investor scouting the market.

When the waiter opened the suite door, Mendes greeted him warmly: "It's so nice to see you again! Florentino asked me to convey his..."

“Jorge,” Roy interrupted him with a smile, “what I want to talk about today is how you think the agent model for top players should change over the next decade?”

(End of this chapter)