When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 194 If you want to wear the crown, you must bear its weight.

In the darkness, a black stretch Lincoln slowly drove through the streets of London.

LeBron James leaned back in his seat, his brow slightly furrowed.

His agent and a few close friends sat around in the car, the atmosphere somewhat somber.

“It was supposed to be filmed in the US,” James muttered, “but now the whole crew has to fly to the UK to accommodate his schedule.”

He stared at the unfamiliar street scene outside the window, his fingers tapping impatiently on his knee.

Agent Aaron Goodwin handed over a bottle of water: "Nike insisted on filming in the UK for two reasons. First, they wanted to capitalize on Roy's Champions League, European Championship, and transfer news. Second, the US doesn't have a king, while the British monarch was originally the king of the US. The UK has a long tradition of monarchy, which better fits the advertising elements of the 'Double Kings Project'."

Rich Paul, standing next to James, patted him on the shoulder and said in a relaxed tone, "Bron, relax, just think of it as a short vacation. After this commercial, we can fly back anytime."

James pursed his lips and muttered under his breath, "Damn it, why can't America have a king? It's all that old bastard Washington's fault."

When Nike launched the "Double Kings Project," Roy had just won the French Ligue 1 championship and Golden Boot, while James was the newly drafted number one pick. The two were roughly evenly matched.

But in the past six months, Roy has swept across Europe, winning the Champions League Golden Boot and the EuroBasket Golden Boot, while James is still the NBA number one draft pick.

To put it bluntly, Roy's status has long surpassed James's by a significant margin.

It's just that Nike invests a lot of money in basketball, and the NBA is their territory, so they've managed to portray the two as equals.

That's right, that's exactly it.

Roy's achievements and honors in European football are top-notch on a global scale, but he lacks depth and experience.

While James is exceptionally talented, he is still in the developmental stage of an NBA rookie.

However, Nike knows perfectly well that basketball shoes are much more profitable than soccer shoes, and the commercial value of the NBA in the US market far exceeds that of European soccer.

So even though Roy is now a bigger star with more accolades, Nike still has to allocate more resources to James.

After all, making money is the bottom line; honors are just icing on the cake.

Just like comparing the commercial value of winning the World Cup and the NBA championship, football has higher honors, but basketball makes more money.

Nike is playing a game of "wanting both face and substance".

On the surface, it appears to be a powerful alliance between two superstars, but in reality, it's essentially a resource exchange.

James made a huge profit:

A former NBA number one draft pick who had just finished his rookie season was placed on par with a double winner of the EuroLeague and EuroCup and a Golden Boot winner.

Nike used its top honors in the football field to gild the lily of its basketball crown prince.

What do ordinary Americans know about the Golden Boy Award? They only see "LeBron and the European superstars acting like brothers."

Roy didn't lose out either:
Although he was used as a stepping stone, Nike maximized his exposure in the North American market.

Originally just a formidable figure in European football, his "Double Kings" posters are now plastered even in the New York subway.

Breaking into the US market is worth more than winning ten Ligue 1 Golden Boots.

The most ingenious one is Nike, switching from one hand to the other, succeeding in both basketball and football.

This preserved James's base in North America while allowing Roy to dominate Europe with the hook logo.

As for who has a higher status? Does it matter? The money all ends up in the same pocket anyway.

Just like when Manchester United and the New York Yankees teamed up, the football world thought Manchester United was the big brother, but Americans thought the Yankees were carrying the team.

Actually, Nike is the one making the money behind the scenes.

The elevator stopped at the top floor of the hotel with a "ding," and the team members yawned and dispersed one after another.

Under the warm yellow light of the corridor wall lamps, only Mendes, Claire, assistant Heathlen, and Roy's girlfriend Leticia remained behind him.

Claire slowed her pace, stopped in front of the suite door, and turned around, her skirt swirling slightly.

She nodded to Leticia, then said to Roy:

"Roy, we just received the final confirmation."

She stepped slightly to make room for Mendes to open the door. "Tomorrow's filming will be moved to Studio 3 at Pinewood Studios, the famous studio that once filmed 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone'."

"Nike's art director specifically mentioned that the lighting equipment there can perfectly showcase your athletic lines. Considering the training session the day after tomorrow morning, I have coordinated to strictly control the closing time to before 4 p.m.

Mendes took the room key, swiped it to open the door, and casually added, "They built a mini stadium, and the lighting was adjusted to Champions League broadcast standards."

Heathlen pushed the suitcase into the entryway, and Claire continued, "Your stylist will arrive at six o'clock, and breakfast will be delivered directly to the dressing room."

She paused, then added, "Your little brother has confirmed he'll be there at 7:30."

Roy loosened his tie, his gaze lingering on the faces of Mendes, Claire, Heathlen, and Leticia.

He smiled slightly, his voice filled with a sense of relief: "Thank you all for your hard work."

The warm light from the corridor shone on his slightly tired but satisfied face.

"After all this trouble," he rubbed the back of his neck, "the move to Chelsea is finally a done deal."

Heathlen silently took half a step forward: "Should we have the restaurant send some late-night snacks? The kitchen says they're good at Welsh cheese toast."

Leticia squeezed Roy's hand: "I guess someone would rather take a hot shower right now."

Mendes put his arm around Hitzlsperger's shoulder and grinned, "Alright, let our star player get a good six hours of sleep!"

Claire smiled and shook her head, and the three of them left the suite.

In the corridor, Mendes couldn't hide his smile as he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a fine Cuban cigar.

He clicked his tongue and casually handed one to Heathcliff. "Want one? To celebrate!"

Heathlund waved his hand and gave a dry laugh: "I don't smoke, Jorge."

"Ha! You're always so boring!"

Mendes didn't care, and just bit off the end of his cigar and lit his gold-plated lighter with a "snap".

He took a deep breath, but choked and coughed, his eyes welling up with tears.

But his face still wore an extremely satisfied smile, like a gambler who had just won the lottery.

Mendes' cigar trembled slightly as he thought about today's transfer.

Although Roy promised to continue to give Mendes a share of the profits in the traditional brokerage business, as is customary.

He only symbolically accepted 5% of the transfer fee and 8% of the signing bonus, without even asking for a share of the weekly salary, yet he still received nearly 300 million euros in commission.

He was munching on his cigar, his mind perfectly clear: if he didn't fleece Roy, this cash cow, forever bind him to his estate.

Although Mendes doesn't receive a cut of Roy's endorsement fees and image rights, as long as the "Roy is owned by Mendes" brand is displayed, countless star players will be scrambling to negotiate transfers with him.

Once Chelsea's number 10 becomes a Premier League icon, and once their jointly owned sports marketing company is up and running, they won't just earn commissions anymore; they'll earn dividends based on their shareholdings!
In the London night, Migliorio stood at the restaurant entrance, shaking hands with Arsenal vice-chairman Dunn to say goodbye.

"Happy cooperation!"

He said with a smile, watching Dunn's car drive away.

Pedretti's transfer has finally been finalized.

Amidst widespread rumors linking Vieira to Real Madrid, Wenger decisively signed the reigning Monaco champion defensive midfielder.

Pedroti has great admiration for this renowned French coach, and this deal is a good choice for both sides.

Miliacho lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

The smoke slowly dissipated in London's humid air.

Tonight, Roy officially completed his transfer to Chelsea for 4000 million euros, essentially securing the Premier League's most expensive signing of the season, a piece of news that has shaken the football world.

But all of this is no longer his concern.

He stubbed out his cigarette and got into the car.

Amidst the roar of the engine, Miliacho took one last look at the restaurant lights receding into the distance in the rearview mirror.

The door clicked shut as Leticia pounced on it in her high heels.

The silky fabric of her black slip dress brushed against Roy's suit, and her two bare arms wrapped around his neck like vines.

"Can't wait?"

Roy was knocked back half a step by her, his back pressed against the door.

Leticia didn't answer, but instead used her teeth to grab his tie and pull it down, leaving lipstick marks on the torn collar.

The scent of her perfume, mixed with the slight intoxication of champagne, wafted onto Roy's neck with each breath.

Roy reached out and grasped her waist, his palm sinking immediately into the soft black silk.

Leticia took the opportunity to stand on tiptoe, running her fingers through his short hair. The sensation of her nails scraping against his scalp made Roy's Adam's apple bob.

When she pressed her knees between his legs, her stiletto heels sank deep into the carpet, the tips of her shoes twisting slightly with her movements, leaving tiny dents in the carpet.

“It’s only an hour and twenty minutes from Paris to Heathrow. I come every Wednesday.” Leticia’s breath brushed against Roy’s ear, slightly panting, as she traced circles on his chest with her fingers.

Roy chuckled, running his fingers through her hair: "There's no need for such a long journey."

"Hmph," she suddenly bit his earlobe, her tone coquettish, "who knows if those glamorous British women will slip their phone numbers into your dressing room while I'm not around?"

Roy raised an eyebrow: "So you're here to check up on me?"

Leticia narrowed her eyes, her red lips close to his mouth: "No, I'm here to assert my dominance."

He twitched the corner of his mouth, finding this charade of asserting sovereignty utterly boring.

But his hand uncontrollably supported Leticia's waist.

Love may be like a jersey in the locker room; it always needs to be replaced when the season ends. But at this moment, the warmth of her skin is truly burning his palms.

At 7:30 a.m., when LeBron and his team pushed open the studio door, they found Roy already waiting in the lounge.

The dark-haired man crossed his long legs, holding a cup of black coffee in his hand, and was finalizing the shooting details with the Nike director in fluent English.

Hearing the noise, he looked up, his brows furrowing slightly, but relaxed the moment he saw who it was, and even the aura of "keep away" around him subsided by a third.

He didn't rush to get up; instead, he flashed a bright smile before standing up and opening his arms wide: "Damn, I've finally met you, brother!"

LeBron paused for half a second, his ears turning slightly red, but he immediately covered it up with an even louder laugh: "Come on, man!"

He grabbed Roy's outstretched hand, his forearm muscles taut with the force of his grip, like a young lion testing the boundaries of its territory.

Roy suddenly loosened his grip, letting LeBron hold him, merely raising an eyebrow and looking him up and down, a faint smile playing on his lips: "ESPN wasn't exaggerating after all."

His gaze swept over the other man's shoulders, which were a full size wider than his own. "This physique is good enough to play rugby."

At 185cm, he's half a head shorter than LeBron, but that didn't stop him from putting his arm around the other's shoulder.

"Honestly, when a reporter asked me who I would pick for the rookie season at the Confederations Cup last year, I immediately said your name. Now we're both wearing Nike jerseys and both want to be the best in our respective territories. I guess this is fate. Seriously, brother, I've wanted to meet you for a long time."

A fist slammed into LeBron's shoulder, and the West Coast accent trailed off lazily: "I saw your game-winner last season! My God, that leap defied the laws of physics! Those experts know nothing, they have no idea what true dominance is."

Roy turned around, patted LeBron on the back, and smiled at the team members around him: "You may just think of him as a great basketball player now, but believe me, ten years from now—no, five years from now—everyone will say, 'I witnessed LeBron's rise.'"

He pointed at LeBron and said with certainty, "This kid will rewrite basketball history, not just in terms of points, championships, and MVPs, but in the way the game is played. He'll make future generations watch the tapes and say, 'So this is how basketball can be played.'"

"Of course, that's assuming he doesn't let his talent go to his head. But looking at his physique, he could probably still dunk on young players even when he's 40."

LeBron grinned from ear to ear, secretly pleased: This European guy really knows his stuff! Every word he said hit the nail on the head, far better than those reporters who just shout "King James".

"Brother, you're a bit older than me, and you're reliable in everything you do and say. You're just like my own older brother."

His eyes were sincere, and his tone carried a sense of closeness and respect.

He couldn't help but pat Roy on the shoulder again: "Seriously, if you ever come to Cleveland for a game, I'll always save you a seat in my box!"

Roy raised an eyebrow, exchanged a few pleasantries with a smile, then glanced at his watch: "Shall we get started?"

Before the words were even finished, the entire photo studio seemed to be activated. The lighting technician scurried around adjusting the reflectors, the stylist waited with hairspray in hand, and the assistants moved around the dressing room carrying more than a dozen sets of jerseys.

Before the two star players even stepped in front of the green screen, more than twenty staff members were already in their positions.

Opening: The Awakening of Royal Power (0:00-0:12)

Under the gloomy sky, the desolate ancient battlefield was filled with a chilling atmosphere.

Two rusty crowns crashed heavily to the ground:
The close-up shot slowly zooms in.

On the first crown, the pattern of the Champions League logo is still faintly discernible.

The NBA logo is faintly visible through the crack in the second crown.

The dull thud of metal colliding mingled with the gradually amplifying sound of a heartbeat, creating a sudden increase in the sense of oppression.

The voice-over is a deep male voice:

"Every kingdom needs a king, but what if there are two?"
The subtitle, in gold lettering on a black background, reads: "The Throne Will Never Be Empty."

The perspective of the two kings (0:13-0:25)

The setting sun was like blood, and Roy's silver armor gleamed coldly in the twilight.

He reined in his horse on the crumbling castle steps, behind him an endless torrent of armored warriors, each fluttering battle flag embroidered with a ferocious, blood-red lion's head, the blackened corners of the flags sweeping across the ground littered with broken halberds.

As the battering ram shattered the last city gate, drops of blood dripping from Roy's sword formed a red line.

He stepped over the burning family crest, the shattered stained glass windows groaning beneath his iron boots.

As the surviving defenders knelt before the deep craters created by the catapults, the entire continent was shrouded in the shadow of the lion banner.

As Roy was walking through the ruins, he suddenly saw a frightened little girl being pulled by a knight.

He raised his hand to stop her, then squatted down to look her in the eye.

The murderous intent in his eyes beneath his black hair had faded, replaced by a hint of gentleness.

"Don't be afraid."

He wiped the dust off the girl's face and lifted her onto his warhorse.

As the army continued its advance under the guidance of the lion banner, the girl clutched the corner of Roy's cloak, watching the conqueror's profile be gilded by the dawn.

A metallic roar suddenly erupted from deep within the dense forest.

LeBron ran through the shadows of the trees in his red and gold heavy armor. He had removed the armor from his right arm, and his taut biceps were thicker than a battering ram.

As the chain hammer swung in a full-moon arc and slammed into the stone wall with a "boom," the entire fortress trembled beneath his feet.

Amidst the smoke and dust from the exploding bricks, the Knights' emblem gleamed brightly just below his sweat-drenched collarbone.

When the first brick fell to the ground, the forest came to life.

Warriors clad in identical red and gold robes surged forth from behind each oak tree, their battle cries sending shivers down the spines of the enemies amidst the ruins.

LeBron wiped the lime splattered on his face and swung his chain hammer sharply at the royal banner at the highest point of the fortress.

“Raaaaaaah——!!!”

The battle roar that erupted from his chest shook the city wall, causing rubble to tumble down.

All the warriors roared in unison and charged toward the city wall with LeBron.

The crimson and gold armor surged together like a torrent, spreading upwards along the fortress like molten lava, causing bricks to crumble and flags to burn in its wake.

Double Kings Combo Attack (0:26-0:38)

The suspension bridge swayed violently amidst the chaos of battle, with the two armies locked in a fierce fight.

Roy's sword was as cold as ice, and each strike precisely pierced the enemy's formation.

He moved with the speed of the wind, his silver armor flashing coldly in the light of his blade, and enemies fell one after another wherever he went.

On the other side, LeBron's hammer slammed into the ground with devastating force, sending rubble flying.

He roared as he charged into the enemy ranks, his red and gold armor stained with blood and dust, tearing a bloody path through them.

The two brushed past each other in the middle of the battlefield.

Roy's sword and LeBron's hammer swung out simultaneously, shattering the enemy general's helmet.

Lines:

Roy: "My kingdom is measured by goals!"

LeBron James: "My dynasty was founded on dunks!"

Modern Time Travel (0:39-0:50)

Armor fragments were still flying in mid-air when the scene suddenly changed.

In the Champions League, Roy darts past two defenders like a ghost, flicking the ball with his toe as it arcs into the top corner.

The next second, the camera exploded, showing LeBron James taking off over the defender on the NBA court, and with a loud "bang," he tilted the rim.

Subtitle: "Different battlefields, same dominance"

Final Act: The Coronation of the New King (0:51-1:00)

A virtual throne emerges in the light, LeBron walks from the NBA court, Roy steps from the green field, and the two ascend the steps simultaneously.

They each picked up the crown from the ground.

LeBron's has basketball patterns engraved on it, while Roy's has a football emblem.

They smiled at each other and put the hats on their heads at the same time.

Voice-over:
"Kings don't compete, they conquer."

The image freezes, the Nike Swoosh logo flashes, and gold lettering appears below:
[The Double Kings Plan: Dominate All Arenas]

(End of this chapter)