God Of football-Chapter 330 : Menacing Agent

The hotel lobby was quiet, a stark contrast to the energy outside.

The cool air-conditioning was a welcome relief from the heat of the beach, but Izan barely noticed it as he stepped into the elevator with Miranda.

Lamine had peeled off toward his room, still grinning like he had just won the Champions League.

Miranda pressed the button for his floor, then gave him a look. "So. You and Lamine."

Izan ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp with sweat. "What about us?"

She smirked. "You two act like you're just having fun, but you do realize every moment like this adds to the hype, right?"

Izan sighed, leaning against the elevator wall. "It's just football. A casual game."

Miranda raised a brow. "To you, maybe. But to fans? To brands? It's a goldmine." She pulled out her phone again, scrolling through notifications.

"Social media is already going crazy. 'Future of Spain's attack,' 'Golden duo,' 'This is why we're winning the next World Cup'—you get the idea."

Izan exhaled. "I wasn't thinking about any of that."

"I know. That's why it works," Miranda said, slipping her phone away. "But just be aware—every move you make now? People are watching. Closely."

The elevator dinged, doors sliding open. Izan stepped out, Miranda beside him.

"I'll meet you downstairs in an hour," she said. "Henry's waiting at the restaurant."

"Yeah, yeah," Izan muttered, already unlocking his room door.

As he stepped inside, the quiet of the suite wrapped around him. He peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto a chair before heading straight to the bathroom.

The hot water helped clear his mind, but Miranda's words lingered.

Every move you make… people are watching.

He had known that for a while now, but sometimes—like on the beach, when it was just him and Lamine, playing for the love of it—it was easy to forget.

By the time he was dressed and heading back downstairs, his phone was buzzing.

A message.

Olivia: Saw the video. How many girls stared at you today?

Izan smirked as he typed back.

Izan: Only half of Ibiza. No big deal.

She replied almost instantly.

Olivia: I hate you.

Izan: Miss you too.

Shaking his head, he slid his phone into his pocket and walked into the restaurant, where Henry and Miranda were already seated.

Henry glanced up, smiling. "Ah, the star of the night arrives."

Izan sighed. "Hi, Henry. My sister says she loves the bag by the way."

Henry smiled before looking at Miranda.

Miranda smirked. "Okay. Let's get this over with."

...

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

The restaurant was sleek and exclusive, the kind of place where multimillion-dollar deals were inked over glasses of fine wine.

But Miranda wasn't here for the ambiance. She was here to win.

Izan sat beside her, his posture relaxed but observant.

Across from them, Henry, Saint Laurent's head of sports relations, looked completely at ease, as if the deal had already been sealed before the conversation even started.

"Okay, Henry. The floor is yours" Miranda said, placing her glass down.

The Saint Laurent executive laced his fingers together, his expression smooth.

"Izan, we took a chance on you." He smiled. "A six-month contract, 2.2 million. At the time, you were a promising talent, but what you've done in these past months?" He exhaled with a shake of his head.

"Let's just say our gamble paid off."

Miranda said nothing. She was waiting, letting Henry show his hand.

"You've seen the numbers," he continued."Your name alone generated more media impact value than some of our A-list celebrity campaigns combined.

Saint Laurent has become the brand of choice for young football fans—because of you."

He leaned forward slightly, smiling. "Which is why we're here to discuss something bigger. We're looking at a long-term deal, something that properly reflects your value."

Henry leaned back, lacing his fingers together, a practiced, self-assured smile on his face.

"You've seen what we're offering," he said to Miranda before looking at Izan, "So let's skip the warm-up." He slid the folder across the table.

"Seventy million. Ten years."

Izan blinked. Ten years?

Miranda, however, didn't even reach for the folder. Instead, she tilted her head, her expression unreadable.

"No."

Henry's smile barely wavered. "I expected a counteroffer, but an outright rejection?" He let out a soft chuckle. "Let's hear it, then."

Miranda leaned forward slightly. "Ten years is too long. It's a lifetime in football. You know that."

Henry exhaled, shaking his head. "It's security."

"It's Saint Laurent locking Izan in at a price that will soon be outdated."

Henry chuckled again, though this time, it was tighter. "You act like we're trying to rob him."

"I act like I know how these deals work," Miranda shot back. "Izan's stock isn't stagnant."

"He's rising. The Euros proved that. If he keeps this trajectory, this deal will be undervaluing him within two years."

Henry gave Izan a knowing look. "She's good."

Izan smirked. "I know."

Henry exhaled, rubbing his chin. "Alright, Miranda. What do you have in mind?"

She tapped her tablet. "Four years. Fifty million."

Henry laughed. "Fifty for four? Come on." He gestured vaguely. "That's an absurd leap. You want nearly the same money in less than half the time?"

"Yes. And you'll give it."

Henry shook his head. "Miranda, that's unrealistic."

"Is it? Is it realistic for a player who just turned himself into one of the most talked-about names in football?" She arched a brow.

"We both know Saint Laurent has already made millions from Izan's unpaid media alone. This isn't a gamble for you anymore. It's a sure thing."

Henry exhaled, shifting in his seat. "Ten years, seventy million is still better long-term."

"For you."

"For him, too. He wouldn't have to worry about renegotiations or shifting market values."

Miranda smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Henry, you and I both know that's nonsense. Why should Izan lock himself into a long-term deal when he's still growing?"

Henry leaned forward now, resting his elbows on the table. "Four years is too short. Seven."

Miranda didn't blink. "Five."

Henry exhaled sharply. "Six."

Miranda smiled. "Four."

Henry: Wait you just said five

Miranda just stared at him blankly.

Henry let out a frustrated chuckle. "You don't budge, do you?"

"No."

Henry sat back, rubbing his chin. Then, he let out a long breath. "Fine. Four years."

Miranda nodded. "Now, let's discuss clauses."

Henry smirked. "I had a feeling you'd get to that."

Miranda opened her tablet, scrolling through her notes. "Here's what we're adding."

• Performance Bonuses: If Izan wins a Ballon d'Or, he earns a five-million incentive.

• Publicity Boosters: If his association with Saint Laurent results in a 30% increase in engagement or sales, the contract will trigger a re-evaluation.

• Renegotiation Clause: If Izan's valuation surpasses the current estimate within two years, the deal must be adjusted accordingly.

• Creative Control: Saint Laurent cannot use Izan's image in campaigns without his team's prior approval.

Henry exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Ballon d'Or bonus? Do you think that's realistic?

Miranda didn't hesitate. "Yes."

Henry turned to Izan. "What do you think?"

Izan smirked. "I like getting paid for winning."

Henry shook his head but smiled. "Alright. I'll concede on the Ballon d'Or bonus and the publicity clause."

Miranda gave a single nod. "Good. Now, let's hear your conditions."

Henry flipped to the next page. "Saint Laurent has its expectations.

• Brand Exclusivity: Izan must wear Saint Laurent in all public meetings, press conferences, and non-football events.

• Social Media Usage: Any fashion-related posts must prioritize Saint Laurent unless explicitly approved otherwise.

• Image Restrictions: No collaborations with brands that conflict with Saint Laurent's luxury image.

• Personal Branding Alignment: Saint Laurent reserves the right to ensure Izan's image aligns with its aesthetic.

Miranda scanned the list, then shook her head.

"The public appearance clause is too broad. Izan will wear Saint Laurent in official settings—press conferences, interviews, and brand events.

But he won't be forced to wear a suit to dinner with his family."

Henry exhaled. "Fine."

Miranda continued. "As for personal branding, we'll agree that his image will align with Saint Laurent's values, but it does not give Saint Laurent control over his creative direction."

Henry chuckled. "You really don't miss a single trap, do you?"

"No."

Henry drummed his fingers against the table. Then, he smirked. "Alright. Fifty for four. Performance incentives. Formal exclusivity. We have a deal?"

Miranda studied him for a moment, then extended a hand.

"We have a deal, for now. I'll read over the details once again to make sure we are not selling out to the devil. In this case you"

Henry shook it, still looking both amused and exhausted. "Miranda, you're a menace."

She smirked. "I'm just better at this than you."

Henry turned to Izan, shaking his hand. "Looks like we're in business for the long run."

Izan smirked. "Looks like it."

The trio talked a bit more after that before Henry left for other personal commitments.

As they left the restaurant, Izan nudged Miranda. "That was insane."

Miranda smirked. "That's how you make sure they pay you what you're worth."