My heart pounded with a new kind of anticipation.
I opened the message, and a wave of disbelief washed over me. It was a formal contract offer from Inter, a new deal, with numbers that made my head spin. I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was still dreaming, and looked again.
No, it was real. My wage, my monthly wage, was now 1,000,000 euros.
My hands were shaking. I wasn't just a player anymore; I was a key part of the club's future. I was a millionaire. The sheer weight of the number, a digit I had only ever dreamed of, was a surreal, overwhelming thing.
I ran downstairs, the contract offer still on my phone, my mind a blur of disbelief and joy. My mom was in the kitchen, making coffee, and she looked up at me, a worried expression on her face.
"Leo? What's wrong?" she asked, her voice a soft, concerned whisper.
I just stood there, my mouth open, unable to speak. I handed her the phone, and she read the message, her eyes widening with every word.
She looked at me, her face a mix of pure joy and pure shock, and then she burst into tears. She hugged me, a tight, fierce hug that felt like a lifetime of support, and she just kept whispering, "My love... my love... you did it."
It was a beautiful, chaotic moment, a perfect symphony of tears and joy. After we had calmed down, we sat down and talked.
I told her I wanted to celebrate. I wanted to buy her something nice. I wanted to buy myself something nice. I wanted to celebrate this victory, this new chapter in our lives.
She just nodded, her eyes still shining with pride, and she just said, "Anything you want, my love. Anything you want."
We drove to the city, my old car a familiar presence in the quiet, focused space. The city was a blur of colors, the people a mix of excitement and anticipation.
We went to a car dealership, and I walked around, my mind a blur of choices. There were so many beautiful cars, so many possibilities.
I had a conversation with a salesman, and a few minutes later, I walked out of the dealership with the keys to a brand-new, sleek black Lamborghini.
My mom was a little shocked, but her face was a mask of pure joy. "It's a little fast!" she said, a small, playful smile on her face.
"I can handle it," I said, a small, knowing grin on my face.
We drove to a high-end clothing store, and I bought a new suit, a beautiful, tailored piece that fit me like a second skin.
My mom bought a new dress, a beautiful, flowing piece that made her look like a queen.
We were two champions, a mother and son, celebrating a victory that felt more important than any trophy.
After the clothes, we went to a tech store. I bought a new pc that could handle any game, any program, any simulation. My mom just shook her head, a soft, amused smile on her face. "You're still a child" she said, a small, playful glint in her eyes.
We were walking out of the store, our arms filled with bags, when I saw him. Cole Palmer, his face a mask of calm focus, was walking out of a coffee shop, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
He saw me, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his face. "Leo! What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice a low, friendly growl.
"Just celebrating a little," I said, a small, sheepish grin on my face. "New car, new clothes, new... everything."
We talked for a few minutes, a quiet, simple conversation about the match, about the team, about the future. He told me he was just trying to clear his head, to get away from the pressure, to just be a normal person for a few hours.
We talked about the new car, the new clothes, the new life, and then we parted ways, two friends, two champions, on a different kind of journey.
I drove home, the sleek, new car a powerful, humming presence. The air was filled with a new kind of energy, a sense of quiet confidence that had nothing to do with my physical strength. My leg, which had been a constant ache for months, felt strong.
My mind, which had been a blur of doubt and uncertainty, felt sharp, focused, and ready.
I got home and went to my room, my heart pounding with a new kind of anticipation. I turned on my new PC, and the screen flashed with a new notification. It was a live stream of a Premier League match, a crucial battle between Arsenal and Manchester City.
The commentator's voice boomed through the speakers, a calm, authoritative presence.
The score was 1-1, and the clock was ticking.
Then, a moment of pure chaos. In the 85th minute, a long pass from Kevin De Bruyne found Erling Haaland, who was running with a new kind of ferocious intensity.
I used my Vision, and a new symbol, one I hadn't seen before, appeared above his head: a single, majestic crown. King. He was playing with a new kind of power, a new kind of focus.
He headed the ball with a thunderous power, and it hit the back of the net. The scoreboard showed 2-1 to Manchester City.
Arsenal, a team that had been fighting for the league title, was now a team of broken dreams. The crowd, a moment ago a deafening roar of triumph, was now a sea of quiet despair. The game was over. The beautiful, exhilarating fight was over.
The league title was now in the hands of Manchester City.
A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. On a personal note, the last few weeks have been a whirlwind, but getting to lose myself in this world of football and friendship has been the best kind of escape. Thanks for reading :)