Chapter 833 BADLY ENOUGH

Chapter 833: Chapter 833 BADLY ENOUGH

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[28-06-2021 | Arena Națională, Bucharest | 22:30 EET]

[Germany 3-2 Switzerland]

A tall man with an English accent and a Guardian badge stepped forward, notebook in hand. "Jonathan Wilson, The Guardian. Rakim, there’s a narrative building in the English and even some German press that you’re only this good because of your American upbringing, the IMG connection, the Nike academy years. How do you respond to that?"

"Huh? How come I didn’t know that?" I naturally asked, not at all bothered. "I grew up at Ace Academy, becoming the player I am now. But if they said so, then they should make the second Rakim easy, right?"

"Last one." I turned to the fourth, a nervous-looking kid who couldn’t have been much older than me, clutching a phone instead of a recorder.

"Uh, hi, I’m, um, Emre. I run a Leverkusen fan account, and they gave me a pass. I still don’t know how," he stammered, and a few of the older reporters smirked. "My question is, what do you think are your greatest attributes as a player, allowing you to do all these unbelievable things?"

"Hmm, my team will probably be angry for sharing this, so keep it quiet," I said, leaning in slightly as my voice dropped. "It’s 50% concentrated effort, 30% the environment around you, 29% natural talent, and 1% pure, unfiltered luck."

Emre blinked. "That’s... a hundred and twenty percent."

"Exactly," I said solemnly. "That’s the secret. You have to give 120%. You have to want it more than anyone else and never settle because there is always a mountain to climb."

"Now, thank you for your time, but I have to go now. It was a pleasure." I said to the four and headed for the bus without further ado.

~~~

[29-06-2021 | The Ivy Chelsea Garden, London | 12:45 BST]

The Ivy Chelsea Garden on the King’s Road was doing its usual midday hum, moneyed murmur that never quite rose above the clink of cutlery and the occasional pop of a cork. Sunlight filtered through the orangery’s retractable glass roof, catching the hanging ferns and the brass fittings, and settling over the long corner table that Lisa had reserved a week in advance.

She had flown into London two days after arriving in Europe, leaving the actual football to run itself in Bucharest. Or rather, leaving it to run through the small army she had spent the last month assembling after realising it was becoming too much for her to handle alone. The whole point of building a team was so she could sit at a brunch table with her family for the first time in almost two years without having to be everywhere at once.

"You look tired, baby," Anneliese said, reaching across to touch her daughter’s wrist. At fifty-five, Lisa’s mother was still a stunning beauty, sharing the same light blonde hair as all her daughters. She still ran a part of the family business, managing resorts and hotels, but like her youngest daughter, she also preferred spending the summer with family. "All that flying. It cannot be good for you."

"I’m fine, Mama."

"I know, just pace yourself."

Across the table, her sister Hannah was already deep into her second coffee. She was the head of financial analysis at the London branch of Rex Group’s Private VC (venture Company), running on the same fuel she always had. At the head of the table, in the seat that was hers, whether anyone assigned it or not, sat Evelyn June Rex.

Eighty-one years old, silver hair set in a way that had not changed in three decades, a single strand of pearls at her throat, and eyes that missed absolutely nothing. The matriarch of the Rex clan had survived the pandemic that had come frighteningly close to taking her. The last member of the gathering was her aunt June, owner of Ever-Garden Museum.

"So, tell me, Aunty June, when is the big reopening of the museum?" Hannah showed genuine interest, as art was one of her major hobbies that quieted the noise from her job. "I know you were ramping up for a big exhibition before COVID."

"Ah, yes, don’t tell me about it, all that money wasted." June lamented with a tired sigh, prompting Evelyn to squeeze her youngest daughter’s hand. "Don’t worry, mama, I have big plans for the London Spring/Summer fashion week in September. I finally managed to lock down Dior for the main wing and the highlight for the fashion show on the last day."

"That’s great, I can’t wait to see it, especially the Yayoi Kusama exhibit," Hannah gushed with genuine excitement. "Do you know what she has planned?"

"No, I don’t. She is keeping it close to the vest." Aunt June sighed. "I can’t even enter the wing of my own Gallery as they work to prepare for her arrival."

Lisa smiled at the exchange, raptly paying attention to the conversation, feeling fulfilled as it washed over her. She wrapped both hands around her flat white and let herself sink into the leather banquette.

"And how is Rakim?" Evelyn asked, her voice carrying over to her, surprising her slightly. "We watched the match last night. Hannah’s Max made me a coffee at eleven and refused to let me miss it."

"He’s good, Grandma," Lisa said. "Tired and under a lot of pressure, and sadly, it’s not the football itself that is troubling him. That, as he says, is the easy part."

"Well, he is a remarkable young man, and I mean off the field." Evelyn set down her teacup with a calm smile. "Alfonso and I are proud of how you kids have raised our grandkids and great-grandkids. Not because of their academic achievements but by how each of them individually approaches their dreams and setbacks."

"Don’t worry too much, sis," Hannah comforted her sister with a warm smile. "Max informed us he would change his major from Finance to Technology, focusing on AI."

"Well, isn’t that good that the sector is set to grow exponentially?" Anneliese offered immediately, going into mama bear mode for her grandchild. "I especially remember Jack complaining about needing to create a task force to look into integrating AI into the resorts and hotels to bounce back from the COVID drought."

"(sigh), While it sounds well and good, you know how Derek is." She lamented, appearing genuinely exhausted by the situation. "He had practically been planning since Max could walk to have him take over his business. But the boy wants nothing to do with construction or contracting. I wish he would look at our eldest, but he’s under the impression she would be overwhelmed in the field."

Lisa opened her mouth to offer something reassuring about her nephew Max finding his own way. The same as everyone eventually did, when the phone resting face-up beside her water glass buzzed against the linen. She glanced at it out of reflex: Michel Aendekerk.

"I’m sorry, Grandma, I have to take this," she said, already sliding out of the banquette. "Two minutes, I promise."

Evelyn waved a hand, unbothered, already turning back to Hannah, and her mother, Anneliese, lifted an eyebrow. Lisa stepped past the orangery’s glass doors onto the quieter stretch of the terrace, where the noise of the King’s Road softened to a hum, and pressed the phone to her ear.

"Michel. Tell me something good."

"Good afternoon to you too, Mrs Rex," came the Belgian’s dry, unhurried voice, the faint sound of a keyboard clicking behind him. "How is London?"

"London is lovely. I’m at brunch with my grandmother, who does not take kindly to interruptions, so make it worth her disapproval."

"Ha. Then I will be quick." She heard him exhale, shifting into business mode. "Two things. First, Madrid. After last night’s match, Pérez’s people were on the phone before I had finished my coffee this morning. They have moved on the fee significantly. They are now at one hundred and sixty, with the structured add-ons taking it comfortably past one seventy-five if he performs the way everyone now expects him to."

Lisa leaned against the terrace railing, her free hand finding her hip. "And the image rights."

"And there is the wall." A note of something almost like admiration crept into Michel’s voice. "They will not move. Fifty-fifty is their absolute ceiling, and they are treating it as a matter of principle rather than negotiation. Every Galáctico signs the same terms, from Zidane to Ronaldo to Bale. They will pay a king’s ransom for the player, but the club owns the crown."

"He is not going to sign away half his image rights at seventeen, Michel. The Los Blancos image is not important to the Rakim Rex brand. We need the freedom to direct the direction of his image. The Porsche deal, the Apex line, everything Ben and I have been building through Titan-Fit; it all runs through his likeness. Fifty-fifty guts it."

"I know. I told them as much, in gentler language. They did not blink." A pause. "My honest read? Madrid believes in the prestige of the shirt, and they believe you will eventually come to the same conclusion. They are prepared to wait you out. They think Rakim wants the Bernabéu badly enough to swallow it."

Lisa’s jaw tightened. "Does he?"

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TO BE CONTINUED...