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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Walking into his home, grocery bags in his hands, while Leah prepared breakfast with the last ingredients they had left as somehow that felt just as rewarding.
For a few moments, Francesco simply stood there.
The grocery bags were still in his hands.
Leah smiled at him from across the kitchen before pointing toward the counter.
"You'd better put those away before everything starts defrosting."
He blinked.
"Right."
"I'd rather not have melted ice cream before breakfast."
"I thought football was stressful."
Leah laughed.
"It is."
"But forgetting frozen food is somehow more dangerous?"
"Exactly."
Francesco chuckled, carrying the bags toward the spacious kitchen island.
The refrigerator door opened with a soft hiss.
One by one, everything found its place.
Fresh vegetables were arranged neatly inside the crisper drawers.
Milk and yoghurt went onto the middle shelf.
Eggs into their holder.
The chicken breast into the coldest compartment.
Bread was placed inside the pantry.
Coffee beans beside the espresso machine.
Finally, he lifted the two large bags of Cheddar's favourite dog food.
Before he could even put them away, familiar paws echoed across the hardwood floor.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Cheddar had arrived.
The golden retriever's nose immediately locked onto the unmistakable scent coming from the shopping bags.
His tail began wagging so enthusiastically that his entire body seemed to move with it.
Francesco laughed.
"I knew you'd smell these."
Cheddar sat obediently.
At least for three seconds.
Then he shuffled forward impatiently.
"You've become impossible."
Leah looked over from the stove.
"He checked the front window every fifteen minutes while you were gone."
"Did he?"
"I think he knew you were buying food."
"I'm not sure he missed me."
Cheddar barked once.
Leah raised an eyebrow.
"I think that's his answer."
Francesco scratched behind the dog's ears before carrying the food into the storage cupboard.
"There."
"Your supplies are officially restocked."
Cheddar seemed perfectly satisfied with that information.
His tail continued wagging anyway.
Meanwhile, breakfast had finally reached perfection.
Leah carefully transferred the scrambled eggs onto warm plates.
The bacon had turned wonderfully crisp.
Toast popped from the toaster at exactly the right moment.
She arranged sliced tomatoes, grilled mushrooms and fresh fruit beside everything else before carrying both plates to the dining table.
"Breakfast is served."
Francesco washed his hands before taking a seat opposite her.
For a brief moment neither of them spoke.
Instead they simply appreciated the quiet.
No reporters.
No teammates.
No tactical meetings.
No flights.
Just the comforting sounds of cutlery against plates and coffee being poured into mugs.
Francesco took his first bite.
His eyes closed instinctively.
Leah immediately noticed.
"Well?"
He swallowed before smiling.
"I missed your cooking."
"You were only away for one night."
"That's long enough."
She laughed softly.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It definitely is."
The breakfast tasted simple.
Comforting.
Exactly what both of them needed after a busy weekend.
Conversation drifted naturally from football to ordinary life.
Leah told him about training with Arsenal Women.
Francesco shared a few stories from the trip to Swansea, including Walker somehow finding room for dessert after eating enough for two people.
Leah laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee.
"I completely believe that."
"So do we."
"I don't think I've ever met anyone who enjoys food as much as he does."
"I'm convinced restaurant owners recognise him before they recognise the rest of us."
Breakfast stretched comfortably beyond an hour.
There was no rush.
For once.
Eventually both empty plates were stacked together.
Francesco carried them toward the dishwasher while Leah wiped the kitchen counters.
Their routine felt effortless.
Natural.
Like they'd done it a hundred times before.
Just as Francesco finished loading the final plate, his phone began vibrating across the kitchen island.
He glanced down.
The screen displayed a familiar name.
Jorge Mendes.
Francesco frowned slightly.
It wasn't unusual for his agent to call.
But it was unusual on a recovery day.
He answered.
"Hello, Jorge."
"Francesco."
The Portuguese agent's voice sounded calm.
Perhaps a little quieter than usual.
"Do you have time today?"
"Of course."
"I'd like to speak with you."
"About what?"
There was a brief pause.
"I'd rather discuss it in person."
Francesco exchanged a quick glance with Leah.
"That's fine."
"You know where I am."
"I'll come this afternoon."
"I'll see you then."
The call ended.
Leah looked at him curiously.
"Everything okay?"
"I don't know."
"He just said he wanted to talk."
"In person?"
Francesco nodded slowly.
"That's… unusual."
"It is."
Neither of them said much more.
Still, something about the conversation lingered quietly in the back of Francesco's mind.
The afternoon arrived beneath clear skies.
Sunlight filtered through the large windows overlooking the gardens.
The house remained peaceful.
Francesco spent part of the afternoon reviewing clips from the Swansea victory while Leah read quietly in the living room.
Shortly after three o'clock, the intercom chimed.
"I believe that's him," Francesco said.
A few moments later, the front door opened.
Jorge Mendes stepped inside.
As always, he was impeccably dressed.
Dark overcoat.
Tailored suit.
Polished shoes.
Professional.
Yet today something seemed different.
There was a heaviness behind his smile.
"Francesco."
"Jorge."
The two embraced briefly before shaking hands.
"It's good to see you."
"You too."
Leah greeted him warmly before excusing herself, sensing almost immediately that whatever had brought Mendes here was likely important.
Francesco gestured toward the hallway.
"My office?"
Mendes nodded.
"Please."
The two men walked upstairs together.
Francesco's office occupied one of the quieter corners of the mansion.
Large windows overlooked the gardens.
Bookshelves lined one wall.
Another displayed framed shirts collected throughout his career.
Across the opposite wall stood glass cabinets filled with medals, boots, match balls and trophies.
League titles.
Champions League medals.
Golden Boots.
Individual awards.
At the centre of the collection rested two Ballon d'Or trophies.
Their golden surfaces reflected the afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.
Mendes paused briefly.
Even after years of representing elite footballers, the collection remained impressive.
"You've achieved a great deal."
Francesco smiled modestly.
"We've achieved a great deal."
Mendes gave a small nod.
The words seemed to affect him more than Francesco realised.
Both men eventually took their seats.
For several seconds…
Silence.
Francesco leaned forward slightly.
"So…"
"What did you want to talk about?"
Mendes folded his hands together.
His eyes remained fixed on the desk.
He took a slow breath.
Then another.
When he finally looked up, there was genuine regret in his expression.
"Francesco…"
"I can't be your agent anymore."
The words landed like a punch.
For a moment, Francesco simply stared at him.
Surely he'd misheard.
"…What?"
Mendes lowered his eyes again.
"I have to end our professional relationship."
Francesco's expression filled with confusion.
"Why?"
The question wasn't angry.
It was honest.
After everything they'd built together…
Why?
Mendes remained silent for several seconds before answering.
"It's Cristiano."
Francesco frowned.
"Cristiano?"
Mendes nodded slowly.
"He's unhappy."
"He believes that whenever situations involving both of you arise…"
"I always take your side."
The room fell quiet again.
Mendes continued.
"He confronted me."
"He asked me to make a choice."
Francesco listened without interrupting.
"I had to decide."
Another painful pause.
"And…"
"I chose Cristiano."
The words were difficult even for Mendes to say aloud.
"He was my first client."
"He believed in me long before I became one of football's biggest agents."
"He helped build my reputation."
"He helped make me who I am today."
"I couldn't turn my back on him."
Francesco didn't speak immediately.
His eyes drifted briefly toward the trophies lining the walls.
Memories flooded back.
Signing his first professional contract.
Transfer negotiations.
Commercial partnerships.
Victories.
Defeats.
Years spent working together.
Finally…
He nodded.
"I understand."
Mendes looked surprised.
"You do?"
Francesco smiled sadly.
"I won't pretend it doesn't hurt."
"Because it does."
He took a slow breath.
"But loyalty matters."
"If Cristiano was with you first…"
"…then I understand why you chose him."
Mendes looked genuinely emotional.
"I hoped you would."
Francesco stood from his chair.
"So…"
"I suppose this is goodbye."
"For now."
Mendes rose as well.
"I want to thank you."
Francesco shook his head.
"No."
"I should be thanking you."
"You've been there since my debut."
"You believed in me."
"You helped me become the player I am today."
"I'll never forget that."
The two men shared one final handshake.
It lasted slightly longer than normal.
Neither hurried to let go.
Finally…
Mendes picked up his coat.
"I truly wish you nothing but success."
"And I wish the same for you."
Without another word, Jorge Mendes quietly left the office.
A few moments later, the sound of the front door closing echoed softly through the house.
Francesco remained standing alone.
The office suddenly felt much quieter than before.
His gaze settled once more on the Ballon d'Or trophies.
Achievements they'd celebrated together.
Now…
A chapter had ended.
Downstairs, Leah immediately recognised the expression on his face as he entered the kitchen.
"What happened?"
Francesco sat beside her.
"Mendes won't be representing me anymore."
Leah blinked.
"What?"
"He came to tell me in person."
"Why?"
"He chose Cristiano."
Leah stared at him in disbelief.
"What do you mean?"
Francesco explained everything.
Cristiano's frustration.
The ultimatum.
The choice.
The loyalty.
Leah listened without interrupting.
When he finished, she leaned back slowly.
"I honestly thought…"
She hesitated.
"…he would choose you."
Francesco looked at her.
"Why?"
"Because you're younger."
"You've got so many years ahead of you."
"From a business perspective…"
"…it seems obvious."
Francesco smiled faintly before shaking his head.
"Maybe."
"But football isn't only business."
"Loyalty counts."
"He represented Cristiano before he represented me."
"I think he did what he believed was right."
Leah reached across the table and gently squeezed his hand.
"I'm still sorry."
"So am I."
"But I'm not angry."
She smiled softly.
"That's one of the reasons I love you."
That finally drew a genuine smile from Francesco.
As evening settled over Richmond, life inside the mansion gradually returned to normal.
Dinner.
Walking Cheddar through the gardens.
Watching television together.
For a few hours, it almost felt as though nothing had changed.
Then shortly after nine o'clock.
Across social media.
Football websites.
Newsrooms.
One official statement appeared.
Jorge Mendes' agency confirmed that Jorge Mendes and Francesco had officially parted ways by mutual agreement and would no longer continue their professional relationship. The agency thanked Francesco for years of trust and wished him continued success in his career.
Within minutes, journalists noticed.
Then broadcasters.
Then supporters.
Phones across Europe lit up with notifications.
Nobody had expected it.
One of football's most famous player-agent partnerships had come to an end.
By the following morning, the football world would be in complete shock.
Television debates.
Newspaper headlines.
Radio discussions.
Countless theories from supporters.
Media outlets.
Reporters.
Fans around the globe.
None of them had ever imagined that Jorge Mendes and Francesco would officially go their separate ways.
The following morning, the football world still hadn't settled down.
If anything, the story had only grown larger overnight.
Every major sports newspaper carried the same headline across its front page.
Francesco and Jorge Mendes officially part ways.
Television studios across Europe opened their morning programmes with the news.
Pundits debated possible reasons.
Former players offered opinions.
Journalists speculated endlessly about one question.
Who would represent the biggest player in world football now?
Social media was no different.
Supporters from Arsenal, Portugal, Spain, Italy, Germany and countless other countries filled comment sections with theories.
Some believed another elite agency had already secured his signature.
Others insisted he would manage his own affairs for a while.
Nobody actually knew.
Inside Francesco's Richmond mansion, however, the atmosphere couldn't have been more different.
The television remained switched off.
Cheddar slept comfortably near the fireplace.
Leah sat on the sofa reading while occasionally glancing toward Francesco, who had settled into one of the living room armchairs with a cup of coffee.
For the first time since the statement had been released, he allowed himself to look at his phone.
The screen lit up.
He almost laughed.
Missed calls.
Voicemails.
Emails.
Messages.
Notifications.
The list seemed endless.
Leah noticed his expression.
"That bad?"
He turned the phone around.
She stared for a second.
"…Good grief."
"It looks like the transfer deadline."
"It kind of is."
Except instead of clubs chasing him…
It was agents.
The phone vibrated again before he had even finished his coffee.
An unfamiliar international number appeared.
Francesco answered.
"Hello?"
A polite voice greeted him.
"Good morning, Francesco."
"My name is Mino Raiola."
Francesco smiled faintly.
Of course.
Word had travelled incredibly quickly.
The conversation remained professional.
Raiola congratulated him on his recent performances.
He spoke confidently about commercial opportunities, long-term planning and protecting the interests of elite footballers.
"I'd love the opportunity to represent you."
"I appreciate that."
"If you're available, I'd like to arrange a meeting."
"Thank you."
"I'll certainly consider it."
After several more minutes, the call ended respectfully.
Leah raised an eyebrow.
"Who?"
"Raiola."
She blinked.
"Already?"
"I told you."
"The football world moves fast."
Barely five minutes passed before the phone rang again.
Another international number.
This time it was Constantin Dumitrascu.
The German agent spoke warmly and confidently, outlining his own vision for Francesco's future both on and off the pitch.
He praised his professionalism.
His image.
His leadership.
By the end of the conversation he too had extended an invitation to meet.
Francesco thanked him sincerely.
"I appreciate your interest."
"It means a great deal."
The calls simply kept coming.
Before lunchtime another familiar name appeared.
Volker Struth.
As expected, the German agent approached the conversation differently.
Methodical.
Calm.
Focused almost entirely on long-term career planning.
Commercial stability.
Future negotiations.
Everything was carefully structured.
Once again Francesco listened respectfully.
He never rushed anyone.
He believed everyone deserved to be heard.
Not long after ending that call, the phone rang again.
Pini Zahavi.
The veteran agent laughed before Francesco had even said hello.
"I knew I'd have competition."
"So did I."
"I'll keep this short."
"I'd like the opportunity to represent the best player in the world."
Francesco smiled politely.
"I appreciate the compliment."
"And the call."
"I'll think carefully about every option."
"I expected nothing less."
The conversation ended on friendly terms.
Leah looked increasingly amused.
"You've become very popular."
"I think it's more the circumstances."
She grinned.
"Maybe."
"But scoring goals probably helps."
Before Francesco could answer…
The phone rang again.
He looked down.
A familiar surname.
Guardiola.
Not Pep.
Pere Guardiola.
Another respected football agent.
Francesco answered once more.
The pattern repeated itself.
Congratulations.
Respect.
Interest.
An invitation to talk.
By early afternoon, Francesco finally placed the phone face down on the coffee table.
Silence.
At last.
Leah handed him another cup of coffee.
"So…"
"Any favourites?"
He shook his head.
"Not yet."
"I don't want to rush."
"You shouldn't."
"This decision might shape the rest of my career."
Leah nodded in agreement.
"It deserves time."
Before either of them could continue…
The intercom chimed.
Both looked toward the hallway.
Francesco frowned slightly.
"I'm not expecting anyone."
He walked toward the entrance hall and pressed the intercom button.
"Hello?"
A calm British voice answered.
"Good afternoon."
"My name is Jonathan Barnett."
"I wondered if you might have a few minutes."
Francesco recognised the name immediately.
One of the most respected agents in football.
He glanced briefly toward Leah.
She simply shrugged with an encouraging smile.
"I suppose today's becoming very busy."
He pressed the gate release.
"Come in."
A few moments later, a dark luxury saloon rolled slowly up the driveway.
Jonathan Barnett stepped out carrying only a slim leather folder.
No assistants.
No photographers.
No entourage.
Just himself.
Francesco appreciated that immediately.
The two men shook hands.
"Thank you for seeing me."
"You're welcome."
"I hope I haven't interrupted anything."
"Not at all."
Leah greeted him warmly before excusing herself once again, allowing the two men privacy.
"My office?"
"If that's alright."
"Of course."
They climbed the staircase together.
Once again, Francesco's office welcomed another visitor.
Sunlight reflected softly from the glass cabinets displaying years of achievement.
League medals.
European trophies.
Golden Boots.
And standing proudly at the centre…
The two Ballon d'Or trophies.
Barnett glanced around.
An appreciative smile crossed his face.
"Quite a journey."
Francesco smiled.
"It's been a fortunate one."
Both men sat.
Unlike earlier meetings, Barnett didn't immediately open his folder.
He didn't begin with contracts.
Or sponsorships.
Or percentages.
Instead, he asked a simple question.
"How are you?"
Francesco looked slightly surprised.
"I'm alright."
"Honestly?"
He thought for a moment.
"I was disappointed yesterday."
"I imagine you were."
"But I understand why Jorge made his decision."
Barnett nodded.
"I respected that."
Francesco looked up.
"You did?"
"I've known Jorge for years."
"Loyalty matters."
"He showed loyalty."
"So did you."
There was no attempt to criticise Mendes.
No attempt to exploit the situation.
That alone impressed Francesco.
For nearly an hour they talked.
Not simply about football.
About life.
About responsibility.
About pressure.
About protecting the people closest to him.
Barnett spoke less than Francesco expected.
He listened far more.
Whenever Francesco explained something, Barnett never interrupted.
He simply listened.
Then responded thoughtfully.
Eventually they discussed football business.
Contract negotiations.
Commercial partnerships.
Brand management.
Future planning.
Barnett remained remarkably straightforward.
"I'm not here to promise impossible things."
"I'm here to work."
"If you become my client…"
"You'll always know exactly where you stand."
He slid a simple folder across the desk.
Inside wasn't an extravagant presentation.
Just carefully organised information.
Transparent structures.
Clear plans.
Nothing unnecessary.
Francesco read quietly.
Barnett allowed him all the time he needed.
No pressure.
No salesmanship.
Finally Francesco closed the folder.
He leaned back in his chair.
The office became quiet once again.
Outside, a light breeze moved gently through the gardens beyond the window.
Barnett folded his hands.
"Whatever you decide…"
"I'll respect it."
"If your answer is no…"
"I'll shake your hand and wish you every success."
Francesco studied him for several moments.
Then he smiled.
"You know…"
"I've spoken to a lot of agents today."
"I suspected you might have."
"They've all talked about business."
Barnett waited.
"You spent most of the last hour talking about trust."
The older man smiled faintly.
"Business changes."
"Trust shouldn't."
Francesco nodded slowly.
At that moment, the decision suddenly felt much easier than he had expected.
He stood from his chair.
Barnett did the same.
Francesco extended his hand.
"I'd like you to represent me."
For the first time during the entire meeting, genuine surprise crossed Barnett's face.
"Are you certain?"
"I am."
"I think you're the right person."
Barnett accepted the handshake firmly.
"I won't let you down."
"I know."
The handshake lasted only a few seconds.
Yet both men understood its significance.
A new chapter had officially begun.
Downstairs, Leah looked up from the living room as both men descended the staircase.
One glance at Francesco's expression told her everything.
She smiled.
"You've made your decision."
He nodded.
"I have."
She walked over and hugged him.
"I'm happy for you."
Barnett smiled politely.
"He's made a thoughtful choice."
"I believe so too."
After discussing a few practical details and arranging the necessary paperwork, Barnett prepared to leave.
At the front door, Francesco shook his hand once more.
"Thank you for coming personally."
"I wouldn't have done it any other way."
The front door closed gently behind him.
His car disappeared beyond the gates.
Inside the mansion, Francesco let out a slow breath.
Leah slipped her hand into his.
"So…"
"How does it feel?"
He looked out across the gardens.
"Like I've turned the page."
That evening, the legal documents were completed.
Signatures exchanged.
Formalities finalised.
Shortly afterwards, another official statement appeared online.
This time it came from Stellar Group.
The announcement was concise but unmistakable.
Stellar Group is delighted to announce that Francesco has officially joined the agency and will now be represented by Jonathan Barnett. We look forward to supporting him throughout the next chapter of his remarkable career.
The response was immediate.
Football media around the world exploded once again.
Only twenty-four hours earlier, supporters had been stunned by the end of Francesco's partnership with Jorge Mendes.
Now another major headline had arrived.
One of the world's biggest football stars had officially become Jonathan Barnett's newest client.
Television studios interrupted programmes.
Sports websites updated their front pages within minutes.
Reporters hurried to publish fresh articles.
Fans debated the move across every social media platform.
Speculation finally came to an end.
The football world had its answer.
Francesco had chosen Jonathan Barnett.
And with that decision, another important chapter in an extraordinary career quietly began.
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Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 36
Goal: 43
Assist: 3
MOTM: 5
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 15/16 stats:
Arsenal:
Match Played: 60
Goal: 82
Assist: 10
MOTM: 9
POTM: 1
England:
Match Played: 2
Goal: 4
Assist: 0
Euro 2016
Match Played: 6
Goal: 13
Assist: 4
MOTM: 6
Season 14/15 stats:
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9