England – 6:37 PM BST (UTC+1)
(Germany time: 7:37 PM)
Tuesday, April 6th, 2021
The small London apartment was quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the clink of metal trays. In the kitchen, a bulky figure moved with surprising speed for his size, though every step made his weight shift and ripple beneath his loose T-shirt. His belly swayed with each turn, the fabric stretching momentarily before settling again. Beads of sweat gathered along his hairline, partly from the warmth of the oven, partly from the hurried energy in his movements.
Bent over slightly, he slid a large, golden-brown pie onto the middle rack, his fingers careful not to touch the hot metal. The buttery scent escaped instantly, filling the air with that rich, indulgent aroma only a proper meat pie could give. Straightening up, he gave the oven door a little pat before muttering to himself, almost in satisfaction,
"Should be ready before the match starts."
He turned to wipe his hands on a towel when a familiar buzz pulsed from the countertop. The vibration had a rhythm to it — quick, insistent — the kind that made him think, Yeah… I know exactly who this is. Reaching over, he picked up the phone, and sure enough, the name glowing on the screen brought a grin to his face.
"Hey, Janty, how are you?" he said warmly, thumb swiping to accept the call.
Without missing a beat, Trey — that was his name — tapped the speaker icon and set the phone down on the counter. His hands were already busy again, rifling through a plastic bag full of crisps, a jar of dip, and an unopened pack of chocolate biscuits. He shuffled them around with the casual skill of someone who'd done this pre-match ritual a hundred times.
From the phone came a lively voice, slightly tinny through the speaker:
"Trey! How are you? You prepared yet? The match is in a few hours, mate!"
Trey chuckled, still arranging his haul across the countertop like an artist laying out paintbrushes. "Yeah, just getting some light snacks ready—"
There was an immediate laugh from Janty on the other end, a short, teasing burst. "Light snacks? There's nothing light about your snacks, Trey!"
Trey smirked, picking up the pack of biscuits with mock offence. "If you called just to laugh at me, then I'm cutting—"
Janty's laughter only grew, the sound bouncing off the kitchen tiles. "Okay, okay! Sorry. I called for business, you know. We have to plan for the match—"
The living room had that late-afternoon-evening haze—the kind that made the soft hum of an idle ceiling fan sound louder than usual. Trey was already sunk deep into the couch, one leg stretched out, the other bouncing in restless rhythm. In front of him, a low coffee table was cluttered with his weapons of trade: a laptop, screen open on Twitter's familiar blue-and-white battlefield, and his phone lying face-up beside it, the call timer reading 7:03. Janty's voice was still in his ear, a steady presence on the line.
Trey leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes darting between his feed and the trending tab.
"So, see this," he began, his voice carrying the tone of someone about to drop a mischievous gem. He grinned, already imagining the chaos. "I'm thinking I post about the match now—set the mood early." He gave a short laugh. "Today we feast on Barca. Tomorrow? Chelsea and Liverpool. This week is good, my people, this week is good."
Janty chuckled faintly in response, his voice slightly tinny through the speaker.
Trey kept going, riding the moment. "You can even quote me, laugh at me, say 'please, when can we start feasting on Manchester United on Tuesdays, Wednesdays?' You know—make it look like banter. ... sprinkle it in."
"Ooh, that's nice," Janty said, the approval in his tone more about the engagement potential than the humor.
From there, the conversation flowed into the unvarnished side of football Twitter—the part no one posted screenshots of. They weren't just fans; they were operators, treating timelines like chessboards. Trey scrolled, occasionally screenshotting things, occasionally bookmarking. They plotted how tweets would drop like small grenades, how 'coincidental' back-and-forths would light up replies, how the best-performing abuse would be carefully timed to ride whatever narrative was already catching fire.
"Look, man," Trey said at one point, leaning back and spinning the phone in his palm, "it's all about playing the crowd. You can't just react—you plant seeds. People think it's natural, but nah... it's all theatre."
Janty agreed easily, before steering them toward another topic. "What about Fabrizio? You know, just getting him to reply can do us numbers. How do we get him to even notice us, let alone follow?"
Trey smirked. "Easy. We start interacting with all his posts—quotes, replies, little stats to make us look smart. And when he drops news, we're among the first to respond. Consistency. Make him see us."
Janty hummed, eyes flicking to his phone. "Speaking of people with pull—European Lad DM'd me earlier. Said we should all comment under his post for the match. Boost the algorithm."
Trey grinned. "No problem. That's free clout right there."
Janty's smirk sharpened. "And that Barça kid—Mateo? Man, he's insane clout. No joke, I'm telling you—If they lose tonight, he's gonna hand me content on a silver platter. Youngest footballer to lose in a Champions League quarter-final? I've already got the captions lined up he always gets mad reactions when brougth up cant wait to start seeing the he is just a kid post defending him funding us more."
Trey chuckled darkly. "Same. I've got that Messi pic from the 8–2… got someone to edit Mateo's face on it. Then I'll post it with a carousel—different eras, but same outcome. Some things never change."
Janty laughed, leaning back. "Bro, that's savage. I'm doing it too."
After a few laughs there was a pause, a scroll, and then Trey's voice brightened. "Oh, that's true—Janty, there's this girl, Berneese…"
"The Barca Ghanaian girl?" Janty interrupted, a knowing edge to his tone.
"Yes, her," Trey confirmed. "Today could be a big day for her—make sure to quote her, boost her visibility and all that."
Janty hesitated, his reasoning already forming. "I don't know, you know. I'm trying to boost my followers right now. Can't be seen following someone that low at the moment—it doesn't look good for the brand."
Trey gave a short laugh, part teasing, part serious. "I've told you before—if you want to grow followers quickly, start supporting Ronaldo and keep abusing Messi. They eat that shit up."
Janty sighed, the kind of sigh that comes from knowing your friend is right but hating the truth of it. "I know… but you just switched to Ronaldo yourself. If I change that fast too, it'll look suspicious. Maybe by next season."
Trey leaned back in his chair, the dim glow of his laptop screen painting soft blue shadows across his face. His voice, calm but deliberate, carried a tone of intent as he said,
"About Berneese… you know how it is, man. Us Africans — we gotta back each other. That's the only way we can actually make moves in this space. You think these big audiences just appear? Nah. We create them for each other."
He paused, as though imagining the numbers ticking up on a follower counter.
"If she plays her cards right, she could build herself a solid Barça following. And that's not just hype — that's valuable. A large, loyal Barca audience? That's something neither of us fully has yet. But if she gets it, it benefits all of us later."
Janty hummed thoughtfully on the other end of the call. Trey smirked, sensing the silence meant agreement.
"That's why I'm even introducing her to my contact at 1xBet," Trey continued. "They'd give her, her first contract, no doubt. You know what that means for her image? That's a serious start."
The conversation shifted into something sharper, more like a boardroom strategy than casual talk. They began mapping things out — which tweets to drop, what tone to hit, which hashtags to ride. Trey's voice had that mix of casualness and authority, like a man who knew exactly what he was doing but didn't want to show his full hand.
"Alright," Trey said eventually, "this is how we should do it — I'll drop the intro in the group chat. We'll set the timing, the narrative, and let it snowball from there."
"Cool," Janty replied, his tone laced with anticipation. "But yo, this match is gonna be insane. Still can't believe we couldn't get tickets."
Trey let out a short sigh, one that carried more practicality than disappointment.
"Yeah… can't be helped. The resale prices were ridiculous. Let's just watch it. Besides, I'm saving my money — I want to watch the finals in person. Can't be blowing cash on every other game."
A chuckle came from Janty's end. "Oh, so you're saving up to watch Chelsea then?"
Trey laughed, shaking his head. "See? This is what happens when you keep tweeting that nonsense. You're starting to believe your own propaganda."
"We shall see," Janty replied in that playful, dangerous tone of his. Then, a beat later, he added, "You're supporting Bayern, right?"
"Of course. Why?" Trey asked.
"Nothing," Janty said lightly. "Just post that you're backing Bayern, and I'll reply betting on Barça. Let's run the jinx gimmick again."
Trey chuckled. "Oh, that's nice."
He instinctively glanced at the corner of his screen, catching the time. "Wait — the lineups should be out now, shouldn't they?"
"That's true," Janty answered immediately.
Without another word, Trey minimized the video call window and opened SofaScore. The homepage was already plastered with the featured match: Bayern vs Barcelona. He clicked instantly, navigating straight to the lineups tab, the anticipation almost muscle memory at this point.
But before he could even scroll down, Janty's voice cut through the speakers — sharper now, almost urgent.
"It's a lie… he's not playing."
Trey froze for a split second, the words catching him off guard. He scrolled fast, eyes darting down the lineup. And there it was.
Despite being an influencer who thrived on clickbait and hype, Trey was still a football fan — one whose interest albeit went deeper than pure entertainment. He could read a team sheet like a trader reading the stock market. And the second he saw the name missing, his mind whispered the only thing it could.
Fuck… is the jinx really real?
A/N
If you want to read 30 chapters ahead with daily uploads and to support me subscribe to my Patreon below There is also a picture of how mateo looks like posted and later there would be votes and all on the site some you wont need to pay to vote but you can if you want to support me thanks
patreon.com/David_Adetola
Thank You your support is greatly appreciated thank you all