The morning after the victory at Anoeta, the world outside Rio's front door had changed. The 27-yard "knuckleball" was playing on a loop on every sports channel in Spain. His phone—the same clunky Nokia—was vibrating so incessantly it walked itself across the nightstand.
Agents were circling like sharks in a feeding frenzy. High-profile representatives from London, Milan, and Madrid were calling Elena's house, offering luxury cars, offshore accounts, and promises of making Rio "the next David Beckham."
Rio sat in the small living room of their new apartment, the one paid for by his signing bonus. He looked at a stack of business cards on the coffee table with a cold, analytical calm.
"They don't see a player," Rio said, his voice level. "They see a commission. If I sign with one of these sharks, they'll sell my image to the highest bidder before I even win a trophy. They'll try to control my minutes to protect their 'asset'."
Bella sat across from him, already sorting through a mountain of mail. "The press is even worse, Rio. They're digging into Mom's past, trying to find out which bakery she worked at. They're lurking outside your training sessions. You need a shield."
The Strategy MeetingAn hour later, the door opened, and Sofia walked in. She carried a leather briefcase and wore a sharp, charcoal blazer—looking every bit the daughter of a Sporting Director. She sat down next to Bella, the two women who knew Rio best forming a defensive line.
"My father says the club is getting worried," Sofia said, her eyes meeting Rio's. "They want you to sign with a 'safe' agency, someone they can negotiate with easily. But if you do that, you lose your leverage. You'll just be another employee."
Rio leaned forward, his hands clasped. "I've spent my life—and my memories—planning for this. I don't want a shark, and I don't want a 'safe' corporate suit. I need people I can trust with my life, not just my bank account."
He looked at Sofia. "Sofia, you know the boardrooms. You know how the contracts are structured because you grew up watching your father tear them apart. You're the smartest negotiator I've ever met."
Then he turned to Bella. "And Bella... you've been protecting me since I could walk. You know how to spot a lie from a kilometer away. You're the only person I trust to handle the 'Ghost' image."
The OfferThe room went silent. The weight of the suggestion hung in the air.
"I want to keep this in the family," Rio said, his beautifully calm gaze shifting between them. "Sofia, I want you to be my official Sporting Agent. You handle the club, the contracts, and the legalities. You're the only one who won't be intimidated by the President."
Sofia's breath hitched. "Rio... the conflict of interest with my father... the headlines..."
"The headlines will happen anyway," Rio countered smoothly. "But with you, I know the contract will be perfect. You aren't looking for a percentage; you're looking out for us."
He turned to his sister. "And Bella, I want you to be my Head of PR and Brand. You control the narrative. You decide which journalists get a quote and which ones stay behind the gate. You protect Mom. You make sure the world sees the 'Architect', not just a celebrity."
The PactBella looked at the stack of gold-embossed business cards from the world's biggest agencies, then looked at her brother. A fierce, proud light ignited in her eyes. "You want your sister to go to war with the Spanish press?"
"I want my sister to win the war," Rio corrected with a smirk.
Sofia reached out and took Rio's hand, her thumb grazing his knuckles. She looked at Bella, a silent understanding passing between them. The Director's daughter and the baker's daughter. The brain and the shield.
"My father will be furious," Sofia whispered, a small, rebellious smile forming on her lips. "He'll say I'm throwing away my reputation for a 'fling' with a player."
"Then we'll show him it's not a fling," Rio said, his voice dropping to a low, certain rumble. "It's an empire. I'll provide the magic on the pitch. You two provide the fortress around it."
Sofia opened her briefcase and pulled out a blank legal pad. "If I'm your agent, Rio, the first thing we're doing is renegotiating your image rights. The club thinks they own 50%. I'm going to get you 80%."
Bella grabbed a pen. "And the first thing I'm doing is issuing a 'No-Fly Zone' over Mom's house. No more paparazzi."
Rio sat back, watching them work. The sharks were still circling outside, but for the first time since his debut, he felt truly safe. He had the best player in history as his partner on the pitch, and the two most dangerous women in Barcelona as his partners off it.
"Twenty-two," Rio muttered to himself, thinking of his jersey number.
The Two-Headed Dragon had just grown its wings.