Baum had used a long-lens photo of Mateo and Lewandowski in what looked like a heated discussion, a perfectly normal moment of on-pitch debate between two competitive athletes.

But with a sensationalist headline and a few fabricated quotes from an "anonymous source," he had twisted it into a story of jealousy and conflict.

The club's PR team, now well-versed in crisis management, immediately issued a strong denial. Klopp held a press conference where he ridiculed the story, and Lewandowski himself posted a picture on social media of him and Mateo laughing together.

The story was quickly debunked, but the incident left a bitter taste in Mateo's mouth. It was a stark reminder of how vulnerable he was, how easily his reality could be distorted by those who wished to profit from his fame. It reinforced the urgent need for a team that could not just build his career, but also protect his reputation.

The week culminated with a home game against a struggling Nürnberg side. After the high-stakes drama of the Champions League and the high-pressure world of agent negotiations, the match felt almost like a relaxation. The Signal Iduna Park was its usual cauldron of yellow and black, a fortress of support. Dortmund was in complete control from the first whistle.

Mateo, playing with a newfound sense of clarity and purpose, was untouchable. He glided through the game, the master of his domain.

In the 34th minute, he scored the opening goal, a beautiful, curling shot from the edge of the box that was a perfect blend of power and finesse. He provided an assist for the second goal and was instrumental in the build-up for the third. The 3-0 victory was one of the most comfortable of the season.

As he walked off the pitch to a standing ovation, he felt a sense of calm. The chaos around him was not going away. The business of being Mateo was only going to get more complicated. But for the first time, he felt like he had a handle on it.

He knew what he valued. He knew who he could trust. And he knew what he had to do. The game on the pitch was easy. It was the game off the pitch that was the real challenge, and he was finally ready to play it.

Klopp's reaction to the story was a masterclass in media management. He didn't just deny it; he ridiculed it.

He opened his press conference by saying, "I have read this morning that there is a great conflict between Robert and Mateo. I can confirm this is true. They had a vicious argument yesterday over who had to pay for the coffee. It was a scandal. We are a club in crisis."

His sarcasm, delivered with a deadpan expression, made the tabloid look foolish and unprofessional, and the story died almost instantly.

Lewandowski's role was equally important. The veteran striker, who could have been forgiven for feeling a twinge of jealousy at the meteoric rise of his young teammate, instead acted with grace and maturity.

He sought Mateo out in the locker room, threw a friendly arm around his shoulder, and had a teammate take a photo of them laughing. He posted it on his own social media with the caption, "The big fight. He won. He never pays for the coffee."

It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. It was a public declaration of unity, a message to the world that the Dortmund locker room was a family, and they would not be torn apart by outside forces.

As he sat on the bench, watching the final minutes of the game tick away, he felt a sense of profound clarity. He knew what he had to do. He had the wisdom of Sarah, the protection of Klopp, the support of his teammates, and the grounding influence of Isabella.

He was surrounded by a team, a family, that would help him navigate the treacherous waters of his new life. The choice was no longer a burden; it was an empowerment. He was ready to take control, to build his own future, to become the master of his own destiny. The business of being Mateo was about to get a new CEO.

Sarah's preparation for these meetings was meticulous. She had created detailed profiles of each candidate, including their client lists, their biggest deals, their media controversies, and their reputed negotiating styles. She prepped Mateo before each call, advising him on what to look for, what questions to ask, and how to read between the lines of their carefully crafted pitches.

"Branchini will try to intimidate you with his power," she had warned. "He will name-drop, he will talk about money, he will make you feel like you are lucky to be in his presence. Do not be impressed by the shine. Look for the substance."

"Projekt M will appeal to your heart," she had advised. "They will talk about family, about trust, about protecting you. This is genuine, but you must also ask yourself if they have the strength to fight for you in a world of wolves."

"And DSG," she had explained, "will try to dazzle you with the future. They will talk about technology, about data, about a world you are only just beginning to understand. But you must ask if they understand the world you come from, the values that guide you."

Her guidance was invaluable. It allowed Mateo to enter these high-stakes negotiations not as a naive, star-struck teenager, but as a thoughtful, analytical decision-maker.

He listened more than he spoke, his quiet intensity often unnerving the slick, fast-talking agents on the other end of the screen. He was not just choosing an agent; he was choosing a future, and he treated the decision with the gravity it deserved.

Isabella's question was the final, crucial piece of the puzzle. It reframed the entire decision. It was no longer about choosing the best agent; it was about choosing the agent who was best for him.

It was about finding a partner who would not try to change him, but who would help him become the best version of himself. Her wisdom, born of a deep, empathetic understanding of his character, was more valuable than all of Sarah's corporate research.

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