"If England or italy qualifies and I'm selected for the tournament," Demien said, "there should be a bonus structure for that. Fifty thousand for making the squad, additional bonuses for appearances and tournament progression. Nike gets massive exposure from World Cup participation—that should be reflected."

"You're very confident you'll be in consideration," Alessandro observed.

"I'm confident I'll work hard enough to be in consideration," Demien corrected. "Whether I make it or not depends on performance. But the clause should be there in case I do."

Marco added, "It's standard practice in modern contracts to include major tournament provisions. Especially with the 2022 World Cup being in Qatar—unusual winter timing, massive global audience. Any player with realistic international prospects should have this covered."

The room fell silent again as Alessandro and Claudia processed the counterproposal.

"There's one more thing," Demien said, and both executives looked at him. "Creative input."

"Creative input?" Claudia echoed.

"The campaigns," Demien clarified. "I want some say in how I'm presented. Not full control—I understand Nike has a brand image to maintain—but consultation on shoots, messaging, the story being told. I'm not just a face in your ads. I'm building my own brand too, and I want to make sure they align."

Alessandro's surprise was now openly visible. Claudia looked at Demien like she was seeing him in a new light.

"That's..." Alessandro paused, searching for words. "That's not something we typically offer at this level."

"Maybe that's something Nike should reconsider," Demien said evenly. "Athletes aren't just products. We're partners. The more invested I am in the campaigns, the better the results will be. It's in both our interests."

Marco's pen had stopped moving. He was watching Demien with an expression that mixed pride and astonishment.

Claudia set her tablet down and looked at Alessandro. A silent conversation happened between them—raised eyebrows, slight nods, calculations being made.

"Let me be clear," Alessandro said finally. "This is not how these meetings usually go. Most players at your stage accept our initial offer, maybe negotiate five or ten thousand more. You just restructured the entire proposal."

"Is that a problem?" Demien asked.

"No," Claudia said, and she smiled slightly. "It's actually refreshing. We see a lot of young players who let their agents do all the talking, who don't understand their own contracts. You clearly understand yours."

"I want a partnership that works for both of us," Demien said. "Not just a deal where one side wins. Nike gets a young player with potential and work ethic. I get fair compensation and support to develop. That's a foundation worth building on."

Alessandro leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Alright. Let's work through this. Eighty thousand base is... possible. The specific bonus triggers you outlined make sense—they're performance-based, which is what we want anyway. The World Cup clause is more complicated, but we can structure something."

"And creative input?" Demien asked.

"Consultation," Claudia said firmly. "Not control. You'll have input on campaigns you're involved in, chance to review concepts, give feedback. Final decisions stay with Nike, but we'll listen to your perspective."

"That's fair," Demien agreed.

Alessandro stood up. "Give me five minutes. I need to make a call, run these numbers by my director."

He stepped out of the room, leaving Claudia, Marco, and Demien in silence.

Claudia looked at Demien with undisguised curiosity. "How old are you again?"

"Eighteen."

"You negotiate like you're thirty," she said. "Where did you learn this?"

Demien shrugged. "I pay attention. And I know my value."

"Clearly." She glanced at Marco. "You've trained him well."

Marco smiled. "Honestly? He surprised me too. This is all him."

The five minutes stretched to seven, then eight. When Alessandro returned, his expression was unreadable until he sat down and broke into a smile.

"Okay," he said. "Deal."

Relief and satisfaction flickered across Demien's face, quickly controlled.

"Eighty thousand base salary," Alessandro outlined. "Forty thousand bonus with the specific triggers you outlined—goals, assists, international appearances. World Cup clause structured as you suggested, with bonuses for squad selection and tournament performance. Consultation rights on campaigns involving you. Three-year term, all other provisions from the original offer remain."

He extended his hand across the table.

Demien shook it. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Alessandro said. "You earned it. That was some of the best negotiating I've seen from any player, let alone an eighteen-year-old."

Marco shook hands with both executives. "We'll need the revised draft in writing, of course."

"You'll have it by Friday," Claudia confirmed. "Legal will draw up the new terms, send it to you for review."

Alessandro stood and walked to the side table where a sleek Nike box sat, black with the swoosh logo embossed on top. He lifted it and brought it back to the table, setting it in front of Demien.

"One more thing," he said.

He lifted the lid with practiced flourish, revealing a pair of Nike Mercurial boots inside—gleaming under the soft meeting room lights, size 42.5, the vapor blue colorway catching the light.

Demien's eyes widened slightly. The boots were beautiful—lightweight construction, modern design, the kind of elite-level product that professionals wore.

"These are prototypes," Alessandro explained. "Not available in retail yet. We customize them for players in our development pipeline."

Claudia leaned forward with a warm smile. "Take them home. Test them in training, in real conditions. There's no obligation—just our way of showing confidence in you and our commitment to this partnership."

Demien reached into the box and lifted one boot carefully. The materials felt premium—synthetic upper, carbon fiber plate visible through the clear sole. He turned it over in his hands, examining the construction.

"Size forty-two and a half?" he asked.

"We pulled your measurements from Atalanta's equipment database," Alessandro said. "Should be perfect."

Demien slipped off his white sneakers and, with care, slid his right foot into the boot. He laced it up, then repeated with the left.

He stood, testing the fit. They hugged his feet snugly but comfortably, no pressure points, the ankle collar soft against his skin. He took a few steps, rolled his foot from heel to toe.

"They fit perfectly," he said, and genuine appreciation colored his voice.

"Good." Alessandro smiled. "Wear them this week in training. Let us know how they feel. If anything needs adjusting—fit, studs, anything—we'll fix it."

"Good." Alessandro smiled. "Wear them this week in training. Let us know how they feel. If anything needs adjusting—fit, studs, anything—we'll fix it."

Demien sat back down and carefully removed the boots, placing them back in the box. This tangible connection to Nike's world deepened the deal beyond just numbers on paper—it was an invitation to belong, to grow, to prove himself worthy of the brand's faith.

"We'll be in touch," Claudia said as everyone stood. "Looking forward to working with you, Demien."

Handshakes all around, genuine smiles, the meeting concluded on a high note.

As they walked back through Nike's office toward the elevator, Alessandro walked them out personally.

"We'll get the revised contract to you by Friday," he said at the elevator doors. "Legal will draw everything up with the terms we discussed. Review it carefully, let us know if anything needs clarification."

"We will," Marco confirmed.

Alessandro looked at Demien. "That was seriously impressive in there. Most guys twice your age don't negotiate that well."

Demien smiled. "I just want what's fair."

"And assuming everything looks good in the contract, you'll get it." Alessandro extended his hand. "Looking forward to working with you."

They shook hands, and the elevator arrived. Marco and Demien stepped inside, and the doors closed.

As soon as they were alone, Marco let out a breath he'd been holding.

"That was incredible," he said, turning to Demien with wide eyes. "You just negotiated an eighteen-year-old's Nike contract up by fifteen thousand base and completely restructured the bonus system. Do you understand how rare that is?"

Demien held the Nike box in his hands, looking down at it. "It felt right."

"It was more than right. It was perfect." Marco shook his head in amazement. "Percassi called you impressive. I'm calling you a natural. This is what I do for a living, and I learned things watching you in there."

The elevator descended smoothly, and Demien allowed himself a small smile.

"Two more meetings," he said.

"Two more," Marco agreed. "But Nike set the bar. Let's see if Adidas and Puma can match it."

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened to the parking garage.

They had ninety minutes before the Adidas meeting, and Demien had a lot to think about.

A/N

THE EXTRA CHAPTER IS TOMORROW!!!!

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