The Next Big Thing
Chapter 133: Bad Impression

Chapter 133: Bad Impression

While David had controlled himself, vowing to impress the coach as he wanted to be part of Manchester United 2.0—even planning to make a good first impression—something entirely out of his control was happening now, threatening to destroy all his hopes. Not just for a good first impression, but possibly for any impression at all.

"What do you mean they can’t sign Antony?"

Ole’s voice rang out, sharp and agitated, as he stood in his backyard, phone pressed to his ear. Another call with his agent. Another moment of frustration. This had become far too frequent ever since he had made the decision to join Manchester United.

"Eric, can you please calm down? Manchester United has exceeded their budget for the summer transfer window. They simply can’t get Antony," Kees said, his voice measured, steady. He knew his client’s fascination—no, obsession—with the Brazilian winger. Eric had spent a full year trying to pry Antony away from São Paulo FC, even taking the unusual step of signing him in February under a deal that would only allow him to join in July. But fate had other plans.

Then COVID struck.

And just like that, the obsessed coach and his prized obsession had been kept apart. Football had been suspended, and while leagues across Europe eventually found ways to return, the Dutch football federation had remained steadfast in its decision to shut down the Eredivisie until further notice. Not only had this denied Eric the chance to work with Antony, but it had also robbed him of his second Eredivisie title—his fourth trophy overall with Ajax.

Kees never fully understood Eric’s near-irrational fixation on the winger, but as one of his most important clients, it was Kees’ job to appease him. It was also precisely why he preferred managing coaches over players. Sure, players brought in more money through contracts, bonuses, and endorsements, but with a coach? With a coach, he had influence. He could introduce his other players to the club, ease them in through a familiar face, and if that club just so happened to be Manchester United—one of the richest and most powerful institutions in world football—then the potential was limitless.

Eric Ten Hag, as Manchester United manager, was now his most valuable asset. His gold mine. His cash cow. And he had every intention of keeping him happy—within reason, of course.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t growing irritated.

And yet, if there was one thing Kees had mastered, it was the art of negotiation. The way he spoke, the way his tone remained calm, unshaken, even when dealing with a man as relentless as Eric—it was the reason he was the CEO of an agency with over 600 clients. He was collected, professional, unwavering. His voice remained steady, even soothing, as he continued to reason with the Dutchman.

"Eric, we have to be realistic," he said, patient but firm. "With Ronaldo, Sancho, and the others they’ve already signed, the budget is stretched thin. There simply isn’t room for Antony right now. But listen—this could work in our favor. Let him stay here for just one more year. Give him time to grow, to prove himself in Europe, to develop beyond South America. That way, when the time comes, you won’t just be bringing in a prospect—you’ll be bringing in a star."

He let the words linger, allowing Eric to process them. The message was clear: patience was needed. Compromise was necessary.

But whether Eric Ten Hag would accept that was an entirely different question.

And accept he did not.

"I don’t understand what you’re telling me," Eric Ten Hag said, his voice sharp with irritation. "This wasn’t the deal we agreed on. Remember, I was given the authority to introduce the players I wanted. That was the agreement, and it was supposed to take effect immediately. I am not a potential manager, Kees. I am the manager already. Maybe they don’t realize that because I’m still here and not in Manchester yet, but they shouldn’t forget. Remind them of our deal and tell them plainly and simply what I want."

There was no room for negotiation in his voice. The Dutchman was unwavering, his frustration palpable.

But Kees was not one to be easily shaken. As an experienced agent who had navigated countless high-stakes negotiations, he knew when to push and when to pull back. He had already spoken to Manchester United’s board, and while they fully supported Eric and had backed him in every way possible, this was a situation that simply could not be changed.

The Board were adamant—there would be no Antony this summer. Between Ronaldo’s astronomical wages and the massive fee spent on Jadon Sancho, United had stretched their budget to its absolute limits. Even if they had the money, they wouldn’t be able to spend it due to financial restrictions. Kees had been asked to step in, to try and convince Eric of the reality of the situation, something he absolutely dreaded doing.

"Eric, you have Rashford, Martial, and now Sancho," Kees reasoned, his tone measured, controlled. "Greenwood and Daniel James are still in the squad as well. Even if Antony comes, he’ll be on the bench. I assure you, if you still want him next season, I will personally make sure he is signed. But this season, it’s just not possible."

Eric scoffed. The dismissal was immediate, cutting.

"Please. Rashford prefers the left, Martial as well. Sancho too. Greenwood isn’t ready to be a starter at this level, at least not yet. And I don’t even want to discuss Daniel James. The squad is lacking a proper right winger, and Antony is exactly what I need. He fits into my playstyle perfectly—fast, technical, excellent dribbler, can shoot, can cut inside. He is the profile I want. He is the player I need."

Kees could hear the steel in Eric’s voice, the certainty. He had known this would be difficult, but Eric wasn’t leaving any room for compromise. The Dutchman wasn’t done either.

"Remind them that if our agreement is violated—if I don’t get what I was promised—I will be entitled to a massive severance package. I am not in any shape or form—" Eric paused for emphasis, his voice lowering to something cold, deliberate, dangerous, "—going to accept being undermined before I’ve even arrived."

Kees sighed internally. He had known this was going to be a disaster, but he had hoped—foolishly—that he could reason with Eric. He took a steadying breath and decided to play his last card.

"Eric, they do have a natural right winger in the squad. A player the CEO personally mentioned to me. David Jones. He’s 16 years old, but Ed told me he’s highly talented. He was one of the former manager’s key signings, a big investment for the club. Ed says he’s a proper right winger, exactly what you’re looking for."

Silence.

Then, Eric Ten Hag frowned, his disbelief evident. "A kid?" His voice dripped with incredulity. "You’re telling me that instead of signing the player I actually want, they’re expecting me to work with a 16-year-old?"

Kees had anticipated this reaction, but he pressed on. "Eric, listen to me. From everything I’ve heard, this kid is special. Ed was very high on him. I wouldn’t bring up just any young player for the sake of it. Trust me on this."

But instead of consideration, Eric’s response was firm, unyielding. His voice was lower now, but just as determined.

"Enough, Kees. There is no way I’m playing with a 16-year-old kid. And tell the club—one way or another, they need to get Antony. Goodbye."

And just like that, the line went dead.

Kees exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples with his fingers as he processed the conversation. He had expected resistance, but Eric’s outright refusal left him in a difficult position. He could already see the storm that was brewing at Manchester United, a battle of wills between the new manager and the club’s hierarchy.

Shaking his head, he pulled up another contact and dialed. After a few rings, the call connected.

"Ed, bad news. It didn’t work. He’s still adamant about Antony, and I know him—once Eric makes up his mind, it can’t be changed. We need to find another way to get him what he wants. I have an idea for how we can get Antony for cheaper."

As he spoke, the wheels were already turning in his mind, countermeasures being put in place.

Meanwhile, David Jones was completely unaware of the battle happening behind the scenes. He had not been the main focus of the conversation, but his name had already been associated with negativity in Eric Ten Hag’s mind. A mere afterthought. A player the club had tried to force on him. That perception, no matter how brief, would carry over into their first meeting.

And that first impression could make all the difference.

If you’d like to support me, please consider donating Power Stones, Golden Tickets, and Eve Gifts!

Power Stones are crucial for rankings right now I’m in top 100 please support me, so your support would mean a lot at this stage. Every donation helps—thank you so much! 🙌