The Next Big Thing
Chapter 139: PR People and Meeting New Coach

Chapter 139: PR People and Meeting New Coach

Has David left the weight room. He walked towards the locker room; his mind was still stuck on the awkward moment from earlier. He was still trying to process everything.

Ronaldo had gone from being weird at first—talking to someone in a language David didn’t understand—to being friendly, warm, and exactly how David had always imagined him to be. But then, like a switch had been flipped, he had gone cold, shutting David out completely.

David had spent over two hours in the gym, pushing himself hard, hoping to make an impression. Yet, during that entire time, Ronaldo had acted like he didn’t even exist—not speaking to him, not even acknowledging him. Even when he had finally left, he hadn’t spared David a glance.

Still, David didn’t let it weigh too heavily on his mind yes, he had met Ronaldo there and he had left first. But he knew people were different, and he reminded himself that Ronaldo was already fully developed, while he was still growing, still working toward his peak. Besides, he had training later in the day. If he overtrained now and ended up weak or sluggish when the coach actually showed up, he would only have himself to blame.

And anyway, there was no way the coach wouldn’t know he had been in the gym. He was sure some staff members had taken note of his presence. Someone was bound to mention it.

’I’ll just let Mohamed tell him,’ David thought to himself, shrugging off the frustration as he stepped into the locker room.

He didn’t head for the showers—he wanted his scent to linger, a subtle sign of the hard work he had put in.

But the moment he stepped inside, he realized the locker room wasn’t empty. In fact, it was the complete opposite. The place was packed. People were everywhere—some holding cameras, others adjusting equipment—while a man stood in the center, barking orders, directing them all.

"You, make sure you snap the whole place," the man instructed, his voice sharp and authoritative.

"You, just get shots of Ronaldo’s jersey. Have you heard me? Be quick—the players will start coming in soon."

"Also, move that jersey over there! Put Rashford’s and Bruno’s next to Ronaldo’s and take the three together. I want it done now!"

David stood frozen for a moment, just watching, taking it all in. None of them had noticed him yet.

Then, as if sensing his presence, the man turned in his direction. Still caught up in giving instructions, he barely glanced at David before saying, "You, kid! Bring a ball. Let’s place it on Ronaldo’s desk."

But before David could even react, the man did a double take, finally looking at him properly. His expression shifted in an instant.

"Wait—you’re not on my team," he said, his voice laced with confusion.

At those words, every head in the room turned toward David. The sudden attention made him frown slightly, but before he could say anything, the man’s confusion quickly turned to irritation.

"I told them I just needed thirty minutes, and they couldn’t even give me that!" the man snapped. His frustration boiled over as he turned back to David. "You! Ball boy! What are you doing here? I want total privacy! So leave—leave!" He waved his hands, shooing David away as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience.

David’s frown deepened. He felt a flicker of annoyance but kept his cool. "I’m not a ball boy," he said firmly, his voice carrying just enough edge to make it clear he didn’t appreciate the assumption.

The man didn’t seem convinced, so David raised a hand and pointed toward the number 19 jersey that had been repositioned earlier. "I’m a player at the club," he said. "Number 19. Jones. That’s me."

The second he said that, the man’s expression changed completely. Gone was the irritation, replaced instead by a wide, almost exaggerated smile.

"Ooooh! Sorry about that, kid. I didn’t know," he said quickly, his tone suddenly dripping with enthusiasm. Then, without missing a beat, he added, "But now that you’re here, do you want to do an interview?"

David blinked, caught off guard by how fast the man had switched up.

He hadn’t even had time to process the question when the man turned away, already waving someone over. "Paul! Camera over here!" he called out. "We’ve got a young player. He’ll make a great interview. We can ask him about playing with Ronaldo—how Ronaldo’s influence has helped him and all that. Perfect story!"

David still hadn’t answered. But the man didn’t seem to care. He was already walking toward him, a camera operator hurrying behind him.

"Alright, let’s move! Everyone, keep doing what you were doing," the man barked at the rest of the crew before turning back to Paul. "Be quick!"

David barely had time to react before the camera was set up in front of him.

The bright lights flashed in his face, forcing him to close his eyes for a second as he adjusted to the glare.

Not even noticing David’s discomfort, the man immediately launched into his questions.

"Dones, right? How does it feel having Cristiano Ronaldo in your team? Does having him around make you all believe you can win the league next season or even compete for the Champions League?" he asked, his voice carrying an almost rehearsed enthusiasm.

The cameraman, Paul, hesitated before softly correcting him. "Sir, it’s Jones," he said, his tone polite but firm.

Paul didn’t say anything else out loud, but in his head, he was wondering, What even is Dones? Still, he kept his thoughts to himself—he needed this job.

The man, barely fazed by the correction, simply waved a hand as if it didn’t matter. "Ooooh, Jones! Sorry about that, then. Well, same question—how does it feel? Do you believe you can compete for the league and the Champions League?"

David, who had finally regained his bearings, straightened his posture slightly before answering.

"Yeah, we’re Manchester United," he said with confidence. "Of course, with him and all the other players in the squad, we’ll compete. We’ll do everything we can to win every trophy we’re in contention for."

The man barely let David’s words settle before firing off another question.

"Okay, then. What about you personally? What does having Ronaldo around mean for you? Do you feel like you’ve learned a lot from him? And how does seeing him up close make you feel?"

David took a moment to consider that. It was an interesting question—one he hadn’t actually thought about much.

"Well, I haven’t played with him on the pitch yet," he admitted. "So I can’t really say what I’ve learned from him in that sense since i haven’t played with him yet... but—oh, wait—his work ethic. He trains a lot, and that’s definitely something I want to emulate. Also, as a player, it’s nice knowing I get to be in the same squad as a legend like him. I can’t wait to actually play alongside him. He’s one of my idols and one of the best ever... so, I guess that’s that."

The man nodded, seemingly satisfied with the response. But, once again, he wasted no time moving on to the next question.

"Okay, then—do you believe Ronaldo is the greatest player to ever play the game?"

David took in a breath, preparing to give his answer.

But before he could even get a word out, a deep, heavily accented voice cut through the locker room.

"What is this in my locker room?"

The words were slow, deliberate, and commanding.

David and everyone else in the room instinctively turned their heads toward the source of the voice.

There, standing in the entrance, was a man whose very presence seemed to demand attention.

His head was completely bald—clean, smooth, and shaped like an egg. But it wasn’t just his appearance that caught people’s focus; it was the aura he carried, the weight of authority that seemed to settle over the entire room the moment he stepped in.

Everyone knew exactly who he was.

David, locking eyes with him for the first time, muttered under his breath, "Gaffer."

The man conducting the interview reacted almost immediately. With a bright, professional smile, he stepped forward, eager to introduce himself.

"Mr. Ten Hag, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Tom Ford, the team’s PR manager," he said smoothly, extending a hand as he approached. "I came here to get some pictures for the team’s new season campaign."

Ten Hag, still wearing a slight smile, simply watched him.

Tom, either oblivious to the shift in atmosphere or choosing to ignore it, pressed on.

"Sir, it would also be great if we could get an interview with you!" he continued, his tone enthusiastic. "Maybe talk about how you feel coaching Ronaldo for the new season and all."

As he spoke, he gestured toward Paul, the cameraman, signaling for him to get ready.

But the moment that name—Ronaldo—was mentioned, Ten Hag’s expression hardened.

The shift was instant.

In a flash, the smile was gone, replaced by something colder, something more intense.

Then, he snapped.

"Leave."

The word was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

For a second, silence fell over the entire locker room.

Tom, caught off guard, blinked in surprise. "Uh... sorry?"

Ten Hag’s voice came again, louder this time.

"I said leave."

Everyone in the room froze.

Tom, finally sensing the shift in mood, swallowed. But before he could say anything else, Ten Hag raised his voice even more.

"Leave! Leave! Leave!"

His booming command echoed through the walls, gathering everyone’s full attention.

The entire PR team, who had been going about their work just moments ago, suddenly stopped everything they were doing. For a moment, they all stood still, looking at Tom, waiting for his cue.

Tom, surprisingly composed, simply nodded.

"Okay, then," he said, his voice neutral. "We’ll just be back later. Sorry for the inconvenience."

With that, he turned around, motioning for his team to pack up and leave.

David watched everything unfold in silence, taking it all in.

Once the last of the PR crew had exited, he shook his head slightly, suppressing a small smile before turning his attention back to Ten Hag.

Then, with a wide grin, he stepped forward.

"Gaffer, it’s an honor to meet you," David said, his tone enthusiastic. "My name is David Jones. I just wanted to say that it would be great to play under you this season. And I want you to know that I’ll do whatever it takes to win all the trophies coming up. That’s actually why I came in early to trai—"

But before he could even finish his sentence, he noticed something.

Ten Hag hadn’t taken his outstretched hand.

David faltered slightly, but before he could dwell on it, the coach’s voice rang out.

"Call me Coach."

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