The All-Around Center Forward

"That was a beautiful game yesterday—congratulations on advancing to the next round!"

Inside the business van, Florentino smiled as he spoke to Suker.

Today, Florentino was leaving Milan. Once he returned to Spain, he'd begin preparations for his presidential campaign.

Of course, his victory was essentially guaranteed—he was the only candidate running.

Suker replied, "Compared to the Europa League, I prefer playing in the Champions League."

Florentino smiled warmly. "Naturally. Real Madrid won't disappoint you. I've already been scouting some excellent players. They'll become important parts of the team. Pellegrini even said you'll be our absolute core next season."

Truth be told, Real Madrid was in a rough place at the moment.

In La Liga, they were being completely overshadowed by Barcelona. The Dream Team 3 era was in full swing, and their dominance was suffocating Real Madrid.

Their Champions League performances were also lackluster. If they failed to advance past the Round of 16 again this year, it would be a huge blow.

As for the Copa del Rey—they were still in contention, but only because Barcelona was focusing all their energy on the Champions League. If Barça turned their sights to the domestic cup, it would be a different story.

Right now, Real Madrid needed a morale boost—and Suker was exactly that.

Even though he hadn't officially joined yet, fans were already hyped for the next season. They believed that with Suker in the squad, their weak attacking line and overall performance would drastically improve.

"Just drop me off here."

At the airport's underground parking lot, Florentino stepped out of the car and offered his hand."The next time we meet will be in Spain. Congratulations once again on joining Real Madrid."

"It's an honor," Suker replied, stepping out to shake his hand. After their farewell, he returned to the van.

Zorančić was sitting in the front passenger seat, scribbling furiously.

Suker just had to transfer, but as his agent, Zorančić had tons to manage.

For example, Suker's various commercial engagements in Milan—some could be completed, others would need to be postponed or canceled outright with penalty fees.

All of this had to be handled by him. He was way busier than Suker.

But Zorančić wasn't complaining—he was thrilled.

This €100 million transfer meant a massive commission for him.

He was even starting to wonder if he could do something similar for Modrić—maybe cash in big there too.

Of course, that was just a thought. With Sir Alex Ferguson's temper, if Zorančić tried anything with Modrić, the old Scot might fly in and beat him up himself.

And honestly, Modrić was doing great at United—he had the position, the support, the glory. There was no need to leave.

That could wait for another time.

"By the way, there's a collaboration offer."

Zorančić suddenly looked up.

"Collaboration? What kind?" Suker asked, puzzled.

Zorančić scratched his head. "It's a little complicated. On the surface, it's about business—mutual resource sharing, joint promotion."

"On the surface?" Suker raised an eyebrow. "So what's under the surface?"

"Don't say it like that." Zorančić waved his hand. "It's a woman. A really beautiful one. I honestly think she's better looking than Gisele Bündchen."

"Hey hey hey!" Suker frowned. "We broke up, yeah—but you can't diss my ex in front of me. So… who is it?"

Zorančić: "Have you heard of Anne Hathaway?"

Suker blinked in surprise."You mean the Trash Can?"

That was a nickname circulating on YouTube.

Anne Hathaway—gorgeous and classy Hollywood actress.

She rose to fame with her stunning looks and quickly found success in her career.

But her overly perfect aura and carefully curated image sparked public resentment.

Since 2007, "hating Anne Hathaway" had become a trend. (Since when huh???)

It was almost like if you didn't spit on her or call her a "bitch," you weren't truly American.

And in 2008, at the 81st Academy Awards, she won Best Actress.

It should have been a moment of glory—but her overly theatrical acceptance speech became the butt of every joke and criticism. From that point on, the backlash snowballed.

"Trash Can" became a nickname—implying she was completely worthless and fake.

And now, that "trash can" had reached out to Suker—wanting to create a fake scandal to clean up her image.

"Why me?" Suker still didn't get it. "I'm that famous in the U.S.?"

"You're super famous over there—and your image is squeaky clean," Zorančić said confidently.

Suker was curious: "Why?"

Zorančić grinned."Because Gisele Bündchen praises you everywhere. She says, although you broke up due to differing values, you were the best guy she ever dated. She says you're witty, childlike in a cute way, but also brave and manly when needed. Plus, she says you're extremely loyal. She even gave an example: 'A man who watches horseshoes being repaired doesn't cheat.'"

Suker: "…"

Zorančić shrugged. "That's the stuff Americans eat up. And you're killing it in football too."

So in summary—Suker's perfect image was built half by Zorančić and half by Gisele.

Zorančić turned to him. "So? Are you in?"

Suker didn't answer.

He took Zorančić's laptop, logged into YouTube, and searched for Anne Hathaway.

He clicked on one of the most viewed videos and scrolled through the comments.

"Bitch, everything about you reeks. Every move is fake and calculated. You %@$&#…"

"No talent! No emotion! Die, you fake-ass skank!"

"Yeah, she's pretty. A manufactured beauty. She belongs with some smelly homeless guy %@$#…"

Zorančić's jaw dropped.

Tens of thousands of comments—and they scrolled through dozens—all insults. Not a single kind word.

Some were even curses or gibberish hate symbols.

In that moment, Zorančić finally understood why she was called the "Trash Can."

"So... you still want me to collaborate with her?" Suker raised an eyebrow.

Zorančić shook his head instantly."No way. You can't get dragged down by her. I'll reject the proposal immediately!"

Sure, Anne Hathaway was beautiful.But she was also a ticking time bomb.

Suker still had a lot of brand potential in the U.S.—he couldn't afford to touch this kind of PR disaster.

Back at his villa, Suker had just sat down when someone knocked on the door.

He walked over and opened it.

Creak—

Standing there was a sweaty Pato.

Suker blinked. "What, your water's out and you can't shower?"

Pato: "I'm not here to shower!"

He peeked inside, obviously hoping to come in.

Suker blocked the doorway.

"Go shower at home. What, were you rolling in the mud?"

"I stayed after practice for extra training!"

"Oh yeah? You think I believe that?"

"Believe it or not, I did!" Pato said seriously. "I want to go to Real Madrid!"

Suker shrugged. "Then go."

Pato: "Can you put in a word for me?"

"Bye."

Slam. Suker shut the door.

Outside, Pato shouted, "I'm cheap! I'll even take a pay cut! Come on, just recommend me!"

Inside, Suker rolled his eyes.

He'd groomed Pato to replace him at Milan.

But now Pato wanted to follow him to Real Madrid?

What was he even thinking?

When Suker didn't open the door again, Pato got mad.

"You always underestimate me! Fine—don't help. I'll make Madrid offer for me, and when they do, I'll shove it in your face!"

Pato stormed back a few steps, flipped both middle fingers, and silently mouthed something obscene.

Then he turned—and saw Suker watching him coldly through the floor-to-ceiling window.

Pato bolted.

He knew if Suker caught him, he was in for a serious beating.