Chapter 886: Came Big.

Izan let out a slow sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before standing halfway from his chair.

"Look," he said, voice even but tired.

"I just came to buy a drink. And I’m not signing autographs since you don’t look like you are fans."

He slipped off his mask, placing it flat on the table.

"I play football. That’s it. So if you’re with some organisation or brand or whatever, talk to my agent. That’s her job."

The older man across from him let out a small chuckle, low and knowing.

"You’ve got composure, kid," he said, leaning forward with his hands clasped.

"Name’s Ben Grimm. I’m not here to ambush you, though I’ll admit this isn’t exactly the cleanest way to meet. We’ve tried reaching out a few times, but between your agent and the fortress around your schedule, well, we had to get a little creative."

Izan nodded once, unimpressed.

"Doesn’t make it right," he said.

"You still followed me. How’d you even know I’d be here?"

The younger man, sitting beside Ben, grinned and raised his phone.

On the screen was a photo, Hori’s Instagram story from the day before.

A bright caption sat above a carousel of photos:

"Disneyland day! fits!"

The younger man scrolled to one showing Izan’s arm faintly visible in the frame.

"You’d be surprised how much people post without thinking," he said.

Izan just nodded again, pressing his lips together.

"Hori," he muttered under his breath.

Ben leaned back in his seat, seizing the small pause.

"Anyway," he began, his tone shifting.

"We know what you’ve built with Adidas. Everyone in our industry does. What you signed was historic, twelve years, dual control over your image, a creative seat at the table, the HIM line. You didn’t just become an athlete; you became a movement. Hans Webber sold you as the future, and you proved him right."

Ben paused, watching Izan’s face.

"Adidas bet everything on you. And it paid off. They made more in one quarter of HIM sales than they projected in three years. You’re the reason their stock climbed twenty-one per cent last winter. And that’s why we’re here. Because Nike realised that to move forward, they don’t need to compete with Adidas."

He leaned closer.

"They need to compete for

you.

"

Izan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"And how do you plan to do that?" he humoured them.

Ben smiled at his assistant, who was already pulling a sleek folder from his bag.

"By showing you what the world looks like when you stop being the face of a brand, and start being the brand itself. Nike is going to be Izan, and Izan is going to be Nike."

The folder hit the table softly, and the younger man slid it across to Izan.

"Go on," Ben said. "Take a look."

Izan hesitated, then opened it.

The first page was all numbers, bold, heavy, deliberate, and his brow furrowed almost immediately.

Ben watched the shift in his expression and exchanged a small, satisfied glance with his assistant.

NIKE GLOBAL ATHLETE PARTNERSHIP PROPOSAL — IZAN HERNANDEZ

Duration:

8-year base deal, renewable in 2-year intervals up to 20 years, based on performance and mutual consent.

Base Pay:

£45 to 60 million annually.

Performance & Milestone Bonuses:

Up to £15 million annually for trophies, individual awards, and club milestones.

Design & Royalty Package:

20% royalties on the HIM successor line, rebranded under Nike as

"IX."

Full creative autonomy over the line’s aesthetic, campaigns, and brand story.

Option to independently license lifestyle collections through

Nike Studio IX,

the co-owned sub-brand, should Izan sign.

Equity & Ownership:

Immediate allocation of 0.9% Class A Nike shares (≈ $824 million current market value).

Clause to increase to 1.8% after 6 uninterrupted years.

Option for a private investment fund under the Nike Global Sports Innovation Board, co-chaired by Izan and the CEO.

Legacy & Lifetime Incentives:

Lifetime deal option at £3.5 billion.

Guaranteed position as "Global Performance Advisor," post-retirement, with annual compensation of £10 million.

Feature inclusion in Nike’s "Icons Initiative," a curated athlete legacy program, surpassing Jordan Brand’s structure.

Personal Rights & Creative Control:

100% joint image rights retention.

Right to refuse any campaign or collaboration that does not align with Izan’s personal values.

Global production and marketing team dedicated solely to the IX brand.

Annual "Vision Fund" of £25 million for Izan-led athlete mentorship, social impact, and start-up initiatives.

Bonus Clause:

Nike to cover all breach penalties incurred from the Adidas contract termination (up to £250 million).

By the time he got halfway through the document, Izan’s grip on the folder had tightened slightly.

His eyes flickered across the figures, from one unbelievable term to the next.

When he finally looked up, the corners of his mouth didn’t quite form a smile, but something close.

Ben leaned back again, calm and patient.

His assistant had the grin of someone who’d already imagined the headlines.

Izan took one last look at the page in front of him, the wealth, the power, the control, then quietly closed the folder.

His thumb lingered on the cover for a second before he spoke.

"I’ve seen enough," he said, but that only made Ben’s smile grow because Izan’s mouth was finding it hard not to form a smile when he looked back at the file in front of him, where the numbers stared back at him from the tablet like something alive.

Izan leaned back on the chair, exhaling heavily through his nose.

"These numbers," he murmured, shaking his head slightly.

"They almost make it look like I’m selling my soul."

Ben chuckled, the kind of laugh that carried both amusement and quiet acknowledgement.

His assistant joined in, more out of relief than anything, his eyes flicking between Izan and his superior.

"You might as well be," Ben teased, tapping the table with his pen.

"But that’s football, isn’t it? Souls and signatures."

Izan gave a small smile, but it didn’t linger.

His fingers pressed against the table, his eyes dropping to the numbers again before sliding away from them.

"This is really a lot", he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else.

Just then, the waitress appeared, balancing a cardboard tray loaded with drinks, cold condensation rolling down the sides.

"Here you go," she said, setting them down in front of Izan with a polite smile.

He nodded, murmured a thanks, and glanced at the two men.

"Can I think about it?" he asked, his voice steady but distant, as though his mind was already elsewhere.

Ben leaned back, uncrossing his arms.

"Of course," he said easily, though the way his eyes flickered told a different story.

He knew he was close, painfully close, to earning himself a double payment.

Izan gave a small nod, stood up slowly, and for a second, it was like he’d forgotten how to move.

Ben reached for the folder, holding it out.

"You can take it with you. You know, show it to your agent."

"Yeah," Izan said, taking it gently. "I will."

He adjusted his grip on the tray, gave them both a small nod, and then walked out of the Tiki Juice Bar.

Once outside, Izan started walking, making his way through the sea of people before turning toward a table under the big almond tree at the corner of the courtyard, where the four women were already waiting.

The leaves above cast patches of moving shade over them, dappling their table in light.

Hori spotted him first and immediately folded her arms.

"What took you so long?" she complained, as though she hadn’t already expected it.

Izan rolled his eyes, setting the tray down carefully.

"You’re seriously asking me that? Do you know how many things you asked them to add to your drink? Half of those ingredients I didn’t even know existed until today."

Olivia laughed softly as she reached for her cup, her nails glinting in the sun.

"You wouldn’t understand," she said as Hori huffed but took her drink anyway, muttering something about it being worth the wait.

Komi and Miranda followed, each lifting their own cups from the tray with a small word of thanks.

Miranda’s eyes, however, lingered on the extra item in Izan’s hand, the folder tucked under his arm, before one of her eyebrows went up.

"And what’s that you’re carrying?" she asked.

Izan looked down at it, then back up at her, his tone dry but even.

"Someone offered me a contract," he said. "To sell my soul and body to them."

Hori burst out laughing, almost spilling her drink.

"Oh, come on, don’t start."

But Miranda didn’t laugh.

Her gaze stayed on him, searching his face for a trace of the usual smirk or a hint that he was only joking, but she found none as Izan looked down at the folder again, his thumb pressing lightly on its edge, then lifted his drink and took a small sip.

"It’s just like you said," Izan said, finally looking at Miranda, who just smirked matter-of-factly.

"They came and they came big!"

A/N: Why does the last sentence sound so weird? Anyways, guys, thanks for reading, and I’ll see you when I wake up, God willing.