The silence in the sleek, black car that whisked Leon away from the Stade Louis II was absolute. Sacked. At eighteen. After taking Monaco into the Champions League places and beating PSG. It was absurd. It was brutal. It was… kind of hilarious.
He stared out the window at the impossibly blue Mediterranean, the opulent playground of the super-rich whizzing by, and a single, liberating thought echoed in his mind: So, this is the circus. He had tried to play the game by their rules, the rules of the presidents, the agents, the billionaires. And he had lost.
