My phone buzzed.
it stayed still in my hand, like it understood the weight of what it had just delivered to us.
I unlocked it slowly, my thumb hovering for just a second before tapping the notification. The interface that opened was stamped with the crest of the Brazil national under-20 football team.
"Seven clubs have offered a contract for your services. Please read each one thoroughly, then click the country you would like to sign for."
My eyes widened.
Seven.
For a moment, everything else faded out, the noise of the room, the movement of players around me, even Noa standing right beside me. It was just the screen.
"Hey Gabi, how many offered for you?"
Noa leaned over, already holding his phone up like he couldn't wait to compare.
"Five offered for me!"
I didn't answer immediately.
My grip tightened slightly around the phone as something unfamiliar crept into my chest.
I let out a small breath, scrolling again, slower this time.
Noa leaned closer, trying to peek at my screen.
"Who offered? Let me see."
The screen expanded instantly.
"Offer number 1: You have received an offer from English club Brighton & Hove Albion."
My eyes scanned lower.
"Contract terms: You are required by the national association to be used in any possible club match for your development. Via such, you are required at least 45 minutes in any potential game unless physically impossible, e.g injury to said player."
Brighton.
A club on the rise.
Currently sitting sixth in the Premier League and pushing hard for European football. They had built a reputation for spotting talent before everyone else did, buying players cheap, developing them into stars, then selling them to the biggest clubs in the world for ridiculous money.
Examples flashed in my mind instantly:
Etzio.
Zambrano.
Both sold to Chelsea FC for a combined 200 million.
If you wanted to become elite. Brighton was one of the fastest ways there.
I closed the page slowly before pressing on the second offer.
"You have received an offer from Spanish side RCD Espanyol."
The contract terms were mostly identical.
Development guarantees.
Playing requirements.
But one extra line sat beneath everything else.
"The player is required by the club to participate in the derby between Barcelona and Espanyol if signed."
My eyes narrowed slightly.
The Catalunya Derby.
One of the fiercest rivalries in Spain, second only to El Clásico itself. FC Barcelona were the glamorous giants, the stars, the global icons. But Espanyol? They had grit. Aggression. Pure hatred wrapped into football shirts. If I wanted to prove myself against the world's best technicians, That was where I'd go.
I pressed onward.
"Offer number 3 and 4: You have received offers from Italian sides SS Lazio and Bologna FC 1909."
"The player is required to play in European qualifiers depending on the side they choose. Europa League for Lazio. Conference League for Bologna."
Two Italian offers.
Both completely different.
Lazio. Rome's defensive fortress, a club built on structure, discipline, and defensive masterminds. Any Brazilian defender would look at that badge and drool.
Then Bologna, midfield artists. Developers of intelligent footballers capable of dictating matches at the highest level.
I scrolled again.
"Offer 5 and 6: You have received offers from French sides RC Lens and Stade Rennais FC."
"The player is required to play in every league match for the club they sign for."
Every league match.
That caught my attention immediately.
Lens had shocked Ligue 1 last season, finishing second behind the monsters that were Paris Saint-Germain. They were underdogs in the purest sense.
Meanwhile Rennes… Sleeping giants.
League champions only five years ago, yet somehow absent from European football since 2021.
Both wanted Brazilian youth, Both wanted me.
Then the final offer.
"Offer 7: You have received an offer from German side VfB Stuttgart."
"The player is required to play every match against high-level opponents to strengthen the attacking line."
Germany, Stuttgart specifically.
I'd heard the city itself was beautiful, but nobody cared about the scenery there.
They cared about football.
This was the club that had developed Destan Savas, arguably the second-best player in the world right now. Recently qualified for UEFA Europa League football, hungry for depth, hungry for attacking talent.
Hungry for players like me.
"Noa," I asked slowly, finally looking up from my screen. "Who offered for you?"
We still had around thirty minutes before the system forced us to make our selections.
"Well…" Noa turned his phone toward me proudly. "I got five."
He started counting on his fingers dramatically.
"Three from England, one from Spain, one from Germany."
"If I want to keep our duo going," I muttered quietly, "I guess I have to drop Lazio, Bologna, Lens, or Rennes…"
Noa nodded like this was an entirely reasonable sacrifice.
"Brighton, Wolves, and Chelsea offered from England," he continued excitedly. "Imagine playing for Chelsea…"
I blinked.
"…Chelsea?"
Why the hell would Chelsea FC offer him a contract?
Noa completely ignored my disbelief.
"For Spain I got Real Sociedad, and for Germany it was Stuttgart!"
He practically vibrated with excitement while I looked back down at my own offers.
Brighton.
Something about it felt right.
Learning around future stars while facing the best players in the world every week.
"Well…" I slowly reopened the Brighton offer, my thumb hovering over the acceptance button. "I thought about going to Brighton."
Noa's eyes lit up instantly.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
I stared at the screen.
"Learn from the future greats of the game. Learn from the best players in the Premier League."
Noa didn't hesitate for even a second.
"I think I'll go there too."
He instantly pressed on the Brighton & Hove Albion contract before scribbling his signature across the screen like a man possessed.
"I'M OFF TO BRIGHTON!!!"
I looked back down at my own contract.
England: The Premier League. Brighton.
A completely different world from everything I'd ever known.