BILLION DOLLAR SHOT

Chapter 3 – Offers, Leashes, and Paper Smiles

Andre barely slept that night. His phone buzzed endlessly messages from agents, recruiters, journalists, influencers, even fake pastors promising “anointed favor” for a cut of his potential deal. He turned it off at 3 a.m.

By 7 a.m., the world already had its eyes on him. He showed up to SpringClean one final time, out of habit, maybe respect. But when he entered the building, his ID card no longer scanned. He tried again. Nothing. The security guard leaned over and tapped his tablet. “You’re not on the payroll anymore.”

Andre blinked. “What?” Dalton strutted into the lobby, holding his morning coffee like a trophy. “Oh, Corbin. I meant to call you.” He smirked. “HR terminated your contract this morning.”

Andre’s eyebrows raised. “I didn’t even quit.” Dalton shrugged. “Thought I’d save you the trouble. After all, you’re big time now, right? Don’t forget to shout me out when you make millions. Say something like ‘I used to mop floors for that amazing boss, Mr. Dalton.’”

Andre stared at him in silence. Then turned and walked out without a word. He never looked back. Clive Madden’s Office – Midtown Manhattan A long glass table. Clive sat at the head, flipping through a folder of Andre’s current stats, training analysis, and offer sheets.

“Here’s where we are,” Clive said, sliding the papers across. “FC Titania $1.2M signing bonus, six months contract, exposure to Champions League matches. They want you bad.” Andre didn’t speak.

Clive continued, “But wait. Puma, Nike, and Jordan Brand are all sniffing. They’ll want you branded before the next post hits a million likes.” Andre kept his arms folded. “And the catch?” Clive smiled. “Every kingdom has a leash. You just pick which one you’re willing to wear.”

Andre nodded slowly. “Let me guess… they want me clean-cut, fake-smiling, polished like a TV preacher?” “Something like that,” Clive admitted. “But you’ve got leverage.

They need you now. Which means…” “I can make my own rules.” Clive grinned. “Now you’re getting it.” Back at home, Andre’s mother sat on the worn couch, a half-knitted sweater in her lap, watching the news. “...the young viral phenom, Andre Corbin, is reportedly being courted by top international clubs. Many fans are calling him the 'Ghost of the Courts’ a nod to the now-famous silent training video that sparked his rise to fame…”

She shook her head in awe. Her baby boy. The door creaked open behind her. “Ma,” Andre said, eyes soft. She stood. Walked over. Touched his face. “I saw the video,” she whispered. “You always looked like a star to me.” He hugged her tight. “They want to sign me.”

“I know.” “I want everything in your name.”

She pulled back, confused. “What?”

“The contracts. The endorsements. The money. Your name on every account.”

“Why?”

Andre’s voice darkened. “Because now they want a piece of me. And I’m not letting them eat what they didn’t cook.”

Elsewhere – at a downtown rooftop bar Teanna sat with a friend, watching Andre’s highlight clips. “He’s glowing now,” her friend said. “You think he’ll take you back?” Teanna smirked. “He’s still soft for me. All I gotta do is blink slow and say ‘I miss us.’ Men don’t change.”

Her friend raised a brow. “Be careful. He’s not the janitor you left.” Teanna sipped her cocktail. “Exactly. He’s valuable now.”

3 Days Later – FC Titania Private Jet Andre stared out the window as the city disappeared beneath him. Clive sat beside him, going over media protocols. “No comments about race. No politics. No calling out haters publicly. Smile, nod, say you're ‘blessed and humbled.’ That’s the script.”

Andre didn’t reply. “Also,” Clive added, “your ex called my office. Wanted to ‘check on you.’ Sounded like she missed you.” Andre smiled faintly. “She’ll get her answer soon.”

Titania Training Facility – Europe Reporters swarmed the arrival gate like locusts. Flashes burst like fireworks. The announcer’s voice echoed through the stadium. “And now, the viral star of the year… please welcome… ANDRE CORBIN!” He stepped out onto the turf. Dressed in black. Silent. Focused.

The crowd roared. Reporters shouted questions. But Andre walked past them all. Straight to the center of the field. He looked up at the rafters legends' banners waved in the breeze. Someday, his would hang there too. And this time? The world wouldn't just see him. They’d remember him.