MY GAME MY RULES

Chapter 2 – The Call That Shook the World

Robin stood frozen, the phone still against his ear.

“Are you there?” Don Marco asked, voice cool but firm, like someone who wasn’t used to being ignored.

“Y–Yes, sir. I’m here,” Robin stammered.

“Good. I’ll make this quick. That video? It’s real. It’s everywhere. You’ve just woken up the giants of football. They’re calling. They're hungry. And they want you.”

Robin’s knees nearly buckled. “Wait... I—I don’t have an agent. Or even a passport. I’m not even” he started to say.

Don Marco cut in. “None of that matters. You have something they can’t teach. I’ve seen Messi at 15, Mbappé at 16. You? You’re on that level. But raw. Wild. Unshaped.”

Robin blinked. Was he dreaming?

“I want to fly you to Europe. Tomorrow,” Marco continued. “You’ll train privately. We’ll arrange club visits. But we have to move fast. Before the leeches swarm.”

Robin looked at his mother. Her hands trembled. But her eyes… were steady. Proud. “Are you serious?” Robin asked quietly.

“I don’t waste time on dreams, Robin,” Marco said. “I invest in destiny.” Click. The call ended. Silence. Robin’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

His mother moved first, pulling him into her arms. “I told you, my son. I told you the world would see.”

Meanwhile… in Europe... At the executive suite of Old Trafford, a meeting was in full swing. The video played on a massive screen, Robin juggling under moonlight, sweat glistening, movements fluid, almost balletic.

Sir Malcolm Trent, a veteran scout, leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “No boots. No fans. No coach. And he’s moving like that?”

A younger analyst nodded. “He’s unregistered. No club. No contract. No agent.”

Sir Malcolm smiled slowly. “Then he’s a free miracle.”

At the same time, in Spain, Real Madrid’s youth division director was screaming into his phone. “I want him in Madrid by Monday! Send the private jet if we have to!”

Back in Marrowfield... The next morning was chaos. Robin stepped outside, and froze. There were reporters at the street corner. A news van from Lagos’ biggest TV network. People he hadn’t seen in years suddenly appeared, cheering, taking photos, shouting his name.

The streets were buzzing. Kids were juggling balls, chanting “Ro-bin! Ro-bin!” Jordan and Kev showed up too, suddenly smiling like long-lost brothers.

“Yo, bro! We knew you’d make it, man!” Kev shouted. Robin walked past them like they were shadows. A white SUV pulled up, windows tinted.

A sharply dressed man stepped out. “Robin Ashwood?” the man asked.

Robin nodded, unsure.

“I’m Tomas Alvarez. Personal assistant to Don Marco. We’ll handle your passport, visa, and flight. You're leaving tonight.”

Robin blinked. “That fast?”

Tomas smiled. “When destiny knocks, you don’t delay.”

The First Flight...Robin had never been on a plane before. The air inside smelled like leather and money. The seats were cream-colored and soft. There were only four passengers.

Don Marco was one of them. He looked at Robin over a glass of wine. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m trying not to wake up,” Robin replied honestly.

Marco smiled. “You won’t. This isn’t a dream. But the hard part begins now.”

Robin glanced out the window. The city lights blurred below them. “I’m not scared,” he said softly.

Marco leaned in. “Good. Because the world you’re stepping into… it eats fear.”

Arrival – Europe...They landed in Italy, then drove to a private estate on the outskirts of Milan. The training ground was like something from a dream: trimmed grass, robotic goalkeepers, motion trackers, and glass-enclosed gyms. Robin’s room was bigger than his entire apartment back home. His first session began the next morning.

The Training Test... The coaches didn’t treat him like a VIP. No red carpet. No hand-holding. Just football. And it was brutal. He was placed against three defenders from Juventus’ U-21 squad. They were faster, stronger, trained under Europe’s finest.

But they weren’t hungrier. Robin danced past the first. Slid under the second. Nutmegged the third. The coaches went silent. Then they clapped. One murmured, “He’s not refined… but he’s special.”

Don Marco stood on the sidelines, watching like a hawk. “Give him one month,” Marco said. “Then unleash him.”

Meanwhile… Back Home...Stacy stared at the television screen, mouth slightly open. Robin’s face was everywhere. Talk shows. Headlines. Social media. “From Gutter Boy to Global Sensation: Robin Ashwood Signs With Marco Elite Agency”

She scrolled through I*******m, seeing him in a luxury van, then on a training field beside coaches wearing Gucci sunglasses. She bit her lip. "I was with him before he blew up," she said to her friend.

"I should be there beside him."

Her friend smirked. “Girl, go get your man back.”

Stacy’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, I will.”

Building the Hype...Two weeks passed. Clips of Robin’s training leaked. Videos of him tearing through defenders, striking goals with precision, surfaced everywhere. ESPN ran a special on him. Sky Sports called him “the street phenom with a lion’s heart.”

Fans across Africa rallied behind him. The world wanted to see him play. Then, the announcement dropped: "Robin Ashwood will debut for Inter Milan in a friendly match against Bayern Munich in 10 days."

The Pressure Rises...Inside the estate gym, Robin sat alone after a brutal training. His body ached. His chest burned. But he couldn’t stop. He was still that boy from the streets. Still chasing.

Don Marco approached, handing him a towel. “You ready?” Marco asked.

Robin looked up. “I’ve been ready for years. They just never saw me.”

Marco nodded. “They see now.”

That night, in another part of Europe, Three men sat in a dark room. Jordan, Kev, and a man with gold chains and cold eyes. They watched Robin’s highlight reel play on repeat. “Rich now, huh?” Kev muttered.

Jordan lit a cigarette. “He forgot us.” The man with gold chains said calmly, “Then let’s remind him. I know how to break stars.” They clinked glasses. And the plotting began.