My heart pounded with a new kind of anticipation.
I opened the message, and a wave of disbelief washed over me. It was a formal contract offer from Inter, a new deal, with numbers that made my head spin. I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was still dreaming, and looked again.
No, it was real. My wage, my monthly wage, was now 1,000,000 euros.
My hands were shaking. I wasn't just a player anymore; I was a key part of the club's future. I was a millionaire. The sheer weight of the number, a digit I had only ever dreamed of, was a surreal, overwhelming thing.
I ran downstairs, the contract offer still on my phone, my mind a blur of disbelief and joy. My mom was in the kitchen, making coffee, and she looked up at me, a worried expression on her face.
"Leo? What's wrong?" she asked, her voice a soft, concerned whisper.
I just stood there, my mouth open, unable to speak. I handed her the phone, and she read the message, her eyes widening with every word.
