The meeting room was the picture of understated luxury—deep mahogany paneling framed by soft amber lighting, a massive table of polished wood stretching toward the far end where a wall-sized screen played muted footage. The thick curtains were drawn halfway, letting slivers of Madrid's morning light stripe across the carpet patterned in red and white. The faint scent of cologne and espresso hung in the air. And on the far wall, painted proudly between two framed photos of past glories, was a large crest — the unmistakable badge of Atlético Madrid.
Around the table sat Enrique Cerezo, the club's president, adjusting his cufflinks with quiet frustration. Next to him, Diego Simeone leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his expression somewhere between exhaustion and fire. Miguel Ángel Gil, the CEO, scrolled through something on his tablet, while Carlos Bucero, head of scouting, waited with a dossier at his side.
