Kunaal Thakur marveled at Neil Goyal's audacity. In Newcastle, Neil's bold pitch to Loris Karius—cornering him outside his apartment—had clinched a verbal agreement. "You did your homework,"
Kunaal said over a call from Munich. "Even the contract expiry loophole." Neil, Munich 1860's chairman with 51% ownership, grinned. "Told you I'm not just a pretty face." Kunaal, general manager with 44%, trusted Neil's instincts, despite his playboy flair.
Three days later, Munich 1860's website blazed with news: Welcome! Loris Karius! The signing sent ripples through European football. Bild and Munich Abendzeitung hailed Munich 1860's new leadership as a "destroyer on the right path."
But some media scoffed, deeming Karius's 3. Liga move a career obituary. Neil, reading the headlines in Newcastle, shrugged. "Haters gonna hate." Anna Weber, translating articles, stayed focused, her discipline unshaken.
The Karius coup didn't end the trip. Kunaal, back in Munich, had a new target: Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang, Chelsea's unsettled Gabonese striker.
Initially, Aubameyang eyed a return to Barcelona, but recent signals—relayed through Kunaal's agent contacts—suggested he sought a lucrative final contract, open to all offers.
"He's 34, knows the Bundesliga from Dortmund," Kunaal told Neil. "Money talks here." Neil and Anna, with two junior assistants, headed to London.
London, a football mecca with over a dozen clubs—Arsenal, Chelsea, Tottenham, and more—hummed with history. Chelsea, their destination, was in turmoil, making Aubameyang attainable.
Kunaal had arranged a meeting with Aubameyang's agent in two days at a Chinatown restaurant, giving Neil's group time to prepare.
Anna, reviewing Chelsea's roster, noted, "Aubameyang's behind Havertz. He's restless." Neil nodded. "We'll make him our Batman."
The group settled into a Thakur Hotel in central London, its sleek design a stark contrast to Newcastle's gloom. The assistants, Munich university students in their early twenties, buzzed with excitement—company-funded trips were rare.
Neil, generous, led them on a city tour: Big Ben, Trafalgar Square, Borough Market. Anna, translating for locals, kept pace, her professionalism unwavering. Neil's charm, though, lingered. "You ever relax?" he asked. Anna smiled. "Work first."
At Borough Market, they grabbed street hot dogs, squatting by the curb. Neil, perched on a railing, wore a casual suit jacket over a hooded sweatshirt, light cargo pants, and Louis Vuitton Trainer sneakers—a far cry from his flashy Newcastle look.
Anna, in a Reebok jacket and Puma tee, struggled with London's muggy chill, unlike Munich's dry cold. "What's the football world buzzing about?" Neil asked her, testing her prep.
"Messi's Paris Saint-Germain saga," Anna replied, her homework evident. Neil nodded. "PSG, Chelsea, Manchester City—they're our template. Big money, big stars. But screw it up, and it's chaos."
Anna stayed quiet, impressed by his shift from carefree to driven. "I want Munich 1860 as Europe's best," Neil said. "Help me get there?" Anna met his gaze, steady. "I'm here to translate, Mr. Goyal. Let's focus."
The group split up for the afternoon, agreeing to regroup the next morning. Anna planned to browse shops, prepping for the Aubameyang meeting. Neil tagged along, suggesting Classic Football Shirts, a famed jersey store.
"I know London," he said, dodging her question about how. Anna, curious but professional, agreed. A 20-minute cab ride landed them at the store, its shelves packed with football history.
Inside, Neil gravitated to the non-football section, pulling an Allen Iverson 76ers jersey. "Loved this guy," he said. Anna raised a brow.
"Basketball over football?" Neil grinned, grabbing a Carmelo Anthony Nuggets jersey. "Know more about hoops than goals. Got a villa for my collection—sneakers, jerseys, themed rooms." Anna, stunned, said, "A villa?" Neil shrugged. "One's St. Patrick's Day—all green."
They moved to the £25 Zone, where unprinted jerseys from Umbro-era Manchester United, Kappa-era Barcelona, and Adidas-era Dortmund sat.
Neil frowned. "No Munich 1860?" Anna replied, "Not yet. You've got work to do." Neil chuckled. "We've got work." Anna, focused, scanned for Bundesliga jerseys, noting Bayern's dominance. Neil's ambition, though brash, was growing on her.
Leaving the store, Neil carried a bag of jerseys. "Hungry?" he asked. Anna, not starving, hesitated. "Try French cuisine in London,"
Neil urged, leading her to Hélène Darroze, a three-Michelin-star restaurant. Its elegance outshone Parisian rivals. At the entrance, a server eyed their group. "Reservation?" Neil flashed a VIP card, rare even to the staff. "S-level," he said. The server, flustered, ushered them in.
Inside, over exquisite dishes, Neil probed Anna. "Think Aubameyang's in?" Anna, translating Chelsea news on her tablet, said, "If money's right, yes. But he's a star—needs convincing." Neil nodded, his eyes sharp.
Kunaal's call interrupted, updating them on Luca Toni's scouting in Munich. The youth academy's 100 million Euro overhaul progressed, with Toni eyeing German talent to pair with Karius.
Karius's signing and Aubameyang's pursuit fueled Kunaal's vision. Neil, savoring London's glow, saw himself leading it, Anna by his side. She, focused on work, rebuffed his dinner invite post-meal. "Prep for Aubameyang," she said, her resolve unshaken.