Alessandro could barely contain his joy.
Sir Alex Ferguson had just handed him a professional contract.
That alone meant the legendary manager took him seriously.
But Alessandro didn't rush to sign it. Instead, he calmly accepted the document and read it line by line.
His brow furrowed.
He looked up, eyes sharp, locking onto Ferguson's.
The old Scot was quietly surprised.
Most seventeen-year-olds would be bursting with excitement at the sight of their first professional contract — especially one from a club like Manchester United.
But not this boy.
He wasn't trembling. Wasn't ecstatic.
He was... analyzing.
Even frowning at the salary.
Calm. Sharp. Unmoved.
It was the kind of reaction Ferguson didn't often see — especially not from teenagers.
But of course, Alessandro wasn't just any teenager.
With his full-level [Prediction] skill, he knew his true worth.
And what he saw in this contract didn't match it.
A four-year deal at bare-minimum wages. A "subsistence" contract.
A trap disguised as a milestone.
He wasn't blind.
Even if he'd only been at Manchester United for a few days, he owed them nothing. This offer wasn't a gift. It was a leash.
Looking up, Alessandro spoke with unwavering composure.
"Mr. Ferguson, I don't think this contract reflects my true value."
Ferguson blinked.
He was used to confident players. But this was a seventeen-year-old standing across from him, cool as ice, talking back like an equal.
No fear. No ego. Just conviction.
Ferguson nodded slowly, impressed despite himself.
"Son," he said with a smile, "every youth player gets this type of deal when they enter the first team. Once you perform, the club can always adjust the terms."
Alessandro smirked faintly.
"Then I'll wait."
He gently placed the contract on the desk.
"I'm guessing you've already seen me play in the youth league. To be honest... that level of competition no longer challenges me."
"I need something more intense."
"And when I shine on that bigger stage — you'll know what I'm really worth."
He paused, then added with clear intent:
"Like… against Ajax."
Ferguson's eyes narrowed.
"You want to play in that match?"
"Absolutely."
"Do you even understand the situation? We lost the first leg 1-2 at home. We'll be away for the second. And I'm planning to rotate the squad."
He leaned forward.
"What exactly do you think you can bring in that scenario?"
Alessandro's answer was short, direct.
"Try me."
The fire in his eyes never wavered.
He didn't flinch under Ferguson's gaze — in fact, he met it head-on.
Seconds passed.
Then, Ferguson broke into a grin.
"Good lad. Whether or not you get into that match depends on your performance in training."
He stood up, eyes serious now.
"I will be playing the backups in that fixture. But even so, if you want a shot, you need to prove it on the training ground. I only reward effort."
He stepped forward, clapping Alessandro on the shoulder.
"You want a place? Then earn it. Conquer me in training."
With that, Ferguson walked toward the locker room door.
Just before stepping out, he glanced over his shoulder.
"9 a.m. tomorrow. I expect you in the first-team dressing room."
Alessandro's chest swelled.
"Yes, sir!"
---
The Carrington training ground was quiet the next morning when Alessandro arrived.
A little too early.
Most players hadn't shown up yet.
The first one to arrive was none other than Nemanja Vidić, the team captain.
Clearly briefed by Ferguson, Vidić walked Alessandro into the dressing room.
In one corner, a locker and kit waited for him.
Jersey number: 39.
A number that screamed: "academy player."
Vidić turned to him, all business.
"Congrats, kid. But remember — just being here doesn't mean anything. You want game time? You've gotta prove yourself."
Alessandro nodded without a word.
Soon, the rest of the first team began to arrive — chatting, laughing in pairs and trios.
A few raised eyebrows when they saw the new face.
But nobody said anything.
Youth players occasionally trained with the senior squad. It wasn't rare.
Still, everyone knew how it usually went.
One or two training sessions, then back to the youth side.
A few offered nods. Most ignored him entirely.
Some didn't even glance his way.
It didn't bother Alessandro.
He didn't come here to make friends.
These players were pros — stars on hefty wages. Some earning £100,000 a week or more.
Compared to them, a youth player on a basic stipend was invisible.
But Alessandro didn't let it get to him.
He didn't try to socialize or curry favor.
Status wasn't handed out. It was earned.
And he had no intention of bowing or begging for recognition.
Not when he could seize it.
With his feet. With his brain. With his vision.
Let the training begin.
---