Zubizarreta slammed his hand on the table with such force that coffee cups jumped and laptops rattled. The sound echoed through the boardroom like a gunshot, and for a moment, the corporate facade cracked to reveal the raw emotion beneath.
"A ghost?" he repeated, his voice trembling with a fury that had been building throughout the presentation. "That 'ghost' is the most intelligent footballer I have ever seen at his age, and I've seen them all!"
His voice rose to a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.
"He is the heir to Xavi and Iniesta! He led Spain to a European championship while other boys his age were playing video games! He sees the game like a chess master sees the board, ten moves ahead of everyone else! Are we a football club or a marketing agency? Are we selling shirts or are we winning trophies?"
He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor, his face flushed with the passion of a man fighting for his soul.
