The post-match press conference saw Sir Alex Ferguson swiftly regain his composure, facing the media with practiced ease. But Claire received an unexpected invitation—joining the manager and three other players at the podium.
When a reporter asked Ferguson about the Champions League defeat, the Scotsman adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses and deadpanned, "What if I told you we lost on purpose?"
Flashbulbs erupted. The journalist, sensing blood, pressed: "Isn't that just an excuse?"
Ferguson's smile turned icy. "Manchester United doesn't make excuses. Ask me that again after the next match."
Claire, stealing glances at the unfazed Ronaldo and Nani beside him, realized he was the only one unused to Ferguson's mind games—even Rooney seemed to be mentally rehearsing lines.
Then came the curveball:
"Does Claire Lee's presence here mean he's earned your trust?"
The Manchester Evening News reporter's question detonated a media frenzy. Suddenly, all microphones swung toward Claire.
"Warner Records announced your signing today—is it true?"
"'The Nights' is becoming United's unofficial anthem. As its creator, how do you feel earning just £50K weekly?"
"Any thoughts on your hometown, Chengdu?"
"Will you release new music, or was your talent a one-hit wonder?"
Dazzled by the flashes, Claire froze—until Ronaldo nudged him discreetly, eyes alight with envy. This is currency, that look said. Exposure equals endorsements.
Summoning poise, Claire stood and bowed first to the cameras, then to Ferguson. "Football remains my priority," he declared, nodding to a reporter from NetEase Sports who'd cheered for him. Yet he couldn't resist throwing the entertainment press a bone:
"But since you're here… 'The Nights' was inspired by my friend Ronaldo!"
Yanking a stunned Ronaldo to his feet, Claire spun a tale of paternal wisdom and resilience that had reporters scribbling. Then, the masterstroke:
"If owner Malcolm Glazer needs it as United's anthem, I'll grant free rights—hopefully he'll raise my wages while solving the club's debt!"
——
Across town, Malcolm Glazer wasn't watching the match. He was locked in his office with an unwelcome guest: Costa Muyal.
"150 million pounds," Glazer growled, sliding a cease-and-desist letter across his desk. "That's your idea of 'goodwill'?"
Costa sipped coffee, unperturbed. "My artist plays for your club. Let's negotiate."
The standoff shattered when Claire and his uncle Denis Irwin entered, flanked by Glazer's secretary holding a laptop. The room watched Claire's press conference pledge—free anthem rights—play out.
Costa's composure cracked. This kid is rewriting the game.
Claire seized the moment: "Free, but with one condition."
Glazer leaned in.
"Weekly training matches at different venues. One-year term."
As Denis vouched for the plan's feasibility, Costa realized with dawning alarm that Claire was untouchable—a dual-threat star no contract could fully leash.
Glazer, calculating the PR windfall versus negligible costs, extended a hand. "Deal."
Then, the dagger: "Denis—you're really leaving United?"
Silence.
Costa stepped in smoothly: "As Claire's guardian and agent, Denis must prioritize his nephew's career."
Glazer exhaled. He'd lost this round—but in Claire, he'd found an asset who played the long game better than veterans.
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