"Alright. Before we start the negotiations, I have two more questions for you."
"First—what kind of person is Barnett?"
Mike answered without hesitation.
"Cunning to the bone. Ten lies in every sentence. You can't trust a single word that comes out of his mouth."
Fenway nodded in satisfaction and continued.
"Second—how do we negotiate with Barnett?"
Mike replied again.
"Hold the bottom line. Leave zero room for error. Bite down on the highest price and never let go."
Fenway nodded again.
"Very good. You're ready to go. Remember—this is a war fought for the sake of our group. The more money you save us, the more your own salary will increase. Do you understand?"
To cut costs as much as possible, Fenway even pulled out his ultimate incentive—a raise for Mike. Hearing that, Mike's eyes practically glowed.
With that motivation behind him, Mike walked tall, dressed in a sharp suit, his expression solemn as he headed to the negotiation venue—a discreet café in Liverpool.
Mike was brimming with confidence… right up until he pushed open the private room door.
He had deliberately arrived a full five minutes late, hoping to unsettle Barnett a little. But the room was completely empty.
Mike's heart instantly leapt into his throat.
What…
What did this mean?
At that very moment, Barnett was driving his luxury Rolls-Royce, Leo Lin sitting beside him.
"Just like we rehearsed last night," Barnett said, going over it once more to be safe. "I play the bad guy. You play the good guy."
"The signal is simple—put your hand on my shoulder. If you think the final offer meets your needs, that's the sign."
"Before that, no matter how hard he pushes, I won't agree to anything."
Leo Lin nodded. The negotiation rehearsal from the night before was still vivid in his mind.
Barnett truly was a master negotiator.
He had predicted Mike's little tricks long ago. That was why—ten full minutes after the agreed meeting time—Barnett was only just leaving his house.
Unhurried. Leisurely.
If he were dealing with a stranger, Barnett would have arrived right on time. But he'd known Mike for over a decade. He knew exactly how Mike would approach this negotiation.
By the time Mike finished his sixth cup of coffee, Barnett and Leo Lin finally arrived.
Barnett pushed the door open as if in a rush and, before Mike could react, wrapped him in a big, warm hug.
"My dear old friend!"
"How long has it been? Five years? Ten?"
Mike shoved him away irritably, waved politely at Leo Lin, and shot back.
"We saw each other the night before last. You shamelessly showed up at my place, ate twenty-five of my wife's dumplings in one sitting, and walked off with a bottle of my red wine."
Barnett rubbed his nose awkwardly and sat down.
"Walked off with it? That was the crystallization of our friendship."
Mike laughed.
"The crystallization of friendship?"
"Then why am I always the one crystallizing?"
Barnett laughed even harder as Leo Lin sat tightly beside him.
"Alright, alright, Mike. Let's get down to business."
"Everyone's calling for you to give Lin a professional contract. I assume you came prepared."
Mike slid over the first printed contract.
"Considering his excellent performances with the first team, we're willing to offer him a genuine professional contract at first-team salary standards—£20,000 per week."
For an eighteen-year-old, Mike felt that was already very sincere.
Barnett didn't even look at the contract.
He simply darkened his expression and said nothing.
The atmosphere at the table froze instantly. Barnett's terrifying negotiating presence revealed itself in full.
When it came to negotiations, if Barnett ranked second in English football, no one dared claim first.
His greatest weapon was his mastery of silence, body language, and facial expression—controlling the emotional temperature of the room without saying a word.
Sometimes, just sitting there was enough to suffocate his opponent.
There was a saying in English football circles:
"I'd rather fight the devil for three rounds than negotiate with Barnett for one."
Mike had rehearsed everything perfectly with Fenway beforehand, but once he was face-to-face with Barnett, his confidence crumbled.
His speech grew hesitant. Eventually, he tried to play the old-friend card.
"We've known each other for over ten years. For the sake of that bottle of '82 Lafite you took the other night, don't go too hard on me."
Barnett remained silent for a long time before speaking slowly.
"How about this. If we can't reach an agreement today—if the weekly wage doesn't meet my expectations…"
He spoke casually, almost lazily, as he began to apply pressure.
"…then I'll help Lin talk to Manchester City."
"I'll talk to Chelsea."
"I'll talk to Manchester United."
"I know plenty of people."
When he mentioned Manchester United, Barnett suddenly smiled.
"Imagine if I managed to move Lin to United. The impact would be explosive. From that day on, no agent in football could compete with me."
Mike panicked completely.
His original plan—to start low and inch upward—was gone.
"I'll do everything I can. Thirty thousand. That's my absolute limit."
"£30,000 a week is already extremely high. For a young player just stepping into the first team—Phil Foden only got £20,000 when he was promoted."
Barnett waved dismissively.
"Phil Foden?"
"He's barely played any first-team minutes. Has he played more than Lin? Has he performed better than Lin?"
Seeing that even £30,000 wasn't enough, Mike was on the verge of collapse. This was his last chance.
"Enough, Barnett. Stop torturing me with those looks and expressions," Mike snapped.
"Just give me a straight answer."
Then he turned to Leo Lin, hoping for mercy.
"Lin—my dear Lin. My wife is your biggest fan."
"Leave me some room here. I still have superiors to answer to."
Leo Lin shrugged and pointed at Barnett.
"I listen to him. I don't understand any of this."
Mike was completely defeated.
Only then did Barnett finally speak.
"£45,000 per week."
"Plus championship bonuses for every competition Liverpool might win."
"Plus goal bonuses."
"Plus assist bonuses."
"And an additional clause—after fifteen Premier League appearances, the weekly wage automatically rises to £100,000."
At that moment, Leo Lin placed his hand on Barnett's shoulder.
He was satisfied.
The four "pluses" made Mike's vision go dark. But he knew one thing—once Barnett named a final price, there was almost no room left to move.
It was far higher than the opening offer, but still within Mike's authority.
Gritting his teeth, Mike would rather wrestle the King of Monsters than negotiate with Barnett ever again. This suffocating pressure was unbearable.
"Alright…" Mike hesitated.
Barnett let out a low grunt.
"Hm?"
Mike made up his mind.
"Deal!!!"