Chapter 103: Chapter 103: The First Meeting
Julian woke before dawn, the same way he always did.
Silence clung to the house, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breath as he moved through his routine.
First, the flow of martial arts—stances drilled until every tendon and bone remembered their place.
Then his private gym, weights grinding against muscle and sweat burning across his back.
Finally, football work in the backyard, juggling, short sprints, sharp touches—keeping his instincts razor-edged.
By the time he paused, shirt damp and lungs hot, the sun had already climbed.
He checked his phone.
10:00 A.M.
Time.
He’d chosen morning for the meeting. Always the morning. His body and mind worked best when the day was still fresh.
But as his thumb hovered over the screen, the location he’d picked earlier made him groan.
A café. Not just any café.
A pet café.
Julian pressed his palm against his face.
"Damn it... what’s the scout gonna think of me?"
An agent meeting surrounded by cats and puppies. Not exactly the image of a rising footballer.
He let out a long sigh, dragging a hand through his damp hair. Too late to change it now. He’d made the call. He’d sent the text. David Mateo would be there.
The thought made his chest tighten.
A real agent.
An offer waiting.
And Julian Ashford, sitting across from him with the smell of coffee and cat fur in the air.
"Great," he muttered, lips twisting into a dry smile. "Just perfect."
...
Julian arrived at the café and paused at the doorway.
The place was... different.
Soft nude tones washed over the walls, sunlight filtering in through wide glass panes.
The air smelled faintly of roasted beans and something warm—milk, cinnamon, maybe vanilla. But what stole the room wasn’t the coffee. It was the cats.
They roamed everywhere. A lazy orange tabby stretched across the counter. A sleek black-and-white darted between tables.
A white Persian groomed itself in the corner, fur like snow under light. Even one of those strange, hairless breeds perched on a scratching post like a miniature gargoyle.
The soundscape was alive in a way Julian hadn’t expected—soft mews, the rhythmic scrape of claws against posts, the occasional clatter of a coffee cup set down on a saucer.
Sunlight fell in warm squares across the wooden floor, and wherever the light touched, fur shimmered like tiny flames.
It was messy, unpredictable, almost too alive compared to the cold order of the pitch
It was chaos, but calm. The kind of chaos people paid money to smile at.
Since he was already here, Julian figured he might as well play along. He ordered a small treat from the counter—some crunchy little bites the staff handed him in a paper cup.
Most of the cats, though, scattered the moment he reached out.
He wasn’t surprised.
In his last life, it had been the same. Animals always avoided him.
Some whispered it was a curse, others said his presence was too sharp, his talent too heavy, as though even beasts could feel the weight of it.
Julian never cared. They stayed away, fine. He stayed away, fine.
But this time was different.
A single black cat padded toward him. Its fur shone like ink, but one eye was clouded, scarred shut, leaving the other wide and unblinking.
Julian crouched slightly, studying it.
"You okay, little one?"
The cat meowed softly and pressed against his leg, purring like a tiny motor.
Julian chuckled and lowered a treat. The cat ate it straight from his palm, then tilted its head, revealing a thin necklace with a tag.
Julian squinted at the name etched on it.
Power
"So your name’s Power, huh?" he murmured, lips curling.
The cat purred louder, then—without hesitation—climbed up onto Julian’s lap. It circled once, then curled up, a ball of warmth and breath against him.
Julian froze for a second, staring down at it.
"...Weird one."
For the first time, an animal hadn’t run.
It had chosen him.
...
A few more minutes passed before the bell above the café door jingled.
David Mateo stepped in—same sporty look as yesterday. Sweatpants, fitted T-shirt, running shoes.
He moved with the casual bounce of someone who lived in gyms, scanning the place until his eyes locked on Julian.
"Ohh, Julian. Good morning." His voice carried an easy warmth as he slid over to the table. "That’s a good habit you’ve got there—being a morning person. An early bird."
He pulled out the chair across from Julian and sat, posture relaxed but sharp in its own way.
Then his gaze dropped. A slow grin tugged at his lips.
"Ohh, you’re already bonding, I see."
Julian followed his eyes. The black cat Power—was still curled in his lap, its single wide eye half-lidded with sleep, purring like an engine.
Julian raised a brow.
"Didn’t plan on it."
David chuckled, leaning back in his seat. "Funny how life works, huh? Sometimes the right things pick you first."
The words hung strangely heavy, like he wasn’t just talking about the cat.
David sat down, flipping the menu open with a casual flick before ordering. His eyes never fully left Julian.
"You must’ve already checked my credibility," David said, tone easy but testing.
"Yes." Julian’s reply was short, clipped.
David leaned back, lips quirking. "Good. Saves me the trouble of pretending. Look—Clinton Drew Dempsey isn’t my client. He’s my uncle. But showing you that picture? It was just to prove I’m not some fraud hanging outside locker rooms."
He reached into his bag and slid a folder across the table.
"This is a list of players I’ve scouted and supported on their journeys."
Julian skimmed it. Names, data, schools. None he recognized. Nobodies—or at least, not yet somebodies.
His eyes lingered on the ink, the way some names were underlined, others crossed out. The truth was obvious—these weren’t stars. They weren’t prodigies.
They were kids scraping at the edges, trying to climb. But there was something raw about it, something unpolished yet hungry. And maybe that honesty mattered more than polished lies.
David raised his hands, palms open. "Let me be honest with you. I’ve never really been an agent. Not fully. What I’ve done is scout—watch, collect, pass the data along to teams. And then let them do the rest."
The waiter arrived, setting down two steaming cups of coffee. The air filled with the sharp, earthy aroma.
David lifted his cup, took a slow sip, and leaned in.
"But this time’s different. This time, I want to be a proper agent. Why?" His eyes sharpened, voice lowering. "Because I see potential in you, Julian. Enough to stake my career on. So I’ll ask plainly—do you want me in your corner?"
Silence stretched between them, heavy as iron.
Julian’s gaze stayed fixed on him. Trust? Entrust his future to a man he’d just met? His heart clenched, shadows stirring.
Don’t believe others.
The whisper came cold, a phantom from his past life, sharp as betrayal’s blade.
For a heartbeat, the darkness swelled.
The image of his sick body, of betrayal, of cold steel slid unbidden into his mind. His past life’s scars whispered: agents, promises, allies—they could all twist into knives.
His fingers tightened around the warm ceramic of the coffee cup, grounding himself. He breathed in the steam, bitter and sharp, fighting back the ghosts.
This wasn’t the same world. This wasn’t the same life. And yet, the hesitation clawed at him.
But Julian forced it back down.