The room felt quieter after Charles Northgate stood and excused himself.
He straightened his jacket, checked his watch, and placed a firm but warm hand on Elias's shoulder before leaving.
"I have an important meeting to attend," Charles said. "Eliza will take care of the rest of the details."
Elias nodded respectfully. "Thank you, Charles."
Charles smiled—an old, knowing smile—before walking out and gently closing the door behind him.
For a brief moment, silence settled in the office.
Not the awkward kind. The thoughtful kind.
Eliza Northgate leaned back against the table, arms folded loosely across her chest. She studied Elias with a gaze that was no longer skeptical, no longer dismissive—but curious. Evaluating. Personal.
Now I understand, she thought.
She exhaled and spoke.
"Now," Eliza said, breaking the quiet, "I personally understand why my dad chose you as our first pick."
Elias didn't respond immediately. He simply inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the words without trying to earn them.
Eliza turned toward her desk and picked up a thin folder. She slid it across the table toward Elias.
"By the way, Mr. Moreno," she continued, professional again, "this is your contract with North Gate Buffalo."
Elias took the folder carefully, as if it might disappear if he moved too quickly.
"One-year deal," Eliza explained. "Standard rookie structure, adjusted for your situation. We can talk about salary details, bonuses, incentives. Extensions will depend on performance."
She paused, then added lightly, "Which I think is fair—for both sides."
Elias opened the folder and began reading slowly.
Numbers mattered, yes—but not the way people thought. What mattered more were the words: North Gate Buffalo. Player. Active roster.
Coach Fran, who had been quiet until now, leaned forward slightly.
"Just to be clear," Fran said, his tone half-serious, half-amused, "we don't expect you to bring this team to the Finals."
He chuckled softly, as if the idea itself were harmless.
Eliza glanced at Fran, then back at Elias. Something playful sparked in her eyes.
"But," she said casually, "if he does, Coach… then I owe Mr. Moreno a full-day date."
Fran blinked. "What?"
Eliza smiled wider. "A whole day. No schedules. No obligations. For free."
She shrugged lightly, as if she had just suggested coffee.
The room stilled.
Elias lifted his eyes from the contract slowly, surprised—but not flustered. He studied Eliza's face. He recognized the challenge in her tone. Half daring. Half dismissive.
She doesn't think it's possible, he realized.
The Finals. From the weakest team in the league. In one year.
He smiled.
"Okay," Elias said simply.
No bravado. No jokes. Just acceptance.
He returned his focus to the contract, reading every line with care. Years of life had taught him the value of patience. When he finished, he closed the folder gently.
"The contract is fair," Elias said. "More than fair."
He picked up the pen.
His hand didn't shake as he signed.
Not because he wasn't emotional—but because he had already lived through worse moments of uncertainty. This one felt earned.
Coach Fran took the contract next.
As he prepared to sign, he paused, then smirked slightly. Taking the pen, he scribbled an additional note in the margin—half joking, half documenting history.
If Elias Moreno leads the Buffalo to the Finals, Eliza Northgate agrees to a full-day date.
Fran signed his name.
Eliza raised an eyebrow. "Coach."
Fran grinned. "Just for the record."
Eliza shook her head, amused, then took the pen and signed beneath them both.
The contract was official.
Elias Moreno was now a North Gate Buffalo.
Fran stood. "Coach Ed is running drills. You should join the others."
Elias rose as well. "Yes, Coach."
As he walked toward the door, Eliza spoke again.
"Mr. Moreno."
Elias turned.
She met his eyes. "Good luck."
This time, there was no challenge in her voice. Only something quieter.
"Thank you," he replied.
When Elias left the office, the sound of the arena returned—balls bouncing, shoes squeaking, whistles cutting through the air. Life moving forward.
Inside the office, Eliza exhaled slowly and leaned back against her desk.
She glanced at Coach Fran.
"Coach," she asked, tone thoughtful, "do you know any team that went from the bottom of the league to a top-caliber Finals contender in just one year?"
Fran didn't hesitate.
"No," he said confidently. "That's impossible."
Eliza smiled to herself.
Not because she believed him.
But because, for the first time in a long while, she hoped he might be wrong.