The morning air was sharp, almost therapeutic.
The city hadn't quite woken up yet, the streets humming only with delivery vans and early joggers.
Izan's trainers thudded rhythmically against the pavement, his breath steady, eyes fixed ahead, but his mind elsewhere.
Each stride cut through the chill, the breeze slicing against his skin as he weaved through the quiet paths of Hampstead Heath.
He didn't run to escape — not today. Today, it was about clarity.
The Adidas deal spun in his head, not chaotically, but with strange calm. Everything about it felt... right.
Not just the figures, the perks, the historic bonuses — but the intention. The tone. The message.
He hadn't planned to leave Adidas.
Not really.
He'd always thought: If they mess this up, if they play small, I'll walk.
That was the plan.
He'd give Nike a real listen. Maybe even a sign. But Adidas hadn't fumbled.
They had done the opposite. They'd exceeded.
Hans didn't just throw money at him. He threw belief.
