THE GREATEST OF ALL TIME

The internet speed in the cafe was quite fast, and within a second, the Twitter app page populated his screen after searching for it. He wasted no time quickly installing it and starting the procedure of registering for the account.

But he ran into a problem just after completing the signing up process. Twitter didn't give him his own name but was instead forcing him to use handles like @ZacharyBemba22, @ZacharyBemba23, and so on. He even tried to change it to @ZacharyBemba_33, but that handle, too, was already taken.

He couldn't help but wonder how his name had become so common and widespread to the point that it was no longer available on Twitter. He sighed, shaking his head as he'd lost all the motivation to open the account.

"What happened?" Emily queried on seeing him place his phone on the table. "Did you open the account?"

"Not yet," Zachary replied, a wry smile outlining his face. He then went ahead and told her about the problem he'd run into when signing up for the Twitter handle.

"Oh," Emily said, smiling, on hearing his account. "Those must be people that are trying to make a quick buck using your name. That will be easy for us to handle. We only have to prove that the people using your name are scammers and parodies with no connection to it. That way, Twitter will verify your account and offer the handle with your name back to you."

"Oh," Zachary said, lifting a brow. "People can use other people's names to make money on Twitter! How's it even possible to make money on Twitter?"

"They really do," Emily replied, voice confident. "If they can use a celebs name to get a lot of followers, then they can use the account to make some good bucks through marketing gigs, among other things. As long as their handles are famous, other people will offer them cash to Tweet about their businesses so as to market them." She paused a bit as the waitress had finally brought their two cappuccinos.

Both Emily and Zachary thanked the waitress and sipped on their warm flavored cappuccinos before resuming their discussion.

"So, since your fame is still budding, I was quite sure that some people would use your name for such purposes," Emily continued, placing down her cup. "That was one of the few reasons I was so insistent that you open the Twitter account and get it verified as quickly as possible. When it's out there on the web, all your fans will become aware of it in a short time and become followers. That way, you'll cripple those fake accounts that might harm your reputation in the future."

"Then how should we handle this?" Zachary inquired, leaning back into his seat.

"Don't worry," Emily said. "I'll use your details and ID to get you a verified account on Twitter. You'll be able to acquire a handle in your real names in just a couple of days, at most. Which handle do you wish to use, by the way?"

"ZacharyBemba_33," Zachary replied.

"Oh," Emily said, lifting a brow. "Why the 33, though? Do you intend to wear shirt number-33 for the rest of your footballing career?"

"If possible, yes."

"That's quite strange," Emily replied. "I thought that footballers preferred the smaller jersey numbers. Why is your preference so different from the rest?"

"Shirt number-33 is rare," Zachary replied. "Not many famous players use it. So, I'll be able to get it easily anywhere in the world. That way, I'll have my unique brand of a name such as Zachary-33 in the future."

"I suggest we go with just ZacharyBemba," Emily said, smiling. "This is from purely a marketing point of view. Clubs usually make better jersey sales with the smaller shirt numbers. So, I'm pretty sure that any team will want you to wear the numbers from 1 to 18 as long as you're a star on their team. Even your current team, Rosenborg, may suggest that you change to a shirt number eight or six soon. That's if you continue performing well."

"Oh," Zachary said, leaning back into his seat. "Then, let's go with ZacharyBemba if that's the case."

"That's much better," Emily said, her face blossoming into a smile. "I'll send Twitter an email right away from my work account. We should be able to get you a verified handle within a few days, or even sooner."

"Okay, then," Zachary said, placing down his cup. "I'll now be moving to Lerkendal to put in two hours of training. I can't let myself relax since I will probably be starting in the next game. I have to say goodbye for now."

Emily smiled. "Then, I hope you enjoy your training. You'll still find me here after your training. In the meantime, I'll start on the procedures to have that Twitter account of yours verified. But please come back before 1:30 PM as the meeting starts at exactly 2:00 PM. We don't want to be late for our first endorsement contract signing."

"Don't worry," Zachary replied, smiling back at her. "I won't be late."

"Okay, then see you," Emily said, shooing him away from the table.

"See you in a bit," Zachary said before standing up and heading out of the cafe.

When out of the cafe, he pulled his cap's visor further down and pushed through the human traffic in Trondheim Square as he made his way towards Trondheim Torg, where he'd left his vehicle. He got there in a little less than five minutes—and without any dilly-dallying, got into his R8 GT and cruised to Lerkendal Idresspark like the wind. Only twelve minutes later, he parked his machine within one of the free spaces in the stadium's parking lot before heading towards one of the training grounds and beginning his physicals.

He hoped to enhance his speed so that he would gain more flexibility on the pitch. He was sure that he would acquire the ability to beat most defenders in the Tippeligaen if his agility stat could breakthrough to the S-grading. So, over the previous few days, while he'd been on the bench, he'd began going through a few agility enhancement drills.

It was just another day of his training regimen, and he didn't want to relax his practice just because he was about to sign a deal. So, he spent the next two hours going through a few fitness drills to enhance his sprinting speed, body control, and reaction speed.

Be it forward-running-high-knee drills, lateral-plyometric jumps,  and shuttle runs—he went through them all with an intensity befitting of the exercising maniac he was. By the time Emily called him to remind him about the meeting, he was already sweating and out of breath. So, he quickly cleaned up and hurried back to Trondheim Square in his R8 GT to link up with Emily once again.

****    ****