“Now you’ll get me my protégé,” he says coldly. “You’ll go back to your house that I pay for, take a fucking shower, and pack your fucking bag. You’ll be at the gate in time to get on the bus. You will dominate these next few games and we’ll be on our way to the big game. I’ll get my banner, my program-grown god, and you’ll get your contract.”
He really dont care.
