Los Angeles.
Malibu Beach.
Sunshine, bikinis, surfboards, and three coconut drinks with little umbrellas stuck in them.
Pogba wore an extravagant pair of sunglasses with a gold chain and lay back in a beach chair. From a distance... he looked like a black eel melted by the sun.
Lukaku sat to his left, gesturing at a surfing instructor as he tried to figure out why the surfboard would snap when he stood on it.
Umtiti sat on the far right, quietly reading the news and occasionally grinning like a fool.
It was quite a coincidence that these three black men had ended up together.
Umtiti and Pogba were National Team teammates, which needed no explanation.
Lukaku and Pogba had met through more than just sharing Raiola as their agent.
One day in 2008, fifteen-year-old Lukaku heard his fourteen-year-old brother Jordan come running home and say, "There's this French kid who's way too good! He scored so many goals he made us all cry!"
Curious, Lukaku immediately searched online for Pogba's highlights.
After the match, Pogba had also heard Jordan say, "I'm getting my big brother to come teach you a lesson!"
That was how the two first heard each other's names.
"Paul! Paul! Listen to me!"
A short, chubby fellow came running over from farther down the beach, panting for breath.
Mino Raiola.
He held up a tablet displaying an unsent email draft.
"Real Madrid! Florentino called me personally! Go to the Bernabéu and be a king, a god, a captain, whatever you want!"
Raiola plopped into an empty beach chair beside them, its legs giving a cheerful creak.
"Paul, your good friend Lingard is there too. He's about to succeed Cristiano Ronaldo. Tell me, why won't you go? Give me one reason."
Pogba slowly removed his sunglasses. "I