High Risk, High Return
Everything he said in this meeting would determine how his new boss saw him.
Operations Team Leader Jeong Myeonggyu chose his words with care.
The problem was that he knew absolutely nothing about the new General Manager's temperament. With no way of knowing whether the man across the table preferred sweet-sounding platitudes or blunt honesty, all he could do was string together a deliberately vague answer.
"...It seems to be a complex tangle of factors. The free agent signings haven't all panned out, and the new managers have had trouble establishing control over the clubhouse."
The GM gave a small nod, as if to say keep going. His eyes never left the monitor.
"...And some of the prospects we drafted haven't developed the way we hoped."
"Hmm."
The GM, who had been drumming his fingers on the desk, finally spoke.
"Do you know the biggest difference between the league structures in soccer and baseball?"
"...I'd be grateful if you'd enlighten me."
It would have been so much easier if the man would just come out and say what he was thinking. Instead, the GM kept sparring with him in riddles.
"Soccer leagues run on promotion and relegation. Finish last, and you're sent down. The penalty is so severe that every club has to go all-in every single season."
"That's right."
"But baseball is different. The worst team catches hell from the fans, sure. But it does nothing to hurt the club's operations."
"......"
"No, wait. It's actually a benefit, isn't it? You get the first overall pick in the draft."
A baseball column he'd read once surfaced in the team leader's mind.
It argued that dynasties had become so rare in modern baseball not only because of the salary cap, but also because of the rise of tanking teams. Clubs chasing a championship now simply couldn't afford to develop young talent, so the bad teams hoarded prospects instead.
"And yet the Hawks, rather than capitalizing on that advantage, have done nothing but squander it."
The GM turned his monitor around.
On the screen was a dazzling lineup of faces — every star player the Hawks had ever signed as a free agent.
"Do you know which club has spent the most on free agents in KBO history?"
"...The Hawks."
"And they're still 'rebuilding.' What kind of club in this world rebuilds while spending the most money of anyone?"
"......"
"And this season, they posted the worst record in the league by a mile."
Heat crept up the team leader's face.
He hadn't personally spearheaded those signings, but every one of those players had been acquired during his time with the organization.
The GM continued in a voice that never wavered, calm as still water.
"The root cause of this mess is that the front office ran the team with short-sighted self-preservation in mind, not with any long-term vision."
"They sign mediocre veterans in free agency exactly when they should be tanking, so they lose promising prospects as compensation. The aging veterans clog the big-league roster, so the youngsters can't accumulate experience — a vicious cycle, repeating over and over."
"I was brought in to break that loop."
When he finally paused, the GM noticed that the Operations Team Leader had gone completely rigid.
The whole organization has gone stiff.
What he wanted wasn't a yes-man who just nodded along — he wanted people who could offer ideas of their own. But that was clearly too much to ask right now.
The reason he kept asking questions was to invite opinions, yet the man seemed to take every one of them as a reprimand.
The GM scratched his head.
I'll just have to work with what I've got.
Because he'd started his front-office career in the United States, Kim Kwangseob was short on trusted people now that he'd only just arrived in the KBO.
He had no choice but to make do with the ones already here.
"We talked earlier about Kang Hyuk, right?"
"Yes."
"The reason I want to draft him is simple. His defense is a proven tool."
Unlike the KBO, where pitchers dominate the early rounds, MLB teams draft position players in the first round all the time — usually shortstops, outfielders, or catchers with clearly defined tools.
Those positions carry high upside, and even if a pick fails, a player with a legitimate tool still holds value as a trade chip.
"Besides, there's no decent catching talent on the free agent market this year."
Four KBO clubs currently needed a catcher.
But only two catchers were hitting free agency, which meant prices were all but guaranteed to balloon.
Prices, after all, obey the law of supply and demand.
"As a condition of taking this job, I extracted one promise from the owner."
"......"
"Three years. Even if the results don't come, I asked for three years — a promise that in that time I'd overhaul the system and put this club back on track."
"...Three years?"
The GM nodded.
"There will be a great many changes from here on. If anyone keeps working the way they always have, it will only make things harder for all of us. Keep that in mind."
"...Understood."
Kim Kwangseob flipped through the scouting department's report.
"When are the rookie contracts scheduled?"
"Next Wednesday."
"I'll attend that one myself."
"I'm sorry?"
The team leader jolted upright in his chair.
In the KBO, rookie contracts were traditionally handled at the team leader or division head level. A GM never showed his face.
"Surely there's no need for you to involve yourself personally, sir—"
"No. These are young men who may one day carry this franchise. I'd rather put faces to names early."
In that moment, Jeong Myeonggyu knew for certain.
His working life from here on out was going to be anything but smooth.
The day of the contract finally arrived.
My uncle, who usually wore an easy, good-natured smile, looked unusually grave.
"Hyuk."
"Yes?"
"I've said this before, but it may not go the way you want. There's no precedent for a contract structured like this one."
"Then there's nothing we can do about it."
"I'll do everything in my power."
I headed to the meeting place with my uncle.
When we stepped into the conference room, three men were seated at the table. Introducing themselves in turn from left to right: the Scouting Team Leader, the General Manager, and the Operations Team Leader.
My uncle broke the ice without a flicker of nerves.
"Haha. It's my first time seeing a General Manager sit in on a rookie contract."
"You'll be seeing it often from now on. Agent Park Sungho — you represent Kim Hyun-woo as well, I understand?"
"I do. Looking forward to working with you."
Once we took our seats, the man who'd introduced himself as the Operations Team Leader spoke first, sliding a document across the table.
"This is the signing bonus the club is offering. The figure reflects precedent from previous drafts and the value the club expects from Kang Hyuk."
My uncle gave me a quick summary of what was written on the page.
"Three hundred million won signing bonus, plus fifty million if he reaches the minimum plate appearances in the first team."
"......"
I shot my uncle a look that said stick to the plan.
"Hmm. That falls short of what we were hoping for."
"You're aware, Agent, that three hundred fifty million all-in is nothing to sneeze at for a position player."
"Isn't that only because the top of the draft usually goes to pitchers? Our client is the first overall pick."
My uncle's tone was blunter than expected, and the temperature in the room plummeted.
What's gotten into him?
Apparently acquainted with the team leader, my uncle had mouthed a few words at him — yet still refused to budge an inch.
"...Then you have conditions you'd like to propose?"
"We have complete confidence in the player's ability, which is why we'd like to see the total package grow."
"Come on. There are conventions to follow—"
"Aren't conventions meant to be broken? The General Manager is sitting right here."
After letting the tug-of-war run its course, my uncle finally played his hand.
"If raising the guaranteed money is difficult, how about this instead — lower the signing bonus and add performance incentives?"
In that instant, the eyes of the GM, who'd been listening in silence, changed.
"Incentives, you say?"
"Yes. We're willing to reduce the guarantees — we simply want the player's value properly recognized."
"A smaller signing bonus means the club has no pressure to force him into the lineup, since every appearance costs money. May I ask why you'd want that?"
"Well, that's—"
As my uncle began to answer, the GM cut him off.
"I'm curious what Kang Hyuk himself thinks. I assume the agent is reflecting the player's wishes."
My uncle's and my eyes met for a split second. He gave a small nod — go ahead.
"Because I'm confident, that's all."
"Confident of what, exactly?"
"That this club won't be able to survive without putting me in the lineup."
"Hmm......"
While the others stared at me in open disbelief, the GM regarded me with an unreadable expression.
"Audacity is the privilege of the young."
He set the contract aside and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.
"Did you come here with incentive clauses in mind?"
"General Manager—"
The Operations Team Leader at his side tried to stop him.
"There's no precedent in the KBO for a rookie contract structured like this."
"It's the same in America, for what it's worth. Ever since the signing bonus era, the big leagues have squeezed players as cheaply as possible through service time."
"Then why—"
The GM answered evenly.
"For the player, it's high risk, high return. For the club, it's low risk, high return."
"......"
"We lower our guaranteed outlay, so the risk shrinks. And even if he performs brilliantly, he's still a rookie, so the incentive amounts have a hard ceiling. Frankly, from our side, there's nothing to lose."
He added one more thing.
"And if this becomes the precedent for future rookie contracts, it doubles as motivation for them, too."
Having neutralized his Operations Team Leader, the GM turned to my uncle.
"Name your terms. Though you're aware that a rookie's salary is based on the league minimum for the year of his first-team registration?"
"I'm aware."
"Incentive years can fall within three years of signing, I'd say... and—"
On the blank sheet of paper, the GM began listing terms with practiced ease.
"Eighty or more games as a starter — fifty million won. A batting average of .300 or better — one hundred million won......"
"Hold on."
But my uncle wasn't about to sit back and listen, either.
"'Games started' is a murky standard. What if they play him seventy-nine times and then only use him as a pinch-hitter after that?"
"Same with the average. Park Jin-mo, our current starting catcher, hit .265 last season. You'd demand more than that from a rookie?"
Without so much as a change in expression, the GM kept the conversation moving.
"If you hold a rookie to the same standard as a veteran, wouldn't it make more sense to just play the veteran earning the higher salary?"
"Of course not. Feeding experience to a younger, more promising player benefits the club in the long run. Besides, demanding .300 from a rookie batter is plain robbery."
"You'll note it was the player's side who asked for a performance-based contract?"
The sparks flew back and forth while everyone around the table squirmed in their seats.
Yet as if they'd rehearsed it, the two sides found their middle ground in short order.
"Then let's drop 'games started' and go with reaching the minimum plate appearances."
"Agreed."
"Batting average of .280 — but the incentive only pays if his OPS is .800 or higher."
"Agreed."
"Home runs — one hundred million won on the basis of twenty in a season......"
"Twenty homers makes him an S-tier catcher. Make it ten."
"Then: ten homers pays fifty million, twenty pays one hundred million."
The GM looked over the handwritten contract taking shape line by line.
"Eight hundred million if he hits every incentive. That's the richest rookie position player deal in history, isn't it?"
"In exchange, the guarantee is only one hundred million. Last year's first-round pick got four hundred fifty million guaranteed. You'll have to account for the fact that we're carrying an enormous amount of risk here."
"Well, that one was a pitcher... regardless, it was a good negotiation. I'll draft up the final version and send the e-contract over."
The two men shook hands as if they'd never sparred at all.
The exchange had moved so fast that the rest of us, myself included, could only watch the two of them in a daze.
The GM made a copy of the handwritten agreement, then spoke up.
"Oh, one thing. This contract's terms may well end up in the press, you understand? It's such a rare case."
Wasn't that a flat-out threat to leak every detail to the media?
My uncle went quiet for a moment, thinking. Then:
"If the player hires a personal instructor, does the club provide any support?"
"I only took this post recently, so I'll need to check the club's internal regulations and get back to you."
"If there are relevant provisions... then I suppose we'd be unable to prevent the incentive details from finding their way to the press."
I watched my uncle smoothly close out the deal with newfound eyes.
I'd taken him for a man who was simply easygoing all the way down — soft as watered-down liquor. Turns out he delivered when it counted.
On the way out, after the contract was signed and done, my uncle muttered to himself.
"Dealing with the Hawks isn't going to be easy from here on."
"Didn't it go according to plan?"
"I figured it'd be one of two things. Either they'd refuse to talk at all, or I'd fleece them completely. Turns out they're more fluent in incentive structures than I expected."
"We just got promised eight hundred million, though?"
"Think about it. If he hits every incentive, the club gets an S-tier free-agent-caliber catcher for eight hundred million. That's a bargain for them. And if he fails? They've only paid out a third- or fourth-rounder's signing bonus."
It must have been harder than it looked — my uncle shook his head slowly.
"Either way, we got the deal shaped the way you wanted. From here on out, the results are entirely on you."
"Yes, sir."