Two Who Will Believe

"This is the draft the Phoenix sent over. What do you think?"

At Jang Woo-seok's question, Do Kang-hyun could not find a single word. He only sat there looking dazed—astonished that a reality like this had actually arrived for him, and yet, somewhere beneath the astonishment, feeling confidence take hold.

"Well? It's a considerable upgrade on what the Titans offered, wouldn't you say? Article 6 in particular is the Phoenix showing they truly mean to give you a real chance. A clause like that is, frankly, almost impossible for a rookie to win."

Of course, if one meant to slip through that guarantee, the word start was nowhere in it, and so the Phoenix still had any number of ways out—a pinch-hit appearance, a pinch-running assignment, a late defensive replacement. Jang Woo-seok saw the gap with perfect clarity. Even so, he had deliberately refused to insist on a guarantee of starts, precisely because the Phoenix had already given up so much.

"Look closely and you'll see this contract has one very important feature."

"I know. It means I have to produce in the league, no matter what. Isn't that it?"

Do Kang-hyun was no green kid just stepping into the world, and Jang Woo-seok, plainly pleased by that, nodded and went on.

"Just as you say, the point of this contract is that your treatment rises and falls with your own performance. For instance..."

Sign with the Phoenix, and Do Kang-hyun's salary for next year and the year after would be fifty million won. In practice that was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠first-team regular's rookie wage—no different from the best treatment a newcomer could receive. Set against the fact that he was thirty-two, though, and against the future still ahead of him, fifty million won could hardly be called a great deal of money.

From 2027 on, the size of any raise would depend on how he spent that first year. And then there was the club option. If the Phoenix simply chose to exercise it, that alone would buy him a measure of financial ease.

"Judged from where things stand today, if the Phoenix exercise the option and your raise comes in below the maximum for a third-year player, you would be guaranteed the top figure—two hundred and thirty million won. The club is clearly determined to meet you on salary. Treatment like that, and you're already entitled to call yourself a superstar of this league."

The fourth year paid five hundred million won, the fifth five hundred and fifty million. The moment the Phoenix exercised the option, Do Kang-hyun would be guaranteed at least 1.28 billion won across those three years—1.3 billion, for all practical purposes.

Even that much would beat the office.

He told himself it would at least be some repayment for the resignation he had written. Jang Woo-seok made it perfectly clear that he saw the matter in an entirely different light.

"The club exercising its option is not, from my standpoint, a welcome outcome. I believe you have to go overseas. You must."

That conviction was written into Article 5, the overseas-league clause. The Phoenix had not liked it, but Jang Woo-seok had insisted on terms that let the player transfer freely, even without the club's consent, the moment an offer arrived from abroad. The only shackle was the transfer fee: eight hundred thousand dollars at the least, two million at the most.

"Two million dollars to reach the majors—isn't that a figure only players who've been at the very top of this league have ever been able to command?"

"The very fact that the Phoenix would exercise the option is already an admission that you're at the top of the league. Major-league clubs will weigh that carefully. It is not an excessive number."

There was nothing wrong in what Jang Woo-seok said, and Do Kang-hyun pressed no further. More than that, if the club declined to exercise the option, he would become a free agent again and could sign with any KBO club other than the Phoenix. The contract stated outright that the Phoenix would surrender its reserve rights—a concession so extraordinary that early free agency could not even be set beside it.

There was an injury clause as well. If an injury ended his season, his base salary, at least, would be guaranteed in full.

"These are the performance-incentive items. I reorganized them so you can take them ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in at a glance. Use this as your reference."

The file Jang Woo-seok had prepared was far easier to read than the schedule drafted by the Phoenix. First came the incentives for games played. Bonuses accumulated at eighty, one hundred, one hundred and twenty, and one hundred and forty first-team appearances—five million, another five million, ten million, and twenty million won—and if every tier stacked, the total came to forty million.

"Appear in just a hundred and forty games and I'm only ten million short of my base salary? Is that actually possible?"

"In practice, no. A KBO season is a hundred and forty-four games, so collecting the twenty million for a hundred and forty appearances is extremely difficult."

Twelve players had done it last year. This year, only eleven hitters had played in a hundred and forty or more. The production mattered, of course, but games played was the one place where a health problem could not be allowed to arise at all. For Do Kang-hyun, still badly short on stamina, it was a bonus he could not even let himself imagine.

Next came the incentives for titles. Lead the league in home runs, RBIs, batting average, or OPS, and each was worth twenty million won. A Gold Glove paid ten million; a place on the KBO's season Best Eleven, five million; every Monthly MVP, three million; a start in the All-Star Game, another three million. Incentives of every kind were in there. And just as with games played, the milestone bonuses were tiered—separate brackets for home runs, for hits, and for RBIs.

"Say, for example, you hit forty home runs, drove in a hundred, and collected a hundred and fifty hits in a season. The cumulative incentives from that alone would be forty-five million won."

"......"

At that brief explanation, Do Kang-hyun's mouth fell open. Stack incentive upon incentive atop the base salary, and a paycheck in the hundreds of millions of won was no longer a dream.

"As you can see, every category is spelled out in detail. Post the numbers I just mentioned, and once you include the appearance bonuses and then add batting average, OPS, and all the rest, the total will be anything but small."

Depending on the season he produced, it was a contract that could put incentives worth several times his salary into his hands. To get there, though, he would have to do more than bombard the KBO. He would have to chew the league to pieces—monster work, and nothing less.

If it really is the ability I've been given...

He knew better than to let the thought swell into conceit or arrogance, but confidence, at least, he was entitled to feel. Quietly, Do Kang-hyun felt hope stir, and something like excitement with it.

"In your judgment, do you think the Titans could offer a better contract than the Phoenix?"

"My personal view is that they might. As I said, everything in this contract is payment for the player's own performance, so from the club's side it can't be called a pure loss. However."

Bearing ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in mind that the papers were still only a draft, Jang Woo-seok began to explain how much remained to be negotiated.

"The clauses on injury and treatment. Trades and releases. The management of activities away from the field, personal training, the use of outside coaches, public statements, media interviews, likeness rights, name rights, and so on. A great many details still have to be worked out. I'll steer all of that as far in your favor as I can. On the split of revenue from your likeness and your name, though, you're a rookie, and they've already waived their reserve rights, so if we concede there it becomes much easier to win the contract on the terms that matter. Of course, if you dislike that, I can dig in and negotiate relentlessly until we take every advantage available."

"One thing I learned in an office is that when any contract runs entirely one way, the ending is never good. Give what ought to be given, and take what ought to be taken. I think that's the best contract there is."

At those words, Jang Woo-seok looked thoroughly satisfied. People called him a lunatic, or a crank, but that did not mean he indulged only his own greed against a club, or threw tantrums for the sake of it. He slipped into the gaps outside the rules and built his strategies there, all to hand the player every edge he could. He also knew better than anyone that no contract is ever purely one-sided. Do Kang-hyun's broad way ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of thinking about a deal was, for an agent, fuel enough to use every bit of his ability.

"If there's any part of this contract you absolutely want, tell me. I'll push for it—no. I'll have it written in. Without fail."

"If I have one wish, it's to settle in and give myself to baseball alone, even a day sooner."

"I understand perfectly. I'll do everything I can to close your contract as quickly as possible."

"Yes. I'm counting on you."

He left the whole of the contract to Jang Woo-seok, his agent, and made up his mind to finish the business that was his alone.

"How's your back?"

"It's fine, so don't worry. Your mother made a fuss over nothing. You sent money? You're barely getting by yourself. Enough of that—take it back."

His father said he was all right in that gruff way of his, but Do Kang-hyun's eyes stayed on the brace, cinched around the man's lower back so tight it might as well have been a hand on his throat. As a rule his father never showed pain, and he hardly ever took medicine. Seeing him strapped into a brace that soured his digestion and left him short of breath made Kang-hyun's heart heavier still.

To Do Kang-hyun, his father was a man who had spent a whole life sacrificing himself for his family—someone to be grateful for, and someone who stirred a quiet pity. That father's greatest pride had been a son who played baseball. And when the talent wasn't there, when the skill fell short and Kang-hyun quit at the end of high school as if he were running away, his father had comforted him in that same blunt voice, with nothing but four short syllables: You had it rough.

"Dad. I'm going to play baseball again."

The moment he said it, his father's eyes shook hard. He looked at his son the way a man looks when he has heard something he was never meant to hear, and the words that finally came, after a long while, were shorter than Kang-hyun had expected.

"Work hard."

There must have been countless things he wanted to say. He pressed every one of them down and swallowed them, and offered nothing but his support for the road ahead.

"I will. It's my last chance, so I'll work hard enough that I won't have a single regret."

Emotion surged up all at once. The bridge of his nose stung, and Do Kang-hyun turned away at once to hide the tears rising in him.

"I'll head out, then. Please be careful with your back."

He was at the door when that same blunt, graceless voice caught his step.