Just Get Here and We're Good (3)
The year was 2030.
It was an era where the finals of the 2029 Superhuman World Championship drew a peak viewership of ten million in South Korea alone, even though no Korean team had made it to the finals.
With a quarter of the nation's forty million citizens tuning in to the live broadcast, it was only natural that some people made a living off the Superhuman League.
Here, about a thousand viewers watched a streamer wearing a seagull hat. Hosting live streams or creating YouTube content about the Superhuman League had become a full-time job for many.
Seoulite: Jeong-ho, just speak standard Korean, man.
TitleWatcher: Look at the stream title lol
SeagullFan: [BREAKING] Seagulls are ruined lmao, Joo Han-ul ran away to Daejeon lol
Streamer Kim Galmaegi picked up a 500ml water bottle and chugged it in one go.
Kim Galmaegi (28, born in Seoul) raised his voice so passionately that one might have wondered if the bottle contained alcohol instead of water.
BoomerHater: Fr, ruined by boomer politics.
CoachMayor: Why is the mayor trying to coach the team lol
JooFan: Joo Han-ul: Escaping is a sign of intelligence.
Last year, the Busan Seagulls had a multitude of problems.
If there was any silver lining, the head coach had been fired, and the mayor had bowed ninety degrees before the citizens, declaring, "I will never interfere with the Busan Seagulls again."
The problem was, how does a team's finances work when it doesn't receive city funding?
Naturally, they needed corporate sponsorship, but unfortunately, the Busan Seagulls' sponsors were pathetic, even compared to second-division teams.
Why? For a team representing a major city like Busan?
In the past, there was a major conglomerate that actively funded Busan.
Although that corporation still generated massive revenue in Korea, it had cut off almost all support for Busan.
If the former mayor were listening, he would have broken out in a fit of rage, shouting, "Where is this fabrication coming from?!" But he wasn't the type to tune into a stream with a thousand viewers on a weekday afternoon.
HistoryBuff: Well, that...
BackThen: Back then, everyone was like... lol;;
LeagueWatcher: Rich selling club vs poor relegated club
Either way, the result was the same: the Busan Seagulls had no money.
With almost no corporate sponsorship, they had to raise funds themselves. They planned to run the club based on citizen donations and ticket sales.
The Busan Seagulls' plan would have been perfect, save for one condition.
Results.
ChickenLover: These days, they don't even throw chicken legs because it's a waste of money lol
SeomyeonBoss: I run a chicken shop in Seomyeon, and if they ruin this year too, I'm closing down.
Troll101:[This message has been hidden]
Whether they laughed self-deprecatingly or cried, everyone gathered on the streaming site at 1:30 PM on a weekday shared the same sentiment.
Results. After all, no fan wants to see their own team fail.
Especially for those who proudly called themselves 'Gulligans' and still went to the stadium to scream their lungs out for the Seagulls, even when the team was on a fourteen-game losing streak and sitting in eleventh place.
Dreamer: As if lol
Realist: Stop talking nonsense
NewsFlash: You guys are screwed, Lee Hana is coming to Busan
SeoulBound: Even people born in Busan go to Seoul, what are you on about lol
The Busan Seagulls. Was there some kind of curse preventing sports teams based in Busan from ever winning a championship?
—"It's because of the monsters (o_o)"
There was a running joke that even the monsters felt so bad looking at the scores of Busan sports teams that they turned their heads toward Japan instead.
The Busan Seagulls. Objectively speaking, they were a broken team.
Politically, economically, and even internally, they were a cancer-ridden mess on the verge of collapse.
They were no different from a dilapidated construction site diner with a banner reading, "We are open for business," hanging under a crumbling ceiling.
"I'll sign."
Stamp.
To such a club, Hana reached out and placed her hand on the contract.
Hummmm.
Mana flowed from her fingertips. Unlike stamps or signatures, a superhuman's mana signature was a method of authentication that no one could forge.
"Excuse me, Miss Lee Hana...? Father?"
"Yes?"
"Even if we empty our entire club treasury, five billion won is our absolute limit. I've heard the rumors, and I saw the articles this morning saying Incheon offered over fifty billion..."
"I know."
Guardian signature. I immediately stamped my seal and signed my name next to it.
"That's why we're playing for the minor base salary of fifty million won, isn't it?"
"No, but still..."
"We can make up for the financial side elsewhere. Besides, the clause regarding personal revenue isn't an issue."
The club's cut of the superhuman's individual endorsement deals was strictly the industry standard.
Incheon's cut was a bit higher than the standard, though.
Incheon's contract had been within acceptable limits, but still.
"Use that five billion won to hire a new head coach and recruit the players you need. The minimum roster size is eight, so you've already got one filled."
"Well, that is..."
"I'll leave the rest to you, General Manager."
After reviewing the remaining clauses, Hana and I continued signing the documents.
"You could pull off a surprise pick in the draft. You could recruit retired superhumans to build the squad, or scout promising prospects among minor superhumans like Hana. Or perhaps build a roster entirely of players from Busan—"
"Dad. Anything more than that is overstepping."
"Ah, my mistake. Apologies, General Manager."
"Oh, no, not at all! Hana's father... I mean, Analyst Lee Do-gyeong's advice... No, this is consulting. I should be paying to hear this."
He was right. I usually charged other teams for my advice, and if I went into any more detail—like naming specific players—it would be at the level of consulting I normally got paid for.
"Alright, it's done. The contract is complete. We look forward to working with you, General Manager."
"Likewise."
"..."
"General Manager?"
"Ah, it's nothing."
General Manager Kim Jin-woo swallowed hard, staring at the contract in front of him as if he still couldn't believe it was real.
I could understand. Though the circumstances were a bit different, anyone would be shocked to hear that an S-class superhuman had signed a contract for a salary of fifty million won.
Normally, they should have matched the industry's highest salary like Incheon did, but...
They're a poor club.
If it were a wealthy club like Seoul or Daejeon, the entire industry would rise up in protest over such an underpaid contract. But for a Busan team constrained by the task of 'recruiting seven players with five billion won,' no one could complain.
Besides, it was only a one-year contract, and more than anything, the voices of the people protecting Hana would be much louder.
"Um, Father. Regarding our... 'slightly passionate' fans..."
"Don't worry about that. Once we hit number one in the league and win the championship, no one will have anything to say, no matter what we do."
"Ha, hahaha..."
"Until the stove league ends, we'll be staying in Busan. We'll stay at a hotel for now, and then move once the team housing is ready... or when we find a new house."
"You're not going back up to Incheon?"
"We need to adapt to the local environment, and there's no reason to go back up. It's not like we're going to commute from Incheon to Busan every day, nor are we only going to travel to away stadiums when there's a match in Incheon."
"I actually prefer traveling together with my teammates."
"*Sniff...*"
General Manager Kim Jin-woo choked up.
I could understand. I wasn't just saying this because she was my daughter; even if she were an ordinary player, anyone would be deeply moved by such dedication to the team.
"Understood, Father. In that case... Ah."
"Is there a problem?"
"Well, we do have certain procedures... Though I suppose procedures don't mean much to Miss Hana..."
"You mean the tryout."
"...Yes."
Kim Jin-woo glanced at us tentatively and pointed downward.
"Since Miss Hana isn't registered with the KCL or the Association yet, our club needs to issue her a Superhuman League player license. A tryout is required for that, but..."
"It's fine. It's just a procedure. I won't break too much!"
Hana smiled and raised her fist, making Kim Jin-woo gulp.
"...Understood. Um, if you don't mind, could I call someone I know to act as the evaluator for the tryout?"
"Pardon?"
"She's someone I recruited through a personal connection for the sub-dealer position for the 2030 season. She's an A-class superhuman, a high school girl the same age as Miss Hana."
"Is she a girl?"
"Um, yes."
Hana furrowed her brow slightly, but soon shrugged and smiled again.
"Then it's fine. Dad? What's wrong?"
"...I was under the impression that there were no seventeen-year-old A-class high school girls."
At my words, Kim Jin-woo confidently gave a thumbs-up.
"Well, that's because she only awakened a month ago."
"Ah, I see."
No wonder.
"Who is she?"
Boom!
In a space wider than a basketball court, a black-haired girl was swinging a massive greatsword toward a solid gray wall.
Standing at about 150 centimeters, she was rather short for a seventeen-year-old high school girl, but the greatsword she wielded was much longer than her own height.
Clang! Clang! Claaang!
The sound of tearing air erupted every time the greatsword struck the wall.
The wall, made of reinforced alloy steel, only threw off sparks whenever it collided with the greatsword, appearing to withstand the blows perfectly—until,
"Haaap!"
The moment the girl let out a sharp shout and coated her greatsword in blue mana.
Slash!
Making its previous durability look like a joke, the wall split in half under a single strike of the greatsword.
"Whew, whew."
The girl caught her breath and drove the greatsword into the ground.
Though repairing the hole in the wall would cost a fortune, the girl leisurely sipped banana milk from a jar-shaped carton through a straw, scanning the clean cut of the wall.
"With this, even Grandfather's shield... Hm?"
"Hey! Han Jeong-yun!"
General Manager Kim Jin-woo was running toward the girl, Han Jeong-yun.
"I've got good news!"
"What is it?"
"We signed someone new! Or rather, did we get signed...?"
"What are you talking about?"
Seeing Kim Jin-woo looking far more excited than she was after her training, Han Jeong-yun chuckled and rested the greatsword over her shoulder.
"Who is it?"
"A rookie."
"Ah, a rookie. What's their salary?"
"Fifty million."
"...Bringing in a D-class just to fill the roster? The league doesn't look too kindly on tanking like that."
"They're the same age as you. A rookie, and someone... a friend who is just registering with the KCL."
"Someone?"
He had almost used honorifics just now.
Han Jeong-yun tilted her head in confusion, but shrugged it off, swinging her greatsword back and forth.
"What's their position? Tank? Healer?"
"Main dealer."
"...Are you telling me to support a newbie? Seriously, Uncle, are you kidding me?"
Han Jeong-yun glared, pointing a finger at herself.
"Even if I'm a newbie who awakened just a month ago, I still smashed an A-class dealer in a 1v1, okay? Who was the one who recruited me, calling me a dueling genius? And now you're bringing in a main dealer worth fifty million won instead of five billion?!"
"Han Jeong-yun."
"Uncle! I'm saying—"
"This is an order from the General Manager. Prepare for the tryout."
"Ugh, seriously..."
Han Jeong-yun grumbled, trudging over and planting her greatsword casually in front of her.
"Tell them to come in."
Hummmm.
The training room door slid open.
"Hi."
"...Huh?"
The person who walked in was—
"The fifty-million-won newbie."
"...The GOAT?"
Lee Hana.