Running Wild, Part 1
Han Jeong-yun and Lee Hana.
There was no need to measure the difference between an A-class and an S-class in a one-on-one duel.
"Urgh...!"
Han Jeong-yun swung her sword, desperately trying to land even a single blow.
But the greatsword couldn't touch Hana, who moved with effortless grace in a light dress and high heels instead of combat boots.
In fact—
Clang!
The greatsword had almost grazed her shoulder, but Hana casually deflected the blade with her bare hand, blocking the strike.
Even though the greatsword was clearly infused with blue mana and weighed well over a hundred kilograms, Hana parried it as easily as if it were made of paper.
"S-she's incredible."
"Well, she is Hana."
The outfield.
General Manager Kim Jin-woo swallowed hard as he watched the two fight from a distance beside me.
The tension was palpable, but seeing his niece—whom he had brought in as his trump card—getting utterly dominated...
"The Seagulls... we can actually do this...!"
He was filled with hope.
If he had previously thought Han Jeong-yun alone might barely keep them from relegation, he was now dreaming of winning the league and even advancing to Worlds, rather than just avoiding the promotion-relegation matches.
A one-man carry.
Could a single superhuman truly carry an entire team to victory?
Doing it once was possible, but could they consistently secure victories like that throughout a whole league season?
Only one person in the entire world had ever proven it possible, and that very person was showcasing her overwhelming dominance right before our eyes.
"Hyaaaah!"
Han Jeong-yun swung her greatsword in a massive arc.
Her tempestuous flurry of vertical and horizontal slashes looked poised to pulverize anything in its path. Yet, Hana deflected every single strike with casual waves of her bare hands.
Deflecting a greatsword barehanded.
Of course, Hana's hands glowed with a faint aura of mana, but even before the difference in mana capacity, Jeong-yun was being completely outclassed in technique.
Smack!
Hana slapped the flat of the greatsword with precision. The moment an opening appeared, she lunged forward and drove her heel toward Jeong-yun's abdomen.
"!!"
Startled, Jeong-yun scrambled to guard herself, but Hana's heel struck faster than she could react.
Crash!
She flew back like a streak of light and slammed into the wall.
"J-Jeong-yun!!"
"I deployed a shield, so you don't need to worry."
"Pardon?"
"I have no intention of damaging the facilities, and even less of hurting people. I didn't blow her away; I blew the space around her away."
Hana's toe had indeed made contact with Jeong-yun's abdomen.
However, the actual impact hadn't concentrated on that single point. Instead, it had dispersed evenly across Jeong-yun's entire body.
Though the point of impact was her stomach, the attack felt no different from hitting a barrier that enveloped her entire body.
And since Hana had held back, the strike only produced a loud noise and dramatic impact, leaving Jeong-yun with virtually zero actual damage.
"T-that is..."
"It's a league match, after all. Performance is what matters. It's not a bloodbath where you try to break and kill your opponent."
We weren't living in the era of ten years ago.
"Hana is an S-class superhuman, but she's also an S-class sports star who knows how to give the audience a sense of catharsis in the pro league."
There was a reason America had gone wild for her.
Brutal, raw matches filled with blood and flesh were relics of the past. Now, flashy, game-like effects and showmanship—along with the ability to pull them off—were what mattered.
Style, in other words.
And the most important foundation for that style was overwhelming skill.
We had entered an era where a superhuman with 90 skill and 90 style was far more celebrated in the league than one with 100 skill and 10 style.
It was a good time to be alive.
People might clutch their chests in frustration over sports matches, but at least they didn't have to hold funerals for dead players anymore.
"...Did we cut her pay too much?"
General Manager Kim Jin-woo scratched his cheek.
"I'm not just saying this because I'm Jeong-yun's uncle, but she really is Busan's ace with a bright future."
"She certainly looks the part."
"Aaaaargh!"
Despite being splayed against the wall, Han Jeong-yun's fighting spirit remained unbroken.
"Take this!"
At first, she had been starstruck to face the 'GOAT' and had made a fuss about whether she should ask for an autograph. But after failing to land a single hit and getting blown away multiple times, her pride was wounded, fueling her relentless assault.
"Your approach is too weak. Aren't you leaning too much to the left?"
Hana was even giving her pointers while fighting.
Normally, anyone would have given up by now, but Han Jeong-yun's grit was truly remarkable.
And her salary...
"I promised Jeong-yun a salary of one billion won."
"That's on the lower side for an A-class."
"She's a rookie, just a rough diamond who awakened barely a month ago."
One billion won a year.
Though it was likely separate from the remaining five billion won budget, it was bound to look bizarre to any onlooker.
The one sweating bullets and struggling to swing a greatsword was getting one billion won, while the one effortlessly parrying it with two hands without moving an inch was getting fifty million won?
"Mr. Lee Do-gyeong. No matter how I look at it, this is just too cheap."
"You're right. It's an extreme pay cut."
It was indeed excessive.
"Since the contract is already signed, I'll be frank. I actually agree with what Chairman Song Ju-hyeong of the Incheon Devils said. The best deserves the best treatment. Only when the top player in the industry receives the highest salary can those below them be treated properly."
"Then why...?"
"But if you're going to take a pay cut, you have to go all the way to show that 'money doesn't matter to me.' By taking the league minimum."
Lowering the contract salary to bypass the salary cap, only to receive the rest under the table later?
That would inevitably spark rumors.
People would gossip regardless of what we did, but there was no need to expose a weakness.
"Rather than being seen as someone who uses loopholes to pocket money on the side, it's better to be viewed as a lunatic who is so obsessed with something that they don't care about money. And if the results are good, that gets packaged as 'romance.'"
"...It's a bit awkward for me to say this, but if the results are bad, that usually gets labeled as 'making a fool of oneself.'"
"Do you think our results will be bad, General Manager?"
"I wasn't talking about the Busan Seagulls. I meant other teams."
Lee Hana alone.
With her, the Busan Seagulls were guaranteed to win.
While people in Korea were still skeptical, every single franchise in America—except for the New York team—was celebrating.
Because they finally believed they had a shot at first place.
"Mr. Lee Do-gyeong."
"Yes, General Manager."
"It's a given that Hana will succeed in the KCL. The problem is... the KCL veterans don't see it that way."
"I know. Just look at the comments under the articles about her potential signing with the Incheon Devils. They're full of that stuff."
While some of it stemmed from doubt about Hana herself, most of it was rooted in skepticism toward the teammates who would surround her—and, by extension, their prospects at Worlds.
"In the end, the team advancing to Worlds won't be a KCL All-Star team; it will be the Busan Seagulls. Even if we have a chance to rebuild the roster once before the Summer League starts, the Korean aces we defeat won't become Hana's wings."
"Because of the anti-China rule."
"Ahem."
There was a history behind it.
Since the league's history was less than ten years old and the qualifying teams represented their respective nations, there had been quite a few incidents.
It was blocked by regulations now, but what if the Seagulls represented South Korea with an S-A-D-D-D squad?
If everyone besides Lee Hana was a superhuman worse than a second-tier league player, wouldn't the Korean public think:
An S-class from Seoul.
Two S-classes from Daejeon.
A naturalized S-class from another country.
Wouldn't assembling an S-S-S-S-S squad like the Ship of Theseus, rather than an S-A-D-D-D one, be more fitting for a 'Korean victory'?
At one point, it was possible.
But as the saying goes, rules and regulations are written in blood. Fortunately, such loopholes had since been closed.
If that strategy had actually won them championships, every country would have copied it. But since they only made it to the semifinals before suffering crushing defeats, the approach had lost its appeal.
"Mr. Lee Do-gyeong. If I may ask, could I request your serious consultation on our squad composition? If you wish, even the vacant head coach position—"
"I appreciate the offer, but I must decline the head coach position."
I was currently a freelancer.
If I had wanted to coach, I would have already taken a job in Daejeon or Seoul.
"I prefer standing on the sidelines and offering advice from the back."
"Hmm..."
"Besides, I raised Hana well and handed her to the Busan Seagulls. Isn't that enough?"
"Still..."
"If you're willing to listen to me, General Manager, I can suggest two paths forward."
Thud!
Han Jeong-yun crashed to the floor.
Hana had launched her toward the ceiling, and gravity had brought her straight back down to the ground.
"First, a surprise announcement. We scout prospects and rookies in the draft, making it look to the public like we're going through a complete tanking season."
"So we fill the rest of the roster with low-salary rookies, except for Hana."
"Yes. Then, right before the deadline, we drop the official announcement. It will shock every franchise. Their rosters will be locked, and suddenly, a nuclear bomb drops in Busan."
It was currently the stove league.
It was akin to a game of poker, where the twelve franchises of the first division used players as cards to build the strongest hand during their respective turns.
"We hold the ultimate card."
Other players had cards with text boxes crammed with complex effects:
I. When this superhuman is summoned to the battlefield, if there are no other lightning-attribute superhumans, they deploy an electromagnetic field that inflicts shock on all other superhumans.
II. Within the electromagnetic field, the opponent's mental attacks are negated...
If that was the case...
Lee Hana. S-class.
Effect:
I. Win the game.
That was Hana.
The Busan Seagulls could keep this card face down until the very end, holding out until the final moment before revealing it.
Whether the others built a full house or a royal straight flush, we could slice through the throats of all the other general managers with a single Joker card: Lee Hana.
"And there's another way."
"What is it?"
"Open."
I casually pointed to my watch.
"It's getting close to clock-out time. Let's not make the staff suffer. Just release the official announcement, send out the press release, and let everyone go home."
"If we do that..."
"Every other franchise will be forced into unscheduled overtime. Superhumans who haven't signed their contracts yet will rush to meet their agents. For one simple reason."
"To join Busan."
Who held the upper hand now?
"...Mr. Lee Do-gyeong."
"Yes."
"There's no need to send out a press release or make a formal announcement."
A devious glint began to flicker in General Manager Kim Jin-woo's eyes.
"I'll just post a photo on my personal social media and turn off my phone."
"What kind of photo...?"
"A photo of the signed contract."
An official announcement.
Yet, an unofficial official announcement.
"Do you happen to hold a grudge against the Superhuman Association, KCL officials, or the Busan Seagulls staff?"
"No. Not at all."
That was a lie.
"I'm simply posting the truth."
Ah.
I realized it then.
This guy is a total troll.
He was definitely not a good man.
"May I ask why?"
"Why? Hmm."
General Manager Kim Jin-woo hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"...Because it seems like it'd be more fun?"
Fair enough.
"Let's post the photo and head home, shall we?"