Going Wild (2)

Ten minutes ago.

It was the hour when people were heading home from work, packing themselves into public transit.

"With the 2030 Superhuman League stove league underway, the draft in three days will..."

Whether they were watching the news on their smartphones, browsing community boards, or listening through wireless earbuds, everyone was tuned into the same topic: the Korean Superhuman League—the KCL.

The Age of Superhumans.

In this day and age, no one would bat an eye if you pulled out your phone on your commute home to browse a superhuman community forum.

Since the league's results directly impacted the cost of living, the public's attention was naturally laser-focused on the KCL.

In places where people preferred discussing the league as a whole rather than supporting a specific team, power rankings were already taking shape based on the early stove league rosters.

No matter how unpredictable players could be, everyone had their designated positions.

Unless a team ran an extreme 'five-dealer' strategy like some second-division teams, the ratio of tanks, dealers, and healers was adjusted by the head coach to fit their tactics.

Therefore, predicting a team's future based on roster gaps or trade rumors wasn't particularly difficult for those who watched the KCL every evening.

The hardest part was always predicting the champion.

In the past, fans would bicker over which of the big three—Seoul, Daejeon, or Incheon—would take the crown. But this year, the answer was too simple.

Lee Hana.

The ultimate championship guarantee.

She wasn't just a skilled player; she had proven her worth by bringing a championship trophy to New York, and by extension, the United States, a team that had never won one before.

Victory belonged to Lee Hana anyway.

Even those who didn't support a specific team but followed the KCL were expressing concern.

Since the entire world knew the skill of the World Championship Finals MVP, who had crushed every opponent except her own New York teammates, fans could only sigh.

If only Lee Hana were on our team.

How wonderful would it be if that high school girl wielded her mana for us?

The fans of the Incheon Devils were currently going wild.

Like locusts, they swarmed every corner of the internet where people discussed the KCL, superhumans, or the league in general, spreading their smugness.

It was absolute chaos.

Pandemonium.

On the internet, the Incheon Devils' fans were acting like a swarm of locusts. Each of them wielded their keyboards like a legendary warrior, provoking everyone they encountered.

It was a festival for the Devils.

Most community users tried to ignore these trolls, who were acting like a gang of bikers tearing through a quiet downtown, and tried to focus on cool, realistic analysis.

How to at least take second place.

How to qualify for international tournaments.

What were the ways to secure a seed for the World Championship?

Even though the stove league hadn't even concluded, the 2030 KCL stove league was already discussing the 'battle for second place.'

A nuclear bomb had dropped, leaving everyone's minds blank.

"Busan Seagulls GM Kim Jin-woo posted a photo of the contract on his social media?"

"What?"

In a room at the LT Hotel in Seomyeon, Busan.

A social media post filled the smartphone screen.

It was a photo taken at an angle on an office table, with the sunset streets of Seomyeon, Busan visible through the window in the background.

At the bottom of the official KCL contract, stamped with a seal of blue mana, two names were written in bold letters:

Lee Hana.

Kim Jin-woo.

The player and the general manager had signed.

And below the photo, GM Kim Jin-woo had posted a short caption with hashtags.

"This guy's taste is a bit old-fashioned for his age."

For someone who had just dropped a bomb that would turn the entire country upside down, it was a surprisingly light jab.

Of course, the signatures on the contract were incredibly aggressive, and anyone who knew the material and format of a standard KCL contract would feel their heart drop the moment they saw it.

"Let's see, the reaction is..."

...

"The server crashed."

There was no need to check the community reactions.

The server was completely down, and the page wouldn't even load no matter how many times he refreshed. How could he see any reactions?

If he had to gauge the reaction—

"Whoaaaaaaa!"

The roar echoing from the streets of Seomyeon outside the window was the most immediate response.

"Hmm."

He closed his eyes and listened.

Channeling mana into his ears, he focused all his senses on the voices of the people walking the streets outside.

"Is this for real?!"

"It's got to be AI-generated. Kim Jin-woo, that bastard, has no business ethics..."

"Oppa, is this real? Is Lee Hana really coming to Busan?"

The streets ground to a halt.

Even though the traffic lights turned from red to green, cars remained stationary. A few impatient taxi drivers honked their horns briefly before stopping.

How should he describe this?

Did the city pause for a moment?

Did Busan temporarily shut down?

Whichever way you put it, one thing was clear.

"The Seagulls' staff are going to have a rough time."

The GM had gone home.

He was unreachable.

The only people who knew about Hana's contract were GM Kim Jin-woo and his niece, Han Jeong-yun.

If there were others, it would be the Seagulls' front office staff... but even they weren't sure.

"I heard Lee Hana visited the GM's office?"

"I saw Lee Hana heading to the testing room."

"No, I really don't know anything! I can't reach the GM either!"

It wasn't confirmed, but the circumstantial evidence was highly plausible.

If the evidence didn't add up, GM Kim Jin-woo would become a historic fraud and a madman who posted a forged contract on his personal social media.

"That crazy bastard Kim Jin-woo! What if Hana gets pissed off and goes back overseas like last time?!"

What was he thinking when he did this?

With no information available, people could only fall into chaos.

Beep, beep, beep.

"Ah."

A call came in.

"Speak of the devil."

Seeing the taxis on the Busan roads taking their hands off their horns to look at their smartphones with their passengers, Do-gyeong had been wondering if he should make a call. Right then, the person responsible for clearing up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the confusion called him directly.

"Yes, this is Lee Do-gyeong."

[...Hey, Do-gyeong.]

A voice filled with trouble.

No other voices could be heard behind it.

[What happened?]

"Nothing much. The Seagulls tried to register the contract, but business hours were over, so they're planning to process it tomorrow morning."

[Wasn't your trip to Busan just for leisure? Weren't you supposed to look around first?]

"Neither Hana nor I are the type to beat around the bush."

[I thought the Incheon deal was practically done, only needing a signature?]

"It was."

If not for that final moment.

"It seems Hana didn't really like Misty Lady."

[Ha...]

"Hana and I have already discussed this, but this is off the record. If this gets out..."

[All of Incheon will go on a witch hunt against Misty Lady. Don't worry. I'll make sure to manage it so no such chaos occurs.]

The contract fell through because of Yoon Jin-seo?

Even for a regular sports team, fans would be screaming "Yoon Jin-seo OUT" and causing a massive uproar. In the Superhuman League, it would burn even hotter.

Neither Do-gyeong nor the person on the phone wanted that.

[I understand. Still... haha, this is quite amusing. I still remember what you said ten ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠years ago.]

"If you have nothing else to say, I'm hanging up."

[What was it again? Ah, right... 'I won't grow attached'?]

"Hey."

A sigh ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠escaped Do-gyeong's lips.

"You've gone from the Minister of Superhuman Affairs to the President of the country. How long are you going to keep bringing that up?"

[Until the day you kill me!]

"..."

[Haha.]