Salary!!!
The Savers' general manager sat shriveled in his own office, dwarfed by the uninvited guest who had barged in.
Ten full minutes had passed since the man in front of him silently took the documents and began reading. Not a word of praise or complaint—just the quiet rustle of paper.
Unable to bear it any longer, the GM finally spoke first.
"C-Chairman. Is there something about the terms you don't like…?"
"Ahem!"
"Ah! Owner."
The old man seated across from him thoroughly enjoyed being called Owner. Outside these walls he was Chairman, but inside the Savers organization the title had to be Owner—no exceptions.
"These terms will do, you say?"
"Pardon? Ah… yes."
"Really?"
"Yes. Negotiations with the agent are already finished. Not that there was much negotiating to begin with—he was extremely satisfied."
"I see… Will this truly be enough? For a player of that caliber?"
"But next year will mark his sixth season… no, his fifth year of first-team pro ball. If he were a free agent we would have had to offer something unimaginable, yet these terms are still more than generous. And remember—this is after-tax money."
"True… But if you negotiated with the agent, that means the player himself is satisfied as well?"
"He's on his way to Seoul right now to sign."
"Good."
Only then did the Owner set the papers down.
"And we're certain he intends to leave after next season?"
"It seems so. Lee Gijun's posting shortened the window, and since he won't be under the under-twenty-five restriction, the timing is ideal for him as a player."
"Right… Is there no way to keep him?"
"……"
"For instance, matching whatever salary he would receive over there?"
"S-sir, Owner, that would be far too—there's the salary-cap issue as well."
"How much do you think he would make in America?"
"W-well…"
"Around ten billion won?"
"If he performs the way he did this year, that seems entirely possible."
The GM privately believed the figure would be higher, but he simply nodded along with the Owner's estimate.
"But you know—their taxes are brutal, aren't they?"
"That's correct."
"So we should still be able to hold on to him, shouldn't we?"
"Ah… about that…"
"Once he signs, casually float the idea. Tell him we'll cover more than half of whatever salary he would get over there. From a player's perspective, wouldn't that be better? Why go to a place where he can't even speak the language when Korea is right here? There's no guarantee of success over there either."
"……"
"And if he stays, we'll handle the taxes just like this time. Make sure you sell it well."
With those final words the Owner rose and left.
"Then what am I supposed to do about everyone else's salaries…?"
The GM muttered weakly at the empty sofa the Owner had just vacated.
"Hi~"
The moment I arrived in Seoul, Jack was already waiting. He flashed a full set of white teeth and greeted me warmly; we exchanged hellos and headed into the team offices together.
"Just how good were the terms that you told me to come right away?"
"Heh heh heh."
"Hey, stop laughing and just tell me… Come on."
He clearly had no intention of spoiling anything.
My first year as a pro had been spent entirely stuck in the second team. The year after that I reached the first team and became a useful bullpen arm… Then the year after that I turned into a long-relief / mop-up guy and threw an absurd number of innings. If I'd been on a winning club I might have thrown less, but this team lost almost every time they took the field…
Still, there had been an upside: except for that first year, I always hit the innings threshold. Back then I used to grumble that they were working me to death for a salary barely above the league minimum… Looking back now, I'm grateful. Whatever the reason, those innings became my springboard to America.
Four years already in the first team. Current salary: 115 million won.
Even before today I'd been looking forward to next season's raise—possibly my last in Korea. Honestly, even I thought my numbers this year had been a little insane. As a pitcher I'd taken the ERA and strikeout titles, plus a Golden Glove and MVP. As a hitter I'd posted a mid-.300 average with twenty-two home runs. A two-way player putting up elite numbers on both sides of the ball? Yeah, I figured I had every right to expect a nice bump.
And the Savers weren't known for being cheap with player salaries, which only raised my hopes further.
Privately I'd been thinking something around the highest fifth-year salary. Technically I was in my sixth year as a pro, but only first-team service counted. I'd looked it up—the top fifth-year salary was already over 500 million. I'd been daydreaming about how nice it would be if they gave me that much…
But watching Jack's face, I was starting to suspect the offer was even better than I'd hoped.
Buoyed by that swelling anticipation, I walked into the office. Unlike last year, it wasn't a front-office staffer who greeted me—it was the general manager himself.
And then the contract was placed in front of me.
"……"
"How do the terms look?"
"……"
"Um… Kang Hajin?"
"……"
I must have counted the zeros ten times. No matter how many times I rechecked, the number was exactly what I'd first seen.
"Th-this…"
"Is it less than you expected?"
"Pardon? Ah…"
What the hell was this guy talking about?
"The highest salary for a sixth-year player is 750 million. We decided Kang Hajin is the best among all sixth-year players and set the figure accordingly."
"Ah…"
Sixth year, not fifth?
"We deliberated and reviewed everything carefully before settling on pitcher Kang Hajin's salary of 800 million won."
"Th-thank you."
This was… almost a sevenfold raise. Eight hundred million…
While I was still reeling, Jack leaned in and whispered just loud enough for me alone.
"That's pitcher Kang Hajin's salary—800 million."
"…What?"
Apparently the GM heard him too.
"Hahaha. Correct. The 800 million is the pitching salary."
"What does that mean…?"
"We calculated a separate salary for him as a hitter. However, as a club we cannot ignore the salary-cap rules."
"R-right, of course."
"So this."
Another document slid across the desk.
"What is this?"
"An advertising contract."
"Excuse me?"
"The amount we assessed for him as a hitter is approximately 400 million. We'll simply replace it with advertising revenue."
"But that…"
"Ah! You won't have to show up for any shoots. We'll create the commercials using Kang Hajin's game footage."
"Ah…"
So… what exactly was happening here? Eight hundred plus four hundred?
I'd seen the internet comments screaming "ten billion, ten billion," but I'd never actually believed it. Jumping from 115 million to a billion overnight? Ridiculous.
And yet…
"One point two billion…"
"Yes. Will you sign?"
This old man was serious! He actually said it out loud!
"Ah! As I already told Jack, we will handle the taxes ourselves."
After-tax salary!!!! Jack hadn't mentioned a word of that!
"Where… do I sign?"
After leaving the team offices, Jack and I stopped at a coffee shop for a moment.
"I thought even 500 million would have been incredible…"
"If that had been the number, I wouldn't even have called you."
"R-really?"
"I had no intention of negotiating anything under a billion from the start."
Listening to Jack, I began to feel like I'd been the only one living in a completely different reality. Everyone else seemed to treat a billion as the bare minimum while I'd been trembling alone.
"What do you think about what they said afterward?"
"Which part? Ah—the 'why don't you stay in Korea' pitch?"
"Yes. They looked ready to offer five or six billion—again after tax, just like this time."
"Hmm… In your opinion, Jack, which is better?"
"Obviously the big leagues."
"Why?"
"Because you'll make tens of billions of won like it's pocket change."
"…… You're serious?"
"Yes."
"R-right."
Aigoo… I give up. These people clearly operate on a completely different scale than I do. I used to be grateful for a hundred million, and now they're casually talking hundreds of billions…
Honestly, it still doesn't feel real.
And now that the dust has settled, something else feels off.
"Hey, Jack. Do they normally do this?"
"Do what?"
"I'm not even a free agent, and I didn't come back from overseas. Do clubs usually just cover a player's taxes like this?"
Earlier the sheer size of the number had short-circuited my brain. Now that I'd signed and could think clearly, it felt like they were taking care of me a little too well.
"They're probably thinking about next season more than this one, aren't they?"
"Next season?"
"A gesture to keep you around next year, just like they said earlier?"
"…And if I refuse?"
"Then they'll just be disappointed."
"……"
That's it?
"Maybe there's some clause I missed…"
"I checked everything. Nothing special to worry about. Just think of it as a first-championship bonus after founding the franchise."
Hmm… They did say they'd take proper care of me… Still feels excessive…
Ah, whatever.
"I'll head out then."
"Yes. See you next time."
The front office announced the deal the instant the ink dried. Articles and endless chatter poured out immediately… What surprised me was that the reaction to 800 million wasn't over-the-top at all.
The GM had asked me not to mention the advertising side of things, and of course I agreed. So the public figure was 800 million—and the general consensus was either "he deserved it" or "it's still too little."
"Oh! Look at the 800-million-won man~"
"Aigoo~ my 450-million-won hyung~"
Ko Mandeok had signed for 450 million.
Besides the two of us, Hwang Chan-young, Park Jeonghun, and even Hyeon-bin had all finished their contracts. Park Jeonghun had become a hundred-million-won player, Hwang Chan-young was nearly there, and Hyeon-bin's salary had doubled.
"So that's a 400-million-won commercial, huh?"
On the television an ad starring me was playing. It was for an insurance company. I'd watched it once when it first aired and never looked at it again. Mortifying.
"Must be nice… 1.2 billion…"
"Taxes come out of that."
They don't, actually.
I never mentioned that the club was covering the taxes. We'd agreed to keep it secret… and even without that agreement, something told me it was better left unsaid.
"Still."
"Ho-min takes his cut too."
"Still."
Ho-min… was basically in berserker mode.
Since he takes ten percent of my salary, even after every deduction his cut this year had multiplied several times over. When he first heard about the contract he looked like his soul had left his body; ever since then he hasn't slept, buried in analysis. His eyes were completely gone…
And my parents were the same as always.
"We don't need it! If you've got nothing better to do, just buy a building and collect rent."
They wanted me to become a landlord.
But ten billion probably isn't enough for a building… When I said so—
"Stop bothering us and just put it in a savings account! Savings!"
They didn't seem particularly interested.