The Bloody Purge, Han Shin Takes Flight
About thirty minutes earlier, the data analysis team had scraped up a local newspaper article on Fournier's corruption.
"Excellent work. This is a massive haul. We can land a real blow with this."
"We'll translate and organize it right away."
But Han Shin needed an irrefutable justification that no one could challenge.
This alone only gives me grounds to block the coach's paperwork. It doesn't land a direct hit on Jocelyn. I need something more.
He turned over what he might be missing.
The sheer number of French coaches and players at the club isn't pure coincidence. Something deeper than mere delay or blood ties…
France — players & coaches — director — Sunderland — England.
He realized that moving people across borders required a "connecting link" to grease the introductions.
Someone expert enough to navigate the labyrinthine legalities that even players themselves couldn't handle.
What a director ultimately does is finalize contracts. Who actually handles those contracts?
"Ah, how the hell did I forget this? Those bastards!! The agents!!!"
"Jesus! What did you just say in Korean?"
"Ah, nothing. Isaac, don't mind me. Hahahaha!"
Agents.
Anyone who had ever played World Football Manager knew the string of curses that inevitably followed the mere mention of a player's contract representative.
Footballers could strike a ball beautifully, but when it came to law or negotiation they were near-total novices.
That was why swarms of agents circled every professional player.
They negotiated club contracts on the player's behalf, secured advertising deals and personal sponsorships, and when a player or coach needed a new club they provided advice, brokerage, and deep involvement in the talks—all for a fat commission.
Once those commissions climbed into the tens of millions, the bloated agents began meddling in the transfer market, giving clubs endless headaches. That much was public knowledge.
Han Shin himself had never had an agent; he had sat alone in a Costa Coffee, meticulously checking every line of his own contract like a pauper.
Now that the connecting link had clicked into place, he immediately tasked the two men on the data analysis team.
"Let's dig into the contracts of the French coaches and players who joined recently. I want to know if this is pure coincidence."
"Coincidence, sir?"
"Can you find out which agents handled those deals?"
"Yes, Boss. We've got the club database. We'll tear through it while we're at it."
He checked his watch.
"We've got about ten minutes. I'll run over myself, so take your time."
William and Brian started hammering keys.
"Whether it's image files or documents, we just extract the keywords. Won't take long."
"William sends me the keywords, I run natural-language processing and similarity analysis."
In the remaining time they conducted a full audit of every coach and player contract, plus the agent details.
Brian called Han Shin over.
"This is seriously weird."
"What is?"
"Boss, some of these agent names look randomly generated."
"Randomly? You mean the names are fake?"
"Just a guess, but the traces are there. Do these even look like words a parent would give a child?"
"Show me Antoine's coach's agent name first."
— Louis pourries Gâteau.
Let's see… He searched the French meanings on the spot.
"Pourries means 'rotten,' and Gâteau is cake. Rotten Cake? That's a person's name?"
William scratched at his greasy hair.
"Weird, right?"
"Of course it's weird. What agency is this?"
"Racines. Means 'Roots.'"
"Boss!!!"
Brian urgently waved him to the screen.
"I chased these random names and they all lead back to one agency—Roots. Not only that, the coaches and players all joined our club through the exact same firm."
Han Shin confirmed that a large portion of the club shared the same agency.
Damn… If I expose this, the players on this list will have to be transferred out.
"Okay, time's really gone. I have to go. Ninety-nine percent the first agenda item is Captain Ballard's transfer."
"And?"
"I'll stall. Until then, get me a clean PPT polished enough to show the chairman and the board. I can't walk in with this raw mess."
"Yes, Boss! We may not look it, but we're professionals."
"I trust you."
Isaac held up the laptop with Han Shin's signature on it.
"What about me?"
"Isaac, you're sitting in for the vacant head scout position. You'll attend the board meeting with me. Send the materials to both of us."
"What? Me as head scout?"
"Why the shock? It's just a proxy appearance. Tomorrow I'll interview and test whether you're actually qualified."
"Y-yes!"
Before leaving the data analysis room he tossed them a carrot.
"I'm a man who rewards results. You two just pulled off something huge, so a 3D modeling designer is mandatory, plus four more staff. Clear?"
"Waaaaaaaaaah! Boss is the best!!"
"Just don't be late. I'm counting on you!"
The board was stunned by what Han Shin had unearthed.
"It's Roots?!"
The Secret Connection Between Racines Agency and Sunderland
"According to the Sunderland data analysis team's investigation, a curious pattern emerged across several recent French scouting, coaching, and even player acquisitions. They all joined the club through the same French agency."
Isaac flipped the slide.
"That agency is Roots—Racines."
"Oh…"
Han Shin looked at the PPT design and felt something closer to exasperation than admiration.
They made it look great in that short time… but they should've just slapped it together and sent it faster. They overdid it.
At the top of the image the analysis team had placed the word "Roots" beside a photo of Jocelyn.
Beneath it, thick brown tree roots burrowed deep into the earth.
Scattered among them were the faces of every coach and player implicated in the affair.
"These are the actual people contracted between the Roots agency and Jocelyn."
Jocelyn denied it.
"This place is a goldmine for players and coaches, and I happen to know the agent well. Of course it happens. Mendes and Raiola work exactly the same way!"
"Maybe. But look at the agents' names. Chairman Kyril, they're French—would you mind reading them for me?"
Kyril put on his glasses.
"Let's see… Rotten Cake… Fish Trash Bin… Lamp Stork? These are all agent names? What the actual fuck…"
Emily saw the lewd names Kyril couldn't bring himself to read—things like "Nike Pussy"—but she read the room and clamped her molars shut, fighting not to laugh.
Han Shin nearly burst out laughing for an entirely different reason.
The file name.
Racines_fin_final_Real_final.jpg
I thought only college kids saved files as final.final.real_final. So that's why they were late.
He composed himself and continued.
"I am even considering the possibility that this agency is a paper company. We might find the name Fournier appearing again inside it. Shall I go all the way right here? Do you really need me to show you hell, Mr. Jocelyn?"
Time was too tight; I couldn't find the person presumed to be another Fournier. These are all the cards I have—but they're more than enough.
He locked eyes with Jocelyn.
"With evidence this solid, are you still going to deny it, Mr. Jocelyn?"
"Ah… uh… er…"
Jocelyn kept backing away as if trying to flee.
"This is the rotten root of our club."
"Kyril… it's not true. This is a frame-up!"
CRAAAACK!
The desk nearly split under the force of Kyril's furious slam.
"Jocelyn, how the hell have you been appointing coaches all this time!!!"
"No, it's a misunderstanding! Kyril, what's gotten into you?"
"Do you realize you've made me look like a complete idiot? I can't stand the sight of you. Get out. Now!"
"Kyril!!!"
"I said get out, Jocelyn!!!"
"Please calm down, Chairman! And turn that camera off already!"
Emily ordered the filming crew. Han Shin seized the perfect opening.
"Chairman, may I say a word?"
"Manager Han, choose your language… carefully."
"Yes. Since so many directors are present, I would like to make a proposal right here."
"This is not merely a moral issue. It is a grave matter that can fatally damage our club's image and credibility. Are we not aiming to be a transparent and fair club?"
"Hear, hear!"
"We must abandon the outdated practice of hiring solely through connections and instead search for suitable candidates through proper processes."
"Exactly!!"
With the board's support at his back, Han Shin pressed on.
"Players and coaches must be selected through fair, transparent processes. This kind of corrupt favoritism cannot be tolerated. An incident like this can destroy the very value of hard work."
He pointed his index finger at the rotten root—the ringleader of the faction.
"Therefore I move for the emergency dismissal of Director and board member Jocelyn Fournier."
Kyril gulped down the water in his glass and exhaled a long breath.
"Haa… A majority of directors are present, so as majority shareholder and chairman I officially authorize Manager Han's proposal. We will now vote on the motion to dismiss Joseph—Jocelyn. Those in favor of his immediate dismissal, raise your hands."
In the tense silence, the directors made their decision for the club. They nodded.
Snap—! Snap—! Snap—!
Unanimous.
"With this, it is officially announced that Jocelyn Fournier is stripped of both his board seat and his director position as of this moment. Leave. Now!"
"Damn it! After everything I've done for this stinking backwater club, you dare dispose of me with this slapdash kangaroo court! Let's see how well you run without me!"
BANG—!
Once Jocelyn stormed out, Kyril rose unsteadily, complaining of dizziness.
"I'm sorry. My head is killing me. Regarding the concrete details and everything connected to this matter, I'll step aside and leave it entirely to the sporting director—ah, to Manager Han Shin."
"Agreed."
"I agree as well."
"Then, since this board meeting was convened rather abruptly, I'll take my leave first. Don't worry about Jocelyn—I'll sue him at the club level."
After Kyril exited, the directors unrelated to transfers—Juan and McMan—also departed.
Emily flashed a bright smile and whispered into Han Shin's ear.
"See you later~ My real genius manager? What am I going to do? I think I'm falling for you all over again."
"Go on. See you at dinner."
"Yes, yes!"
Speakman tugged his cap low.
"Haa… What a day. I'm stepping out for a bit. Manager Han, do you smoke?"
"No, I quit."
"Is that so? I keep trying and never manage it. I'll just be a moment."
"I don't smoke, but I'll come with you, Director."
"Fine. Let's find somewhere without people."
Speakman leaned on the railing, watching the River Wear flow past while he smoked.
"Huu… That Jocelyn character has known the chairman for years. Not exactly a godfather—more like a relative, if you'll forgive the crude comparison."
"Ah… I see."
"Deep down the chairman probably knew. He just never imagined the corruption ran this deep."
"If the coaching and staff numbers were still twenty-odd like the old days, his authority was absolute. A few quiet replacements underwater would never have shown."
"Exactly. The festering blister finally burst."
Cigarette smoke drifted up like a cloud.
"Anyway, you did a hell of a job today. I never liked that fat bastard either. Always opposing for the sake of opposing. You know the type."
"By the way, Director, I heard you opposed me as well…"
"Ah! Don't misunderstand. I only lost a bet with the chairman. I'm still opposed, even now."
"Well, even from an opposing position you made a rational call that put the club first. Working with someone like that is an enormous stroke of luck for me."
"Manager Han… I heard you're only around thirty, yet you talk like you've lived three lifetimes. Huu…"
"Let's just say life threw me a few curveballs."
"You got some kind of superpower?"
"Superpower… say, a regressor who came back from the future?"
"Hahaha. If you were a regressor you'd buy Bitcoin first, get rich, and be lounging on a beach. Why put yourself through this hell?"
"True. Hahaha! More like mind-reading, maybe…"
Speakman stepped back, spread his arms, and struck a pose.
"How about this—I'll picture a playing card right now. Can you guess it?"
"Sure. Let's try."
Speakman knew full well there was no such thing as superpowers, yet a tiny delusion whispered that this man just might pull it off. He tensed slightly.
Spades…
Han Shin's answer:
"Hmm. Ace of Spades?"
"What??? Ace! You got it. How?"
"Simple statistics. When you ask a human to picture a playing card, they pick the most striking one. Studies show the Ace of Spades and the Ten of Spades have unusually high odds."
"Is that so? Anyway, well done today. Shall we head back in and finish the transfer talk?"
"Exactly what I wanted."
"About that striker you requested."
Ding—!
"This is…"
In the end the rolling stone knocked the fixed stone clean out. Satisfying, but…
Speakman checked the mail, then chain-smoked, muttering with the cigarette still between his lips.
"Oh… I can't believe it. He's essentially handed over full power. Congratulations, Manager Han Shin. You've grown wings."
"It's good news. But this is basically putting a sword in the hand of a man with a one-year death sentence…"
"Yes—telling you to go dance with that sword. You're going to see a lot of ugly things, Manager. The road of hardship stretches wide open."
"Well, if we fail to get promoted I'm just a one-year firefighter. It's the chairman's strategic calculation. If I fail I go back to Korea—zero risk for him."
"True. Looking at it that way, you're the perfect firefighter. Want a cigarette?"
"I'm good~ Haven't smoked in years."
"You're hardcore. So, are you going to put the remaining rotten faction under the guillotine?"
"Don't say scary things. Guillotine? What am I, an executioner?"
Look at him quietly correcting that guillotine is French. Thorough, terrifying bastard. How the hell did he prepare all that material in such a short time?
Speakman remembered the lunch table.
Back then Jocelyn had smugly sent Han Shin the staff list.
Without that coincidence, Jocelyn would still be sitting pretty, and Han Shin might have been crushed in the factional war and cast aside.
In that brief window, using nothing but a shoddy list of names, Han Shin had pulled this off. Awe mixed with something colder.
He's scary.
"Aigoo, Manager! Please spare this sporting director's neck! Hahaha!"
"Hahaha! Should I?"
"What, is everyone who opposes the manager subject to a bloody purge?"
A bloody purge, huh…
"Of course not… I'm no dictator. This is simply normalization work to make the club healthy. Normalization."
"Normalization?"
Han Shin, who had been taking his first steps, now spread his wings and finally soared.
"By the way, Director, what's the transfer budget?"
"Huu… The chairman is looking at thirty-five to forty million pounds~~ Insane, right?"
"What???"
£35m–40m—transfer fees on the level of a mid-to-upper Premier League club.
Six to seven hundred billion won?!