Transfer Market: A Variable Arises
"There's a problem!!"
Han Shin's shout stopped Speakman in his tracks.
"What kind of problem?"
"A left-footed centre-back who can build from the back. Everyone's hunting for one. Something this rare doesn't come cheap without a reason, does it?"
"Moroccan players are generally inexpensive unless they hold dual nationality. Aside from Achraf Hakimi at PSG, Nayef Aguerd at West Ham, and Mazraoui at Bayern, that is."
"Right. Korean players go for relatively low fees too. But Nantes are in the relegation zone."
Outstanding defending lifts a side up the table. Yet a standout defender, and the team still flirting with the drop?
"Is it a personal issue with the player, then?"
"Yes. I haven't watched many matches, but for a defender he looks a bit of a bottle job. Some psychological thing, I don't know. Especially in big cup ties or one-on-ones—his decision-making goes to pieces in the moment."
"Hmm…"
You get what you pay for.
Maherdi had a flaw somewhere, which was why he hadn't been Han Shin's first choice.
Speakman thought for a moment, then broke into a sly grin.
"Gaffer, shall I let you in on a secret from a veteran who's done every kind of deal imaginable in this business?"
A secret?
"I never could resist a secret."
"Sometimes clubs drop huge fees on unproven youngsters, right? Decisions the fans can't make head or tail of because the kid hasn't been tested in a big league."
"Chelsea, Man United… plenty of clubs spring to mind. They're buying the potential, I suppose?"
"But haven't you ever thought the price is far too steep just for potential?"
"If they come over young and train here, you can claim them as home-grown."
"You're almost there."
"So you weigh the potential, you can get the home-grown slot… but player valuation is subjective to begin with, isn't it?"
While Han Shin puzzled it over, Berry tossed him a hint.
"A clue for our genius manager: academy players have never been transferred before."
Is this another test of the manager?… I've been given transfer authority—can I actually control it?… My head's on fire. Academy players have never been transferred…
Speakman spun his cap between his fingers.
"It's a tough one, so I'll give you time. Crack this and you can say you've got half the transfer market sewn up…"
In truth the sporting director had already acknowledged the man's extraordinary gifts—especially the speed of that mind.
The razor-sharp banter from the Manager War, the cool press conferences, the locker-room talks that seized control of the squad, the leadership, the data analysis, the financial nose, the tactics shown in friendlies, the hour-long investigation that dismantled Fournier, the lightning dissolution of the Jocelyn faction, the boardroom takeover.
It was almost unbelievable.
In three days this terrifying man was seizing every corner of Sunderland.
Privately he cracked jokes like an old mate; professionally he was strict, charismatic.
A complete hexagonal manager with no rough edges.
Was Sir Alex Ferguson like this in his thirties?
Speakman felt the urge to nurture him further, precisely because the talent was so vast.
In short, the seedling was different.
Yet Han Shin was clearly a veteran of the game world, not reality.
In the real world he was still a newbie.
Over the years the director had met arrogant pro managers with glittering playing careers.
All they ever said was "buy this player, buy that player," or whined about why someone hadn't been sold—football idiots who knew nothing outside the pitch.
Mention numbers and they clutched their heads like fools.
And those same fools were invariably rubbish tacticians too.
On top of that came the quiet contempt and dismissal they reserved for anyone who hadn't left a mark as a player.
They might have been the best as players, sure.
But this man, Han Shin, was different.
He was the first of his kind Speakman had ever seen—someone who scrutinised not only the bright face of football, the roar of the stands, but the shadowed back rooms as well.
He felt not a shred of shame about not knowing the basics of management, and fired off pointed questions without hesitation.
A newbie manager who, told one thing, grasped not three but ten.
Yes. Right now the director was a game veteran who had just met a gifted newbie.
Mouth-watering territory.
What does a veteran do when he meets a newbie?
He wants to feed him this, feed him that.
Wants to hand over items.
But above all, so the kid doesn't quit too soon—one new technique or honey tip at a time.
In other words, know-how.
Speakman, hoping for Han Shin's growth, was passing on the know-how his own experience had taught him, one piece at a time.
Call it successor training.
So that even if the day came when Speakman himself had to leave, Han Shin alone could steer the Sunderland AFC into which he had poured his passion and years.
Even without me, he could do it.
Han Shin wrestled with the problem.
If I were to sell my foster son? Chris Rigg—how much would I ask? I couldn't sell him at all. Berry's hint was that he's never been transferred.
Meaning no transfer fee had ever been set.
A blank cheque, in other words.
No previous deal, so no previous fee.
Which means… you can write whatever figure you like on a clean blank cheque?
"Academy players have never been transferred, so the club can set the valuation however it likes. That's why the prices are high. But… that doesn't feel like the complete answer."
"Exactly."
A faint unease still lingered in Han Shin.
Speakman tossed out another breadcrumb, wondering whether the man already knew this too.
"You may already know, but England has the Profitability and Sustainability Rules."
"I know. Honestly… the rules of football are simple; the rules of clubs are a maze."
The financial regulations known as PSR.
Rules that applied differently from FFP.
The reason Kyril, with his three-trillion-won fortune, couldn't simply pour more investment into Sunderland as owner was the FFP ceiling.
PSR worked like this.
Clubs in the EPL were limited to £105 million (roughly 180 billion won) in losses over three years.
In the Championship, where Sunderland sat, losses above £39 million over three years triggered penalties.
Every English club had to submit its accounts to the league office by 30 June for verification of losses.
A rule designed to curb excessive losses and protect clubs' financial stability and breathing room.
In 2024 it had been eased somewhat, agreeing that losses should not exceed £41.5 million (about 70 billion won) in a single year.
But every law has loopholes.
The loophole in PSR was simply: don't record more than that 70-billion-won loss.
Han Shin scribbled notes about academy players and the PSR rules, then the realisation hit and he shot to his feet.
"Let's put it on the board."
The director switched on his phone camera.
"Mind if I record this?"
"Huh? Go ahead."
Han Shin took a black marker to the whiteboard and began laying out his theory.
"PSR applies up to 30 June, as I understand it."
"Exactly. And you know the revised rule?"
"Yes—don't record more than forty million pounds of losses in a year."
He drew four circles on the board.
Sunderland, A, B, Chelsea.
"Suppose our club is financially solid now, but this year's losses are brutal. Let's say we're short by roughly three million pounds."
He wrote 3m on the board.
"Chelsea spent two hundred million last year and still need to recoup some of that transfer outlay. They've sold shares and assets, but let's say they still need to cover 40m."
He marked Chelsea with 40m.
"To dodge PSR, Sunderland needs three million, so we're forced to sell A—the club's future. But A is one of our own academy products. No transfer fee has ever been set."
"Right."
"We want the biggest fee we can get… but we can't smash the club record of 25m that Pickford set."
He wrote 10m next to A.
"Now Chelsea have their own academy kid, B. Chelsea want to generate new profit equal to what they spent on first-team players. Let's say B's fair value is seven million. The price gap between A and B is exactly 3m."
"Yes."
"Both clubs show interest in each other's player."
"Why?"
"Because academy players are pure profit, when you look closely."
"Oh… may I ask why pure profit?"
"A and B are like handmade goods produced at home. The transfer fees they generate go onto the books as 100% pure profit."
"Bloody hell… Bravo! Fucking awesome! That's exactly what I was getting at!!!!"
Speakman clapped, buzzing with excitement.
"Sunderland can take the missing 3m from Chelsea and bring B in at the same time. Chelsea cover 10m of their 40m shortfall. Everybody wins."
He wrote the word Magic with the marker.
"And this is where the magic happens."
At the word "magic" Speakman already understood.
Han Shin had grasped the mechanism perfectly.
Moreover, the fact that in such a short time he had absorbed the "sports management and financial dynamics" Speakman himself had studied at university nearly made the director's jaw drop.
"Sunderland and Chelsea talk it through, the numbers line up, and they reach an agreement."
Han Shin erased the prices for A and B and filled them with question marks.
A: ??m B: ??m
"You keep the 3m difference, but you inflate the price tags on the handmade goods. That's the magic."
He rewrote the figures on the board.
"You sell A to Chelsea for 40m, and B to Sunderland for 43m."
Finally he summed it up.
"You stretch the contract length, amortise the fees, and pay in instalments by mutual agreement. Sunderland pockets 3m and dodges PSR; Chelsea books 43m of pure profit on the accounts."
Han Shin turned and spread his arms wide.
"That's the magic. A perfectly legal, legitimate way to sidestep PSR. Am I right?"
"………"
"And the clubs end up on better terms because the deal benefits both. No?"
"Waaaaaah! Gaffer, you absolute…"
"Genius!"
Everyone marvelled at Han Shin's crisp calculations and explanation.
The experienced Berry watched the Korean manager grow taller by the minute, like a giant taking shape.
Light on the surface, deep underneath.
This kid's the real deal. He could do manager and director both.
Speakman recalled yesterday's TV screen, when Jobe had asked for the transfer to be withdrawn.
The Wizard of Sunderland that Jobe and I saw then? Maybe that's exactly what he is.
Isaac had watched every step of how Han Shin dug up the material that destroyed Jocelyn in the data-analysis room, and he couldn't help but applaud the logical leaps.
Han Shin made a suggestion.
"To generate revenue and avoid losses for Sunderland AFC, should we issue a club cryptocurrency—an Ethereum token or something?"
"Absolutely not."
"Hahahaha! Director, I'm joking. Just joking."
Once you follow the chain, you understand why transfer fees are sometimes absurdly high. But then…
"So a high transfer fee itself isn't a huge problem for a club?"
"Right. Even if the fee is a hundred million euros, you don't pay the cash in one lump sum. Over a five-year contract you add it to the wages you have to pay each year."
"A veteran for 100m euros over five years means 20m a year…"
Transfer fee (100m) = 20m × 5
"A player in his prime will command big wages too, so say another twenty million euros a year… forty million euros of losses every year."
He wrote the result on the board.
- Veteran player annual loss = 40m euros.
Like a car that halves in value the moment you drive it off the lot—buy a player over thirty and…
"You can barely expect to recoup any transfer fee, or the fee you can get is slashed, so it goes down as pure loss."
"Exactly."
"Same five-year deal, invest 70m in an unproven kid: 14m a year. Wages will be far cheaper, say 7m a year…"
- Academy player annual loss = 21m euros
Roughly half. But you can sell this player again…
"Give him two years of first-team football. If the potential explodes you re-sign him and keep him long-term; if it goes wrong you sell and claw back some of the fee. Risk drops."
"That's the secret. A big transfer fee isn't as big a problem as people think."
"I see. You'll help with the finer details, Director?"
"Of course. You've already got the mechanism. I just need to tidy the details for you."
"I'd appreciate it."
"Nonsense. At this rate, Gaffer, you'll be diving into the transfer market without me before long."
Han Shin remembered where this whole conversation had started.
But what does any of this have to do with Maherdi?
"Not yet. I still desperately need the master's help. So—about Maherdi?"
"Then let's make a quick call. Ask him why he makes those mistakes."
"Sounds good. Though the time is…"
The transfer talk had already pushed the clock close to six.
Grrrrrk—!
A ferocious growl erupted from Bran's stomach.
"Ahahaha! Sorry—my belly clock's always dead on."
The sound eased a little of the crisp tension that had been riding Han Shin.
"Let's take a bit of a breather. Today's not deadline day."
"Agreed. I completely lost track of time."
From outside the door came Gill's voice, together with a woman's.
"Mr Gilbert~ could you… move aside a little! The manager's in here, right?"
"Director!"
Clack—!
The door swung open.
It was Emily.
"Hey~ Emily, we're in the middle of transfer talks—it's chaos in here!"
"Manager~ I thought you might be peckish, so I packed a lunchbox!"
Her hair was tied in a ponytail with a blue ribbon; she wore a white tee and jeans, and carried a bag holding the lunchbox. Under the lights her platinum-blonde hair took on a golden sheen, and a citrus fruit scent—different from yesterday's—drifted from her.
"Sandwich delivery. Why aren't you reading your messages?"
She set the bag of sandwiches on the table.
"There were messages?"
"That busy, huh? I won't interrupt—never, ever—so just eat these. I'll be off right away!"
Han Shin pulled the neighbouring chair back.
"No, Emily. Sit here."
"What? Is that all right?"
"There's something I need to say, though."
Hesitant, Emily took the seat.
"Uh… what is it…?"
"Is it only sandwiches? No drinks?"
"Hahahaha! Gaffer! I thought you were about to say something serious."
The director and scouts burst out laughing; Emily looked flustered.
"Ah! I was so focused on packing the sandwiches myself I completely forgot the drinks… My head's gone."
"You packed these yourself, Emily?"
"Yes… m-my place is nearby!"
"Is that so?"
Emily's cheeks flushed crimson.
"And… this can be dinner, so… please… just eat them."
"There's plenty—everyone take one."
At Han Shin's offer the whole room politely declined.
"I'm not hungry yet… right, Berry?"
"Yeah, yeah. Old men don't digest well."
"I've got family waiting at home…"
Han Shin peered into the bag.
"Come on, why the fuss? Eat together. Don't tell me Emily can't cook?"
"I can!"