Nelson Weiper's Theory of Root, FC Zenit (1)
Nelson Weiper was a top-tier prospect striker from the Bundesliga.
At twenty-one, the 192-centimeter giant with a mop of shaggy hair was being called Germany's latest Next Klose of the season—the Nth one they had unearthed.
Germany's national team desperately needed a striker of that caliber, and so did Han Shin's Sunderland, with the Zenit match looming.
Nelson was stretched out on a sun lounger at a resort, wearing nothing but swim trunks, soaking up the vacation.
It was a precious, sweet stretch of time that let him briefly forget the sting of World Cup elimination.
But the peace of lying on the beach was shattered by a call from his agent, Thomas Schmidt.
"Nelson!"
At the familiar voice, he adjusted his sunglasses.
"Gude!"
(Hello! — Mainz dialect.)
"Enjoying the holiday?"
"Yeah, it's good. What's up?"
"Sunderland wants you. They reached out asking for a chat."
Nelson had never heard the club's name before.
"Sunderland? Where's that? I thought for a second it was Munich calling."
"I'm joking—wait, are you serious?"
"How should I know what Sunderland is? Am I supposed to?"
His girlfriend Lea, with her long orange hair, walked over in a bikini.
"Mmm… oil me up."
"I'm on a call, babe."
"Who is it?"
"Transfer talk."
"Where to?"
"Lea, give me a second, yeah?"
"Fine. Haaah…"
She settled her hips onto the lounger next to him and lay down.
Weiper adjusted his grip on the phone.
"What kind of team is Sunderland?"
"English second division. You're a footballer and you don't know that?"
"I don't even watch our own matches on TV. You think I'd know some backwater club?"
"Heh… so you're one of those types."
"What types?"
"Football's just the job, right? Once you clock out, zero interest."
"Thomas, you hurt? I just don't know anything outside of kicking a ball. And I trust you, man. You always handle it."
Still a pure academy product who had never been transferred, Weiper trusted Schmidt completely—his friend's older brother.
"Anyway, Sunderland wants you. No joke. They're the only club that nailed your proper valuation."
"Why do they want me?"
Thomas answered in a serious tone.
"Their new manager—a guy named Han Shin—really wants you."
"Was? Who? Han Shin? What kind of name is that?"
"Of course you've never heard of him."
"You looking down on me again, Schmidt?"
"No, don't take it wrong. Listen. He's a Netflix manager."
"Das heisst?" (What's that mean?)
"The interesting part is he's a complete outsider who won a gaming tournament and got the Sunderland job as a rookie manager. Funny, right?"
"You're kidding. Messing with me?"
"Dead serious. Check it yourself. Lea's with you, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Ask her. She'll know."
"Babe, you know a guy called Han Shin?"
Lea, slapping oil onto her legs, nodded.
"Yeah, saw him on Netflix. Super sexy Asian guy. His Insta's already over a hundred thousand followers, I bet. Look."
She already followed him and held up Han Shin's profile—130k strong.
"Wait… Lea, super sexy???"
"Hey, you're still the sexiest to me. And it's his brain that's sexy. His brain."
Lea spread the sticky oil across Nelson's abs.
He switched the phone to speaker, tired of Schmidt's voice crackling through the tiny speaker.
"Bro, Lea's listening too~"
"Doesn't matter. Look up Han Shin's background real quick. You'll have a very interesting conversation."
"What's his selling point?"
"Word is his tactics are next-level. Something called the K-Hannibal system or whatever."
"Fancy name. Hannibal was some old general, right?"
"Exactly."
"But I don't want to go to England. Honestly the beer's terrible, and there's no Schweinshaxe or Weisswurst."
More than anything else, though—
"And second division? Bro! I'm Nelson Weiper."
"You might not get it, but Sunderland's shaking the whole world right now. Transfer there and you'll be the main striker under the spotlight."
"That big?"
Lea answered for the agent.
"If you haven't watched Manager War, you have to. Babe! Or watch it with me? I could rewatch it anytime. The story's insane, and that Han Shin guy—he's a genius."
"Pass. It's a game, right?"
"It's a game but different, okay? Plus they're filming a new show with him as the star this season."
Schmidt piled on with Lea's support fire.
"Nelson, play there a year or two and come back a football star. And because it's second division, this is actually an opportunity."
"What are you talking about? I like my role at Mainz. Being a star doesn't matter. If I play well, recognition will come."
"But Mainz doesn't get that much attention outside Germany."
"Hmm…"
"Picture it: Germany's next-generation number nine, Nelson Weiper, scoring twenty, thirty goals and promoting Sunderland to the top flight."
"Articles praising you will pour out, babe~"
"Like Lea said, your whole season becomes a TV series. Your value doubles—no, triples. Then boom, back to the Bundesliga, or a glamorous return to Munich!"
Weiper was starting to bite.
"What's the transfer fee they offered? They got money?"
"They were wobbling for a while, but looks like the TV show made them a fortune. They offered you fifteen million euros."
"Fifteen million? Someone who actually knows my worth."
Weiper's shoulders rose a little as Lea slicked oil over his legs.
"Han Shin's a genius, babe! Looks like the heavens are finally giving Nelson Weiper wings! So we should get marri—"
Schmidt steered the conversation away from Lea's marriage talk and back to the transfer.
"Not only that—at that price they'll take care of your wages nicely too."
"I don't care what I earn. What matters is how much I can play and the environment to perform."
"It's Sunderland's record transfer fee. Unless the manager's been shot, you're 100% first choice. Don't worry about that."
Slap!
Lea smacked his rock-hard, sculpted thighs with an oil-slicked palm.
"Babe, I'll follow you anywhere you want."
"Even to England?"
"Yeah. We'll get a place there and live all cozy together, just the two of us…"
Lea was sliding marriage talk in again; Schmidt cut her off once more.
"Nelson! Let's have a serious talk, just us. Big-brother mode."
"What, Mr. Schmidt? You can't have a serious talk with me?"
Nelson stood from the lounger, skin gleaming with oil.
"Lea, give me a minute."
"Okay~ I'll go swim!"
Weiper took the phone and moved to a quieter spot.
"Kid. I want your career to shine. You get me?"
"I know. I'm not marrying her yet."
"Good. You're in your prime growth years. Let's raise your entire class one level in England. Playing abroad will open your eyes to a lot."
"Thanks, bro. For the good opportunity."
"Shall I set up a meeting? They're free even today."
"In thirty minutes or an hour. I want to look into this manager Han Shin first."
"Got it. I'll send the Zoom link in twenty."
"Ya~!"
Han Shin, huh…
Nelson dug into Sunderland and Han Shin on his phone.
Thought he was Chinese, but Korean? Should I call senior Lee Jae-seok and ask?
That was right.
Weiper's teammate was the attacking midfielder at Mainz who had just hit a hundred caps for the 2026 South Korea national team and joined the Century Club.
Lee Jae-seok.
"Lee, sorry to bother you on holiday, but I need to ask something! Do you know a manager named Han Shin?"
"Who? Ah~ that Manager War thing or whatever?"
"Yes, exactly~"
"How many meetings is this today…"
"Come on, stay strong! After Zenit it's the Liverpool away trip. We need to make as many contacts as possible before then."
After Mahrdi came Nelson Weiper.
With the sporting director's successful upward proposal, Han Shin's suggestion turned into an impromptu meeting.
Forty minutes after receiving word of Weiper's interest through agent Schmidt, the call connected: Nelson Weiper, Speakman, and Han Shin.
Bran, with his orange mustache and intermediate German, joined as interpreter in place of Emily.
Han Shin opened with the German greeting he had prepared.
"Guten Abend, Nelson Weiper!"
(Good evening, Nelson Weiper!)
"Gude! Herr Han! Es freut mich sehr, Sie kennenzulernen. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"
Bran translated.
"Gude means hello—it's dialect. Mr. Han. Pleasure to meet you. Do you speak German?"
Han Shin answered with his prepared line.
"Ich spreche kein Deutsch, aber es gibt einen Dolmetscher."
(I don't speak German, but there's an interpreter.)
Schmidt cleared his throat and switched to English.
"No need for that—I'll interpret."
"Then let's have a few light conversations first."
Meanwhile, Han Shin recalled the Theory of Root that had set the football galleries ablaze over Yanuzaj.
Theory of Root — Condition 1: Hairstyle
Hmm… according to the Theory of Root, this is a classic pure football-only kid. Shaggy hair. Pass.
"Nice hairstyle you've got."
"Huh? I don't really care about that stuff."
Theory of Root — Condition 2: Older, well-endowed girlfriend
"Do you happen to be dating an older woman with a big chest?"
"What the…"
Speakman nearly clamped a hand over Han Shin's mouth for the first time.
What kind of nonsense was this on a first meeting?
It was going from bad to worse.
Agent Schmidt's eyes went round as he asked back.
"Should I translate that??? It's a joke, right?"
"Please do. It's a joke."
Schmidt translated with clear skepticism; Weiper replied in a "what kind of question is that" tone.
"Did I understand that correctly? I have a girlfriend, but that's strictly private."
"Of course, just a joke. Hahaha."
"Hold on a second—Lea! The manager's asking for you?"
A moment later his well-endowed girlfriend appeared in a bikini with only a large white towel wrapped around her and waved.
"Oh my~~~ I'm Lea. I'm a fan of the manager! I even followed you."
"Thank you!"
"You look exactly the same as on screen. But sadly I'm not an older sister! Your sense of humor really is unique, huh?"
Well-endowed, though? Hmm… the Theory of Root…
Weiper added an explanation.
"Lea and I have known each other since elementary school, but we've only been together a short while."
Same age, basically childhood friends? Not at least four years older.
"Pass."
"Sorry?"
Theory of Root — Condition 3: A damn good mentor
Yanuzaj had Ryan Giggs.
"Who's the senior you're closest to at Mainz?"
"I'm close with everyone."
"If you had to pick one?"
"Ummm…."
Weiper scratched his head for a moment, then named him.
"If I have to choose, it's senior Lee Jae-seok—same nationality as you, Manager. He's quiet, but he plays football solidly and I look up to him."
"Pass! Absolute pass!"
"Manager, what have you been saying this whole time?"
"No idea. Nelson. He says you passed."
"Passed?"
Han Shin mulled over the Theory of Root from some nameless sage and hardened his resolve to sign Weiper.
A prospect bursting with potential—a center forward who could deliver for four or five years if they got him.
Nelson Weiper. This level of foundation is excellent.
Spending twenty million euros stings, but Ballard's transfer fee almost offsets it.
Meanwhile, Speakman sat quietly beside him, wondering what on earth Han Shin was doing with this bizarre behavior.
No time for jokes.
Just as he was about to step in and drag the conversation back on track—
Han Shin pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote something.
Right. Nothing was agreed beforehand, so a mere mortal like me just can't grasp his plan… huh!?
What he had written was:
There's actually a reason.
What the hell is the reason!!
Speakman had already smoked a full pack, but he suddenly craved another cigarette.
"Haa… I'm sure you have a plan."