Håkon: Gold Card or Silver? Sunderland 2.0 Plan (2)
Holding oversized football game cards, Jobe Bellingham, Abdullah, Chris, and Håkon took their seats one after another.
On the set built at the training ground, the Black Cats shoot was rolling at the same time as the EA FC commercial.
"Hahaha."
The players burst out laughing as they stared at the giant cards bearing their own portraits. The overall ratings at the bottom of the shield-shaped cards were covered with white tape.
In this game you could pull characters through paid card packs. Active club players were normally given bronze, silver, or gold cards according to their average rating—their overall.
Abdullah grumbled.
"Why are we all stuck with silver cards?"
Bellingham thrust his out proudly.
"Leave me out of that. I'm gold."
"Still just a regular gold card."
"Gold's gold. Completely different tier from silver."
Bellingham was the only gold-card holder—yet even Sunderland's ace only had a faded ordinary-grade card.
A rare card was supposed to shine like real gold.
The director in charge, Peter, spoke up.
"First, try guessing each other's overalls!"
"I barely know the game stats…"
Håkon, who almost never played, scratched his head.
"I told you to read up yesterday because we were shooting. Your commercial's already over."
"Oh, that was for this?"
"Cut! We'll go again!"
"Sorry."
An EA staffer was rushed in to explain the basics to Håkon.
Overall 64 or below was bronze.
65–74 was silver.
75 and up was gold.
"Got it, boss."
Håkon gave the okay sign; the ad staffer left.
"Alright, back in! Cue!"
The cue came and the conversation picked up again.
"So… only Bellingham's 75 or higher? That's unfair."
"Exactly. I'm the only gold card."
"Guess my overall first."
It was Håkon's turn for the rating test.
"65."
"What? That's harsh, skipper."
"Just being honest."
"66."
Abdullah gave him exactly one point more than Bellingham had.
"73."
Chris was generous.
"The kid knows football after all."
"Hahaha."
"What do you think yours is?"
"Why even ask? 74."
"Peel it off."
"Hold on—let's make a bet."
Håkon stuck to the script.
Only the lines were written; none of them actually knew his real rating.
Chris delivered an awkward bit of acting.
"Bets… are… so… fun! How about this?"
"How?"
"Whoever gets closest to the real overall wins. Farthest one takes the penalty."
"What's the penalty?"
"When we play the game later, the loser can't pick a Premier League team. Winner gets any club they want. Sound good?"
Bellingham acted his part.
"Shouldn't the winner have to pick Sunderland then?!"
"Hahahahaha!"
"That wasn't in the deal! Then I'm at a disadvantage with the lowest guess. I'm changing mine."
The director asked,
"Bellingham, what are you changing it to?"
"I'll go 69."
Bellingham aimed for the middle of the silver range.
"I'm sticking with 66. Heh heh. First guess is always right with these things."
"Abdullah stays. Chris?"
"Hmm… 71?"
"What? Why'd you drop it, Chris?"
"Hyung, your defending stats might come out a bit low…"
"What are you talking about? I work my arse off defending."
"The gaffer played you as a striker last match, so the staff might have adjusted it if they saw. Right?"
The ad team leader looked away from Chris, giving nothing away.
"Come on. You underestimating me? A man sticks with 74."
Håkon peeled the tape covering the overall in the top-left corner.
The older lads had dumped the MC role on the youngest, so Chris took over the hosting.
"Will Jobe hyung's 69 be right, or Håkon hyung's confident 74, or Abdullah hyung's gut feeling… or maybe I'm the winner? Let's find out! Revealing now!"
Right before the tape came off, Håkon grabbed Chris's wrist.
"Wait, wait! 74 might be too much. That's right on the edge of gold."
74 was the highest silver overall.
"Ooooh, Håkon Hildegard changing now? A man giving up on 74?"
Bellingham flipped his thumb downward and jeered.
"Fine. Sticking with it. A man needs confidence. 74!"
"Peeling! One, two, three!"
Rrrrip
"66!!!"
"What??!"
They flipped the card and saw it with their own eyes: 66.
No matter how hard they stared, it was 66.
"Pwahahaha! I nailed it! 66 suits you perfectly, Håkon! Kwahah!"
Abdullah and Jobe laughed so hard they nearly fell over backward.
"Håkon, you need to step it up! What kind of 66 is that? 66! Kkkkk! Gaffer, this guy's a 66!"
The captain shouted the news over to Han Shin, who was watching from a distance.
Chris, sitting right beside Håkon, forced himself to hold it in.
Håkon lost it.
"What??? Staff, 66 has to be an error, right? Average of 66 is way too low!"
66 was the kind of card even free-to-play players would toss without a second look.
"Doesn't 66 go straight in the bin?"
Håkon pretended to fold the card in half.
"Ugh, this is annoying!"
"Hahahahaha!"
"But I've still got the best physicals, right? Right? If the scouts have eyes."
The staffer kept giving off a pure "I know nothing~" vibe.
"If I'm not number one in physicals, I'm suing EA!"
Meanwhile, Emily and Han Shin watched from behind the cameras.
"This is fun. Watching a commercial shoot like this."
"Yeah. Hold on a second, Emily. I'm jumping in for a bit. Director!"
Han Shin signaled the director and crashed the set.
"Håkon! Only a 66 overall?! You're released from the club!"
Han Shin put the Norwegian giant in a headlock.
"Gah! How can you do this to me, gaffer!!!"
The whole set exploded with laughter at Han Shin's surprise appearance.
"Gaffer, a 66 has to be released!"
Abdullah kept needling him.
"Get your form sky-high this season and grab a gold card next year. Got it?!"
"Yes!!"
Han Shin exited and filming resumed.
Håkon protested his injustice.
"Bellingham's gold so we save him for last. Chris! Abdullah! You two are probably around the same as me!"
England's young prospect Chris was modest.
"Mine'll be lower, right? I only just signed pro…"
Abdullah, who'd spent a long stretch as a Championship regular, radiated confidence.
"I'm one of the best midfielders in the league—should be over 70 at least. I didn't grind it out at Rotherham like some people! Kwahah."
"You wanna die for real?!"
"Pwahaha, the 66's getting cocky! The 66's throwing hands."
"Soldier 66!"
"What?! Perfect. Perfect. Håkon Soldier No. 66!"
"You little—! What? Soldier 66?"
Håkon rose from his chair; Abdullah shot up and hid behind him.
"Whoosh! Whoosh! That sound's not coming from my mouth! Can't catch me!"
Abdullah dodged Håkon's grasping hands with annoying ease.
"Augh… damn. I'll bet my hand that Abdullah's overall is lower than mine."
"You sure? Bet big and you might lose your nose."
"Why's the great Abdullah's tongue so long? Scared?"
"Scared? Okay—I'll bet my hand and my weekly wage that my overall's over 66. If you're chicken, drop dead."
The famous gambling-movie line Han Shin had recommended to the writers for Korean viewers had been translated straight into English for the commercial script.
Chris picked up Abdullah's card and toyed with it.
"Shall we just peel it right now then?"
Abdullah barked at the youngest.
"Don't touch it! Chris, unless you want a broken ankle."
"Yes."
Bellingham, already confirmed as the clear overall number one, was completely relaxed.
"You tried to break my ankle with that tackle, and now you're going for the kid's too?"
"No, that was just… a figure of speech."
"Ha, you can't even take the joke. You're banned from variety shows in Korea."
"What? You little…"
Bellingham called out to Han Shin.
"Gaffer! Can you peel them for us instead?!"
"Me? Okay."
Han Shin reappeared, face solemn.
"Jobe, Chris. Tie those two so they can't run."
"Yes!"
Abdullah and Håkon rested their arms on a table the staff brought over; they were loosely bound with rope.
Bellingham and Chris each covered one man's eyes with their palms.
"Ready? Will Abdullah really be higher than Håkon?"
"Yes!"
"Alright~ starting the reveal now. Tadarada tadarada tadarada dum cha-cha cha-cha…"
Rrrrip
Abdullah's overall: 71.
"Huh?! Abdullah is… higher than Håkon… what?!"
Han Shin slipped straight into acting.
The two men, vision blocked, could see nothing.
"What is it! Gaffer, what is it!"
"From the gaffer's reaction, looks like you're lower than me, Abdullah."
"No way."
Han Shin laid it on thick.
"Abdullah, looks like this week's wages are going to Håkon. Even the bonus is gone—what now?"
"See! Shooting, physicals, pace—I've got to be higher in all of them. You mocked me for 66 and now look at you. Congrats, Warrior of 65~"
"No way… there's no way! Gaffer! I worked so hard…"
Abdullah actually sounded close to tears; he hated losing that much.
Abdullah's definitely fun to wind up.
"Oh no! My bad. I peeled the wrong one. That was the physicals! Håkon, what now?"
"Phew~~~ Knew it."
Abdullah exhaled in relief.
"No, gaffer! The overall is top-left!"
Bellingham and Chris shook with the effort of holding in their laughter.
"Why am I so nervous over this?"
"On three we take the blindfolds off."
"Yes."
"One Two Three!"
Their pupils, used to the dark, needed a moment to adjust as they glared.
"71?"
"Yeah~~~~~~!!! Five points! Me and Håkon are five whole points apart!"
Abdullah danced around while Håkon's face cycled through every emotion.
"Ha… does that make sense? Still higher than Chris at least!"
Håkon snatched Chris's card and ripped the tape off immediately.
"70??? Shit! What the heck!"
While Håkon despaired, Bellingham sneaked a peek at his own overall; Han Shin asked,
"What is it?"
"79."
"Not quite 80."
"Eh, I don't really care about this stuff."
They were told to hold up their cards in order.
79, 71, 70, 66.
"I'm the only one in the 60s?"
"Yeah you are. Kkk."
The three whose eyes met hugged and danced.
"Hildegard's the lowest of all of us~~~"
Once the Håkon-teasing was done, the director guided them to the next segment.
"Now guess each other's individual stats!"
The stats were divided into six: pace, dribbling, passing, shooting, defending, physical.
Range 1–99.
Håkon rolled his shoulders.
"Physicals should still be the best among us. Around 90?"
"Pwahaha! 90? Soldier 66's lost it. How do you average 66 with a 90?"
"That so?"
"Revealing right now! Håkon hyung's physical is… 77!"
"What? Commercial or not, this is a problem. I'm seriously suing!"
A happy commercial shoot.
Han Shin quietly asked the EA staffer,
"Just curious—what's Nelson Weiper of Mainz's overall?"
"82. Why?"
"No reason. Just wondering. Got it."
Weiper was off taking his medical; the formal signing process was almost finished.
Then Han Shin leaned in and whispered to the newly signed analyst Ethan Park.
"This is what I mentioned in the interview. Can we produce proper ratings instead of these messy stats—detailed ones like World Football Manager?"
"If they can do it, so can I."
Ethan Park answered without hesitation, overflowing with confidence.
He had come all this way precisely for work like this.
"We're already collaborating with Nebula Nexus. The equipment arrives tomorrow and their specialist is coming too."
"The ARK Project, right?"
"That's it. Have you been briefed separately?"
"William and Isaac are already working on it. Fascinating project. I'm glad I was drawn to Sunderland by your plans, gaffer."
"I'm just happy we could bring in talented people."
"Not at all… Once the extra computers and gear arrive I'll start right away with the analysis team."
"Thank you."
In the waiting room before the kit photoshoot.
Emily appeared wearing the kit.
"How do I look, gaffer? I did a little kit reform…"
She struck a confident model pose.
The slight fold of her thigh, the cropped midriff showing her navel and lines… an angel in the flesh.
"Pretty. Too pretty…"
Too revealing to show other men.
"Other people are going to see that. Can you cover up a bit? Or just wear the women's team replica."
"No way. I almost went full underboob fashion on purpose! Cute, right? Cute, right?"
"It's way too risky."
"I went to all this trouble—no need to cover up. It's a kit photoshoot."
Emily had done a few fashion shoots as a model back when she worked at the company; this was nothing to her.
"So that's how you're playing it?"
"Hehe, gaffer~~ Why? Too stimulating?"
Emily seized the initiative and teased him.
But Han Shin never lost.
He made an awkward demand so she would change the outfit herself.
"Then since it's just us here—if you're so confident, lift the top a little."
The bold Emily flustered.
"What?! That's… I mean… gaffer, you pervert!"
"Can't do it, right? Listen to me."
"…."
"I might even have to run with you, so photos could get taken. So skip the reform and wear the regular kit. Okay? I'll step out for a minute—change. Got it?"
Cheeks flushed, Emily grabbed the arm of the turning Han Shin.
"I can do it… but only you can look, okay?"
"Huh?"
Han Shin turned back; Emily lifted the kit.
"Don't stare like that… it's embarrassing…"
"Crazy… what are you doing!"
"Pervert…! Tch. You like it that much?"
Han Shin nearly got a nosebleed.
"And where are your underclothes? Don't tell me you're not wearing any?"
"I was waiting to show you from the start~"
Total defeat. Completely played.
"I lose, I lose. Put it down. Now! Who told you to lift it."
Victorious Emily bounced on her toes.
"Yes! I beat the gaffer!"