New Recruits, New Uniforms, Latest Training Methods: Plan 2.0 (3)
"You two are standing too far apart. Come a little closer, please."
Following the photographer's direction, Han Shin and Emily pressed their bodies together as the harsh lights flared over them. A green screen stretched behind their backs.
In the end Emily had stuck to the short, custom-altered kit—on the condition that she could wear shorts and underwear underneath. She lifted one leg, leaned against Han Shin's right arm, and fixed her gaze on the DSLR, holding the pose.
"Perfect, Emily. Han Shin, how about something a bit more dynamic?"
"Dynamic how?"
"Give her a little hug. Like a couple celebrating a Sunderland win."
"Got it."
"And—goal! Just scored!"
At the signal the photographer rattled off a burst of shots.
"Waaaaah—!"
They jumped, bodies locked tight, every curve and contour of each other transmitted in an instant.
"Good, good! That's excellent!"
Click-click-click—the ultra-high-definition 60 Hz shutter never stopped.
"Manager, could you lift Emily up beside you?"
"Isn't that a bit much?"
"Model poses are always a little over the top."
Emily whispered into his ear.
"Just close your eyes and do it. It's not like you haven't done this before."
"Hah…"
"Kyaaaaah!"
Han Shin hoisted her clean off the ground, cradling her like a princess.
"Can you hold that a little longer?"
"Always!"
"Hahaha!"
"Light as a feather! Ups-a-daisy!"
He bounced her gently up and down like a carnival ride.
"Kyarr-rr-rr! Kyarr-rr-rr!"
The result was a radiant, unguarded laugh captured perfectly on camera.
Han Shin checked the shots on the monitor.
"They came out well."
Emily zoomed in until every pore was visible and pointed here and there with a fingertip.
"I really like this one. Can you retouch it?"
"Retouching is standard."
She leaned in and whispered to the photographer.
"I was so startled I couldn't hold my breath, so my lower belly creased a little. Smooth that out… and clear up any blemishes."
"If that's belly fat, every other woman on earth is a pig. Besides, guys actually like that part…"
"Just get rid of it. And also…"
Emily kept firing off requests; the photographer's mouse and keyboard flew into a frenzy.
"Can you send me a few of the originals?"
"Of course."
"This one… and that one…"
Profile pic for sure. And the secret story… share it.
A man's voice called from behind Han Shin.
"Manager!"
Han Shin turned; a bright smile bloomed across his face.
"Weiper!"
Nelson Weiper strode over in the red-and-white striped kit, the number 9 bold on his back, thick calves flexing with every step. Fresh from his medical, he had already filmed the official announcement video for the club website and was now joining them on set.
A swarm of Black Cats documentary crew, cameras rolling, poured in behind him.
"I heard you were shooting nearby, so I came to say hello."
"Great to see you. I wanted to drop by the hospital for the medical, but as you can see—busy."
"No need, Manager. The sporting director took excellent care of me. Looking forward to working with you."
"I'm the one looking forward to it. Make my tactical headaches disappear by scoring fifty goals this season."
"Fifty? Hahaha!"
"And let's make you the next Klose—the original Weiper."
"The original Weiper… I like the sound of that. I'll give it everything."
The two men shared a warm handshake.
Right after them the Three Musketeers walked in.
"Bloody hell, even the XXL is tight. Are they really letting us beer-bellied old blokes model this stuff?"
"James, mate, you need to lose that gut. How do I look?"
"Suits you perfectly, William."
"Han Shin! What about me? Feeling left out here!"
Weiper moved to wrap up the brief meeting.
"You carry on chatting. I'll head off, say a quick hello to the others, then get some individual training in."
"Sure. Plenty of faces you haven't met yet. Go on."
Robin watched Weiper leave, eyes wide.
"Never seen legs that long. New signing? Don't tell me we're the first to lay eyes on him?"
"Robin! This is confidential! You don't go blabbing first, understand?"
"The official announcement's coming soon, so it's not exactly top secret, lads."
"That so? Phew… Striker, is he?"
"Yes. A highly rated German prospect with a bright future."
William gripped his own thigh.
"You see those quads? Like a horse. A proper horse."
"Weiper is as fast as one, too."
"Rare treat, that. Can't wait to brag about it back at the office."
"I'll be the one getting the rare treats from now on. You three, time to shoot."
The photographer stood.
"We're ready!"
A staffer handed each of them a prop pickaxe and a helmet with a working lamp.
"Here you go. Put these on."
James, whose bald head gleamed under the lights, frowned.
"What's with the pickaxe and helmet?"
"See that green screen?"
"Yeah."
"We'll composite a mine and gold into the background."
"So we're miners, then?"
"Oh? Not keen on the concept?"
The staffer looked awkward; James quickly shook his head.
"No, no. Holding this just reminded me of my dad for a second. When I was a kid, like most men in Sunderland, he worked down the pits."
"I see."
"He'd leave before dawn and come home late at night, scraping the coal dust off himself so the kids wouldn't see. Didn't want us to know how hard it was."
"Right."
James fumbled the helmet on.
"Funny thing, though—no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin, black dust always came out of his nose and ears. Wipe with a tissue all you like, it never fully came off. When I cleaned his ears with a cotton bud while he was lying down, the wax came out black as coal."
Sunderland in its coal-mining heyday. The memory of a father who never complained, who went down the pit every day to feed seven children, tightened James's throat.
"I never set foot in a mine myself, thanks to him. But now that I've raised kids of my own, I realise just how incredible he was… Worked himself to pieces in those days; not a single part of him left whole. I ought to repay him somehow. At least he got to meet his grandkids—that's something, isn't it?"
He tested the weight of the pickaxe.
"And now, decades later, I'm finally playing at being him. Sniff… Got a tissue?"
Pffft-sniff.
James blew his nose.
"What's with the mood? Photos come out better when you smile! Hahaha!"
"One moment."
Han Shin stepped aside and made a quick call.
"Yes, the whole VIP box. Yes."
He hung up almost at once.
"James, I've booked a VIP box under my name."
"What? Why all of a sudden?"
"I want to invite all three of your families to the opening match."
"No, no, you don't have to do that on my account."
"Please don't refuse. I really want you there. It's big enough, but you've got large families—shall I take the next box as well?"
"I keep telling you there's no need! Do you know how much those cost?"
Robin and William, eyes already glistening, laid hands on James's shaking shoulders.
"James, our youngest is doing this from the heart. Just say thank you."
"Thank you… thank you! Sniff…"
"James, if you keep crying Emma's makeup will run."
"Hahaha!"
What had nearly become a flood of tears ended with the Three Musketeers' shoot finished without further incident.
After work they each went home, got their kids to help change their phone wallpapers, and reported back. James, whose children declared, "Dad, you look like a real miner!", took a couple of beers to his father's house that evening. The two men talked late into the night about old times and the opening-day invitation.
Once the shoot wrapped, Han Shin called the sporting director from his office.
"Adil's already gone. We're looking for clubs interested in Pierre, Nazari and Patrick."
Adil Aouchiche's move to Marseille for a combined €10 m was all but confirmed.
"Good. What about our top left-back target, Archie Brown?"
"KAA Gent are quoting an absurd €15 m, citing Chelsea interest."
Archie Brown, an English left-back building his career in the Belgian league. Romaine could cover both wing-back roles, so he would make a solid backup. Current LB options were Huggins and Dennis—both of them made of glass.
"That much? Headache. Still no direct contact with the player?"
"No. According to the agent, the lad himself is interested in Premier League clubs."
"Can we speak to him directly?"
"Agent insists all talks go through him. That's how most of them operate."
€15 m was far too steep for an upward bid.
"If you can just arrange a meeting, I'll handle the rest."
The director's voice turned serious.
"Manager—this is a must-have signing?"
"It is."
"Then leave it to me. I'll get the deal done at a hard ceiling of €10 m."
I was so impatient I tried to do everything myself.
"Thank you, Director. And Maurits Kjærgaard?"
"FC Red Bull Salzburg don't seem willing to sell. Instant rejection."
"Pity. I thought he and Håkon Hildegaard would make a perfect pair."
"You never know. We've shown interest; if you keep beating Liverpool, the player might force a move himself."
"Hahaha. Luck like that only comes once. Kjærgaard's a midfielder—full-back is the priority. Let's focus there."
"Got it."
The transfer window was humming, yet Han Shin's worry over the thin winger options only deepened.
"Who would fit…? We need this sorted before the Korea tour or the league will be a grind."
He looked down through the open window. Before the sunset fully settled, the goalkeepers and their coaches had gathered in small clusters on the pitch.
Javier was holding forth about a pair of sunglasses.
"These brand-new electronic glasses the club just bought are a cheat code for keepers. A proper cheat code!"
The goalkeepers in their fluorescent kits pricked up their ears at the magic words.