Winter Survival (6)
Round 19 against SD Ponferradina ended in a resounding 4-0 victory. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say my hat-trick led the team to triumph, but Mario Sanchez's string of miracle saves—stopping two shots that seemed destined for the net—was the real highlight. With those heroics, he practically willed a clean sheet into existence himself.
16 wins, 3 draws, 0 losses. Our unbeaten run showed no signs of slowing.
"This home ground... honestly, it's way smaller than Busan home, but man, the atmosphere was insane."
After the match, Hong In-soo and I headed back to my place. He'd crash with me until he found his own spot. Normally, I'd call Yuko over for some intimate time—hot, steamy time—but with finals looming, she was buried in studying right now. Didn't mean we weren't seeing each other. The venue had just shifted from my apartment to a villa.
For the record, it wasn't my villa. It was one of the discreet getaways Borja Navas kept on hand for clients' privacy. As long as it stayed legal, Vanessa hooked players up for secret dates with their partners. Never thought I'd need it myself, but I wanted a change of scenery with Yuko at least once, so I'd asked for her help. Vanessa went all out, offering date itineraries, routes, even bodyguards.
That felt a bit much, so we settled on just the two of us grilling barbecue at the villa.
Anyway.
"You could really feel how crazy people are about soccer here. Ah, I wanna get out there and play so bad."
Hong In-soo, who'd watched the match live, seemed thrilled by the AD Alcorcon supporters' passion.
"The guys on the team treat you okay?"
"Yeah. Makes me think I gotta learn more Spanish. For now, with you around as interpreter, I can hold out, but if not... might need to hire one."
Hong In-soo trailed off, then perked up like he'd remembered something and rushed on.
"But I read somewhere—kids who peek at answer keys when they're stuck don't improve their scores."
I could guess why he said that. I just nodded slightly.
"'Cause they don't struggle through it themselves, so their skills don't grow. That's why I'm gonna tough it out without an interpreter as much as I can."
"Good attitude. Your conversational Spanish'll skyrocket."
"Right? Heh."
Proud of himself, Hong In-soo patted his chest a couple times and half-sat on the sofa arm. I watched him for a moment, then asked casually,
"Not nervous at all, huh? More than I expected."
He wouldn't debut until January, when he'd make the A-team roster, but this was still his first nest in Spain. I'd figured he'd be a little tense. Instead, he just seemed pumped.
"A bit, sure... but it doesn't hit hard. Excitement's winning out, I guess."
Too early to judge, but I had a feeling Hong In-soo would make it big in Europe. That bold energy made it hard to imagine him buckling under the pressure. I'd glimpsed it on the national team too—charging aggressively at senior players in training, fearless in the scraps, leaving a strong impression.
"By the way, your status at Alcorcon? Almost messiah-level."
"Huh?"
"Thought they were cult fanatics or something. But I get it. You know you took exactly four shots today?"
His eyes sparkled just like the AD Alcorcon fans cheering earlier.
"Hat-trick, though! Damn! Oh, right—you passed 40 goals this season."
Hong In-soo clapped in congratulations. Hitting forty in a pro season was rare enough; thirty was a stretch for most. Yet here I was, clearing it in just nineteen games. Exactly forty-one, to be precise. My bold preseason claim to shatter La Liga 2's single-season scoring record was now one step from reality.
Strangely, it didn't feel euphoric or anything. Not bad, just... like I'd done what needed doing.
"Gotta break that scoring record."
Still, it motivated me. With a winter move looking likely, etching my name as La Liga 2's all-time top scorer would be a hell of a legacy.
"How many more d'you need?"
"Four ties it. Five or more sets a new record."
"Uh... two games left in the first half, so... one hat-trick, then two more in the last match, boom—record broken."
Hong In-soo rattled it off, then jolted like he'd realized something.
"Whoa... I didn't think for a second that sounded impossible."
I chuckled back.
"Me neither."
"I figured it'd be best to call with the update right away. Not too tired?"
Pointing at my phone, I headed to my room and shut the door.
"Feels like I could play another ninety."
"Haha. Doesn't sound like a joke. Anyway, I've spoken to all seven clubs' directors. Starting with the Premier League ones."
The moment he said it, I could guess the outcome. Made sense—if talks with the first three PL clubs had gone well, he'd have called before bothering with the rest. Still, I stayed quiet, waiting.
"All three Premier League clubs rejected the buyout clause insertion."
As expected.
"What about the other four?"
"Juventus needs time to decide. Inter Milan and Dortmund agreed to the buyout. Atletico Madrid was a given by the rules."
"Any specifics?"
I was curious what conditions those three had floated.
"Inter and Atletico valued the buyout at over €100 million."
"...What?"
The buyout was meant to clear the path for a bigger move later. But €100 million?
"Precisely—Inter said over €100 million, Atletico over €150 million."
"...So what wages are they offering for that?"
Borja's weak laugh came through the speaker.
"Both around €70-80k a week."
I didn't know player wages inside out, so it didn't hit viscerally. But his tone suggested the salary was low relative to that buyout. Spot on.
"Told them if they're setting €100 million buyout, bring €200k wages. They said La Liga 2 form alone doesn't justify that—wage structure and all."
"Can't they just lower the buyout?"
"Left room for negotiation, but they see your value skyrocketing soon."
"Ha!"
A scoff slipped out. High future value, but can't match it now?
"Finally, Dortmund." His voice brightened. First talks must've gone smooth.
"Of all the directors, they were the most aggressive about signing you. Once La Liga's winter break hits, they want to invite you to Dortmund."
"Got it."
"They even agree to you using them as a stepping stone to a bigger club. Say it'll motivate you, boost their results."
A smile crept across my face. Recognition always feels good, wherever it comes from.
"Dortmund's made bank signing prospects with smart buyouts before."
"Key is contract size and buyout amount."
"Exactly." Borja paused, then continued. "They didn't name a figure."
"...Pardon?"
"Their stance: whatever weekly wage you want, they'll set a matching buyout."
"What's the ratio?"
"€10k wage gets €5 million buyout."
"So..."
"Yeah. What I pitched—€200k wage for €100 million buyout—they'd entertain."
He added quickly,
"Not saying they'll pay whatever we ask. They stick to wage structures rigidly. Plus, your military service issue's unresolved."
I nodded slowly. Now I got why Borussia Dortmund earned the "selling club" and "merchant" rep. Invest €1.5 million, profit tens of times—no qualms about being a bridge. Other clubs had deep pockets, focused on top-table dominance, so they hated buyouts.
"No need to decide yet. They'll invite you—meet 'em first."
"...Premier League's a long shot, right?"
"Unless it's a big club, the rest would welcome you."
"Hm."
No urge to ditch UCL-bound Dortmund for a non-big PL side. Switching leagues was about elevating my value on a bigger stage.
"Didn't wanna jinx it, but... at least one of those three might circle back."
"Wishful thinking?"
"Not really. Late December, Premier League hits a grueling three-games-in-a-week schedule. Boxing Day."
"Meaning..."
"Clubs drifting from Champions League spots might rethink things."
Explained why he wasn't pushing a snap decision on Dortmund's positivity. Time was on our side. Situations flipped overnight sometimes.
"Winter break, I'll visit Dortmund. Keep talks going for now."
"Will do." Borja said, "Theo, just in case—no need to feel down. Transfer window opens, that's the real game. Won't be as hot as summer, but..."
He added softly,
"Clubs shivering in the cold need more firewood."