The Man Everyone's Watching (5)
The day after the match, I visited the BN Agency headquarters—specifically, Borja Navas's office on the top floor.
Like last time, the place screamed "top-tier super agent." The sleek interior design made it clear: everything from the executive desk to the sofa in the center, the wall-mounted bookshelves, the massive yet slim TV, and all the little accents screamed luxury. You could tell at a glance they were all high-end pieces.
One wall was entirely glass, framing the Madrid skyline like a painting. Borja had once mentioned that while you could see out from inside, no one could see in from outside—and that when he felt cooped up, he'd just stare out blankly.
"Sorry to drag you here on a holiday."
"No worries. This is way better for talking than my place anyway. Mine looks pretty shabby compared to this."
"Haha, I'll take that as a compliment."
"No sarcasm intended."
"I know."
Borja Navas and I sat facing each other on the sofa, chatting. We could have talked at his desk, but he'd specifically led me here. Probably because when he sat behind that desk, the only person allowed opposite him was a subordinate.
"In a few years, you'll be living in a place so grand this office will feel downright modest."
"Sounds exciting... but something this lavish might feel a bit overwhelming."
Borja grinned at my words.
"They say humans are creatures of adaptation, right? You'll get there eventually—realize you're not fazed by it anymore. That's when you'll know you've made it."
He was skirting around admitting he'd felt awkward at first himself.
He might be right. No, he probably was. I'd never lived in luxury like this, and just last year I was scraping by in a dingy studio apartment, paying rent in a cramped space.
"Excuse me."
Right on cue, his secretary set tea down on the low crystal table between the sofas. Borja, true to Spanish form, sipped a strong espresso laced with a splash of milk. I went for the black tea—slightly bitter with a subtle fruity aroma. I wasn't huge on tea, but this one was so captivating I wanted to ask what brand it was.
"I'd love to chat idly and enjoy the time... but as you know, the transfer window's closing soon. After our meeting, I've got to head to London."
"Let's make it quick, then."
"Ah, no pressure. I'll handle everything efficiently, so don't worry about the time. I'm just saying we might not have hours to kill."
Borja waved it off lightly, and his watch—a Audemars Piguet worth over 100 million won—shifted on his wrist.
Hm. Why did I always find myself eyeing brands and luxury details whenever I came here? It wasn't just high-end stuff; it was the absolute top shelf, stealing your gaze. This sofa alone had such an incredible texture that I'd been subtly stroking it with my palm since I sat down.
"Let's start with the big clubs," Borja said, leaning forward slightly.
"After yesterday's game, another director reached out. The Atlético Madrid one said their scout was raving—spitting with excitement."
I was a little surprised. Atlético had sent a scout?
"I told them: don't even dream of snagging my client on the cheap. He's only 'affordable' in price."
I nodded slowly. If it were just one big club sniffing around, maybe. But now multiple were watching me. When there's competition for a commodity—odd analogy, but still—the value goes up. I'd go to whichever valued me highest. No dream team in mind.
"Not just Spain, either. England, France, Italy—they're all eyeing you."
"All their big clubs reached out?"
"Not all, but I've got intel they're assigning scouts and keeping tabs."
"Information is an agent's lifeblood," Borja added proudly.
"Expect scouts from those clubs at every match from here on. Teams desperate for strikers will rate you even higher."
"Motivating stuff."
Borja smiled. "Season's underway now, so soon some clubs will hold serious meetings on signing you—based on their analysis. Then they'll call me."
All the summer prep boiling down to report cards. If those reports flagged the striker position, serious winter offers could come fast, Borja explained.
"Playing for Alcorcón is actually a plus."
"The cheap buyout clause?"
"That was always a plus." Borja grinned. "Smaller clubs play gritty—sit deep, hit on the counter. Theo, you'd shine in that. Your value skyrockets there."
"Yeah... fair."
"Sure, some big clubs play counter too, but they crave high-level soccer. That's why they value players who excel in possession-dominant, modern styles—moving the ball through passes and runs to the final third."
I nodded, getting it.
"Alcorcón's current style—long possession, teamwork to advance—and your link-up play and finishing? Big clubs have to add extra points for that."
Borja continued, pleased. "They want versatile strikers who blend into any tactic seamlessly."
Even my dropping deep for build-up play was a plus—a selfless contribution reframed positively. Pride swelled in me.
"No huge breakthroughs yet, but keep it up and you'll get what you want soon."
Just do you. Sounded familiar.
"Anyway, on that note..."
Borja finished his espresso, pulled out his phone, and texted someone. Less than a minute later, a knock.
In walked a long-haired, classic Hispanic woman—slim, mid-30s maybe.
"Allow me: Vanessa. Starting today, she'll handle your media, ads, promo, and even SNS."
Vanessa smiled brightly, offering her hand. I shook it.
"Nice to meet you."
"Likewise."
SNS? I tilted my head at Borja, who explained.
"Footballers exist because of fans. You need channels to connect."
"Hm..."
"I'll make you not just a great player, but a global star. Skill gets you there, but marketing amplifies the fans."
He gestured to Vanessa. "She's your expert. I vouch for her."
"You don't have SNS accounts yet."
"Nope."
"Let's set them up. If you're not into it, she'll run them. But managing personally is better—for many reasons."
"Hm..." Tedious, I thought, but held back.
"She'll provide posts—text, photos. Just upload. If you want to post or comment yourself, clear it with her first. Even personal SNS draws eyes on a star."
She'd keep me out of trouble. Relieved, I eased up. Personal management probably let fans connect directly too.
"One important question... feel free to skip it."
"Sure."
Borja glanced at Vanessa; she took over.
"Any girlfriend right now?"
Straightforward, but no fluster. "No."
"Seeing anyone?"
I hesitated. My private life wasn't public fodder.
She caught it. "More eyes on you soon—reporters, paparazzi. You're handsome; any woman spotted with you blows up."
"Hm..."
"If yes, I'll share discreet dating tips. And I'll keep it secret—I've got a family to support; no dumb risks."
I came clean. "Seeing someone."
"Got it. Help anytime."
Discreet meetups, obviously. I nodded.
No more on that. She briefed SNS management—easy enough. Plus grooming support. Felt like an entertainment agency.
After Vanessa, two more guys: security (on-call for events) and finance (taxes, retirement planning). Both top-tier, Borja boasted. Personal trainer too—docs-vetted, massages included, house calls welcome. All BN perks.
FIFA rules: 3% of salary. About 7,200 euros yearly—10 million won. Bargain for the value, especially long-term.
Meetings wrapped; Borja checked his watch, sighed softly. Alone now, he grew serious.
"Actually... someone wants to meet you."
I instantly knew who. Borja smiled awkwardly, confirming.
"Niela. My sister. She got me onto you first."
"Figured."
"She claims the biggest credit for our connection."
"Haha..."
"Is it real liking, casual interest, or fan stuff? No clue."
His face complicated—brother mode.
"First time she's openly crushed on someone to me."
"Ah... got it."
Why me? Sure, I pulled in Spain too, but Niela met hot guys professionally. Asian preference? Her music video ask had been random.
"I can't dictate your or her choices. But as her brother..."
I nodded.
"Niela's precious to me. Don't take her lightly."
Clear: with my side thing, no serious intent? Keep distance.
"Understood."
"Blocking you two? She'd hate me."
Borja shrugged helplessly.
"After this, she'll probably 'bump into' you."
"Me?"
"Act surprised—she'll know I warned you and despise me."
"Ah..."
"Whatever you decide, don't hurt her too much."
No hookup plans anyway—she wouldn't, and she's his sister. But she'd bridged our connection unintentionally; couldn't be brutal.
Tricky, I thought.
"You're my client. Decisions won't touch business. I'm a pro."
That wrapped us. I left first; secretary escorted to elevator.
And right on cue, like pure chance...
"Whoa?!"
The doors opened. Niela jumped in mock shock—obvious, amateur acting.
"Wow! You here too? What a coincidence?!"
...I bit my lip to stifle the laugh.