Prologue
"What the—? Where'd this come from all of a sudden?"
Alvaro of Real Madrid's scouting team tilted his head at the colleague who had barged in unannounced and thrust a phone out toward him. The two were on friendly terms, so there had never been much ceremony between them.
"Why are you handing me your phone?"
"Match footage. Watch it and give me a scouting report on one of the players."
"Out of nowhere? Usually when I open my mouth about anything, all I get from you is cursing."
"This time I won't say a word. Promise."
"Yeah, right."
Foul-mouthed but soft-hearted, Alvaro grumbled under his breath all the same — and dutifully pulled up the footage on the phone.
The clip had apparently been shot somewhere in Asia; every player on the pitch was East Asian. Twenty-two boys chasing a single ball around with infectious energy — honestly, it was rather charming to watch.
"Not bad, actually. Good technique across the board, decent build-up play, solid organization. Which country is this? Japan?"
"Korea."
"Ah, right."
Come to think of it, he'd heard a rumor recently that the Korean football association, as part of its youth development program abroad, had sent a handful of young players to the club. Recalling this, Alvaro asked flatly. He assumed there was a reason behind the sudden appearance of youth match footage like this.
"So? Which one caught your eye? You came all the way here to show me someone specific, didn't you?"
"Ha, busted. He's coming up any second now. Hold on."
Tony smiled easily and skipped ahead in the video. The screen now showed a Korean boy wearing a training vest.
"Him?"
"Yeah. Tell me what you think — give me your evaluation."
"Center forward, huh? From what I can see on film, he looks a bit small. Did you check his height?"
"168 centimeters. But he's only going to keep growing."
"That's for time to tell, isn't it? The way you're already gushing, you must really like him."
"Once you've watched, you'll understand exactly how I feel."
"Well, let's see it, then."
With that, Alvaro went quiet and buried himself in the footage for a long while.
The boy on the screen was nothing flashy. He had a rather pretty face, true, but he was short. His feet were quick, yes, but his physicality was nothing to write home about.
He was simply —
Ordinarily excellent at his movement off the ball.
Ordinarily clean on his first touch.
Ordinarily exceptional in his dribbling.
Ordinarily clinical, never missing a one-on-one chance.
Ordinarily two-footed, scoring with either boot.
That was about the extent of it. Granted, the boy had scored five goals in the match, but he could hardly be called head and shoulders above the starting forwards who played week in and week out in La Liga.
Yes — compared to first-team players, that is.
Which meant Alvaro had no choice but to ask.
"……How old is this kid?"
"Fifteen. Just started high school, apparently."
"Ah, you have got to be……"
Alvaro's face scrunched up. As long as FIFA's regulation banning the international transfer of players under eighteen remained on the books, no matter how badly he wanted a contract drawn up on the spot, the boy's age — and his Korean nationality — had him firmly by the ankles.
"Damn, what a waste. Guess we'll have to sweet-talk him properly when he comes over on the youth program, huh? Lock him in with a signature the moment he turns eighteen."
"No need. He'll be signing with us soon enough. I already got the director's approval. No issues with FIFA's rules, either."
"What? How?"
"There's a way. Though it might take a little time before he actually puts pen to paper."
"Why?"
"Well, you see……"
Tony scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"……The kid's already got a nose for money."