What Can Be Sold, What Can Be Bought (7)

"Hmm……."

Everyone has a private dream.

Not the kind of romance that swept medieval Europe, mind you — but the middle-school-fantasy kind: going on a sweet date with a partner so gorgeous they could pass for an idol, or single-handedly taking down a bank robber in one smooth move. The kind of thing you'd never confess out loud, yet find yourself imagining once in a while right before you fall asleep. That kind of dream.

And for sports-loving men in their thirties, there exists a particularly shameless one: discovering a sports star before the rest of the world knows his name, and building a personal friendship with him.

Whether every man shares this affliction, I can't say — but thirty-four-year-old sports reporter Kang Jae-hyung certainly did.

Which was exactly why, the moment he'd landed back in Korea after finishing his assignment in Spain, he'd thrown himself into video editing without giving the jet lag a second thought.

"Whew……."

The room was pitch black; he hadn't even bothered to turn on the light. Bathed in the glow of his laptop screen, Kang Jae-hyung let out an exhausted sigh the moment the edit finally came together. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and his unwashed hair had gone stiff and greasy.

And still he'd rushed the editing — because he wanted the whole world to know about the Korean prospect he'd interviewed, even one hour sooner.

He thought back to the Korean boy in Spain who had made his little dream come true.

The boy was, without question, the most courteous subject he had ever covered in his entire career as a reporter.

And that included the professionals — because usually, the player held the upper hand while the reporter groveled at the bottom. It was simple logic. If a reporter failed to land an interview, his livelihood was on the line; but a footballer only needed to play football well. Nobody starved over a few skipped interviews.

In the old days, he'd heard of reporters fabricating whole articles and whipping up public outrage because a player wouldn't grant them an interview — personal vendettas dressed up as journalism. But that was ancient history. In today's new-media era, where a few quick searches exposed everything, pulling such a clumsy stunt would instantly earn you the label of trash journalist.

It wasn't for nothing that the press corps had torn into a certain athlete for one careless line at the airport — "Clear those people out of the way and I'll answer your questions properly" — splashing it across front pages as if it were a national scandal.

The bottom line: between athletes and reporters existed an invisible but unmistakable hierarchy. And so, over the years of conducting interviews, Kang Jae-hyung had grown used to being subtly disrespected.

Dropping the honorifics out of nowhere. Openly radiating annoyance. Giving half-hearted, throwaway answers. Not every player was like that, of course — but some certainly were. The younger they'd found success, the worse it tended to be.

So he'd braced himself, assuming this sixteen-year-old striker might be a little bratty too.

But.

"That kid really was something else……."

He'd ended up getting treated to a meal at a Korean restaurant, of all things. On top of that, the boy had earnestly answered every single question he'd thrown at him for a full hour.

Jae-hyung had at least salved his conscience by buying the coffee, but still — being treated by a sixteen-year-old in an unfamiliar foreign country was a first in his life.

They'd even exchanged phone numbers. "Reach out anytime you're back in Spain," the boy had said.

Between the boy's kindness and his cooperative, respectful manner, Kang Jae-hyung had fallen completely under his spell.

And wasn't the kid brilliant at football, too? Since returning to Korea, he'd looked up the match results and found the boy putting on a show in game after preseason game.

Other media outlets were already starting to take notice of the boy's existence.

But the one to upload his exclusive interview video would be none other than himself. That was why he'd started editing the moment he'd stepped off the plane.

"Heh heh heh……."

Still — the boy had treated him in Spain, so it was only right that he return the favor here in Korea. Maybe he should text him later and ask what he'd like to eat. Or better yet, plan ahead for the next time he had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠business in Spain — bring a proper gift this time. What would be good? Canned tuna? Spam? Or maybe he could just make him a batch of kimchi……

"……Oh, snap."

Lost in his little fantasy, Kang Jae-hyung realized he couldn't afford to sit around daydreaming. The video was edited, yes — but he hadn't actually uploaded it yet.

Shaking himself awake, he uploaded the freshly finished video to his personal SNS channel.

"The bait is airtight."

The title read: Exclusive Interview with Real Madrid's Newest Supernova!

At a glance, the title and thumbnail looked like pure clickbait, but a little exaggeration to grab the public's attention was simply the cost of doing business.

Besides.

"……It's not exactly a lie, is it?"

There were two words that drove Korean football fans absolutely insane.

One was Europe. The other was big club.

Truthfully, the two went hand in hand — every big club any football fan could name happened to be in Europe. And while the exact definition of a "European big club" varied from person to person, the Premier League's "Big Six" and the "Reba-Mun" — the trinity of Real Madrid, Barcelona, and Bayern Munich who consistently delivered in European competition — were names everyone accepted without argument.

Loosen the criteria slightly and you could throw in clubs like PSG, Dortmund, or Atlético Madrid as well.

"Real Madrid?"

By that measure, Real Madrid was the "Real" in Reba-Mun — a big club beyond all dispute. The most valuable football club in the world, and the most Champions League titles to boot. It was no accident that its name sat at the very front of that acronym, ahead of Barcelona and Bayern Munich.

Naturally, no university student in Korea with even a passing interest in football could fail to know the name.

And Shin Seung-woo, third-year student at Korea University, was no exception.

When he — a devoted Chelsea supporter — asked the question again, his same-aged friend Jo Eun-beom, who was perched cross-legged on a lecture-hall desk, nodded.

"Jae-hyung-ie Ham uploaded an interview video, remember? Exclusive Interview with Real Madrid's Newest Supernova! You haven't seen it?"

"……Nope."

"You don't watch Ham's videos at all?"

The word Jae-hyung-ie Ham was a combination of Jae-hyung, taken from the name of freelance reporter and YouTuber Kang Jae-hyung, and ham, the Busan-dialect pronunciation of hyung — "older brother." In standard Seoul pronunciation it would be Jae-hyung-ie hyung. It had nothing to do with the man actually resembling a slab of ham around the belly. (Though, in fairness, that was about half true.)

At any rate, Kang Jae-hyung had made a genuine name for himself among Korean football fans. His 300,000 subscribers proved it. Though framed the other way around, it also meant that out of South Korea's roughly 50 million people, far more people didn't subscribe ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to him than did.

Shin Seung-woo was one of those many. He let out a sigh and gave his friend a lukewarm nod.

"So anyway, we've got one of our prospects playing at Real Madrid now?"

"B team for now, but still. Name's Kang Doin or something? The interview video had match footage in it too, and I watched it — the kid is insanely good."

"Uh-huh. Well, hope it works out for him this time."

At Shin Seung-woo's frosty response, Jo Eun-beom looked genuinely wounded. (It was absolutely not because, after returning from his military service, this was the only person he had to talk football with.)

"Dude, what's with the cold shoulder?"

Even at his friend's plea for a proper reaction, Shin Seung-woo only shrugged.

"You're the one who shouldn't get your hopes up. How many prospects have been hyped to the moon exactly like this, only to flop? They're a dime a dozen."

It wasn't as if there had never been cases of young Korean prospects joining European big clubs. There'd been Barcelona signings. There'd been Real Madrid signings. And yet not a single one had grown from the youth ranks into a settled first-team player at a big club.

No one knew why. The news would simply go quiet, and by the time anyone bothered to look them up again, they'd all faded into unremarkable obscurity.

Such was the reality for Korean prospects who joined big-club youth academies — and so Shin Seung-woo had made up his mind not to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠give any prospect the time of day until he'd actually debuted in a first team.

"Look, I get why you're worried. But this time it's really different, I'm telling you. Really!"

"Don't believe you."

"Word is Real Madrid themselves are keeping an eye on him. Not even six months after signing, he tore up the fifth division with the C team and got bumped up to the B squad. This guy is a guaranteed breakout, I'm telling you!"

His friend, apparently, saw things rather differently. Under Jo Eun-beom's relentless campaigning, Shin Seung-woo finally surrendered with a sigh. If the guy was going to this much trouble, the least he could do was hear him out properly once.

"Fine, fine. What's his name again?"

"Kang Doin. They say he's sixteen international age."

"Sixteen?"

Now that he thought about it, he could understand why his friend had made such a fuss. Sixteen international age meant the kid wasn't even in high school yet, technically. At that age, playing for Real Madrid's B team — well, that was certainly worth getting excited about.

"……Where can I watch the interview?"

"One sec. I'll send you the link."

Before long, his phone chimed and the link arrived. Shin Seung-woo tapped it without hesitation.

-Click.

I hit pause on the video playing on my phone.

Watching my own face beaming that brightly and chattering away made me feel oddly strange. I remembered how hard I'd worked to keep my expression in check for the entire interview.

The effort hadn't been wasted, though. The view counter beneath the video — 527,152 — was proof of that.

Below the view count, the comments had piled up. Almost all of them were supportive, which meant I'd at least succeeded in planting a likable image.

"……Okay."

Right on plan.

Rolling out the red carpet for a reporter I'd never met. Answering every question with earnest diligence. Deliberately playing the friendly acquaintance.

All of it had been part of my design. I hadn't known the reporter was quite that famous, but whatever the case, my goal had been singular from the start: plant a positive public image.

Humble. Down-to-earth. Approachable.

The public eats this image up. People like to say Koreans have grown more open-minded these days, but from where I stood, that was a load of nonsense.

I knew from personal experience. I must have been around thirty. I'd filmed a reality show about "a day in my life," and in the name of showing my honest self, I took the production crew to a nightclub. The backlash afterward was brutal. I heard the broadcast even earned a formal warning from the communications standards commission.

Though, thinking about it now, I wasn't exactly in my right mind back then either.

Anyway. This was a world where attention converted directly into money — and positive attention converted into even more money.

Seen through that lens, right now was exactly the season for image and face management. I'd been putting on a show in every one of the recent preseason matches, after all.

Word around the club was that interview requests about me were already starting to pile up. Maybe a TV station would come knocking before long.

"I'll need to start shopping for an agency soon, too……."

I was lying on my bed, mulling over the growing need for someone to manage my schedule, when—

Knock knock.

Someone rapped on my dorm room door. Without getting up, I called for my roommate.

"Niko."

"……"

"……Niko?"

"……"

"……Oh, right."

I'd been about to tell Niko to get the door when I remembered that I now had the dorm room all to myself.

It had already been about a month since my call-up to the B team moved me from the shared double into a single. Freedom from the nightly chainsaw of Niko's snoring was welcome — but losing an obedient errand boy did sting a little.

No helping it, then.

Determined to look the criminal dead in the eye for daring to disturb my rest, I hauled myself off the bed and dragged my considerable rear end toward the door.

"¡Hola!"

"Hey."

When I opened the door, Niko stood there waving, all smiles. He was dressed up rather nicely, too, as if he were off somewhere fancy.

A dress shirt and suit trousers. And, I noticed, actual leather shoes.

I was about to ask what the getup was for when Niko beat me to it, pointing at my own face.

"What's that on your face? An Iron Man mask?"

"Sheet mask."

Indeed, I was wearing a sheet mask. A touch pricey, but it had the best reviews and ratings on the market. Hydration, brighter skin tone, improved elasticity — I wore a sheet mask every single day. Wasn't that just common sense?

"You should take care of your skin too. For footballers, your face is an asset. You'll have to shoot commercials and the like someday, after all."

"……Wouldn't practicing football be a better use of that time?"

"That's why you wear it while you're resting. You've got a decent face, so it'd be worth putting in a little maintenance between training sessions."

"Hold on — 'you've got a decent face'? Do you actually think you're good-looking, Doni?"

"Well, am I wrong?"

"Ugh."

I flipped off the gagging Niko and got to the point — namely, why on earth he was dressed like that.

"So what's with the outfit? Got a date?"

"Huh? You didn't see the message? The manager posted an announcement in the B-team group chat two days ago."

"Didn't see it. What'd it say?"

"There's a team party today. Anyone staying at the dorm is supposed to gather in front of the building by five."

A party, hm.

"Do I have to go?"

"You could skip it, I suppose…… but wouldn't it be better to show up if you can? A club sponsor is hosting it for us B-team players."

"……A sponsor? Who?"

"No idea. Just heard it's some company chairman."

"A chairman, hm……"

Got it.

I nodded, stepped back into my room, and peeled off the sheet mask. Then I pulled a crisply pressed dress shirt and suit trousers from the closet and put them on. I fluffed my bangs a little, dabbed on some face cream, and laced up the leather shoes I'd been saving.

One last check of myself in my phone's front camera, and I stepped out the door.

"Alright, Niko. Let's go."

"……"

Niko stared at me through that entire sequence like I'd lost my mind.

It was probably just my imagination.