The Agency Contract
After the match against Arsenal, Jorge Mendes received a call from Park Je-woo.
The next day, they arranged a lunch meeting.
Park Je-woo arrived with the same man as before.
“Park! An outstanding performance as a regista.”
“Thank you.”
“But I still haven’t been introduced to your companion—same as last time?”
“This is Manager Kang Seung-soo. He looks after my daily life. He’s not a lawyer, but he has more than enough knowledge of British law.”
“Law… So you’ve made up your mind.”
“Yes.”
Mendes went straight to the point.
Park Je-woo was a minor and could not legally enter into a contract. He needed a guardian.
“My mother is scheduled to come from Korea in three or four days. So before that, I’d just like to finalize the adjustments to the contract.”
“Excellent.”
Mendes already knew perfectly well that Park Je-woo needed no help with housing, daily living, or any of the rest of it.
“So you’ll only need my help with player contract negotiations, sponsor and advertising contracts, transfer talks, and legal or contractual consulting.”
“Yes. However, I’d like to discuss Korean advertising separately.”
“Why? Going through me would push the fees higher, wouldn’t it?”
“There are circumstances. Let’s talk about that at the end.”
“Fine.”
Providing housing, a car, interpreters, conversation tutors, and the rest of the lifestyle package would have nudged the commission a little higher, but the standard agency rate sat around five percent.
Park Je-woo, however, was a player who needed none of that care.
A deep-lying playmaker who could dominate both ends of the pitch—an almost extinct breed worldwide—plus youth and enormous room to grow. Just imagining the transfer fees that would fly back and forth if he continued on this trajectory sent a shiver of pure electricity down Mendes’s spine.
And he was Asian.
FIFA denied it, but everyone who knew the game knew the truth.
The previous January, FIFA had expanded the field for the 2026 North American World Cup to forty-eight teams. It was an open secret that the decision had been made with the Chinese market in mind. In other words, FIFA wanted China in the finals badly enough to rewrite the rules.
In that climate, Park Je-woo’s looks—idol-like, pure K-pop visual—meant serious advertising money was going to pour in from Asia.
Factoring all of it in, Mendes offered a dramatically low commission of 3.5 percent.
“3.5 percent?”
Exactly as Mendes had expected, Park Je-woo looked genuinely startled.
Even Mendes himself had never offered a rate like that to such a young player in his entire career.
“Young players usually need a lot of looking after. You don’t.”
“An unexpected figure. Thank you.”
“Is there anything else you need help with?”
Park Je-woo answered as if he had been waiting for the question.
“I need a coach who can work on physical duels and a coach who is truly elite at free kicks. And I need a performance analysis team.”
Unusual demands.
His companion might have suggested them, but being able to keep someone who could offer that kind of advice—and knowing how to listen—was a talent in itself.
Park Je-woo wanted precisely the coaches Mendes would have recommended for his development.
“The coaches are excellent judgment. But why a performance analysis team? The club will provide that.”
“To be precise, not a full analysis team—someone who can train one.
Unlike the analysis the club gives me, I want to build a unit that digs deeper into exactly what I ask for. I’ll cover every cost myself, of course.”
“Why do you need deeper analysis?”
“Because I’m a playmaker. Knowing even an opponent’s tiniest habits makes it far easier to control a match.”
It was a clear, satisfying answer.
“Hmm. Not difficult. Finding someone to teach them for a short stretch is easy enough. I’ll arrange it. Anything else?”
“No. Nothing special for now.”
Every detail had been confirmed; only the guardian’s signature remained on the contract.
Park Je-woo exchanged a few quiet words in Korean with the man beside him, then spoke with the expression of someone who had just made a major decision.
“Sir, do you know DH Electronics?”
“Haha! Are you joking? Almost no one on the planet doesn’t know that global giant.”
“That’s my grandfather’s company.”
Park Je-woo said it as calmly as if he were talking about someone else entirely.
“What? What did you just say? Did I mishear you? Say it again. Say it one more time.”
“DH Electronics. Cosmos phones. That’s my grandfather’s company.”
In fifty years of life, Mendes had never been this stunned.
“S-so… Park is the grandson of the global conglomerate DH?”
“Yes. My father is the second son of Chairman Park Gun-ho.”
“Why are you grinding yourself into the ground playing soccer? You could live your entire life without lifting a finger.”
The words that no football agent should ever utter slipped out of Mendes’s mouth on their own.
“Since I was eight years old, my dream has been to play for the Korean national team and go to the World Cup.”
“Even so, with a family like that, the opposition at home must have been brutal.”
“I took a test in front of the family. That’s how I earned their permission.”
“How?”
Park Je-woo slowly told him everything that had happened from the age of eight until now.
Mendes had believed nothing could top “grandson of the DH Group.”
Then he heard that the boy had been coached since childhood by Valdo, César Sampaio, and Gilberto Silva, and his mind simply went blank.
And that was not all.
Even now, coaches from the U.S. youth national teams managed his physical condition, and the family home contained cutting-edge medical equipment.
Even a child raised by a legendary player as a father would rarely have received that level of support.
“Talent and hard work, an incredible coaching staff, and elite management on top of it all. Of course he was going to be good.”
“At home—especially my uncle-in-law—helped a great deal.”
“Uncle-in-law? A former Korean player, by any chance?”
“He’s not a former player. He’s currently the president of the Korea Football Association.”
“What? The KFA president?”
“Holy shit!”
Franco, who had been calm and professional the entire time, let the curse slip out.
Inside Mendes’s head, the only word that existed was the same one.
“Did he become KFA president because of Park?”
“He always liked La Liga, but because of me he became even more invested in the game. And—I’m not sure if you know this—the Korean FA has quite a few problems, so he took the presidency this time to push through reforms.”
“Remarkable. But keeping the media away couldn’t have been easy.”
“In Korea, it’s hard to find something my grandfather can’t do. As a player I’ve started to become known, but hiding my personal information and shutting down the press is nothing to him.”
“Ah. The power of Asian conglomerates. I’ve heard the stories.”
To Mendes, signing Park Je-woo no longer felt like signing a promising youngster. It felt like hunting a legendary dragon.
He picked up his fountain pen at once.
On the contract, he drew a firm line through the “5” in “3.5%.”
“Sir?”
“Let’s make the commission 3 percent. That feels right.”
Sponsors? Advertising?
Hah. Even if Park Je-woo merely secured a place on an EPL bench, the money flowing in from the DH Group would be enormous.
No—with his current ability, that continuous support, and a private analysis team of his own, it would be strange if he failed to lock down a starting spot.
If things truly went sideways, he could always send the boy to France, a level slightly below the Premier League. And if everything went well, other players under Mendes’s agency might even appear in DH Electronics commercials.
This was not a goose that laid golden eggs. This was a goose that laid diamonds.
“But why ask me for a free-kick coach? With Gilberto Silva, he should be able to reach the famous Brazilian specialists—Dunga, Rivaldo, and the rest.”
“I tried contacting them. They refused. They simply didn’t want to come to England.”
“Neither of them ever played in the Premier League, so that makes sense. Even for a short stint, I’ll find you an outstanding free-kick coach. Expect good news.”
“Yes. I’ll wait.”
“And please tell your guardian she can come in at whatever time is convenient.”
“Mom has her own schedule, but she’ll be here within three or four days at the latest.”
After parting from Park Je-woo, Mendes got into the car.
The moment the door closed, his hands began to tremble with pure excitement.
Franco, gripping the wheel, didn’t even turn the key. He just clutched at his chest.
“Franco. Let’s sit for ten minutes, then go.”
“Yes, boss. Haah… I still can’t believe it. Feels like I was dreaming.”
“Same. How is this even possible?
Even if he loves the game that much—one of the richest kids on the planet decides to play professional football? The family actively backs him? And one of them is the FA president?”
“Exactly. Boss, more than that, I was stunned that César and Valdo had been coaching him since he was ten. And Silva on top of it.”
“Right. Valdo was famous as a creative passer. César was an outstanding hexagonal CDM. Add several years under Silva and there’s no way ordinary youth-level man-marking is going to work on him.”
“Isn’t Tottenham’s current CDM a bit light?
Looking at Park’s recent form, if the work permit gets sorted he could debut tomorrow.”
“He’s sixteen. He can’t sign a professional contract yet. Word is Pochettino, busy as he is, still drops by youth sessions all the time.
He’s probably delighted—and dying to use him with the first team.”
Preparing the special exception clause was Tottenham’s board. Approving it was the English FA.
Later, after talking with that side, Mendes would need to apply a little pressure of his own.
“Franco.”
“Yes, boss.”
“I know you keep your mouth shut, but be extra careful with this one. And I can’t hand Park off to anyone else. Once the contract is done, you’re exclusively on him.”
“Understood.”
Back at the hotel, Mendes and Franco dug deep into the DH Group.
The second generation’s faces were public. The third generation had only the barest information and not a single photograph.
Then, on Wednesday, he met Park Je-woo’s mother—the woman he had only seen in photos.
Even in pictures he had sensed it, but in person the quiet elegance and unmistakable aura of the absolute top tier of wealth was overwhelming.
“Please take good care of our Je-woo from now on.”
“Our agency will give him more attention than any other player we have. You have my word.”
And so Park Je-woo shook hands with Jorge Mendes.
Afterwards, Park Je-woo personally informed the club that he had signed an agency contract.
“Jorge Mendes, huh. So not the absolute worst?”
“Jorge loves money, but at least he doesn’t stab you in the back. He’s not the type to start wars. More importantly, it’s not our problem. It’s every other club that wants to sign Park who should be worried.”
“True. The fact that it isn’t Mino Raiola is a genuine relief. And once the other clubs hear Je-woo’s agent is Jorge, they won’t even bother with half-hearted approaches.”
Mino Raiola ran a player-first agency that regularly smashed clubs over the head. Mendes, at least, kept a minimum of good faith with the clubs he dealt with.
“I hope Je-woo turns seventeen soon.”
“He’s a June baby, isn’t he? Not long now.”