You're the Agent of London's Biggest Troublemaker
"Then you're coming to Chelsea?"
Joe Cole's question made me shake my head.
"No."
"Hmph. Not messing around... Scared to compete for a starting spot at Chelsea?"
"That's not it. Like you said, I genuinely want to learn even one more thing from those amazing defenders."
"Then why?"
"When I came here from Korea, I wrote a letter to Tony Cascarino at the youth academy. I promised I'd make West Ham champions. If I bail now, it'd be embarrassing."
"You're crazy. Who remembers that kind of promise now? West Ham's the team even Bobby Moore couldn't win with. Cursed with bad luck. I won't push anymore. But someday, stuck at West Ham, you'll remember what I said. Hope it's not too late. You're my academy junior—I want you to succeed."
"Thanks for the advice. Same to you. West Ham's doors are always open."
"Shut up. I'm out." BAM!
Joe Cole kicked the car door open and stormed off. He'd met me today only to lure me to Chelsea. I chuckled emptily and left the hospital with James.
"What do you think, James hyung?"
"Joe Cole's right. Chelsea's got a bright future. World's best manager, richest owner. Sit on the bench all season, and you'd earn enough to live off forever. With your looks and physique, you'd blow up as a celeb in celeb-packed South London. Party with famous actresses like Beckham, launch a fashion brand in your name. Asia market's exploding."
"...What? You've got this whole plan mapped out? Weirdly detailed out of nowhere."
"Just thoughts from watching the soccer scene lately. Internet and satellite TV are making the world one big stage—European soccer, especially the Prem, is a global soap opera for guys everywhere. An Asian Prem star like you? Unique. Priceless, if you play it right."
"Maybe."
I pictured myself in Chelsea's blue kit at Stamford Bridge. Post-match, hit the fancy clubs nearby, pop champagne, hook up with world-class beauties in a wild night. A far cry from East London's Upton Park, with its shabby brick houses and greasy street stalls.
"Huh?"
Lost in thought, staring out the window, a man's face caught my eye. How did I completely forget about this guy? He could save West Ham. I slammed on the brakes and jumped out.
"Park here. Wait a sec."
"What's up, Hero?!"
I dashed to the newsstand and grabbed a paper. The front page blared the guy I was looking for.
James saw the front page and scowled, staring like I'd brought garbage into the car.
"You know this player too, right, James hyung?"
"How could an Arsenal fan not? That fucking worthless piece of shit."
James unleashed curses I'd never heard from him in England.
"Whoa~ James hyung's swearing game is savage~"
"That bastard's not even human. Wait—you're not thinking of bringing that loser in, are you!?"
"To our team."
"..."
"Hyung! Watch the car ahead!"
SCREECH!
James nearly rear-ended the car ahead in shock. He pulled over, composed himself, and turned to me.
"Hero. What's wrong with you?"
"What's wrong? I'm recruiting the player we need to save the team."
"That's not your job. It's your team's director's. Focus on playing. You met Joe Cole—that's enough. Forget recruiting..."
"Hyung. I'm a player and an investor in P&J Sports Agency. Scouting and developing talent is my job too. And you're wrong about one thing. An organization where everyone sticks to their lane can never be top-tier. Miracles happen when everyone buys into the vision, pitches in beyond their roles, and commits fully."
"..."
"My dad taught me that. He was a construction worker on Korea's first integrated steel mill, Pohang Ironworks. Back then, we were a dirt-poor backwater—advanced nations laughed at us, wouldn't lend a dime. But Koreans didn't quit. They believed in the vision. Workers vowed to drown in the East Sea if they failed. From the boss to day laborers and cafeteria ladies, they pulled together. If they'd stuck to their jobs, no miracle. They crossed lines, shared ideas, helped each other—that's how they achieved the impossible. Same with turning a 100-year trophyless club into champions."
"Hero... I didn't mean..."
James couldn't fully buy in, no matter my pitch. Because the front page read like that.
I knew Jermain Pennant, West Ham's potential savior, was rotting in a London drunk tank.
Once hailed with Wayne Rooney as England's top prodigy, Pennant signed a massive Arsenal deal at 16 in 1999. No fan begrudged the £2 million investment—he was pegged to lead Arsenal for a decade.
But he never fit in, racking up scandals and a playboy life. Wenger, patience spent, loaned him to the second division. Even there, he flopped—snuck back to London, partied all night, got arrested.
"Hero. I get you're stressed. But don't invite a walking disaster."
No way a diehard Arsenal fan like James would like Pennant. Gunners still lamented not snagging Rooney instead.
"It's time for a gamble. Just a hypothesis, but Pennant fits West Ham. We're not Arsenal or Chelsea."
"...What?"
"Drive here first. The place in the paper."
"No way."
"Yeah. South London drunk tank. Perfect time to negotiate."
"..."
James gave up arguing and drove as told.
In my past life, I learned about Jermain Pennant from a gripping soccer doc.
Wayne Rooney vs. Jermain Pennant
It compared the geniuses' lives, explaining why their careers diverged. Bottom line: Rooney had Manchester United's iron discipline—Ferguson and Roy Keane kept the kid in line. Arsenal? French manager, multinational squad—no one to rein in a rough English street kid.
Not that Arsenal was worse—just bad fit.
What if Pennant joined United at 16? He'd have exploded bigger than at Arsenal. West Ham still clings to its old-school, neighborhood club vibe pre-Prem. That gritty atmosphere would ground a wandering soul like Pennant.
"There's Pennant's agent. Hey! Andrew!"
Andrew, Pennant's agent in the station lot, startled at me. The doc said he stuck by the troublemaker till the end—a loyal guy.
"Na Yeong-ung? What brings you here? How'd you know my name?"
"You're the agent of London's biggest troublemaker. Seen you on TV a few times."
"No way. You saw the news?"
"Yeah. Can I see Pennant now?"
"Maybe briefly. But why him?"
"I want to sign him."
"West Ham?"
"Not the club yet. Just me. That's why I'm talking to you first. This is James, my agent and manager. He'll explain."
"..."
Andrew eyed the surroundings warily, like hunting hidden cameras. James forced a smile and discussed Pennant's transfer with him. Key to sync before meeting West Ham's director.
I was certain. Pennant wouldn't turn me down.
"He'll like it. Prem team, London club. Arsenal won't fight hard. Pay fair, and he's yours."
"If I were Arsenal's director, I'd release him free."
"What?"
"Uh, nothing."
James swallowed his Arsenal bias and kept negotiating. Andrew, a burly black guy, stayed cool despite Pennant's endless messes.
Nice. Recruit him to our agency too.
Pennant emerged from the station, released after questioning. Cocky young black guy, dressed flashy, the type who screams "doesn't listen."
"Huh? What's everyone doing?"
He spotted me. As I moved to speak, reporters swarmed the lot. I told Andrew where to meet and slipped away from the station.