Chapter 15
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Translator: Silver Dragon
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: This is a Team, This is What a Team Is!
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[Blackburn Rovers] 2 : 1 [Tottenham Hotspur]
"Yes!!!"
I went absolutely wild in the VIP seats.
My hands were still drenched in sweat, and my heart was pounding so hard my blood pressure must have hit an all-time high.
Tottenham is the ultimate team for Koreans, now and forever!
On the big screen, today's hero Yoo Sung-chul was stumbling, but Gattuso and Sutton came over to help him up and gave him a heartfelt celebration.
"Did you see that? That's Korean power! That's what a team is!"
Adrenaline pumping at max, I bounced around until the final whistle, then bolted straight down to the locker room.
The place was buzzing with excitement as I pushed open the locker room door, and everyone erupted in cheers for me.
"Oh, Mr. Lee!"
"Lee! We did the right thing bringing that guy in."
Dalglish came over first, grinning ear to ear as he shook my hand.
And there was Yoo Sung-chul, today's star.
He'd scored that miraculous winner, but it stung that Man of the Match went to Jason Wilcox for his first-half free-kick opener.
On top of that, his body was battered and bruised, iced up everywhere—tomorrow, those spots would be black and blue.
"Yoo, you did amazing out there."
"...I just want to go home and call my family first."
I extended my hand, and he grabbed it with a smile, pulling himself up.
Then he leaned in and whispered to me.
"Truth is, I don't know English that well... That bearded guy and the captain were saying all sorts of stuff, but I couldn't understand a word."
Seeing Yoo asking for a translation, I pointed at Sutton and Gattuso.
"Sutton said you were too reckless. Sol Campbell was stretching to clear it, and you dove right in—if you'd mistimed it, Campbell's boot would've taken your face off."
"Ah..."
Honestly, even I was terrified watching it.
How does anyone think to dive for a header there?
"The bearded guy next to him, Gattuso, said he loves your hustle."
"Ha, that guy's mouth never stops on the pitch. What was he yelling all game?"
I patted Yoo on the back and addressed the room.
"Alright, everyone did great today. Remember, Blackburn's comeback starts right here!"
"Yes, Young Boss!"
Young Boss? Not a bad nickname.
Then I stepped out with manager Dalglish.
"Kenny, tomorrow's the winter transfer deadline."
"Any chance we can snag a striker? Kevin's still rough around the edges."
"We'll find someone."
Even after all the matches wrapped up that day, I headed to the office for a meeting with the scouting team.
"Let's get started."
Chief scout David Hobson adjusted his glasses and showed the remaining list after Gattuso and Yoo's signings.
"Among the players Kenny requested, we've got issues with goalkeeper and striker. Looks like we'll need short-term loans at least."
"One day left in the window—any options? Or at minimum, targets for next season."
Hobson fiddled with his glasses again.
"The goalkeeper playing for Man United right now—Peter Schmeichel."
"Oh, Denmark's legend. One of the best keepers of this era, right?"
"His contract's up this year. Word is, if United win a couple trophies in the league and Champions League, he's out."
"Make contact. Whatever it takes, get him in a Blackburn kit next season."
"Problem is, he's thirty-six. Even for a keeper, that's old..."
"We can get two more years out of him. Sign him, then bring in a long-term guy to cover the next decade."
Peter Schmeichel? Free agent? Absolute must-sign.
Not just him—we need his son too.
Peter's boy, Kasper Schmeichel. Could have father-son keepers at Blackburn if we play it right.
"Even after this season, Rovers will stay in the Prem, so start agent talks now. And for striker?"
"Something interesting just hit the market."
I read the file on the 'interesting' prospect Hobson mentioned.
175 cm, stocky build, shaved head giving him an intimidating vibe—black player.
Arsenal FC man, 288 appearances, 185 goals. Classic poacher striker.
"Ian Wright?"
"Suspended after arguing with the ref over a decision at West Ham, then put in a transfer request."
"Age this year... thirty-six?"
"Played the French World Cup at thirty-five last year, and he's a lock for Euro 2000."
"Old keeper, old striker... But 'aging' is just another word for 'experience.'"
Hobson grinned.
"Form is temporary, class is permanent."
"Form is temporary, class is permanent."
"Bill Shankly's words still ring true in football."
"Love that quote. Alright, I want to meet Wright."
"He's waiting for your call anytime. Want me to dial now?"
I lit a cigarette and watched Hobson make the call.
"Hello, Ian? It's David from Blackburn."
Moments later, he handed me the phone.
A deep, resonant voice came through.
[Hello? This is Ian Wright.]
"An honor to speak with the golden boot king himself."
[Haha, that was seven years ago, but thanks for remembering. Straight to the point—I still want to play first-team football.]
"We have terms."
Easy to snag a thirty-six-year-old veteran striker.
And here's where I added one condition.
"Ian, your sons are promising players too—can we bring them along?"
[Who do you mean? Bradley? Shaun?]
"Both. Father and sons side by side at Blackburn."
[What?!]
Not just buying the veteran striker.
Pulling in his son—the 'English bulletproof winger' who'd shake up the EPL in a few years—Shaun Wright-Phillips.
[Both boys are at Man City, but you're saying you'll take them all?]
"Perfect. Manchester to Blackburn's just a bus ride away. Family can come together. Fax incoming. West Ham and City can confirm by morning."
[Got it. Thank you so much, Mr. Lee.]
I finished the call with Ian and stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray.
"Prep for three signings."
"Mr. Lee, not just Ian—you mean his two sons too?"
"Why not? Same deal for Peter Schmeichel. We'll take his son Kasper into the youth team and develop him."
Call it the 1+1 policy.
Veteran dads with class, and futures for their sons growing up here—instead of splashing tens of millions on outsiders, we build a family farm system at Blackburn.
"I'll tell Kenny myself. He was begging for a striker, so he'll love Ian."
"Ian Wright and Peter Schmeichel. A solid window to the end."
I smiled and flicked on the TV.
Blackburn's miracle last-minute goal—Yoo Sung-chul's face was all over UK screens.
Never gets old. I'd fire up the computer at home later to check Korean sites too.
Then, a replay of Southampton vs. Leeds caught my eye.
Southampton, who'd been swapping places with us in the relegation scrap, had beaten Leeds today too.
And in that match, one player stood out.
Built like a bull, short blond hair, square jaw—yelling his head off and charging into tackles—Leeds' right-back.
"Schmeichel, Ian Wright... and that guy's next."
"Mr. Lee, who are you watching?"
"Leeds number four."
"!"
Alf-Inge Haaland.
The guy who'd later be famous as the dad of a 'very great footballer.'
Two hours before quitting time, I returned to the Daeyang Global Blackburn office, and everyone rushed over from their computers and TVs.
"Vice Chairman, it's huge. Korean media's going nuts."
Section Chief Park excitedly showed me old portal site posts on the CRT monitor.
He pulled up a Korean site, and it was chaos.
[Yoo Sung-chul scored?]
[For real? No cap?]
[Locals say he scored. Reporters putting it in tomorrow's papers.]
[WTF, no broadcast and...]
[Proud of Yoo. EPL debut goal?]
Slow dial-up internet made each post load forever, but watching it live filled my chest with pride.
"KBC and MBS are doing emergency late-night news specials on it."
"Tomorrow's papers are gonna burn."
"Call from London office. They want to run ads under Daeyang Global—send the plan to the Chairman?"
"Absolutely. I'll call Dad."
This flips domestic opinion completely.
Glowing Yoo articles first, then reevaluation of me.
Daeyang heir invests with conviction, makes first Korean Prem player, delivers dramatic goal. Killer narrative.
Already buzzing with excitement.
I emptied my wallet onto the table—all the cash inside.
"Wrap up quick today. Coffee for everyone, Italian grub from the club, then clock out sharp."
"Yes, Vice Chairman."
I'm the guy who splurges when it counts.