Chapter 48

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Translator: Silver Dragon

Chapter: 48

Chapter Title: Florentino Pérez Descends Upon England

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After wrapping up a constructive conversation with Luis Figo, I returned to England. Before heading to Blackburn, I had a mountain of work to handle in London.

"Vice Chairman, we've successfully won the bid for the Greek ship hangar construction project worth 80 million euros."

"Oh, great job, everyone. I was actually planning a trip there for that very reason."

Representative Kim had gone there in person and secured the ship hangar project.

The major Korean construction firms, bigger than Daeyang, had jumped into general construction contracts alongside established European companies, so we'd targeted special projects that didn't catch their eye—and it paid off.

"What about the soccer stadium projects I mentioned before?"

"Just as you suggested, I looked into it, and one place responded that we should bid."

"Where?"

"It's Craven Cottage, home of Fulham in London. Their small stadium holds about 17,000 seats, and they're looking to expand the stands to 20,000 for this season."

I figured one would come up eventually, and here it was.

Fulham's owner, Mohamed Al-Fayed, chairman of Harrods department store.

Thanks to him—my father's friend who advised on acquiring the club when they were in the fourth division—we were seeing this payoff.

"Fulham, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bought out in the fourth tier, is already in the second division now. If they perform well this year, we might see them in the Premier League next season."

"I'll put together a bidding team and get us ready."

"If we snag the last one, the Fly-Europe hangar project, we'll hit our annual contract target..."

"Hahaha, while others are counting in dollars, we've matched our numbers with euros and pounds."

With this, we'd achieved my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠father's goal of over $200 million in annual construction contracts in the first half of the year.

Construction alone was plenty. Add in distribution and trade, and growth compared to last year was guaranteed.

"Since I'm in London, I should review the approval documents and drop by Harrods too."

Craven Cottage seemed likely to go our way, but out of courtesy, I'd visit to pay my respects and chat about club operations.

Of course, that wasn't all.

I turned on my personal computer in the office—it was time to check the stocks I'd invested in.

When acquiring Busan, I'd sold some mid-way to cover 30 billion won, and now it was time to cash out properly.

Selling off all of Saemaeul DataMan, Hana Telecom, and Doorumi Net, the high-speed internet firm listed on Nasdaq.

The dot-com bubble exploding in real-time had multiplied my investments dozens of times over. Honestly, dumping this into Blackburn personally would give me capital rivaling Real Madrid or Manchester United.

"IT is the future, and soccer is life."

I hit the sell buttons, liquidating them one by one and steadily piling up cash.

Daeyang treasury stock buyback, affiliate IPO preparations, and even Blackburn Rovers owner-funded cash injections—all covered.

"I'll hold Next Game, Korea, and Computer Nuren a bit longer, and add some more buys in the US side..."

After sorting the stocks, I drafted a new business plan and printed it out.

Before leaving London, I showed it to Representative Kim.

"The Blackburn office will review it too, but could you look into this? It's a UK real estate investment venture."

"Are we buying UK real estate?"

"No, the landowners are separate. We're doing the development."

Well, that was a discussion to have properly with the Walker Foundation once I got to Blackburn.

I arrived at the office loaded with ample ammunition.

"This time, my father, Daeyang Group Chairman Lee Won-gyu, has committed as the main sponsor for Blackburn Rovers: 50 million pounds over five years, with another 50 million coming after this season's results."

"Thanks to that, big signings are possible, but we have plenty of other expenditures to handle."

Steve Miller, handling the finance director role, was recommended by advisor Jack Williams and had deep connections in UK finance circles.

"On top of that, I'm injecting an additional 25 million pounds from my personal funds."

"Luis Figo... you're really bringing him in."

"Baggio, Friedel, and Holan on free transfers. Melberg for 5 million euros."

"Selling Henchoz for 7.5 million pounds, plus clearing out the fringe players, gives us at least 10 million pounds already. With your additional budget, we're more than set."

"We've negotiated with RBS (Royal Bank of Scotland) to extend the repayment deadline."

"Oh, really?"

"British Standard Bank offered to shift our dealings to them, so they caved easily."

That was Liverpool's primary bank.

For UK commercial banks, soccer clubs were like project financing deals, lending freely since top players were prime investment prospects.

"If we sign Figo, we'll need to pay in installments. The norm is three to five, but for that amount, Barcelona would have to accept ten."

It was the era before Financial Fair Play, where parent company will translated directly to squad strength.

The late Chairman Jack Walker had poured 20 million pounds annually into transfers, covered by broadcast and attendance revenue to offset deficits—leaving the debt behind.

"You know about the Korea tour, right? It's a friendly match hosted by the Korea Football Association, with our headquarters as sponsor."

"A match against a Korean League side where the chairman is, plus an Olympic team friendly—if we align the schedule with the Japan trip, the revenue could be massive. I'll crunch the numbers."

While discussing with the finance team, I ironed out all potential fiscal issues.

Even under the previous chairman, these folks had experience managing big money for a wealthy owner, so they handled the scaling up smoothly.

With today's business done, I was heading back to my Blackburn residence for a drink to unwind my stiff body when—

RRRR- RRRR-

My phone rang. An unfamiliar international call.

"Hello, who's this?"

[Mr. Lee? Owner of England's modest little team?]

"Rude for a first meeting."

[This is Florentino Pérez, president of Real Madrid.]

Pérez himself was calling.

"Well, honored. The Real Madrid president calling me personally?"

[I hear you're from an Asian business family making waves, but this time you went too far.]

"?????"

[I've come to England to end this ridiculous prank. Manchester International Airport—should take an hour to reach that sleepy rural village, right?]

Pérez had come in person.

With Mario Romano off today, I got permission to use his premium restaurant as the meeting spot.

Click- sizzle-

Pérez lit a cigarette with his gold lighter the moment he sat down.

Though I'd only seen him in media, the man was a bulldog—fierce, unrelenting once he sank his teeth in.

Beside him, Figo's agent Beye and broker Paolo Futre, who'd orchestrated this mess, slunk in like criminals, heads bowed, eyes darting between me and Pérez.

As dishes came out one by one, Pérez took a forkful of pasta, then clicked his tongue.

"British food is abysmal, but this place is decent enough."

"It's run by our team's head chef."

"No mood for leisurely dining, so let's get to it. Luis Figo will be Real's asset."

"Hmm?"

"Ambitious types like you often make the same mistake—stop now, before barging into the big boys' game and getting burned."

Arrogant tone.

Exhaling smoke down at me, his vibe screamed, 'This is the gap between you and me.'

"And if I say no?"

"!"

I pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and stared him down.

"Luis is a star for a giant like Madrid. Can't let the world's top talent rot where he can't even hear the Champions League music, right?"

Pérez gestured around as he spoke.

"Not Manchester or Birmingham—this podunk town? No matter how much you invest, you can't build basic infrastructure, and merch sales won't match the transfer fees."

"Talking smack about another league's clubs?"

"Just advice—a city of 100,000 has never won the league or Europe."

"Stayed in Spain so long you don't know other countries' soccer? Ever hear of Parma AC, who've won two UEFA Cups recently?"

"..."

"Their home city's about Blackburn's size. One of Serie A's top seven, always contending for titles."

Pérez jammed one cigarette after another in fury.

"You think Figo wants historic Real Madrid, or some dreary English backwater that can't reach the Champions League?"

"At least not the choice of going straight from Barça to Real Madrid like history's biggest Judas."

Snap-

Pérez snapped his fresh cigarette in half, face flushing beet red—like Heinze's Osram level—trembling as he glared at Futre and Beye.

"¡Fuera! Déjennos solos. (Get out. Leave us.)"

"President Pérez."

"¡Fuera ahora mismo, hijos de puta! (Get out now, you bastards!)"

They bolted at his Spanish curses.

Truly pissed, his glare at me was no joke.

I quietly slid my cigarettes and lighter toward him.

"You bid on the Fly-Europe hangar project, right? Planning to fund Luis with that."

"That's my father's company, and I'm just the vice chairman."

"I could send my construction firm to snatch that contract."

"You think threatening me like that makes sense?"

"How do you think I've crushed rivals? I can bury you below the lowest bid. Think I haven't expanded into the UK and Ireland just because I lacked interest?"

Real Madrid failing, so deploy parent ASC to steal all Daeyang's construction wins.

And "bury us so we can't even dream"—meaning ultra-low bids that kill margins.

ASC was the type to bid 60 million if rivals offered 100.

Strangle competitors on price, then snag dozens or hundreds worldwide—the world's top constructor.

"What'll it be? Fancy a parent company war?"

"Fine, one thing from me. I've added dealings with RBS lately, plus personal stock investments—so Figo comes from my own pocket. Dad might chew me out a few times, but I'll reallocate company funds to other bids and sign Figo with my money."

"You're serious?"

"After all this effort, back off now? Think you're the only one with the guts to bet 60 million euros buyout in soccer?"

"Heard Figo's release clause?"

"Already promised his agent I'd cover it. What'll the world press say?"

"You little..."

"Real Madrid bets 60 million, but we win with cash? Our image skyrockets as a superclub not outgunned by Real financially. Asian marketing and extra sponsors? No contest."

Merch sales boost revenue, construction wins via brand power.

At my go-for-broke retort, Pérez crumpled my pack in rage.

After 12-hour marathons in Sardinia and Lisbon, our Blackburn standoff dragged to midnight.

His iron will, obsession, and readiness to deploy everything weren't for show—the world's top builder.

Finally, past midnight into dawn, we hit one agreement.

"My term is five years."

"!"

"I promised to sign Luis within it, so your group plans to keep him until that 2002 Korea-Japan ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠World Cup, right? After the World Cup, no matter what, I'll take him."

"So Real will pay Blackburn a 60-million-euro-equivalent fee then?"

"...Tch!"

"You wouldn't pull that shameless free-transfer line, would you? Businessman."

I'd sign him to at least four years, extend per his will to keep him long-term.

And post-2002 World Cup? Figo would be 31.

"Fine... If Figo requests a transfer during my term, Real gets first priority."

"Then no covering his 22 million dollar penalty, right?"

"!?"

"Your million-dollar contract says 'transfer during Real president's tenure'—so within term, no liability for Figo."

Checked with UK lawyers—could go to sports arbitration if needed.

"Of course, only if Figo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠suddenly requests from Blackburn. If he never goes to Real, I'll handle it later."

"Ugh... Fine."

"One more."

"Damn it! What now?"

"Futre and Beye got pocket money for Figo to Real, right?"

"!"

"If you snag him in your term, no need to claw it back from them."

If Figo stays, re-sign as Blackburn legend. If transfer request, at least 35-40 million euros from Real.

"If he goes to Real someday, I'd like a replacement from your squad—someone appropriate from your release list."

"..."

Figo replacement straight from Real—"trusted Real quality."

"By the way, this meeting is 'off the record.' Break it, and you'll never see that election fun again. Deal?"

"...Never again."

Pérez stood, gripping my hand hard.

Ashtray piled like a cactus with butts—today's full-day rental negotiation done.

Just prep Figo's transfer now.

Three days later.

Multiple contracts secured, smooth sailing for Q3 and Q4 business—everything going perfectly.

And finally, Luis Figo emerged from his long seclusion in Lisbon and arrived in England.

His wife and daughter, who'd been in Sweden, were en route to England at the perfect time.