After the Season, Time to Wrap Things Up
[Korean Club Owner Puts Team on European Map After 2 Years: 'We'll Lift Even More Trophies.']
[Genius Businessman from a Small Eastern Nation Makes His Mark Worldwide Through Soccer.]
Not just in the UK—sports newspapers around the globe splashed headlines about Blackburn. Even with next week's Champions League final between Bayern Munich and Valencia heating up, the buzz from the UEFA Cup final burned hotter. It was truly heartwarming, but some bad news cropped up too.
"UEFA sent an official letter. It's about overt marketing with the sponsor logo showing."
Wrapping the trophy with a Daeyang-branded jersey counted as "excessive commercial advertising."
"So, a penalty?"
"A stern warning."
King among gods level—should slide right by. Brushing that off, John Williams moved to the next item.
"My advisory role is winding down soon, and we're recruiting for technical director and a pro GM, right?"
"I've made some offers, but no takers."
"Still, as chairman, after players and coaching staff, you'll snag the execs too. Who'd you approach?"
"Aimé Jacquet."
"...Did I hear that wrong? The '98 World Cup France coach?"
The legendary Aimé Jacquet, who led France to glorious World Cup victory. He'd turned down a Korea national team gig once, declaring post-World Cup retirement from all coaching. Now advising the French FA, he politely faxed back thanks but no thanks to Blackburn's president offer for hands-on ops.
"Arigo Sacchi and Johan Cruyff got the same pitch—everyone passed."
Sacchi especially pissed him off, rejecting for a Real Madrid advisory gig.
"Anyway, I'll mull execs more. Ideally, on-site supporters who sync with the manager."
Wrapping that, next up: call from Daeyang's Europe branch.
"Mr. Kim, how's the situation?"
[Export jackpot hit. Scotland and North England firms, plus German buyers reaching out.]
[Steel Division scored a solo €150 million contract in Dortmund, Germany.]
Post-UEFA Cup event, Daeyang Global's name spread, boosting trade sales teams' results. Time to thank the bee swarm. Europe's SMEs and mid-tiers found export gold via Daeyang Global's trade arm. HQ stock in globals climbed, easing Dad's rage bit by bit.
"Didn't expect five goals. Figured 2-3 for 30% off tops..."
And that wrapped easy—thanks to a call from sis back home.
[Oppa!]
"What's up?"
[Before Daeyang Hotel opens, the main restaurant's Italian chef...]
She'd joined services like hotels and golf, but bugged me for everything.
"HQ execs are there—ask them."
[Can't be that prickly? Oppa, your mega-discount—Sang-woo covered it.]
"What?"
Soprano laugh echoed as she spilled.
[Our Sang-woo stepped in. Blanket 10% per goal hurts premium image, so he tuned your dumping ahead: food only for 10%, appliances 5%, furniture 3%. That's the deal.]
"...What?"
[Still, Dad chain-smokes over 15% furniture, 25% electronics giveaways.]
"I'll explain the rest in person—tell bro-in-law I fully back their marriage."
Sigh of relief post-call. He'd fine-tuned my blanket 10%-per-goal into categories? Dodged half-price PCs and luxury furniture disasters... Smart for branding—cheap premium furniture tanks the division's image. Needed that price tweak.
"Good, that's handled. Now..."
Grabbed phone, dialed saved Alice. She said date post-UEFA win—fair call. Ring ready? Heart fluttered dialing...
[Oh no, what to do? At the airport. Called home for September term start.]
"Ah, haha."
"Coming to Korea soon? See you there. Promise to call."
Right—date in Korea. All done, left office.
"Boss, prep's set."
"Police and fire cleared Blackburn today."
"Perfect. Let's roll?"
Trophy next? Car parade, duh. Rented double-deckers, stocked fireworks and champagne. Hopped bus with squad, UEFA Cup in hand.
"Alright, let's go!"
Blackburn citizens packed streets, roaring.
Wild Rovers~ Wild Rovers~
Crowds cheered parade, belting congrats. Captain Southgate lifted Cup from lead bus—roars peaked. Kid said he'd chase trophy teams; already nabbed EFL Cup-FA Cup-Charity Shield-UEFA Cup.
Next vet Paul Ince. Post-Man U, no silverware at Inter, Liverpool. UEFA Cup his first—shook it wild.
Luis Figo. Cup Winners' Cup his only intl before—pure joy. Ballon d'Or, EPL assists king, UEFA champ: peak season. Poured champagne in Cup, showered fans.
Waaaaaaah—WAAAAAAAAH!
Fans erupted at Figo's baptism, chanting praise.
Cup to Baggio next—he cradled it, blew kisses. Age couldn't dim his fantasy star sway over English lasses.
Then Phillips, Baty, Holland, Gattuso, Yoo Sung-chul, Mellberg, Berg, Keown, Barry, Parker, Schmeichel, Friedel, Blooms—squad cycled trophy rites through town.
Coaching staff last; Heynckes hoisted, passed to my tail bus.
"Mr. Lee, finale."
"Rocked Westfalenstadion hard, but..."
For the vibe, thrust it high, soaked final spotlight.
"Next season—more signings, moves."
Heynckes grinned big on targets.
"Need pro right-back. Yoo and Holland utility—not specialists. Active player for Win Now next year."
"On it. Post-break."
Year 1: Kevin Phillips, Peter Schmeichel. Year 2: Baggio, Figo. Year 3: real defense boost.
But first...
Back in Korea. Home quiet—no Dad nag. Revealed Europe branch Q3 record contracts, foreigner buy-up stock surge, Sky Sports broadcast deal investment to Dad and bro.
"UK broadcaster funds this."
"£1.3 billion over 4 years for soccer? Brits pour mad cash into ball games."
"£1.3 bil, Dae-hyun—all yours?"
Laid it out for bro.
"20 teams split even, broadcasters fund over 4 years."
"Still massive."
"UK rights only—overseas adds more potential."
"Sit-and-earn from ops."
"Drop to Championship? Zilch. Premier stay unlocks it—gotta manage."
Explained Prem to clueless Dad/bro on home biz, unveiled Blackburn urban dev too.
"Operate smart, dodge bottom 3—rake rights, tickets for profit."
"Yes."
"Like prime real estate—collect rent."
"That works."
"Sell stars big, feed parent corp?"
"Possible, but fans bail—no tickets. Won't."
"Biz is biz, no?"
No romance... Plenty owners like that—euro disasters incoming cash-grubbers.
Explains done, prepped outing.
"Son, that girl? Kyunggukdae Foundation niece."
"Meeting soon."
"Oh!"
Family mobilized: Dad hands Pt-Philippe ltd watch, bro preps car, sis pulls Michelin pamphlets. Synced perfect when it counts...
Itaewon quiet sports pub. Outskirts, chill—old haunt.
"Western Pub fan? Knew this spot?"
"Regular."
Opposite, Alice Kim downed pints, hot wings, fries. Britpop tracks, jukebox slips for requests.
Alice scribbled, counter—tune switched.
"Ah, this!"
"Radiohead's Creep."
Timeless banger; she hummed.
"Love Thom Yorke, Ed O'Brien."
Beers flowed with groove. Forced start, but grew on him—UK neighbor, soccer chats Korean/English. And... booze tank.
Clink—six pints down, her pale face glowed Osram-soft red.
"Media studies major?"
"Dream: Premier League female panel, soccer columnist."
Born decade later? 'Hot Brit Soccer Girl' YouTube gold.
"Guessing team now? Preston—North End?"
"See~cret."
"Hahaha..."
"But smashing Liverpool in Germany? Pure catharsis. No UEFA Cup for 'em, kyahaha!"
"Hatepool that deep—Everton?"
"Nope!"
Few guesses; prayed not that one.
Drunk-flushed, chin-propped, stared. Crunched celery, spoke.
"That match—blast."
"Thanks."
"Manager tense? Nah—you chain-smoking, chugging more screen."
"Er..."
"Win, then har~d~core~—drape sponsor jersey on Cup, total showman!"
Toast fresh pints; she wiped foam.
"Parents push you—me neither hates it."
"Love it."
Leaned close, fanned fingers.
"Big Ear too?"
"Obviously—UEFA next Champs."
"Boss Lee with Big Ear..."
"Marry then?"
"...Call?"
She accepts—Champs on line? League and UCL left, but sky-gift squads only snag it. When...?
"Pinkie—"
Grin wide, pinky out vice index. Hooked promise, cozy pub exit that night.
Late pub exit to dawn; stumbled from afters. Arm 'round wobbly-waist Alice, escorted home. Hangover soup... next time.
Checked saved-name replies—home blur after.