Financial Crisis? Budget Overrun? Nothing of the Sort.
"Dae-hyun, what the hell are we gonna do? The trading division's about to get wrecked."
"What the fuck is this bolt from the blue?"
It was late at night Korean time when the call came from my brother. A massive bomb had dropped at headquarters, and that's why he'd reached out to me.
"Unilateral cancellation with time left on the contract?"
Words fail me. How the hell do we even...?
"How big are the damages?"
The Busan operations are facing a total sales meltdown next year.
Daeyang Group was the company my father started in construction, marrying my mother, the daughter of a Busan shoe factory owner. And that Busan shoe factory was now one of the group's core businesses—a golden goose with an OEM contract to Nikea in the US, shipping over 15 million pairs annually plus 7% commission as the domestic distributor. We prided ourselves on world-class shoe manufacturing tech, with sales in the hundreds of billions of won.
We geared up for 30 million pairs in OEM production within five years—new presses, factory expansions, all state-of-the-art—and now Nikea wants out with a penalty fee.
"Even with the penalty, they're walking away."
Word is there's a Chinese outfit with plants pumping over 100 million pairs a year. They're heading that way.
OEM business, China, three times our scale... It all fit together too perfectly, making my neck tense up. Those bastards must've crunched the numbers and had some connections over there. This never happened in my past life—back then, I scaled us to 70 million pairs by the 2020s, hitting 1.6 trillion won in shoe sales alone! Was this because I wasn't there?
"So what's the plan right now?"
My brother sounded frantic on the other end, probably flipping through emergency contingency papers the execs had whipped up.
First off, use Nikea's penalty to cover the expansion costs. Dad's heading to their US HQ himself. Can't just let the factory sit idle after completion next year.
"The contract break news alone will tank Daeyang Global's stock tomorrow morning, and what about the distribution division's foreign brand displays?"
Th-that...
I sighed and jotted notes in the notepad in front of me with my pen.
"Even if Chairman goes to Nikea HQ, it's gonna be tough. When Dad gets back, hold an official press conference. Frame it as 'Nikea's unilateral contract breach'—not our fault. Make public opinion turn against them. Run a fire sale on the warehouse stock. And announce that the European division is directly visiting major sportswear HQs to scout new partners."
Got it. We'll prep that first.
By now, the execs were probably in an all-night emergency meeting, scrambling. I couldn't head there right away, so I'd have to keep checking in by phone... Wait.
"What about the home ground sponsorship from Daeyang Global's trading division?"
Oh, that... Payment might be delayed. That okay?
"...We have to repay the Scottish Royal Bank loan this week."
...
"I'll make it work somehow."
Worst case, sell some personal shares and cover it myself...
Out on the training pitch, the players were grinding through preseason drills, and I wandered aimlessly before plopping down on a bench.
"Goddamn it."
Of all things, the shoes on my feet were that fucking Nikea pair. I kicked them off into the trash.
Whump.
"Whoa, boss. Why toss perfectly good shoes?"
"Luis?"
Figo, fresh off training and on break, picked my shoes out of the bin.
"These are Ace Jordan—limited edition."
He shook his head, walking over to hand them back as he sat beside me. Sweat-soaked, fur matted across his body, he radiated raw beastliness that was almost intimidating. Not knowing why I was pissed, he patted my back to cheer me up, but his feet caught my eye.
"Shit."
"Hm?"
"Figo, your shoes are Nikea too."
"T-90! Nikea's special cleats for S-tier sponsored players only. They hug the foot perfectly—love 'em."
"Switch to another sportswear brand soon."
"What?!"
"Can't guarantee quality anymore if it's Chinese-made."
"???"
Somehow, we ended up chatting on the bench.
"Boss, transfer window's still open, right?"
"Yeah, a few targets lined up."
"Any room in central midfield?"
"Van Bommel, Gattuso, Scott Parker... Shift Yoo Sung-chul and Barry wide, maybe."
"Figo got a call from old mate Futre. My friend's aged a bit but wants an England challenge."
"How old?"
"Thirty-two. Bit long in the tooth, but one of Portugal's Golden Generation. Ran with me, Rui Costa, and Pinto at Euro 2000."
Saying "Portugal's Golden Generation" himself—Figo had that subtle self-aggrandizing vibe, like he was one of the all-time greats.
I needed to sort the Busan factory first before transfers, but it piqued my interest.
"What's his name?"
"Paulo Bento. At Sporting now."
"...?"
"A million euros, he says. Plus, Futre's repaying that 'old debt' with just 5% agent fee."
Even in this mess, some payback gesture? And Figo, who might leave next year, recommending a Portuguese teammate to Blackburn. Bento would be welcome—left nothing but good memories in Korea, after all.
"I'll reach out."
"Just get me one Portuguese-speaker in the squad."
Heading to the office first thing, I got mobbed by a pack of reporters.
"Mr. Lee, is it true the parent company's in crisis?"
"Heard you're seeking debt extension on the Scottish Royal Bank loan—is this season's spending too reckless?"
"Where the hell did you hear that...?"
They'd been staking out the parking lot.
"Leeds United declared austerity this season, and Liverpool's offloading players after missing Champions League."
"Grateful for Champs League quals, but no more signings for a bit?"
"Parent stock drop affecting finances?"
These guys researched foreign stock markets just to pounce? With Leeds and Liverpool's woes, they eyed our big-spending Blackburn like fresh meat.
"Listen up—Blackburn's fine. The Scottish Royal Bank loan's a long-term debt from Jack Walker's era. I'll cover it personally if needed and repay on time. No worries."
"Ah, gotcha. False alarm."
"And right here: On Luis Figo's recommendation, we're signing another from Portugal's Golden Generation. After Thuram and Van Bommel, we're not done. Mark my words."
"Whoa, for real?"
"Just write the good stuff about Blackburn!"
Suddenly declaring it in the parking lot, the reporters grinned and scattered with their scoop. I dug into club admin assets, then headed to the Daeyang Group Blackburn office. Kim, the London rep, and top execs were all there.
"Sir, we pulled files after hearing from Chairman."
Kim showed hastily prepped plans.
"Chief Choi at the German ops mentioned Herso, Herzo-something..."
"Herzogenaurach. Industrial town in Bavaria—home to Adidas and Puma HQs."
"Right. Nikea bailed, so scout others for OEM."
"And sales team pitching Reebok near Bolton."
Once Britain's top sportswear, they even named Bolton's stadium Reebok Stadium—Henry did Korea tours as ambassador, that water-bomb header too.
"Feels workable. It's trade, but sports-linked."
"Stick here as control tower for now, Kim. I'll scout separately."
"Yes, VP."
Blackburn funding plus HQ losses—shared fight. Amid the chaos, Park the deputy brought team kits.
"VP, this."
"Our uniforms? Figo 7 on back."
"No, front here."
Blackburn kits by Italian sponsor Kappa—famous intertwined man-woman logo.
"Contact Italian ops for Whistles, Lotto, or Kappa?"
"Call Director Jung Ki-cheol now!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Hold up! That kit!"
I snatched the Blackburn uniform from Park and bolted to the chairman's office, digging out the Kappa sponsor contract.
"$38 million USD for five years—not peanuts, but not huge."
Fired up the computer, searching Nikea's US ops. Their stock was climbing—soccer fueled it.
Nikea lured Man U, ditching Umbro for a monster deal.
"Cut costs max with Chinese factories, mass-produce, then kit-sponsor top clubs to hawk brands in the Third World, huh?"
Answer time. Company woes started it—soccer would solve it. I called Kim.
Yes, VP?
"Let's check Umbro."
Yes—wait, what?!
Umbro—double diamond logo, England NT kit sponsor, Manchester local firm.
"Umbro lost Man U as main sponsor—they're hunting big-club kits. Plus our shoe ops."
Got it. On it.
Where there's a will, there's a way. One man's trash...
Met Umbro CEO Harold Jackson in Manchester for real talks.
"First 30 years, then 10 more from '92. As Manchester's own, we were perfect partners for United."
Harold gnashed his teeth, ripping into Man U.
"Betrayal! Pure betrayal! Local team dumps hometown sponsor like trash for Nikea? Chairman's furious."
"I get it."
"Our staff wanna boycott Old Trafford."
We nodded at the raging CEO.
"What'd you offer Man U?"
"!"
"Price gap killed it. How much?"
"...£200 million for 10-year extension."
Nikea at ~£24M per season, Umbro £20M—close, but Nikea won.
"Straight talk: Invest that in us?"
"Wh-what?"
"Our Kappa kit deal ends next year. You lose Man U; we need a fat, quality sportswear sponsor."
"Er, well."
"Sure, £200M for Man U-scale might sting for us. But check this project."
Sent docs on Nikea's penalty-hit Korean shoe factory. Umbro, seeking cheap Third World labor, lit up.
"This is huge!"
"We both got screwed by Man U and Nikea. Let's team up and fuck 'em both."
At least £150-200M kit deal for Blackburn, then Busan shoes via Umbro et al OEM. Umbro brass came, Asia reps checked Korea factories, we tuned Manchester plants, and they even negotiated our bank loan smoothly.
Result...
Told ya—Blackburn finances? 'No issues.' Daeyang HQ negotiated Umbro into Nikea's spot, tight UK-Korea links buzzing. Anyway, Blackburn's coffers swelled further. Transfer market, here we come!