The GMs' Catfight
"Who is it?"
"Ma'am, i-it's Daniel."
"Come in."
Han Ye-jin's icy voice sent a chill racing up Daniel's spine.
He swallowed hard and eased the door open with trembling care.
"Sit."
Han Ye-jin was expressionless.
The blank mask only ratcheted his tension higher.
Fuck...
A curse unfit for his position nearly slipped out.
And small wonder—Han Ye-jin had a reputation for flipping tables and raising hell over anything that rubbed her wrong.
This eerie calm of hers terrified Daniel more than any outburst ever could.
"Look at this."
Han Ye-jin spun her laptop screen toward him. On it played footage of Cha Kang-min weaving magic with the ball before burying it in the net.
They watched the clip from start to finish in heavy silence before she spoke, her voice level and probing.
"What is this?"
"W-well, that's..."
"Why the stutter? Can't speak properly?"
"I'm sorry."
"So. What is it? Footage from London City's training ground, I hear?"
Daniel's face drained to ashen gray. He groped for excuses, but her eyes—cold and gleaming—choked every word in his throat.
"When I told you to snag Cha Kang-min, what did you say?"
"...You just leave it to me. I'll squeeze him dry."
"And this is the result of leaving it to you?"
Han Ye-jin slammed her palm on the desk and shot to her feet.
"I trusted you, Daniel. And now that player's suiting up for London City? A half-assed upstart club that's only just started throwing money around—worse than us?"
"That's..."
"No stuttering!"
Bang!
The nameplate she hurled dented the steel cabinet with a sickening crunch.
"It was just a visit! H-he didn't sign! He was just spectating!"
Daniel blurted it out in desperation.
The humiliation burned—cowering before this girl young enough to be his daughter, spilling his guts like this.
But there were no excuses left.
He'd failed to hold Cha Kang-min.
Failed to bully and bleed him dry.
Failed to spot the London City offer sniffing around.
All of it on him.
"I'm sorry. I... I was too focused on the club's finances."
"Finances?"
"Y-yes. With Leo Silva's signing draining our funds, I figured we'd squeeze where we could."
"Ah, so you're saying I fucked up running this club. That it?"
Han Ye-jin crossed her arms, drumming her fingers.
Daniel blanched bone-white and bowed his head in frantic apology.
"Of course not! You bringing in Leo Silva—a starter-caliber striker from a big club—is something a second-division team could only dream of..."
"Exactly! The owner herself lands a top-tier striker, and you can't even corral some busted-ass cripple?!"
Daniel took the water bottle she chucked square in the chest without dodging.
His one smart move in this meeting.
Her voice dropped an octave, at least.
"You're the GM. The GM. It's your job to make the impossible happen."
"I'm sorry, truly..."
"Enough."
Han Ye-jin cut him off with a raised hand. She sank back into her chair, composed once more.
"Cha Kang-min. Get him. Chairman wants him."
"Ch-Chairman? You mean Dae-seong Group's chairman?"
Daniel faltered. He knew Han Ye-jin's obsession with Cha Kang-min ran deeper than talent alone.
But the Dae-seong Group chairman? This was bigger than he'd imagined.
If London City steals him now, I'm dead meat.
A cold sweat prickled his skin.
"Go to London City right now and drag that bastard back. Today."
"...Yes, ma'am."
"And Daniel."
She called his name.
"This is your last chance. Got it?"
Cold sweat soaked his back. He nodded, rising unsteadily.
"I'll head out immediately."
"Now."
Her frigid command chased him out the door.
London City's GM William hunched over his budget Ikea desk, grunting in thought.
He'd spent long minutes reviewing the contract terms Cha Kang-min had just proposed, silence hanging thick, before finally speaking.
"An intriguing offer."
After watching Cha Kang-min's footage.
William had rushed it through the club's cutting-edge player evaluation system.
The algorithm pegged him at B- grade.
Rotation-level asset for the team.
Which freed up even more budget for Cha Kang-min.
London City measured player value through this system.
Desperate to sign him, William had counteroffered tweaks to the terms.
Cha Kang-min had agreed, and this was the proposal he'd mulled over and delivered.
"A truly intriguing proposal."
But Cha Kang-min's terms were boldly aggressive.
▶ Base Salary: £1,100 weekly (annual approx. £57,000)
▶ Performance Bonuses:
- 10 goals: additional £600,000
- 15 goals: additional £1.2 million
- 20 goals: additional £1.8 million
- 25 goals + team promotion: additional £3 million
▶ Appearance Guarantees (or contract termination):
- After 5 goals: 10 starts guaranteed
- After 10 goals: 20 starts guaranteed
"25 goals plus promotion nets £3.057 million total."
William muttered. That topped Leo Silva's Ashbery Town salary by £60,000.
"Precisely."
Cha Kang-min replied evenly.
"But if unmet, just the base?"
"Yes. In exchange, failure to guarantee playing time voids the deal."
William's brow arched.
"Harsh terms on yourself."
"No risk, no reward."
William smirked at the response.
Soccer players are predators, through and through.
He mused inwardly.
Anyone could see this was a shot across Leo Silva's bow.
Max bonuses beating him by £60k.
Whatever grudge tied these two, William wasn't idiot enough to let personal curiosity torpedo the deal.
"Agreed. We'll review by tomorrow morning and be in touch."
William stood, extending his hand.
"Hope we can make it happen, Cha Kang-min."
Cha Kang-min rose and clasped it firmly.
"Me too."
A London café.
I claimed the window seat, sipping my coffee in a daze.
He's actually considering that insane proposal.
Truth be told, I'd thrown it out half-expecting rejection.
£3.057 million.
A symbolic sum, packed with my vow to crush Leo Silva.
...Soccer for me alone—for devouring others.
It embodied my renewed philosophy.
Rejection meant I'd counter at 50% above their original offer.
But review it he would.
London City's lost its mind too.
From the GM to the incoming manager.
I was already itching to see what madness awaited there.
That's when it happened.
"Cha Kang-min?"
The familiar voice made me turn. Daniel panted into the café, red-faced and desperate.
"Daniel?"
"Took some finding."
He dropped into the seat across from me, sweat beading on his brow.
"How'd you..."
"Asked Tae-young. Said this is your spot."
...That punk.
Was he pitting London City against Ashbery for kicks?
Always meddling in bullshit.
I let out a quiet sigh as Daniel caught his breath.
"Let's talk contract."
"Contract?"
"Yes. New terms."
He pulled an envelope from his bag and slid it over.
£520k.
I was stunned.
This cheapskate offering me half a mil?
"Why the sudden... Can the club even afford it?"
"Money? Hell if I know. Good's good, right?"
Daniel shoved a pen at me.
"Sign already. I've got meetings lined up—loans, collateral, whatever it takes."
I took the pen but paused, cap still on, lost in thought.
"What? No signing? Do it quick—we gotta hit the bank."
Daniel pressed.
I laid out my hesitation plain.
"I'm already negotiating with another team."
"I know. That's why I'm here."
His face twisted.
"Kang-min. You aren't trying to haggle more, are you? What, skip breakfast meds or...? No, sorry. Sign. Meeting's waiting."
Still the same shitty attitude.
But my mindset had shifted.
I had one burning goal now.
Leo Silva under my boot.
So.
"£3.057 million."
"...Pardon?"
"No less, no sign."
Daniel stared, dumbfounded.
Then.
"Ha!"
He snorted derisively.
"What, off your meds? £3 million?"
"Daniel."
"This is insane. You think I'm joking?"
"Calm down. The terms."
"All you Koreans gone nuts? I'm this close to losing it..."
That's when.
"Excuse me."
A new voice cut in.
Daniel and I whipped our heads sideways.
"William?"
There stood London City's GM William, contract in hand.