The Unanswered Business Card
Albert Mielgo was the chief scout for Arsenal of the Premier League.
He had been spending his vacation in his hometown of Valencia, Spain, when he happened to catch sight of a boy.
The moment he watched the boy train, a smile crept across Albert's face before he even realized it.
So I've finally come across a genuinely promising young footballer.
Watching a diligent youth prospect was always a pleasure.
"Hola."
And so he approached the boy, who was taking a short break before his next drill, and struck up a conversation. His goal was to suggest that the boy come to Arsenal for a trial whenever he had the time.
It was the most impulsive move of his entire scouting career, yet somehow he felt he would regret it strangely if he simply walked past without saying a word.
Truthfully, scouting based purely on a single training session like today's was rare.
Unlike professionals, who had to prove themselves the moment they signed, youth players were given time to grow—so such patience was only possible at that level.
Now that I'm up close, he looks even younger than I thought.
The greatest asset a youth player possessed was, without question, time. Anything the boy lacked could simply be filled in at the academy before his professional debut.
Judging by his age, he seemed to have plenty of time to shore up his weaknesses before turning pro.
...But is there actually anything left for him to fill in?
Albert Mielgo searched his memory of the training boy for weaknesses, but none came to mind.
Setting aside the physical gaps natural to his young age, the boy already felt like a technically complete footballer.
I'll have to push a little harder in my pitch.
Perhaps today, he had uncovered a raw gem even finer than he'd imagined.
But the moment he moved to make his pitch in earnest—
a man holding a camera came scrambling over and shielded the boy behind him.
Oh. I got carried away and made a mistake.
Only then did Albert Mielgo realize his error—
the fact that the boy had been in the middle of a broadcast shoot all along.
He understood now that the situation could easily have been misread.
The unwritten rule across Europe lately was not to approach a child too closely without a guardian present.
The surge of migrants from Africa had left public safety across Europe considerably shaken.
In the past, such incidents had mostly been petty crimes like pickpocketing.
But recently, migrants had begun committing violent offenses as well—abducting children, forcibly converting them to Islam, then demanding money from their parents.
"Oh, my. So you were filming. My apologies."
Before the misunderstanding could deepen, he handed over his business card and exchanged farewells with the boy, who wore a blank, impassive expression.
To a scout who had met countless prospects, that attitude was remarkably striking.
He had never once seen a child remain so indifferent in front of a scout from a club called Arsenal.
Well, this should be enough. Asians rate the Premier League above everything else, after all.
Gazing at the boy, Albert Mielgo became certain he would hear from him no later than tonight.
The business card he'd handed over bore the name of the prestigious club, Arsenal.
...Maybe tomorrow, then?
But no matter how long the scout waited, no call ever came from Joo Jae-rim.
And the moment he realized that the boy he'd met—the genius from Korea Ronaldo had mentioned—was the very same boy...
was still a fair while in the future.
***
"What? A-Arsenal?"
Hearing that his son had received a scouting offer from Arsenal of the Premier League, his father was visibly stunned.
Hmm. Is it really that big a deal?
The match against Valencia's youth team had ended, and Valencia had already extended their own invitation to join their academy.
To me, Arsenal and Valencia made little difference either way.
But to my father, the name Arsenal of the Premier League evidently carried real weight. He was visibly buzzing over the name alone.
Is it because he grew up in the Son Hong-bin era?
Come to think of it, maybe.
My father's childhood coincided with the years Son Hong-bin spent dominating the Premier League at his peak.
I couldn't pin down exactly when, but I remembered that when I'd declared I would become a footballer, he'd told me to become a player who represented the nation—someone like Son Hong-bin.
That was how popular the Premier League was among Asian fans, Korea included.
While Real Madrid and FC Barcelona had set their sights on conquering North America, the Premier League clubs had run steady Asian tours, steadily consolidating their fan base there.
Or was it the other way around?
Perhaps it was the sight of the Premier League gripping the Asian market so firmly that had driven La Liga's giants toward North America.
Either way, I had no intention of reaching out first.
I'm the party with the leverage here. Why on earth would I volunteer to be the supplicant?
The product known as 'me' is a one-of-a-kind item, the only one of its kind in the world.
Meanwhile, shops eager to display that product were hardly limited to Arsenal.
I didn't care if it was a lower-table club. I was confident I could raise any team I joined to the level of a title contender.
In other words, they were the ones in a hurry—not me.
I hadn't given the Arsenal scout my number, so he had no way to contact me, but I wasn't particularly bothered.
He'll figure something out. Ronaldo managed to get in touch just fine on his own.
As I said, I wasn't the one under pressure here.
And that evening—
having apparently heard the news about the Arsenal scout, the Main PD came strolling into our lodging with a grin splitting his face from ear to ear.
So that's how far the corners of a human mouth can actually rise.
It didn't take long for the Main PD's grin to freeze solid.
"Jae-Jae-rim. Why won't you contact them?"
I gave the Main PD's question a perfunctory answer. Explaining it all again was a hassle.
***
To PD Hwang Hyun-woo, Joo Jae-rim was a superstar.
The kind who drove him mad in every conceivable way.
It felt like only yesterday that the boy had turned down Cristiano Ronaldo's dinner invitation.
And barely any time after that, he'd landed another jackpot: an Arsenal scout.
"Coach Joo, what on earth is going on? An Arsenal scout, out of nowhere?"
Objectively speaking, the ripple effect was smaller than Cristiano Ronaldo's.
But an Arsenal scout was still more than enough material to bait Korean audiences.
"First of all, calm down."
At Joo Sang-hyun's words, PD Hwang Hyun-woo began taking deep breaths.
But the effect was negligible...!
"How am I supposed to calm down?! That Arsenal! The business card! Where's the business card the scout gave you?"
Joo Sang-hyun swallowed a wry smile at the sight of him.
He had reacted in much the same way himself, after all.
"Jae-rim has it."
Which meant he could predict exactly how Hwang Hyun-woo would respond to the next remark.
"Did you try calling the number on the card? Is the guy really an Arsenal scout?"
"Haven't called."
"Huh? Why not?!"
"He says he won't."
"Huh?"
"Said that reaching out first would lower his own value, so he refuses."
That day.
Hwang Hyun-woo experienced the world going blurry before his eyes for the first time in his life.
***
The kid who had made the racist gesture was released from Valencia's youth team.
The owner, Cristiano Ronaldo, had ordered that the matter be handled firmly.
Incidentally, I learned this because Cristiano Ronaldo contacted me personally to tell me.
...How the hell does this bastard have my number?
It had to have leaked from the production staff.
Maybe it was because South Korea was a country that leaked personal information every time you blinked.
A fair number of Koreans seemed to think handing out a phone number was no big deal at all.
I let the Main PD know, making my displeasure reasonably clear, and received an apology from the production crew for the unauthorized disclosure of my number.
The staff member who'd handed over my number explained that they'd shared it because they thought it would help me.
What I couldn't understand was why they—not the person actually affected—got to make that judgment call.
It's all excuses. They just got excited chatting with Ronaldo and ran their mouths, didn't they?
That seemed like the slightly more plausible explanation.
Anyway.
Back to the matter at hand: Ronaldo, it turned out, hadn't originally intended to go so far as a release.
The problem was the kid's attitude—no remorse whatsoever even after the racist incident.
Cristiano Ronaldo judged that the boy would cause a serious scandal someday, and decided on the release.
Valencia's staff likewise agreed with his position.
Since letting it slide could poison the other youth players, they chose to act decisively, and Valencia also resolved to strengthen its education programs on racism for all its youth players.
That said.
I found Cristiano Ronaldo's messages strange.
...Why is he explaining all this to me, point by point?
The overall tone felt oddly like: look how hard we're working over here, so please give joining Valencia some consideration at least once.
Weren't things bad between me and Ronaldo until now?
I didn't know what had brought it on, but there was no denying that an opportunity to improve relations with Ronaldo had opened up.
But actually patching things up with Cristiano Ronaldo?
Not an easy task.
He and I clashed on personality and plenty of other fronts.
For starters, this bastard talks way too much.
The truly unforgivable part was that half of his messages were pure self-praise.
I left Cristiano Ronaldo's text barrage unanswered, sent him one final message telling him that the defender who had kept reacting to my movement throughout the practice match was decent and worth developing, and then blocked his notifications.
***
A few days later.
Having wrapped up filming in Valencia, Fly World Class 11 moved on to their next filming location: Barcelona.
The overseas shooting schedule was set to conclude with the match against Barcelona.
"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Hwang Hyun-woo, producer of Fly World Class 11."
The day PD Hwang Hyun-woo arrived in Barcelona, he exchanged greetings with the club's youth officials.
"A pleasure, Hwang. I am Joan Soler, director of Barcelona's youth system. And this is Alejandro Gómez, head coach of FC Barcelona's Alevín squad."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Alejandro Gómez, coach of Alevín A."
Had he known anything about Spain's youth system, he might have found the mention of the Alevín category odd—but regrettably, Hwang Hyun-woo knew little about the Spanish academy structure.
People say Spaniards run small, but they're Western kids after all—guess they're big by default.
So when he saw the Barcelona prospects standing a full head taller than his cast, he simply marveled in the most innocent way.
Hwang Hyun-woo was that frazzled at the moment. As the man in charge on-site, he had a dozen things demanding his attention.
...Still, why are they being so proactive all of a sudden?
PD Hwang Hyun-woo felt bewildered by Barcelona's eager cooperation—a stark contrast to the arrogant way they'd negotiated back in Korea.
"So then, when will we be able to meet this Jae-rim boy?"
At the Barcelona official's follow-up, Hwang Hyun-woo finally understood.
I knew it—it was all about Jae-rim.
Barcelona was, at present, thoroughly fired up.
They were so eager to meet Joo Jae-rim that they had volunteered to arrange a meeting with Lionel Messi of their own accord.
And so, through the Barcelona officials, word arrived that on the day of the match—
Lionel Messi himself would be visiting the set. Hwang Hyun-woo could not suppress the smile spreading across his face.
That's our Jae-rim. The boy is a walking ratings goldmine.
PD Hwang Hyun-woo's gaze drifted naturally toward Joo Jae-rim, his eyes brimming with affection.
Messi's coming on the show—so what was an Arsenal scout, again?
The matter of Joo Jae-rim flatly refusing to contact the Arsenal scout had long since faded from his memory.