The Disciple Certification Contract
The moment Joo Jae-rim unleashed his celebration, Cristiano Ronaldo felt a shiver so violent it nearly sent his hair standing on end.
Having emptied himself of every last ounce of emotion, Ronaldo soon sank deep into thought.
...Isn't there a good way to let the world know that Jaerimi is my disciple?
For all the effort Ronaldo had poured in so far, the public perception that Joo Jae-rim was his disciple was, in practice, nonexistent.
Because Jae-rim never once mentioned his mentor in interviews.
Looks like we'll be needing a new contract.
What he needed, clearly, was a document that would prove the relationship between himself and Joo Jae-rim—not the words of a mentor in name only.
The match carried on long after Joo Jae-rim's hat-trick, and once the second half passed the twentieth minute, manager Julián Cortés Navarro pulled Jae-rim from the game, exactly as they had discussed in the locker room.
"Jaerimi! What a beautiful celebration that was!"
The instant Ronaldo spotted Jae-rim stepping off the pitch, he was the first to rise from his seat and begin a standing ovation.
Clap clap─!
"Vamos! Jaerimi! Here's to next season as well!"
"Oh, Jaerimi! Dios de Fútbol! ...marca un gol! (Oh, Jaerimi! God of football! He's scored yet again!)"
Sparked by Ronaldo, the Valencia faithful's standing ovation rippled outward until it thundered through the entire stadium.
Hm... that'll look good on the broadcast cameras.
The match continued even after Jae-rim's substitution, but the result no longer mattered to Cristiano Ronaldo in the slightest.
After all, he had already accomplished the purpose of attending today's game in person.
Cristiano Ronaldo was hyping me up hard for making the Golden Boy shortlist.
And his attitude left me thoroughly unsettled.
Seriously, I can't get used to this. What the hell is wrong with this guy?
In a previous life, when I'd won the Ballon d'Or at the youngest age ever, it was Ronaldo who whined that France Football was pandering to 'Asia'.
Granted, we were on better terms than in the past—but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined him backing me this openly...
"Did he seriously eat something bad?"
"I haven't eaten anything."
"That wasn't aimed at you, Eunbi."
"Oh! Okay, then I'm going back to my game."
My little sister butted in mid-conversation and briefly derailed my train of thought, but the point stands: Cristiano Ronaldo's words carry a surprising amount of weight.
He was, after all, a legendary footballer who once stood shoulder to shoulder with Lionel Messi—and the owner of a club in one of Europe's big four leagues.
The moment Ronaldo publicly endorsed me, I could see public opinion swinging hard in my favor.
At this rate, I really might become the youngest Golden Boy winner ever...
Truthfully, I felt nothing in particular about winning the Golden Boy or the Ballon d'Or anymore.
Still, if I meant to surpass Lionel Messi, it was better to hoover up every award I possibly could.
But what I truly hadn't expected was Lionel Messi's declaration of support.
And the ripple effect of Messi's statement hit a notch harder than Cristiano Ronaldo's.
Unlike Ronaldo, who habitually broadcast his every thought on social media, Messi generally refrained from voicing his opinions in public.
Whether Ronaldo had been deeply moved by Messi's interview, he put out a new one with a distinctly familiar flavor to it, but...
Astonishingly, nobody paid it any attention.
"What are you going to do over the vacation, sweetheart?"
"...Training?"
When my mother's face clouded over, I hastily added, "And I'll probably make a quick trip back to Korea for an ad shoot."
My mother worried about me—about how I never socialized with kids my own age and trained day in, day out.
That said, she only worried. She never tried to force me to live the way she wanted.
Because she saw her children not as her possessions, but as full human beings in their own right.
The single greatest stroke of luck across countless regressions was being born to parents like these.
I have to do better by them.
Anyway, after the Barcelona and Atlético Madrid matches, my mother's YouTube channel had seen its subscriber count explode yet again. Even though she'd never told a soul that she ran the channel, word had apparently gotten around somehow, and the numbers kept growing steadily.
Most likely because I didn't use social media, this channel was the only place people could hear news about me.
The most recent upload was flooded with comments begging for a new video.
But my mother had been busy with one thing and another lately, so the upload cycle itself had stretched longer.
Well...
That was only possible because she never ran the channel for the money.
Which, incidentally, proved the haters wrong without her even trying—the ones who'd claimed it was all a scheme to cash in on her child's fame.
These days, my mother had been making the rounds of Valencia's neighborhoods doing volunteer work with the friends she'd made. She was finally settling into life in Spain.
When she told me she'd be going out volunteering, I spoke to my agent and hired a bodyguard to take responsibility for my family's safety.
Unfortunately, the years I'd lived were far too many to put my faith in the fundamental goodness of humanity.
"Imagine living long enough to see myself filming and editing a Ronaldo documentary...."
Meanwhile, my father was putting the finishing touches on the documentary about Ronaldo that he'd shot with his own two hands.
The release of the documentary Ronaldo had invested his own money in was right around the corner.
For the record, the documentary had been picked up by the very same OTT platform that had produced Fly World Class 11.
"Jaerim, you're really not going to appear in the documentary? Ronaldo asked me to ask you one more time."
Oh, and I'd turned down the role of young Ronaldo that he'd offered me.
Because me—an Asian kid—playing the childhood double of a white Ronaldo looked wrong no matter how you sliced it.
What baffled me was that the OTT platform had made the exact same request.
...What? Am I the only one who thinks different races make this weird?
For a fleeting second, I even wondered—had I been living my life making decisions that defied common sense?
Well... even setting the race issue aside, I had no intention of playing young Ronaldo.
I still couldn't get a read on whether plastering Ronaldo's image over mine would help my brand or hurt it.
And there was also the fact that I had no idea when or what kind of disaster Cristiano Ronaldo might cause—worrisome, that.
Then again, itching for attention the way he is, he's about due to pull some stunt or other...
A strong premonition told me that before long, Cristiano Ronaldo would either summon me or cause a spectacular incident.
Well, not my problem.
Even if Ronaldo caused a catastrophe, cleaning it up was the Valencia staff's job, not mine.
Meanwhile, at that very moment, Valencia CF.
At present, Valencia CF was finally seeing the end of a long, long ice age.
The employee who had dared speak the name of Valencia's 'Voldemort'—Lionel Messi—had also been safely reinstated (?).
With a 'temporary' peace restored, the staff had at long last rediscovered how to smile.
"You saw it yesterday, right? Jaerimi did the boss's celebration at the match. So he's in a wonderful mood right now."
"Seriously? All that, from just that?"
"Who knows. He's a being beyond the comprehension of ordinary people like us."
The employees of Valencia CF were, for the first time in ages, enjoying a peaceful daily life.
And they prayed that this peace would last.
"Thank you, Jaerimi!"
"Jaerimi, you're our hero!"
Receiving cryptic words of gratitude from the entire Valencia staff, I headed toward the general manager's office alongside my agent.
"What was all that about? Jaerim, did you do something for the Valencia employees?"
My agent asked, puzzled by the staff's strange reaction.
"No, I haven't done anything. Why are they acting like that?"
I couldn't exactly answer his question.
Because I had no idea why they were acting like that either.
In any case, the reason we were headed to the general manager's office was simple.
Today, once again like clockwork, the Valencia general manager had announced he had something to discuss regarding contracts.
Let me guess—Cristiano Ronaldo wants to tack on another bizarre clause.
Just my personal opinion, but Cristiano Ronaldo was a tree that gave without reserve.
Apparently pleased with the last celebration, he'd even handed me a 'special bonus'—an enormous sum.
All I'll say is that the amount I received back then was roughly comparable to my goal bonuses for scoring a hat-trick.
In any case—
The moment I opened the door to the general manager's office and stepped inside—
The place had become so familiar from visiting so often that it barely registered anymore.
And there, on the table, sat the usual contract.
"Another contract today, I see."
"Hahaha... yes."
I'd caught myself actually looking forward to what fresh, novel contract would surprise us this time.
...Have I become a Ronaldo fanboy without realizing it?
There it was.
At some point, I had started anticipating Ronaldo's lunacy.
And a short while later.
"A genuinely original contract again this time."
"Haha, right?"
My agent and I picked it up as naturally as ever and marveled at it once more.
...A 'Certified Disciple Verification Contract'? Now that's fresh.
Of course, just because the contents were hilarious didn't mean I was accepting the deal.
This was a matter of pride for my entire football career.
"Cris, I'm sorry, but you can't play football for shit."
And so, that day—
Stung properly by my words, Cristiano Ronaldo tried to post news of my dismissal to his social media—
and I got to watch, in real time, as the Valencia employees desperately wrestled the phone out of his hands.