Contract Renewal
Director Kwon Ju-hwan was sweating cold as he eyed Oliver Williams, the players’ representative who had come to Jeonbuk’s clubhouse to discuss Baek Yi-an’s full professional contract.
Kwon Ju-hwan had spent over three years at Jeonbuk as the director in charge of player acquisitions. Whether that counted as short or long, the job had shown him every type of person imaginable. He could say that with confidence.
It was routine to deal with players who completely misjudged their own worth, or agents who quoted absurdly low figures that made you wonder if they even understood market value. Every so often he even ran into the kind of lunatic who casually tossed out proposals so deranged you had to ask yourself if the man was feeling all right.
After facing that many villains, Kwon had quietly reached the point where he could classify the people sitting across from him. And in his considered opinion, the hardest type of all was the one who knew exactly what his player was worth and used that knowledge to walk a tightrope with the club.
Try to pick apart their nonsense and they slipped free through some gap you never even noticed them planting. Try to settle things safely and they seized the initiative like they’d been waiting for that exact moment, then forced through insane contract terms. Watching them work made you understand, for a fleeting second, why murderers kill people.
“Mmm. The tea is excellent. Buckwheat tea, was it? Haha, I personally prefer green tea a little more, but this isn’t bad at all. The roasted buckwheat at the bottom is delightfully crunchy.”
Crunchy my ass. I’d like to crunch your skull, you bastard.
Oliver Williams, sitting in as Baek Yi-an’s agent, was giving Kwon Ju-hwan a firsthand lesson in what murderous impulse actually felt like.
The first time Kwon had laid eyes on him he’d wondered what kind of guy this even was. Most K-League players signed with domestic agents, so contract talks were almost always conducted with Korean representatives. That experience was probably why the sight of some vaguely dopey-looking foreigner had caught him so off guard.
The man had stood there grinning about how the Jeonbuk clubhouse looked better than most European facilities, then started babbling about how the quiet roads of Wanju reminded him of Europe. Honestly, looking at Oliver’s simple, open face, Kwon had thought the negotiation might go surprisingly smoothly.
There was a language barrier, sure, but Jeonbuk brought in foreign players often enough that they had staff fluent in English. And a quick glance at Oliver’s résumé had left Kwon unimpressed.
He’s been in the business a while, but no real results to speak of. Recently managed to move one Belgian-league player to the EPL—that’s about it.
With a track record like that, there should have been plenty of agents circling. Kwon almost wanted to ask Baek Yi-an why on earth he’d signed with this guy.
At the time he’d simply figured Yi-an must have been that hungry for a move abroad, and decided that compared to the snake-like domestic agents he usually dealt with, this would be a much easier opponent. Then the meeting began—and he understood at once.
“Hmm? So you’d like to raise the salary and options and extend the contract term from three years to five. I’m aware that K-League rookie contracts typically run three to five years. But as I’ve said repeatedly, what we want is a buyout clause. If that’s included, lengthening the term is no problem. How about adding something around the 2.5-billion-won level? Oh, by the way—can I get a refill of the buckwheat tea?”
I’m actually going to lose my mind.
The original masters of contract gamesmanship weren’t domestic—they were foreign. The snakes Kwon had faced until now were nothing; the man sitting across from him was a basilisk. The English agent, smiling the whole time, had already slipped several little tricks into the paperwork, and Kwon was ready to climb the walls.
“Haa… so if we sum up the player side’s position, you want a base salary of 600 million won, plus appearance bonuses, performance incentives tied to wins, goals, and assists, and a buyout in the 2.5-billion-won range. Is that correct?”
“Well, that should express our Yi-an’s value nicely. Even if not, if the club truly understands what he’s worth, we’d be happy with a buyout around 3 billion.”
“Haa… could you give us a little time? We need a brief internal meeting…”
“Of course. I’ll step out for a bit, then. I still haven’t finished touring the clubhouse. Take your time—just call me when you’re ready.”
Oliver drained the barley tea in his hand and left. Director Kwon Ju-hwan rested both hands on the desk and exhaled. The club employee who had been interpreting beside him spoke up at once.
“Director, what are you planning to do? Our original plan was to push the salary as high as 900 million if we had to—anything to avoid putting a buyout in.”
“It was. The club sees Baek Yi-an and Yoon Seung-hwan as pure-blood academy products and the next franchise stars.”
Franchise stars—the faces of the club, the core pieces. Kwon knew their value well. As the professional game developed, players could no longer simply be bought with the biggest check. Of course overwhelming capital could still force a deal, but the losses ballooned, and for a director whose job was to bring players in at the right price, that was borderline dereliction of duty.
To build a team at a reasonable cost, you have to keep your key pieces. And Baek Yi-an is exactly the kind of player who can do that for us.
A player already performing at the absolute top of the league. Someone who handled matches with the composure of a veteran despite his age. No big-game nerves either—he seemed to enjoy the hostile atmospheres more than he feared them. On top of that, he played the exact position the league lacked most and modern football needed most: a defensive midfielder. With a player like that locked down, you could lowball other title-hungry talents and still get them to sign. Kwon had no choice but to rate Yi-an’s value highly.
That was why he’d planned a five-year deal with a salary high enough to look excessive for a rookie—just to keep him. But now…
This might be tough. The way they’re hanging onto the buyout tells me Baek Yi-an is seriously interested in moving abroad.
The more the situation developed, the more he started to wonder whether holding onto Baek Yi-an had been impossible from the start. At the same time he remembered the conversation he’d had with Manager Sun Ki-baek before sitting down with Oliver.
“Director Ju-hwan. Keeping Yi-an at Jeonbuk might be close to impossible.”
“I’m already getting my ear chewed off by the higher-ups over that. Don’t you start too, Manager…”
“I’m not teasing you—I’m stating a clean fact. You know scouts from overseas leagues have started showing up at Jeonju Castle just to watch Baek Yi-an and Yoon Seung-hwan. If he’s gone and signed a foreign agent on top of that, it means his interest in moving abroad is high. In that case, rather than trying to force him to stay, it might be better to set a high buyout and at least take the money.”
Baek Yi-an was a player money alone could not keep. Manager Sun Ki-baek had ended the conversation by saying that if they couldn’t hold him, they should take a big fee and start preparing for the next season—a true win-win. It might have sounded cold coming from a manager, but stripped of sentiment it wasn’t wrong.
The talks with Oliver alone showed how hungry the player side was for a move abroad. And Kwon knew exactly how much public abuse a club took if it refused to let a highly-touted prospect leave for Europe. Clubs didn’t grandly claim they were releasing players “for the good of Korean football” for nothing. If a player was going to leave anyway, better to get paid handsomely for it.
As time passed, Director Kwon Ju-hwan found himself warming to that idea. When the moment came, he made the call.
“Then the contract will be a base salary of 800 million won, plus appearance bonuses and additional incentives for goals and assists. Finally, the buyout will be set at 3.5 billion won. Acceptable?”
“Oh my, that’s a very satisfying offer. I think this is more than good enough.”
It was an extravagant package for a player converting from a semi-pro to a full professional contract. Oliver smiled brightly at the successful deal and clasped Kwon’s hand.
“This has been a wonderful time. Ah, one more thing! Regarding the additional option for free use of the player’s family skybox at home matches—would it be possible to transfer that to Yi-an’s girlfriend or her family as well? Our player was particularly insistent on that point…”
“Sure. Why not? If you need it, shall we cook something and bring it up ourselves?”
“Wow… is this that famous Korean hospitality? Truly excellent. Then I’ll take it that meals will also be provided.”
I never want to see this big-nosed bastard again…
Watching the foreigner take pure sarcasm at face value, Director Kwon Ju-hwan could only grind his teeth.
After the win against Seoul I found myself busier than usual.
First there was the all-important matter of converting from a semi-pro to a full professional contract. Second, there were the awards.
“Hahahaha! Yi-an’s mom, what did I tell you? I said we should put our son into football instead of just running, didn’t I? See? Other kids dream their whole lives of a first-team debut and he does it at eighteen. On top of that he takes Young Player of the Month for March and Player of the Month for April! What would we have done if we hadn’t put a kid like this into football?”
“I get it, so shut up and eat already! Did you win the awards? Our son did. What’s so great about you that you’re laughing like you did it all yourself?”
“Come on, it’s a good day—why are you two fighting? Just eat. You must be hungry.”
Young Player of the Month for March, followed by Player of the Month for April. The results should have come out in early May, but some mess at the federation had delayed the paperwork. Thankfully it was sorted now, and the day after the Seoul match the club delivered the Player of the Month trophy along with the patch.
Thanks to Oliver I had gotten the buyout I wanted and a sharply increased salary in the new contract, and on top of that I had to do interviews with league officials for the monthly award. Busy days were inevitable.
The urgent matters were almost all handled. All that remained was to treat my parents to a proper meal and pay back the money I’d borrowed from them for the fine.
“Thanks to our son we get to eat out somewhere this nice? This is that Michelin five-star place or whatever, right? Wow, it really is different. The atmosphere’s so fancy…”
“Michelin five-star? It’s three-star at most. This isn’t Five Star Frog Splash or something.”
“Is that any way to talk to your wife?”
“Whoa, you’re getting mad again? Yi-an, look at this. See your mom’s temper? You must never learn this. You got your dad’s talent and you’re ridiculously good at football, but watching those celebrations of yours, the personality is pure mom. Learn to rein that in later, all right?”
“What kind of nonsense are you feeding our son? Those celebrations are your fault. Remember when you finished a marathon, smacked a camera with a towel for a celebration, and had to pay for the camera out of the prize money?”
He’d broken a camera with a celebration and had to pay it off? I was still wearing a baffled expression when Dad hurriedly clamped a hand over Mom’s mouth and gave an awkward smile.
“Aigoo, what’s this woman even saying? Just hurry up and eat this instead. How is it? Good, right?”
“Mmm… it is good. This is the restaurant’s signature—acorn noodles roasted over a bonfire, right? I wanted to try it so badly when I saw it on Netflix back then.”
“Mom, it’s not a bonfire—it’s embers…”
“Yi-an, are you joining in too?”
“…No.”
The gentle smile Mom had been wearing until a second ago turned razor-sharp. I immediately dropped my head. I wasn’t truly their biological son after the possession, but the time we’d spent together was enough to tell me that poking Mom in her current state would make all the aggro Dad had carefully drawn land on me as well. So I shot Dad a desperate look that said, Change the subject. Anything. Now.
“…Ah, right! Yi-an, you said they put a buyout or whatever in when you renegotiated the contract this time? Does that make it easier to go overseas later?”
“Yes. Even if there’s still time left on the contract, another club can pay a set fee and take the player. As long as the buying side has the will, it’s possible.”
“Really? That’s great. A-yoon’s mom went to England for their wedding anniversary this time. She sent photos and it looked so pretty I wanted to take an overseas trip myself.”
“An overseas trip? Easy enough. Want to go next month?”
“My, what’s gotten into you? Then shall we go on June 8th?”
When Mom pinned down an exact date, Dad paused for a moment before asking,
“The 8th? You’re setting the date already? What’s special about that day?”
“…”
“Huh? Yi-an’s mom, what’s wrong?”
“You don’t know what June 8th is?”
“…The day Yi-an started playing football?”
The answer Dad offered after careful thought made Mom’s face darken at once. The meaning was simple.
“You crazy bastard forgot our wedding anniversary? Get out here right now! Yi-an, you keep eating. We’ll be back in ten minutes.”
“H-honey?”
Dad had made a catastrophic mistake. Mom, face like a vengeful spirit, grabbed him by the collar and dragged him straight out of the restaurant. I could only stare blankly as he mouthed “Save me” with his lips.