"Hmm... Sss..."
"..."
"Mm... Hmm..."
"Say something, will you. What is it you don't like?"
"Hm? Ah, Director It's not that."
After the negotiation had concluded. The agent and player's side had left the meeting room, leaving only team officials inside.
One official kept smacking his lips and tilting his head, prompting Director Paolo to ask.
The official said:
"It's not that I don't like it—I just still don't quite understand."
"Don't understand what?"
"Whether that amount is right..."
"So you're saying you don't trust my judgment. Wondering if this old man has gone senile or something."
"O-Of course not. It's just that I'm still too inexperienced to understand your wisdom, Director."
"Always so good with words. Just words. If your eye for talent were half as good as that mouth of yours, I would have retired and handed over my position long ago."
At Director Paolo's sigh-laden words, the official—Youth Scout Team Leader Marco Villaggio—scratched his head.
Team Leader Marco said:
"Anyway, the thing is. That amount is on par with first and second year players currently on the first team, isn't it? Even if they haven't renewed their contracts yet."
"So?"
"The kid hasn't been with the team long, doesn't have much of a track record, and he's only 16. I'm just curious why you decided to give him treatment on par with a first team prospect."
Though the matter was already settled, Team Leader Marco asked out of genuine curiosity.
Seeing that sincerity, Director Paolo chose to explain rather than scold.
"Money is relative."
"Relative?"
"For example, if a 16-year-old kid receives 4,000 euros per week, that's an enormous sum."
"That's true."
"But imagine using a squad rotation-level first team player for 4,000 euros. What would that be?"
"...An incredibly profitable deal."
"Exactly."
Director Paolo nodded and fixed Team Leader Marco with a steady gaze.
Expecting more explanation to follow, Team Leader Marco blinked and stared back at Director Paolo.
At that sight, Director Paolo furrowed his brow and sighed.
"That's the end of the explanation, you fool. You still don't understand?"
"Huh? Ah, uh..."
At that scolding, Team Leader Marco scratched his head, then furrowed his brow and said:
"So what you're saying, Director-nim, is that by his next salary negotiation—meaning before the year after next—that kid will be at the squad rotation level for the first team?"
"It took you this long to understand something so simple."
Director Paolo clicked his tongue disapprovingly, and Team Leader Marco shook his head as if he still found it hard to believe.
Team Leader Marco asked:
"I'm just curious what exactly you saw to be so confident about this."
At that question, Director Paolo leaned back in his chair and gazed at an empty wall.
After a moment of seeming reflection, he brought up a story from the past, seemingly out of nowhere.
"It's been almost 15 years now. Back when I was the U19 team manager. That summer, we went to Spain for a pre-season training camp. It was the era when everyone was saying we needed to learn Spanish football."
"Around 2008, you mean? When Spain won the Euros."
"Right. Back then, I traveled all over Spain with the kids, playing practice matches. And sure enough, their ball handling was different from ours. Watching them, there were so many kids who made you wonder how they could kick the ball so beautifully. The Barcelona kids were especially good."
"That's how it was back then."
"But the kid who shocked me the most wasn't from there. It wasn't those supposedly amazing La Masia kids."
"Then who? Where was he from?"
"Sociedad. It was during a practice match against a team called Real Sociedad. There was this thin, tiny kid who was single-handedly toying with our boys, who were a full head taller than him."
The memory must still be vivid, as Director Paolo wore a faint smile.
"I asked how old he was, and he said 17. I asked if he had a professional contract, and they told me if I didn't want to be thrown out, I should stop asking questions."
"Who was it?"
Team Leader Marco asked as if he couldn't wait any longer, and Director Paolo answered.
"Antoine Griezmann."
"Ah..."
At that time, virtually no football fans knew the name Antoine Griezmann.
But Director Paolo was certain.
That name now spread throughout the football world.
"So you bringing this up now means... you got a similar feeling from that kid back then?"
At Team Leader Marco's question, Director Paolo nodded.
In the recent match against Empoli, Director Paolo had felt that exact same shock he'd experienced when he first saw Griezmann.
Director Paolo said:
"The kid knows. He knows how to win matches. Tell me, have you ever seen someone who was born boring become funny just by studying humor?"
"I haven't."
"Of course you haven't. Because you can't just memorize your way to it. It's a matter of instinct. It's the same with him. That kid was born with instinct. He has the talent that's hardest to fail with."
The reason Director Paolo could be certain of Griezmann's success upon seeing him was precisely because of that instinct.
Sure, players who are physically superior to their peers, who are fast and technically gifted? Of course that's good.
Of course it's good, but such talents aren't enough to be certain about the future. There are too many variables. Development can easily plateau, and regression happens just as easily.
But intelligence that understands the sport of football, and instinct—that's different.
This has low variability. In the uncertainty-riddled youth level, this is the one talent you can truly trust.
And that's exactly what that kid possessed.
"You still look unconvinced."
"N-No, that's not it."
"Then do you believe me?"
"Of course I believe you."
"Am I a god? Believing without question."
Director Paolo clicked his tongue, and Team Leader Marco made a face as if to say, "Then what am I supposed to do?"
"I'm not a god. So I could be wrong. But I have a good feeling about this one. That's why I'm rambling on like this."
Despite always referring to himself as an old man who should have retired long ago, Director Paolo still had confidence in his instincts.
"You still have a long way to go."
"Yes, yes. A long way."
"Let's see in a year. Whether this contract was really too generous."
"I never said it was too generous."
"Tch."
Director Paolo clicked his tongue and gathered his bag.
ㆍㆍㆍ
"Thank you for your hard work despite your busy schedule."
"Not at all! Honestly speaking, I didn't do anything!"
"Still, thank you for coming all this way."
After the contract was finalized.
We were having a simple meal and conversation at a nearby restaurant.
As far as I know, contracts are actually quite complicated and difficult matters.
It was like that last time, and the time before that too.
They take quite a while. Both sides exchange all sorts of documents and have serious discussions—that's the kind of contract process I knew, one that could take days or even months.
But today was different.
It ended really quickly. An hour? No, that wasn't it. It felt like it was over in about 30 minutes.
Without a single argument, the whole thing wrapped up with just one contract document.
"Haha! Well, however it happened, the team seems to see your value very accurately! It's a good team, this one!"
The nickname "ruthless negotiation master, cold as ice" did not suit the agent today.
Today he was just a yes-man.
Right up until entering the meeting room, he'd been saying things like how he would ruthlessly shake down their coffers, and how if you don't turn the other side into a sucker then you become the sucker.
But when the agent actually received the contract, he just blinked like a sucker himself.
But... I could understand why.
-This is the weekly wage you'll receive upon signing the contract. This is the annual salary.
-Hiiieek!?
I still can't believe it. When the agent handed me the contract, the weekly wage written there was far from what I had expected.
And by a considerable margin.
[ €4,095/week ]
Good heavens...
4,000 euros. 4,000 euros.
The weekly wage I'm receiving now was just over 200 euros.
So they were saying they'd raise it by a whopping 20 times from my current wage.
I mean, in other words! They were saying they'd give me the amount that could pay twenty kids without professional contracts!
"Uh..."
I was speechless.
Honestly, I didn't understand.
...Why? What am I that they would pay me this much in weekly wages...? I mean, I knew that the moment you sign a professional contract your wage goes up significantly, but.
They're raising it this much...?
Seeing that even the agent was surprised alongside me, it must really have been something to be surprised about.
When I was too shocked to say anything, the agent explained it like this:
"I mentioned before that with a youth contract, other teams can pay a compensation fee and take you away, remember? The professional contract prevents that—but this means the team wants to keep you so badly that they're willing to pay this much."
Since I still seemed not to understand even after his explanation, the agent-nim explained once more in simpler terms.
Basically, even if I rejected this and negotiated with another team, there's no way for the team to block it under the current system.
So they offered this amount to secure my commitment.
Yes... I understood what he was saying.
But I still couldn't comprehend it.
I mean, what am I that they're even worried about losing me to another team...
Bruno, who unlike me has consistently played as a starter and is a year older than me, was offered 10 times his original wage.
What am I that they'd offer me 20 times...
"It means the team recognizes your potential that much."
Potential...
In that moment, I felt an emotion I couldn't identify welling up inside me.
What on earth does this team think I am... When I came out of that team in Torino, they took me in. When I couldn't get my act together, they waited for me without a word.
And now they're even seeing potential in me that I don't see in myself.
"I'm... satisfied."
I nodded without complaint, and the agent agreed, saying it was a good decision.
After that, there was some time to adjust minor details, but ultimately, the negotiation ended in an instant.
And so, having left the meeting room, I was no longer just a youth player—I had become a future professional.
"Well, congratulations. I'll be taking my leave now. Work isn't finished yet, you see."
"Thank you so much for your hard work."
"Hard work, what hard work! Haha! I'll see you again soon!"
The agent rose from his seat with a hearty laugh.
He rummaged through his jacket's inner pocket and said:
"The, uh, bill is on me..."
But Dad waved his hands.
"Oh no, I'll pay. Thank you for today."
"No, no! What kind of person takes a meal from their client! I'm not that kind of person!"
"I'm the elder here. I'll pay."
"No, but still..."
A minor dispute suddenly broke out.
I watched it for a moment, then sighed and said:
"I'll pay."
"...Huh?"
"You?"
Now, a meal like this is nothing to me.
"It's not even that much..."
I am... a god.
ㆍㆍㆍ
"You're going straight to training after school, right?"
"Yes."
"Alright. Have a good day. Pay attention in class, and if you get sleepy, find a way to nap discreetly. Buy your friends something nice to eat, too."
"Got it. I'm off."
I answered Dad's nagging-that-wasn't-really-nagging and headed out. Today is a school day.
Unlike Korea, Italy starts school around late September and ends the school year in June.
I transferred to a high school near my current home earlier this year and have attended for about half a semester.
And if I finish attending this year, my compulsory education will be recognized, so I'm planning to graduate after just one more year.
Anyway.
"Phoo..."
The closer I get to school, the more my heart pounds so much I think I'll go crazy. I don't know why I'm so nervous. My palms are sweating almost as much as when I played against Napoli.
The truth is, I don't have particularly good memories of school.
Especially at the school I attended early in my study abroad, it wasn't just a lack of good memories—there were nothing but bad ones.
I'm already the type who can't approach others first, and early on I couldn't even speak Italian.
I didn't get along well with the other students, and I was even bullied by some mean kids.
Back then, the team didn't actively look after me either.
Those mean kids were also on the same team as me.
With memories like that, the walk to school isn't exactly light. Well, nothing like that has happened at my current school, but it's not like I've made any close friends either.
Haa.
Come to think of it, I kept all of this secret from Ji-woo too. It's stuff I want to hide just as much as the football stuff...
I wonder how this year will be.
I just hope I can attend quietly without incident.
"...I'm already here."
Lost in various worries, I had arrived at school before I knew it. I climbed the stairs, walked down the hallway, and stood in front of the classroom door.
Even then, I hesitated several times before opening it, then took a deep breath to steady myself.
'Who am I? A man with a 4,000 euro weekly wage.'
Yeah. What are they going to do about it?
No one can bully me anymore.
Let's walk in with confidence.
With that, I nodded once, then opened the door and stepped into the classroom.