Right After the Match
Devon participated in an interview in his capacity as a rugby coach.
The scene was overwhelming, with numerous broadcast cameras and an uncountable number of press photographers snapping away.
For anyone unaccustomed to the media, the situation would be intimidating.
But.
'Where were all these people before the match?'
Devon found himself distracted by this idle thought.
Then, as if suddenly struck by an important realization, he turned to the camera and said,
"Make sure my outfit looks good on camera."
"…Excuse me?"
"The rugby shirt. This one's a special limited edition. It's only given to a select few insiders. Made from vicuña wool… Yes, yes."
Without earning a single penny, Devon had appointed himself an ambassador for Ultimate.
Fortunately, the reaction wasn't bad.
"How did you find today's match?"
"I enjoyed it."
Devon knew full well this wasn't the kind of answer they were looking for. A bit of small talk to break the ice.
Then, with a change in expression, he added, "The team that sweated more took home the victory. You could call it a very honest game."
"The dynamics of the first and second halves were completely different. Any thoughts?"
"The first half wasn't rugby. It was more like a hunt. A failed hunt at that—wasting all their bullets and returning empty-handed."
It was a subtle jab at Carl Bernstein. The reporters certainly didn't miss it.
"Our sources say you only trained the first-years. Is that true?"
"Yes."
"Was there a particular reason for that?"
"They were the only ones who asked for help."
"If the second-years had approached you…?"
"I would have refused outright."
"…Excuse me?"
Perhaps the unexpected response had caught them off guard.
Microphones inched closer.
"Why is that?"
"There was a conflict between the first and second years. A serious issue, severe enough to warrant a disciplinary committee hearing. A senior figure stepped in to set guidelines and asked for written statements."
"…And then?"
Devon didn't hesitate to lift his middle finger.
"You refused?"
He nodded.
"After that, I couldn't see the second-years in a positive light. I'm human too, after all. So I helped the first-years instead. Thanks to that, I got this shirt."
Once again, Devon made sure to spotlight Ultimate.
"I was expecting an article for the culture section. Now it seems we're heading for the social issues page."
"Did I mess up?"
"No, not at all."
Devon seemed quite pleased with how the interview had gone.
With a radiant smile, he looked like he didn't have a care in the world.
***
After the match, we gathered at the center of the field.
Just like before the game, they wanted me to say something again.
I wanted to thank everyone for their hard work, for sweating it out together.
But first, I said, "Let's show our gratitude."
"…What?"
"The people who came all this way to cheer us on, even though they didn't know us personally. Let's thank them properly."
We approached the stands and bowed deeply.
In response, some people came forward with copies of 'Queensman' magazine, asking for autographs.
We're just seventeen-year-olds.
We'd only ever asked for autographs ourselves—never given them out.
Everyone just stared blankly at me.
'Just write your name!'
I communicated silently through my gaze.
Naturally, the crowd's attention was drawn to Tennessee.
'Come on, just go with it!'
'It's just for today. Just do it!'
I couldn't help but look away.
A few people had even prepared gifts for us.
But the most remarkable gift came from one particular fan.
'Someone's wearing the Ultimate x Gucci collaboration outfit?'
It had just been released at the Gucci store today.
How did they already find out and get their hands on it?
Heh heh heh.
This match, in the end, was all part of the promotion!
The media attention we've garnered is enormous. Now it's time to turn that spotlight into sales.
'Well, it's a good start.'
While I was lost in these thoughts—
"Ah, here you are."
"Do you have Ji-hoon's?"
The most welcoming voice in the world reached my ears—in stereo, no less.
"Grandpa?"
Standing beside him was none other than Jo So-deok!
I couldn't figure out what kind of duo this was, but my joy far outweighed my confusion.
Perhaps it was the sheer delight of seeing them on this faraway British soil.
Without realizing it, I threw my arms around Grandpa.
"Left home and turned into a baby? What's this fuss all of a sudden?"
That gruff yet affectionate nature… No wonder Tennessee's manner of speech felt so familiar—the original master was right here!
"What brings you all the way to England?"
"Work, of course. Did you think I came for fun?"
A business trip, of all things, coinciding perfectly with the rugby match?
And at a time when Hyungang was far from expanding into Europe?
Grandpa seemed to read my mind.
"Do I have to come just to sell things?"
"What?"
"A technical partnership!"
"…Huh?"
"I swung by France to visit Renault, Citroën, and Peugeot. Now that I'm in England, I plan to meet Rolls-Royce."
Huh?
"But didn't you say you were planning to scale back the car business…?"
"My little grandson's out here in England pouring his heart into realizing his grandpa's dream. How could I just sit back and do nothing?"
"When did I ever…"
"The effort you've put into the fashion business, building 'Hyungang of Design'—isn't that what you're doing?"
Between Grandpa and me, there were no secrets.
Even without saying a word, he already knew everything.
'Hmm…'
So, of course, he must also know that all of this is part of the retirement preparations.
'Ah, so that's why he's stepping back from the car business?'
'I've built 'Hyungang of Design,' so now I'll retire.'
Check!
'Oh, but look, I've expanded the car business. What now? There's no one to take it over.'
Checkmate!
A fierce chess match between London and Seoul, played out in business strategies.
'Grandpa, sorry, but I won't lose this time.'
As I silently resolved to hold my ground—
"Chairman, it's an honor to meet you."
A sudden, unexpected voice interrupted.
"I'm Tennessee Edward Churchill Grosvenor, Ji-hoon's friend and business partner. I've heard much about you, but it's truly an honor to meet you in person."
Surrounded by fans just moments ago, Tennessee had somehow slipped away, using the excuse of greeting Grandpa.
Being an aristocrat among aristocrats, he must have been trained extensively in etiquette toward elders.
"While waiting for my turn to introduce myself, I happened to overhear your visit relates to the car business."
Perhaps due to his early upbringing, Tennessee showed remarkable sociability, distinctly different from his usual demeanor around peers.
"I'm a fan of cars myself. Just last week, I attended the F1 Silverstone Grand Prix."
At the mention of F1—
Clap!
Grandpa suddenly applauded.
"I just got back from France, where I attended the Monaco Grand Prix."
"Both races were won by McLaren's Aiden Senna, weren't they?"
At that moment, Grandpa turned to me.
"This kid's your business partner?"
Since we share ownership stakes, he is indeed my partner.
But before I could answer, Grandpa's expression briefly shifted into something oddly satisfied.
Park Ji-hoon's friend and business partner? Approved!
That's what it felt like.
Grandpa quickly redirected his attention to Tennessee.
"Your father's a sponsor for McLaren, I hear?"
"Yes, until the end of this year."
If that were confidential, he would have skillfully dodged the question.
But the way Tennessee emphasized 'until this year' clearly hinted at his interest in continuing the conversation.
Ugh, as if the topic of cars wasn't nerve-wracking enough already! I had to intervene for my own sanity.
"Grandpa, the match just ended, and we were about to head out for dinner."
"Really?"
Both Grandpa and Tennessee looked disappointed, their expressions practically saying 'What a shame!'
Oh, for goodness' sake!
Regardless of their feelings, I pressed on.
"Have you figured out where you'll be staying yet?"
"Why would I know? Professor Jo will take care of that, won't he?"
"If you haven't decided yet, you can stay at my place. It's absurdly large and empty most of the time."
Perhaps curious about where I lived, Grandpa's eyes lit up.
"Saving money sounds great."
He nodded in agreement without hesitation.
***
At the Same Time
Peter had set up a small stall near the stadium's exit.
He was trying to sell the rugby video game he'd worked so hard to create.
But there was a problem—by the time the match ended, he hadn't sold a single copy.
"..."
It was an amateur-made game, and in an era when computers weren't even widespread, it wasn't surprising that sales were nonexistent.
Still, Peter couldn't hide his disappointment.
Ji-hoon had even arranged for his company to create a special edition package for the game.
For Peter, selling at least ten copies felt like the bare minimum to justify that effort.
As Peter hung his head in dismay, a voice broke through his thoughts.
"What's this?"
It was the first time anyone had approached his stall.
Startled, Peter sprang to his feet and replied, "It's a computer game. A rugby one. Even if you don't know the rules, you can just, uh, fight and—"
Peter stopped himself mid-sentence when he realized his potential customer was a child.
'As much as I like money, I can't sell a game like this to a kid…'
Just as Peter was about to gently send the child away—
"It's a game?"
"The design is really pretty!"
A few more people started showing interest.
"Oh, uh, yes. It's pretty, isn't it? The illustrations were done by a famous Japanese manga artist. You know, the one behind 'DQ.'"
"Huh? 'DQ?'"
The sudden seriousness in their tone made Peter feel like he'd said something he shouldn't have.
"Wait, why would such a big-name artist work on this?"
"Um… well…"
He couldn't exactly say, 'Because my friend Ji-hoon made it happen.'
"Are you sure you're not bluffing?"
"No, no! Look at the art style. It's definitely their work."
"And what's this?"
"Hmm?"
"This text right here."
"Oh, that… It's… exactly as it's written."
"Wait, do you have some kind of connection to 'DQ?'"
"Well, not exactly… It's more like…"
"More like what?"
No matter how awkward the situation, there's a line you don't cross—selling out a friend's name.
When faced with tough questions, isn't it better to just play dumb?
Peter had just decided to put on a clueless expression when a man passing by leaned in and spoke.
"Can I have one?"
"Pardon?"
"The game. I'd like to buy one."
"Oh, th-thank you!"
The persistent questioner, perhaps influenced by the new buyer, seemed to have a change of heart.
"If it's boring, can I get a refund?"
"Well… I don't really run this stall regularly, so…"
"Never mind, just give me one."
Peter quickly bowed. "Thank you very much!"
Was it the power of DQ's illustrator?
More people started pulling out their wallets, one after another.
Since the price wasn't too steep, maybe they figured it was worth it as a decorative piece—or perhaps everyone was simply in high spirits because the first-years had won.
Whatever the reason, within less than 15 minutes, Peter had sold out his entire stock.
Wow…
"My game sold out completely?"
His heart raced with excitement as he began packing up the stall.
Though he managed to sell all the copies, a new worry crept in.
What if the game isn't fun? What if people complain that it wasn't worth the money?
This concern, however, would later prove to be one of the most unnecessary worries in history.
Peter's debut work, once an obscure indie game, would eventually sell as an unopened collector's item for a staggering '$1 million'. snapping away.