177 — The German Proposition

Director Lee's POV:

The executive lounge of the Westin Josun Hotel held a dignified silence as the trajectory of a nation's brightest star would either surge into a constellation or go supernova.

Seoul sprawled below Director Lee's vantage point at the floor-to-ceiling window. On his table, a cold cup of tea stood neglected next to a leather notebook open to pages filled with frantic notes from his Bangkok flights.

He checked his watch. 2:00 PM.

The elevator chimed softly.

Precisely on cue, a man walked in, doors sighing open.

He was tall, with two ice chips for eyes—a little red and tired, as if he hadn't slept at all—and dirty blonde hair. He was wearing a sharp, navy suit that fit a little too well to be off-the-rack, and he carried a beaten leather briefcase that looked like it had accumulated more air miles than a commercial pilot.

"Director Lee." The man said, extending a hand as he approached. His grip was firm, his skin dry and callous. "Markus Weber. Borussia Dortmund. Chief of Scouting."

"Mr. Weber." Lee stood, shaking his hand, noting the tension in the German's face. "Please, sit."

They sat. Weber declined the offer of a menu with a dismissive wave of his hand, ordering a sparkling water instead. He didn't lean back into the plush armchair. He sat on the edge of it, his posture rigid.

"I won't waste your time with pleasantries about the weather or the flight, Director." Weber began, his English accented but mechanically flawless. "I haven't slept in thirty hours, and I assume you are a busy man."

Lee nodded slowly, appreciating the directness. "I assumed you were coming. Half of Europe seemed to be there for the final. News travels fast, don't they?"

"No." Weber corrected him sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Half of Europe sent their junior regional scouts for the final to write reports that will sit on a Sporting Director's desk for weeks, gathering dust." His eyes rolled, as if the very notion of wasted potential not getting the attention it deserved being unbearable. "I have been in Asia for three weeks. Three weeks."

Lee paused. "You watched the group stages?"

"I watched everything." Weber said. "I was in the stands when South Korea dismantled Iraq. I was there when they annihilated Qatar and Saudi Arabia. I watched the Yemen match from the sidelines. And, of course, I was there when they tore Australia apart piece by piece. Quite an anomalous South Korean team you've got there."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice.

"Anyway... I didn't go to write a report. I went to confirm what I already knew. I went to see if the boy could do it consistently. If he could do it when the team was tired, when the pitch was bad, when the opponents were trying to break his legs."

"......"

Weber opened his briefcase, the latches clicking loudly. On the tablet he slid across the table, a frame froze. A body contorted mid-air, a ball chested down perfectly. Jae-il, surrounded by three white jerseys. Three-on-one odds.

Odds that Jae-il had easily overcome before proceeding to score. Lee had watched the match; every single one of them.

"I have been doing this for twenty years." Weber said, tapping the screen with a manicured finger. "I was the one who found El Matador playing barefoot in the streets of Montevideo before Madrid even knew his name. I scouted Bjornsen in Norway when he was still lanky and awkward. I know what 'good' looks like. I know what 'great' looks like."

He looked Lee dead in the eye, his expression grave.

"This kid? This Cha Jae-il? Oh, he's more than that."

Lee kept his face impassive, masking the swell of pride he felt inside. Jae-il was, after all, the gem of the academy. "We are aware of his talent, Mr. Weber. He is the pride of our academy."

"With respect, I don't think you grasp the scale of it." Weber countered, scoffing in a manner that wasn't supposed to come off as derisive. "You see a Korean prodigy. I see a player who is half a step from greatness, perhaps even a true legend. Someone who can spearhead the resurgence of a failing dynasty and revive the legacy of a fading institution. Do you have any idea how good this kid is right now? Can you understand the kind of person you're dealing with here?"

"You have a rather grand appraisal of Jae-il, I must say."

"Not without cause, Director." Weber leaned in further. "We're discussing a player of such caliber that his mere presence alters the financial dynamics of an entire league's ecosystem. Do you understand the worth of what you have in your hands, right now, Director? He is the next Kaiser. The next Santos. And I am not leaving Seoul without his signature."

Lee took a sip of his cold tea, willing the slight quivering of his hand down. He knew this day would come. He just hadn't expected it to arrive with such ferocity, so soon.

"You want him."

"I want him yesterday." Weber replied instantly. "And I want Kim Jun-hwan today."

Lee raised an eyebrow at that, inwardly surprised—though, in hindsight, that was to be expected. "You want Kim Jun-hwan too?"

South Korea's brightest, budding stars in the palm of the German's hand.

"The midfielder understands Cha Jae-il." Weber explained, almost dismissively, as if it were a simple equation. "Jae-il is the spear, but Jun-hwan is the hand that aims it. Their chemistry is spectacular. They are a system. And the system is unstoppable. The way they function, the way Cha Jae-il recognizes the best possible opportunity within milliseconds, his precision, his ability to send Kim Jun-hwan the exact ball, at the exact angle and velocity for a guaranteed assist every. single. time—that can't be replicated with another player. Only those two can do that. It's their instinctive knowhow and exceptional anticipation. It's remarkable, to say the least. I haven't seen anything like it ever since..." He trailed off, his eyes lost in a memory for a moment.

Lee exhaled softly.

"Look, I am not a fool. This system of theirs has been something... extraordinary, to put it nicely. The result of two great players perfectly harmonizing, recognizing each other and coming together as a unit. One of those is difficult enough to find; to get both? Anyone worth a damn in their field knows that South Korea's rise to brilliance can all be attributed to those two."

"......"

Lee quietly waited as Weber paused for a breath and a sip of sparkling water. Of course, he knew that too. Jae-il and Jun-hwan elevated the U-17 South Korean team to a level it could only dream of.

They were leagues above everyone in the same category, and even the senior team couldn't hold a candle to those two.

Their popularity was rising day by day.

"The club wants both." The German said, his accent a little thicker due to his haste. "Breaking them up would be highly inefficient. We want both."

Director Lee knew how desperate they were for fresh, talented blood since Borussia Dortmund was nearly demoted to the second division of the Bundesliga. The fear was justified, but also predictable. Their best midfielder retired a few seasons ago and they've never had the same solidity after him.

"A package deal, huh." Lee mused. "That complicates things."

"It simplifies things." Weber argued. "Transitioning to Europe is hard. The culture shock, the language, the food, the pressure, the distance, the isolation... players are expected to perform to near impossible levels almost instantly." He paused for a small smirk, as if to accent the absurdity of it all. "Some young, untested talent ends up getting shattered under the pressure and ends up failing so quickly, it is a collective miracle more teams have not fallen into bankruptcy after signing high potential players from overseas. It's like rolling a roulette with those green felt European clubs, because not even they have the experience to pick out the ones with true longevity, let alone the talent and drive for a successful career in the best leagues of the world."

"Mr. Weber." Lee leaned back, crossing his legs. "You are forgetting something crucial. They are fifteen and sixteen. Under Article 19 of the FIFA regulations, the international transfer of minors is strictly prohibited unless specific criteria are met. The parents must move for non-football reasons, or..."

"Or..." Weber interrupted, a small, shark-like smile finally touching his thin lips. "We utilize the new 'FIFA Elite Talent Exemption Program' exception currently being piloted by the FIFA Council."

Lee paused. He knew of the pilot program. It was a controversial, experimental plan that allowed top sporting federations—such as football or basketball, among others—to apply for the transfer of eligible under-18 players as 'exempted cases' which would permit them to exploit child labor beyond the regular legal restrictions.

Of course, provided they guaranteed academic education, top-level pastoral care, and a clear path to professional integration.

It was a legal loophole meant to stop the grey-market trafficking of young players into sketchy academies, but in practice, it was a golden ticket for the giants of the industry.

"That is a regulatory minefield." Lee noted, tiredly, but with a hint of eagerness and expectation. "The paperwork alone takes months. And it hasn't been fully ratified for Asian players yet."

"It will be next month." Weber said with the confidence of a man who had insiders where it mattered. "Our legal team is already drafting the guardianship papers. We will set up Jae-il and Jun-hwan in a private international school in Dortmund. Full housing, language tutors, a dedicated support staff. We will move their families if we have to. We are prepared to offer a compensation package to FC Seoul that will dwarf anything you have received before."

Weber leaned in closer, fingers steepled under his chin, and a widening smile that sent a shiver down Lee's spine.

"Director Lee, you need to understand the urgency. It isn't just about us wanting him. It's about what is coming."