Genius Grandson Of The Loan Shark King

The next day.

Every newspaper headline was plastered with stories about Korea advancing to the Round of 16.

[South Korea Embraces the Round of 16!]

[Fly High, Soar Higher!]

[Proud Korea, 23 Taegeuk Warriors!]

People rejoiced in the national team’s performance and eagerly awaited the match against Italy.

And on the morning of the Italy match—

[We Congratulate the Korean National Football Team on Advancing to the Round of 16.]

The advertisement printed at the bottom of the front page, as before, drew enormous attention.

― Anyone know who put up this ad?

⤷ Nobody. There’s no company name on it, unlike other ads. So there’s no way to tell. What’s the purpose?

⤷ Who cares who put it up? It says we’ll win!

⤷ Sure~ Korea beating Italy? You’re overreacting just because we beat Portugal once. Why not just say we’ll win the whole World Cup while you’re at it?

⤷ That ad’s never been wrong so far!! Which means we win!

⤷ If Italy wins, I’ll dance half-naked in Gwanghwamun Square. Try saying something that makes sense.

⤷ You bastard, you’re a J*p, aren’t you?

Online discussions burned red-hot, and amid that frenzy, the match began.

Italy scored first, and the crowd groaned.

But until the end of the second half, Korea failed to find a goal.

Even so, no one lost hope. They clasped their hands tightly and prayed for a miracle.

Unlike the cheering crowds in the streets, online message boards were filling with mockery aimed at the mysterious advertisement.

Those who had been beaten down by public opinion earlier now crawled back out to sneer.

― How are we supposed to beat Italy?

⤷ Exactly. Everyone’s going crazy over one lucky win. Prophecy my ass, it’s just a guess. We’re lucky to even be in the Round of 16, you idiots!! Can’t believe I got cursed out and called Japanese this morning for saying that. My blood’s still boiling.

⤷ You probably are Japanese.

There wasn’t much time left in regulation.

As the clock passed the 40-minute mark of the second half, people on the streets began to rise to their feet with heavy hearts.

It looked nearly impossible to break through Italy’s infamous “lock defense” in the few minutes remaining.

But unlike those leaving, others couldn’t bring themselves to go. They simply stared anxiously at the screen.

Every gaze was fixed on the slightest movement of the Korean players.

And then, with only two minutes left before the final whistle—

A player scored a dramatic equalizer.

The square—no, the entire country—erupted.

People hugged whoever stood next to them and jumped up and down. It didn’t matter if they were strangers; they embraced and shared their joy.

In that moment, Korea was one heart, one soul, cheering as one.

The game entered extra time. Eventually, the player who had missed a penalty earlier scored the golden goal that brought Korea into the quarterfinals.

The cheers and chants of jubilation filled every square.

Even after the match ended, no one went home.

Foreign news outlets covered Korea’s cheering culture as a global phenomenon, and from that day, it became a national symbol.

The next day, an advertisement from Joongwoo Group appeared on the front page of every newspaper.

[A student embraced his teacher.

A police officer embraced a citizen.

Strangers embraced one another.

And so, Korea embraced itself.

Joongwoo Group stands together with fifty million citizens.]

It contained no images—only text.

That simplicity made people praise it even more.

The ad’s gentle yet powerful message perfectly captured the unity of the nation and softened Joongwoo Group’s negative image.

But not everyone was celebrating. Especially not player Ahn Junghoon, who had led Korea to victory over Italy.

Italian fans cursed him viciously, vowing to beat him to death if he ever returned to Italy.

Their anger wasn’t entirely surprising.

Korea was a football backwater, while Italy stood among Europe’s top four leagues—Serie A being its crown jewel.

For Italians, football was life itself. Ahn Junghoon understood that, so at first he ignored the hate.

But the intensity of the criticism didn’t fade. What shocked him even more was his own club’s behavior.

The owner of Perugia, his Italian team, went on national television and personally attacked him—calling him a penniless beggar who contributed nothing to the team and only drained their money.

He declared that there would be no more salary for a “traitor of Italian football” and threatened to terminate Ahn’s contract immediately.

In the middle of that chaos, Coach Hiddink called me.

― Mr. Kim.

“Coach Hiddink. Congratulations on the great results. You’ll beat Spain tomorrow, I’m sure of it. We believe in you and the Taegeuk Warriors.”

― Haha, thank you.

“But what makes you call me on such an important day? You must be extremely busy.”

Since the day he agreed to join our club, Hiddink had never contacted me privately.

So hearing from him on the eve of the Spain match was unexpected.

― ...There’s something I’d like to ask of you.

“A favor? From you?”

A favor from Hiddink, a man known for never asking for anything—that meant it was serious.

“Please, tell me. If it’s within my power, I’ll help.”

― Thank you. It’s about Ahn Junghoon.

“Ahn Junghoon? Ah, because of the death threats in Italy? I’ve heard the rumors, but surely it’s not that bad?”

Even in a football-crazed country, it was hard to believe they’d go that far.

But Hiddink’s answer was firm.

― The club itself told him not to come back. They even said he might be killed by the Mafia or hooligans if he returned.

Unbelievable. They were destroying a man’s life over a game of football? I caught myself with my mouth open and forced composure.

I understood what he wanted.

“So, you’re asking if Leeds can sign him? I told you before, player recruitment is your domain.”

― I know. But... Ahn Junghoon’s contract situation is complicated. He has to play tomorrow, but this mess is weighing heavily on him. He’s been on the phone with his agent all day—he can’t focus at all.

It was regrettable, but not something I could easily fix.

Maybe I could cover his transfer penalty, at best.

“Honestly, I don’t see what I can do directly. Is there any way I could help?”

― His parent club is Busan Joongwoo Royals. Perugia only has him on loan. I don’t know the exact terms, but I think we need to terminate that loan first. I heard James Han has deep ties with Joongwoo Construction, so I thought of calling you.

So Ahn Junghoon’s team was under Joongwoo Construction.

I felt a bit embarrassed that I hadn’t known—football had never been my area of interest.

Hiding my discomfort, I quickly reassured him.

“I understand. I’ll look into it right away. Please tell Ahn Junghoon not to worry and just focus on tomorrow’s match.”

Hiddink’s grateful voice carried genuine relief.

I could sense from that brief call how deeply he cared for his players.

After hanging up, I immediately summoned Lee Sanggeun and asked Manager Ma to gather every piece of information on Ahn Junghoon—his agent contract, current situation in Italy, everything.

By evening, a thick folder lay on my desk.

“This is a complete mess.”

And it truly was.

The agent had deceived his player, and the parent club, Joongwoo Royals, had practically abandoned Ahn altogether.

The situation in Italy was dire.

Fans were protesting outside his residence, and the car Ahn had bought with his own money had been smashed to pieces by hooligans.

Our proud player was being treated like garbage.

“Chairman Lee, did you find anything?”

I threw the papers onto the table and looked at him.

“Yes. He’s on loan, with a clause that allows Perugia to buy him outright anytime they want.”

“...Regardless of the player’s wishes?”

“Yes. The deal was made before we took over. After your call, I got all the paperwork from the club and reviewed it. If Perugia decides to play dirty, Ahn Junghoon could be completely screwed.”

When Joongwoo Group went bankrupt and I took over, its football team was moved under Joongwoo Construction.

Later, when Lee Sanggeun merged with Joongwoo Construction, the football team came along as part of the package.

Since this contract predated Lee’s tenure, I couldn’t blame him.

“How do we regain ownership of the player?”

“I already told the director to do whatever it takes to terminate the loan.”

“Paying the penalty would be fastest, wouldn’t it?”

“That’s true, but they have to accept it. They already refused once. They’re no fools—they know Ahn’s value will skyrocket, so they won’t let go. Their best bet is to wait for the loan to expire naturally... but it looks like they’re trying to force a full transfer with a buyout fee.” freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

The situation was more tangled than expected. I sighed deeply.

“This is troublesome.”

“Forcing termination is an option, but it might hurt the player’s career. If Perugia files a complaint with FIFA, he could lose his license. And during the lawsuit, he can’t play.”

I wanted this resolved quickly, but there was no easy answer.

I slid the folder back toward him.

“For now, terminate his agent contract and bring him directly under the club. Kim Jeongbok—he’s not human. Just a parasite trying to suck the kid dry. I heard he’s already meeting with several European clubs.”

“Yes, understood.”

As I looked over the data, I remembered how he’d been treated in the previous timeline.

If fate hadn’t brought him into my reach again, it would’ve been the same this time.

“He’s not someone you can reason with, so don’t hold back. Use Chunha Group’s strength if needed.”

“That won’t be necessary. My own people will handle it.”

“Good. I’ll trust you. End that agent contract before the World Cup is over. I’ll tell Coach Hiddink myself.”

Ahn’s agent, Kim Jeongbok, had once been the director at Joongwoo Royals.

Seeing Ahn’s potential, he founded his own agency and signed him.

But instead of managing him properly, he used his network to profit off the chaos caused by Joongwoo Group’s bankruptcy—selling off good players to other clubs.

Now, instead of protecting Ahn, he was trying to negotiate inflated transfer fees with EPL and La Liga teams—without any coordination with Perugia.

That wasn’t management. It was exploitation.

“Also, fire every club employee connected to Kim Jeongbok. People like that rot the organization from within.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll relay it to the director immediately.”

With a small nod, I dismissed him. Lee bowed and left the room.

Left alone, I sat back and quietly thought about the national team heroes.

Things were unfolding more messily than I’d imagined.

After Korea defeated Spain in the penalty shootout and advanced to the semifinals, British and Spanish media—along with Italian outlets—ran stories about Ahn Junghoon’s soaring market value.

When Joongwoo Royals had loaned him to Perugia, the fee was ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ a mere $400,000. Now, clubs were reportedly offering $3–4 million.

Seeing that, Perugia immediately apologized publicly through the Korean press and wired $1 million to Joongwoo Royals to finalize his permanent transfer.

As expected, his agent Kim Jeongbok ignored Perugia and tried to convince Ahn to sign new contracts directly with other clubs.

Dragging this out would only make things worse.

So, I decided to use the final option.

I picked up the phone and dialed a number.

After a few rings, a deep male voice answered in Italian.

― Pronto.