Meanwhile, at Leona Harris's office.
"Number one bestseller, you say?"
(Yes. It's been number one for three days now. The first edition is almost sold out, and we're getting continuous requests for more prints.)
More prints?
Printing more books means preparing the same amount of promotional items.
They managed to secure 50,000 units, but it's becoming challenging for her to find any more.
"It's not like we're only selling this week, right? Tell them to wait for the next issue."
(I will convey that.)
"And the news coverage?"
(It will be featured in today's main news. I've confirmed it several times, so it will definitely be broadcasted.)
"Good work."
After finishing the call, she picked up the TV remote.
Five minutes until the news starts.
Advertisements were playing on the screen.
Wondering how much money has gone into her son's whims.
The thought made her head spin, but the idea of Carl walking proudly brought some comfort.
'It did cost quite a bit.'
In the end, just as her son said, it became a bestseller.
Well, that settles it.
Lost in these thoughts, the long-awaited news was broadcasted.
"The bookstore sensation is making headlines."
The screen soon reported a sell-out.
"The magazine was released by Carl Bernstein, a student at the Royal School."
The coverage didn't stop there.
"Carl Bernstein is currently managing his own clothing brand…"
The elegant editing showcased Carl's store in great detail.
After generously padding the broadcast station's advertising budget.
From the quality of the screen to the tone of the coverage, there was nothing to fault.
'Right, if you take the money, you should deliver this much.'
It was just as Leona was about to turn off the TV with a pleased heart.
"We have covered the domestic bookstore sensation so far. Now onto global news."
What?
"For the past few months, 'Queensman' has been creating a tremendous buzz and has now entered the U.S. market. It's gaining phenomenal popularity across both coasts."
Why this news all of a sudden?
Even if they broadcast, why should it be tied to a story about her son?
It makes it seem like Carl's achievements are just domestic, whereas Queensman feels worldwide!
She immediately picked up the phone.
"Connect me to the head of the news department."
A moment later, a familiar voice came through.
(Yes, Chairman. Did you see the broadcast?)
"I saw it. Watched it very closely."
(Oh, did something not meet your expectations?)
"Why complain through the news if the money wasn't enough?"
(Not enough? No, we've been receiving almost the highest amount recently in advertising fees…)
"But this is the treatment we get?"
(Uh… what exactly are you referring to…)
"Queensman! Why did you broadcast it tied to my son's news?"
(Ah, that.)
The head of the news department had his reasons.
(But Chairman, since the stories are quite similar, it was difficult to separate them in the report.)
His words didn't end there.
(Even if Queensman is compared, Carl Bernstein is still young, isn't he? No one would belittle his achievements…)
Bang!
Leona slammed the phone down as if striking it.
He's young so it's okay?
Damn it.
"Ji-hoon Park is even younger than him!"
Unable to contain her anger, she yelled loud enough to echo through the office.
***
Because of Lukash, I was having a tiring day.
"Do you know that guy?"
"Queensman?"
"Yeah. The one on the cover."
As we walked down the street, people recognized me quite a bit.
Being Asian is rare here, so naturally, I stood out.
But staying only at the training ground…
"Ji-Hoon Park!"
Due to some fans.
"Fiiiightiiiiing!"
It was a bit embarrassing.
'I'm not some celebrity…'
How long could this atmosphere last?
Scratch scratch.
'Still, it feels quite awkward.'
So, I decided to head out on a weekend training trip.
The destination was a privately operated rugby field.
In the middle of the field, Lukash was holding a camera, eagerly snapping photos of a man.
"Just one more time. Okay, just one more. Excellent. Just one more shot."
Lukash's voice was more enthusiastic than usual. Since I had specifically chosen the cover model myself, Lukash wanted to deliver his best work.
"Don't be conscious of the camera. Just think of this as the Cambridge campus. Relax. That's good. Okay! One last shot!"
The shoot was almost coming to an end.
About ten minutes later.
"Okay, that's it. Great job!"
As Lukash raised his voice, I got out of the car.
Tall and handsome, Steve had just finished the shoot and was putting on his coat. Then suddenly, he turned towards me.
"…!"
It seemed he noticed the car I arrived in before he noticed me.
"…a Bugatti?"
He then turned his gaze towards me.
"Wow, what brings you here?"
"I heard you were here and came to see you."
"How did you know?"
How indeed. I had told Lukash to hire you… Ahem.
After the article about the training at Cambridge came out, the interest in Steve had skyrocketed! It was no surprise that Steve was on the cover.
"So you came to see me?"
"Yes."
But the pleasure was short-lived.
Steve alternated his gaze between me and the Bugatti.
A car not commonly seen here…
And I was the only person who had come into the stadium.
That meant?
"Did you… come here in that?"
"I thought it might be my car after what you mentioned last time."
That moment!
Gulp.
Steve's adam's apple bobbed noticeably.
"Your… car?"
Nod, nod.
"Not your dad's car?"
Again, nod, nod.
Steve was momentarily stunned.
After a while, he stuttered.
"I, I did see the article… that you discovered a Da Vinci."
He had some idea I was wealthy.
But he never imagined I'd own a super high-value classic Bugatti!
"But, is it really okay to just drive it?"
"…?"
"It's the kind of car that should be on display in a car museum. To drive around in something like that…"
"It's made to be driven, after all."
Perhaps it was my confident tone.
Steve swallowed hard again.
"Do you have other cars besides this one?"
"Of course."
"Would it be rude to ask?"
"I'm a bit fuzzy on the details…"
How many cars do you have to own to be fuzzy about it!
That was exactly what Steve's expression seemed to say.
"Ah, it's not so much that I have a lot, but their names are all quite complicated."
I still managed to recall a few.
"For starters, there's a 1948 Porsche 356…"
"Cough!"
You shouldn't be surprised just yet.
"And a 1931 Alfa Romeo 8C…"
"Choke!"
"There are more, but I don't really remember them all. They're probably nothing special."
To me, at least.
"Would you like to take a ride?"
"Huh?"
"The Bugatti."
"…?"
"It's your dream car, right? Take it for a spin."
Faced with an unexpected offer, Steve's face was full of dilemma!
Finally, he asked hesitantly.
"Is this… insured?"
"With a car like this, insurance is kind of pointless."
"What if there's an accident?"
"Don't worry. I can afford the repairs."
"Uh…"
Whether worried about the insurance or not, Steve drove very slowly for about five minutes before quickly returning.
He turned off the engine and laughed awkwardly.
"Imagine if it gets even a scratch. I'd have to sell my car."
Reassurances were of no use.
"But… you came to see me?"
Nod, nod.
"Why? Just to show me the car?"
"Not really."
I'm not one to beat around the bush.
"I wanted to learn how to kick."
"Kick?"
"I want to beat the best of the best in taste. I think I need some footwork skills for that."
We had grown quite close during a practice game and even shared a meal.
That would have been enough, but today, my standing with him shot up even more because of the Bugatti!
Thanks to the cover shoot, Steve, dressed in rugby gear, started to teach right there.
"The ball is a bit different, but the principle is similar to soccer."
He dropped the ball on the ground.
Then,
Thwock.
The ball bounced up slightly.
"Look."
Before the ball even hit the ground again,
Thwang!
He kicked it crisply.
Swoosh!
The ball flew just like a home run hit.
Scratch scratch.
Isn't this something you need to be born with?
It seemed like he read my thoughts.
"There's certainly an element of talent involved. Not everyone can kick like this. But,"
Thwock.
He made the ball bounce slightly again.
Flick.
This time, he took some power off,
Thwang!
Just lightly placing his instep on it.
But that ball, although slower,
Swoosh!
Flew the exact same course as before.
"It's true that you need to be born with ankle strength to add power. But what about accuracy? That can be improved as much as you want with effort."
"Ah."
"Try kicking it."
He made the ball bounce for me.
I watched the ball closely until the end,
Thwang!
And then I powerfully placed my instep on it.
Swoosh!
Just as the sound of cutting through the air erupted loudly,
"…!"
Steve turned to me and said,
"You've got quite a lot of natural talent, huh?"
According to Steve's "diagnosis," my ankles are blessed with significant strength.
But the problem is!
While I have natural strength in my ankles, I lack technique.
"How long have you been playing rugby?"
"I tried it for the first time when I enrolled."
"Then it's natural for your technique to be lacking."
Hmm.
Even when playing soccer, my kicking talent was… ahem.
Anyway!
Steve offered me a solution that suited me well.
"Since you can kick powerfully without much effort, you don't need to kick hard. Just focus on kicking accurately."
I had to perform over five hundred kicks right there.
"A common misconception is that the kicking foot is the most important. It's actually the pivot foot that makes a big difference in how the kick turns out."
Focusing on the pivot foot, another five hundred kicks.
Even as my instep throbbed, Steve kept encouraging me to continue kicking, saying it would get better, offering a somewhat fiery solution.
By the time we finished the accuracy training,
"Are you okay?"
"…Yes."
"Go ice it and get some rest. Otherwise, you won't be able to walk tomorrow."
Earlier, he insisted that continuing to kick would make it better…
But that was just a half-joking complaint!
I can't express how grateful I am internally.
Why wouldn't I be?
This was only the second time we met, and he was teaching me rugby.
It's truly appreciative that he didn't find it bothersome and spent hours instructing me.
'Should I double his modeling fee?'
As I was planning this financial gesture, Steve approached me.
"If you keep practicing what you learned today, you'll be able to handle most situations."
Just as I was about to express my gratitude,
"But when that pressure comes on…"
"…?"
"It'll be hard to even make a proper kick."
He seemed like he wanted to share some expert advice, but something was holding him back.
Sure enough, he spoke with a serious look in his eyes.
"It might seem trivial to others, but it's quite important to me."
"What is it?"
"Even if you go to Oxford, are you confident you won't play real rugby?"
What should I say…
"If you use the techniques I taught you to beat our juniors… it feels like my heart would be torn apart."