“But you were in talks with Kavva?”
“I decided not to sign with them.”
“And why would you—”
“They kept revising the terms,” Jaekyung said, cutting Jiheon off.
“I told them—very clearly—that I wouldn’t be in next year’s Olympics, and they said they understood. But when it came time to sign, they told me I had to be there. They wanted me to promise I’d participate unless I was injured. Now, why would I agree to that?”
Jiheon let out a quiet murmur without realizing. He remembered the phone call he had overheard in the lobby. He’d thought convincing someone like Jaekyung would be the hard part. What he hadn’t expected was for the contract itself to flip.
“Why won’t you be going to the Olympics?”
“Because I don’t want to,” Jaekyung said without missing a beat.
Jiheon was at a loss for words. If the athlete didn’t want to go, that was that. There was nothing more he could say.
“That was the condition from the beginning, and Kavva said they were fine with it. But how am I supposed to build a working relationship with someone whose word can’t be trusted?”
Jaekyung pushed his hair back, then went on.
“I’m not signing with Kavva. We don’t even have a contract yet, and yet look at the way they act. Things will only get worse after signing. It’d take too long to find another agency. That’s why I’ve chosen ProEdge.”
He was saying it was too much of a hassle to go searching again, so he’d go with ProEdge, a name he already knew.
It’s so... like him.
Jiheon let out a short laugh, slightly taken aback as he stared down at the table. Then he looked back up at Jaekyung.
“Do you think your mother will agree?”
Jaekyung frowned, confused.
“It’s my contract. What does my mother have to do with it?”
What...? If you’re this opinionated, then why leave everything to her until now?
Jiheon bit back the response, though. Jaekyung pulled off the towel from around his neck and tossed it over his bag.
“But the terms of the contract will have to be modified.”
“What sort of modifications are we talking about—”
“You’ll be on my personal management team,” Jaekyung cut in.
Jiheon stared at him for a moment. Then he asked.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to know the reason why.”
“You are the only one at the agency who used to swim professionally.”
Jaekyung looked at him as if to say, You know what that means.
Of course I do, Jiheon thought. In major sports industries—like in Australia or the U.S.—it was standard for agent teams to include someone with a pro background. Someone like that brought valuable connections and could weigh in on rule changes, among other things.
But if that was the reason, Jiheon wasn’t entirely on board. For one thing, his swimming career had been too short for him to be of much use.
“Another question. If the agency were to hire a new agent, someone who had been a professional swimmer, would you consider replacing me with that person? Someone like that would obviously be more helpful, for—”
“No.”
Jaekyung cut him off again.
“So you’re saying, Mr. Gwon... that you want me on the team, no matter what.”
“Yes.”
“May I ask you why?”
Jaekyung, in contrast to all his quick responses so far, clammed up for the first time. Jiheon felt a new wave of anxiety creep in.
What is this? If he doesn’t have a good reason, then why insist on keeping me? Is this some kind of message? Does he hate me for some reason? Or... is this about what I said yesterday? About the sexual harassment—
“I’m... not the most sociable person,” Jaekyung finally said. He paused, then went on.
“If I work with ProEdge, the people from Korea Aquatics who have been helping me all this time will leave. It’ll just be ProEdge people from now on. Having a familiar face should make things easy for me.”
This seemed to be the reason that he was offering, and it made sense. He was hardly an outgoing person, and someone probably needed to mediate between him and the ProEdge staff. Jiheon could probably step away once the two sides got used to each other.
You barely even acknowledge me. How is that supposed to make things easier?
“I’ll accept the industry standard for the signing bonus,” he said.
“What!” Jiheon shouted, despite himself. Then, as if trying to confirm what he’d just heard, he added.
“Hey! Are you serious, Jaekyung?”
“What happened to Mr. Gwon?”
“I’m sorry. Are you serious?” Jiheon said, correcting himself.
“Yes. And please don’t make me repeat myself. I know you understood me the first time.”
Trainwreck personality, just as I thought.
But that wasn’t what Jiheon should be focusing on right now.
He had just said he would accept the standard signing bonus, which meant ProEdge’s initial offering was enough for him. You will really accept that? Seriously?
Jiheon’s heart began to race. If the issue of the signing bonus was settled, ProEdge stood to gain everything. It was like winning the lottery.
Kavva had only insisted that he go to the Olympics because of the astronomical signing bonus. The amount must have been at least several billion won, and making up for that meant capitalizing on every single accomplishment—four wins in a year, Olympic medals, and so on—to generate ad revenue for years.
But if the signing bonus stayed reasonable, there would be no need to push him to go to the Olympics. Jaekyung’s brand power would only grow after winning his fourth event this year. And if he managed to maintain that level of fame, the agency could recover the signing bonus within a year. No, less than a year. At the amount ProEdge had initially offered, just a few ads would cover it.