I knew it. Jiheon let out a sigh. His instincts had been right. Something had been off.
“The signing bonus would be the same, but he wanted to remove the cap on how many ads I’d be willing to do.”
Jiheon hadn’t expected Kavva to stoop this low.
If they are willing to drop the Olympic clause, but still want more ads, and the signing bonus is going to be the same...
“The terms are almost identical to what your agency is offering,” Jaekyung said.
“You’re right. Except theirs starts with a different number.”
“They said they’d add another zero if I asked.”
Are they out of their minds?
Jiheon nearly said it out loud.
Jaekyung wasn’t a league athlete, of course, which meant there was no salary cap[8] in place. Theoretically, an agency could offer whatever it wanted in terms of salary or signing bonus.
But this was just absurd. Jaekyung was planning to retire soon—and yet Kavva had just put ten billion won on the table. Even if ProEdge took out a mortgage on their building and every employee’s house, they still couldn’t scrape together that kind of money.
Kavva sure has deep pockets.
Jiheon let out a hollow sigh. Jaekyung, noticing, leaned to the side, propping one elbow on the table.
“What would you do, Hyung?”
“Well... I don’t know... I can’t really imagine something like that happening to me. It won’t, actually.”
Jiheon laughed. Using humility to downplay yourself and flatter the other person—it was sales 101. That alone could smooth over most tricky situations.
“How did you end up in the Promotion Team with so little imagination? Have you seen the press releases agencies like yours put out? They read like fiction.”
Depends on the person, I guess. Jaekyung wasn’t exactly the type to care what others thought. Flattery like that would not work on him.
“Let me rephrase that. What would you say if an athlete you personally knew came to you for advice on this exact issue?” Jaekyung asked.
It was a sharp, well-aimed question. Jiheon had no choice but to answer honestly.
“I would tell them to go with Kavva.”
“I figured,” Jaekyung said flatly, resting his chin on his hand. Then he added, without changing his tone.
“I thought my mother would say the same. That’s exactly why I haven’t told her.”
It might have sounded like Jaekyung was being considerate of ProEdge, but in truth, it was a quiet threat. If his mother found out, the deal with ProEdge would fall apart. Jaekyung wasn’t spelling it out, but he didn’t have to. The message was clear.
Jiheon grew confused.
I... didn’t think he was the type to talk like this. I thought he was blunt. Direct.
Then again, none of that mattered now. There were nearly ten people waiting just outside that door. A decision had to be made—and quickly.
“What do you want to do?”
Jiheon asked, deciding to be direct. If Jaekyung wasn’t going to say it, someone had to.
“What would you have me do, Hyung?”
Jaekyung shot back, cool and unfazed.
“I’d want you to sign with ProEdge, of course.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the agency I work for,” Jiheon said, sounding as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Jaekyung stared at him for a brief while, then answered.
“Okay. Then I’ll go with ProEdge.”
“What...?”
Do you really mean that? Jiheon opened his mouth to ask, but Jaekyung beat him to it.
“But on one condition.”
“What condition?” Jiheon asked, alarmed.
“It’s nothing big. Every time I do an ad, I get a wish.”
Jaekyung said it so casually that Jiheon nearly laughed—Oh, that’s it? No big deal.
But he pulled himself together in time.
“You mean like a bonus for every ad contract? Don’t tell me you’re asking for a new car each time—”
“I’m not.”
Jaekyung’s tone was steady.
“It won’t be money. My wishes will be directed at you personally. Not the agency.”
“Hold on... Me?”
Jiheon’s eyes widened.
“You want... something from me?”
“Yes.”
“Look here...”
Jiheon tried to say something—anything—but nothing came out. He just laughed.
“Wait, that doesn’t even make—”
“Why not?” Jaekyung cut in.
“I’m giving up a massive signing bonus to go with ProEdge. I think I’m entitled to some compensation. I could make it official—put it in the contract—but then we will have to revise the contract, and nobody wants that. That’s why I’m trying to keep it just between us. Quiet. Simple.”
He was still cupping his chin, his eyes fixed on Jiheon’s face. Jaekyung had no choice but to look up, since Jiheon hadn’t sat down. It made Jaekyung’s brown eyes even more noticeable.
Jiheon realized why the scene felt so familiar. Moments like this had happened now and back then, ten years ago. He’d been much taller than Jaekyung back then, and it had always been Jaekyung looking up at him when they spoke. It always gave him a clear view of Jaekyung’s brown eyes.
But everything about the guy had changed except his eyes. Nothing else felt familiar. This wasn’t the Jaekyung of ten years ago.
“Is this really worth it? Just so you can tell me what to do?”
Jiheon said with a dry laugh.
“Very worth it,”
Jaekyung said, his expression still neutral. His deadpan delivery made it more difficult to tell whether or not he was joking.
“God... You’re really not making this easy, are you...”
Jiheon muttered, pushing his hair back from his forehead. This messed up the hairstyle he’d worked on that morning, but he simply didn’t have the presence of mind to care. In the end, he even loosened his neatly tied tie.
“What exactly do you want from me?”
“Well, I’ll take my time deciding.”
“You need to give me a rough idea, at least. It can’t be anything illegal or unethical, you understand.”
“It’s nothing like that,” Jaekyung said, clicking his tongue.
Jiheon began to wonder if he’d taken things a little too far. Well, I suppose he wouldn’t go so far as to suggest something that absurd.
But then again, Jiheon quickly shook his head. What do I know about this guy?
The Jaekyung Jiheon knew would never have demanded such a ridiculous condition in the first place. The moment Kavva’s CEO approached him, he would have just accepted the offer. Then he would have left Kavva to deal with the aftermath and focused entirely on his training, now that the contract was settled.
“Well? What’s it going to be?”
Jaekyung asked. Jiheon couldn’t say a word. He wasn’t at all sure what to do.
If Taejin found out, he would end the talks immediately and walk out of the room. And that was assuming he kept his temper in check. He’d even brought three lawyers. There was a good chance he’d try to sue Jaekyung—for defamation, maybe. On the other hand, it wasn’t all that hard to turn this into a win for everyone. All he had to do was accept. He’d be the only one left uneasy about it.
If the agency prospered, his salary would go up, and he’d get a bonus, too. So it wasn’t all bad for him, either. If he backed out now, the agency might go bankrupt—they’d been operating in the red for too long. And that might not be a good thing for him. With so many alphas in sports, omegas weren’t exactly ideal hires. That thought sealed the deal.
“I’ll do it,” Jiheon said tersely.
“Really?” Jaekyung asked, frowning.
Hey, you’re the one who asked. Jiheon gave him a flabbergasted look. Then he crossed his arms.
“Well, do I have a choice? I’d probably say yes if they asked me to pull out a tooth for every ad deal.”
“Without anesthesia?”
“Seriously...? That’s what you’re asking me right now?”
“I want to know,” Jaekyung said gravely, without hesitation. He seemed to be genuinely curious.
“With anesthesia, of course. And I’d need implants, too. You know, plucking out teeth raw is a form of torture,” he said with a serious frown. Jaekyung had already lost interest. No surprise there.
“So there will only ever be twenty-eight ads. If you’ve got all your wisdom teeth, that’s thirty-two.”
“Wait... You aren’t actually going to ask me to pull out my teeth, are you?”
“Nah. I wouldn’t do that,” Jaekyung said offhandedly.
“I wouldn’t do something that’d hurt you,” he said, as if wanting to emphasize it.
The odd phrasing only made Jiheon more uneasy.
“In any case, if you’re agreeing, I want you to put it in writing.”
Jaekyung found a piece of used paper with a blank back and pushed it toward Jiheon. Jiheon took it hesitantly and sat down. Jaekyung kindly handed him a pen.
“Well, I’ll do it if you ask—but you know this won’t be notarized or legally binding, right?”
“Yes. I know. You could say it’s just a formality. A way to put psychological pressure on you.”
He really did have a gift for saying twisted things in a deadpan voice.
Jiheon thought he’d already steeled himself for this. But when it came time to actually follow through, he hesitated. Is this really a good idea? Even if I write and sign this... It won’t be enforceable. And it could be used as evidence against him if it ever came to that. It’s a good thing. If the worst came to pass—if things fell apart and they ended up fighting tooth and nail—he could use the signed memorandum as evidence. He could even claim he’d been blackmailed.
Jiheon pulled himself together and quickly wrote the whole thing before he changed his resolve could falter. Then he handed it to Jaekyung.
Jaekyung read it out loud.
“Confidential agreement. I, Jung Jiheon, an employee of ProEdge, hereby agree to grant Gwon Jaekyung one wish for every advertisement deal he successfully completes. This agreement excludes anything legal, financially burdensome, or ethically questionable.”
Jaekyung stared at it for a while, even after he’d read the entire thing. Jiheon grew nervous. Is there something wrong with it?
“Look, Hyung.”
Jiheon, who’d been watching anxiously, flinched when Jaekyung suddenly raised his head.
“Y-yeah. What is it? Why?”
Now that they were both seated, their eyes were level—and for some reason, that made Jiheon feel even more uneasy.
“This line here,” Jaekyung said, tapping on the paper.
“You don’t want to do anything unethical. Okay. Granted. But the part about something being potentially illegal—it won’t ever be illegal unless you sue, right?”
“I... I’m sorry?”
“It’s only a problem if you make it one. Isn’t that right?” Jaekyung asked, blinking.
Words failed Jiheon. Jaekyung grinned at him, then folded the paper in half. Jiheon was so taken aback, he didn’t even notice it was the first time that Jaekyung had smiled at him.
Jaekyung folded the paper again, this time small enough to fit in his palm. He slipped it into his pocket and stood up, glancing at Jiheon, who was still seated.
“Let’s go. We have a contract to sign.”
Then he left the room without waiting for Jiheon to answer.
As Jaekyung’s broad back disappeared through the open doorway, it finally hit Jiheon—he might have just made a huge mistake.