[30th July 2000 – 10:25 AM, Taepyeong-ro, Chung-gu, Seoul, Korea.]
A beat of silence lingered as they waited for Xavier's decision. The city skyline glittered behind the panoramic windows, Seoul bustling below like a living circuit board. Xavier finally uncrossed his legs, a bright smile appearing on his face as he stood up. "Gentlemen, I look forward to working with you. Let's create the best stadium in America."
He promptly shook hands with all the representatives from the three companies with the customary slight head bow. The mood that had been tense quickly turned joyous as the teams of lawyers passed the contracts around the able like sacred scripture—thick binders embossed with each company's seal. Lawyers slid them to their respective clients, pages whispering as they were turned and checked for the hundredth time.
David tapped his pen twice against the signature tab. "This is the final version," he murmured to Xavier. "No hidden poison pills, no last-minute surprises. You sign, they sign, and we're married for the next three years."
He scanned the contract for a moment, and it appeared green in his eyes just as David had said, a nifty side effect of his ability. "Till opening night do us part," Xavier said lightly as he picked up the pen.
Across the table, Director Jung signed for Hyundai, then Lee for Samsung C&T. Turner's representative added his own neat scribble on the American compliance line. David closed the binder gently, as if sealing something alive inside. "Congratulations," he said. "You just set the bar for every other owner in the league."
Lee rose first, bowing slightly. "We will not disappoint you, Chairman James."
"Please," Xavier said, standing as well, "it's just Xavier. Now is it time for the hoesik (회식) I've been hearing about?"
A ripple of relieved laughter moved around the room, the tension finally breaking for good. "But of course," Director Jung said, his usually stern face softening into a genuine smile. "We have a reservation nearby. Very traditional. You asked to 'eat what real Koreans eat,' yes?"
"As long as it's not still moving," Xavier replied. "I'll try anything once, but I draw the line at my dinner fighting back. Not even the French could convince me of that."
That earned him another round of chuckles. Within minutes, the delegation was filing out of the conference room, ties loosened, jackets draped over arms. David fell into step beside Xavier as they headed toward the private elevator.
"You realise," David said lightly, "you just committed nearly two billion dollars in under an hour and then asked about dinner like you ordered takeout."
"Well, did I make a mistake?" Xavier asked.
David smiled. "No. That's the disturbing part."
~~~
[30th July 2000 – 7:10 PM, Jongno District, Seoul]
The restaurant was tucked into a quiet side street, all warm wood and soft lantern light glowing against the summer evening. A hostess in a hanbok bowed them in, leading the group through sliding doors into a private room lined with low tables and floor cushions.
Shoes off at the entrance, of course. Xavier slipped off his oxfords, flexing his toes in his dress socks as he followed the others. "You know," he murmured to David, "if I made all my Coaches or executives from the message sit on the floor for meetings, half of them would resign."
"Then maybe I should introduce the idea to the teams I don't like back at the firm," David replied with a half smile.
The private room was already set with banchan—an array of small side dishes: kimchi, marinated spinach, pickled radish, tiny dried anchovies, and glossy black beans. A built-in grill sat in the centre of each table. A server knelt gracefully to light the flames.
Xavier looked around, impressed. "Alright, please don't hold it against me if I get this wrong," he said, as he unscrewed the expensive-looking soju bottle and poured everyone in his tale a shot glass. Standing up, he looked at everyone in the room who had turned silent, waiting for his address.
"First, I'd like to thank you for putting up with me for two months of project proposals," he said in slightly broken Korean but still understandable. "I toast to a fruitful partnership and the construction of something iconic to be remembered far after our time."
He gulped down the shot in one go, the smooth alcohol sliding down his throat, instantly giving him a light buzz. Loud shouts of cheers met him as everyone also took a shot as Xavier took his seat, sitting cross-legged between Lee and Jung. "So, what am I eating first?"
"Samgyeopsal," Lee said. "Pork belly. Very popular to eat with soju and friends. It is… how you say… essential Korean life experience."
"I like essential," Xavier said, snapping his wrist. "Let's do essential gentlemen."
The first tray of raw pork arrived—thick slices of marbled meat that the server laid onto the hot grill. The sizzle filled the room, followed by the smell of browning fat. More bottles of soju appeared as if by magic, lined up like little translucent soldiers.
Jung picked one up, turned to Xavier, and bowed his head slightly. "In Korea," he said, "it is customary for seniors to pour for juniors, and juniors for seniors. Tonight, we are partners. So we pour for each other."
"That sounds like a good way to accidentally start a war," Xavier said, but he lifted his glass all the same, eager to learn more about another culture than what he learned back home.
They went through the ritual: Jung poured for him with two hands; Xavier accepted with both hands, then poured for Jung in return. David watched, amused, as Xavier copied the etiquette almost perfectly after seeing it once.
"To a successful project," Jung said in Korean.
"건배 (geonbae)," Xavier echoed, his accent rough but enthusiastic.
They drank the soju, tasting stronger than it had been the first time, its innocent look quite deceiving. Now that he savoured it, it glided down his throat, its warmth filling his chest. The second glass went down easier. After the third, the room felt a little looser, the laughter a little louder.
"Chair—Xavier," Lee corrected himself, "why New York? You could build anywhere. London. Tokyo. Dubai."
"Because New York is the centre of gravity," Xavier said, picking up a lettuce leaf as the grilled pork was sliced. "If you win there, the world has to pay attention. Plus, I grew up watching them as a kid; my father would buy nosebleed tickets at the Giants Stadium to watch our team. So to be able to take them back to Queens means a lot to me and to the fans as well."
Lee watched as he assembled his first ssam—lettuce, rice, pork, a sliver of garlic, kimchi, and a smear of ssamjang. "Too big," Lee warned.
Xavier stuffed the whole thing in his mouth anyway, and they waited for his reaction. He chewed. Eyes watered slightly. He forced it down, swallowed, and exhaled. "Okay," he said hoarsely. "That is… not bad. Might need to draft a second stomach, though."
The table erupted in laughter, the fourth round of soju followed. Conversation branched and braided—talk of their respective companies and cultural differences, curing times mixed with stories from Seoul, from New York, from university days. David told the story of the first time a judge had dressed him down in open court; Lee countered with the tale of a typhoon that had nearly delayed a high-rise topping-out ceremony.
At some point, a TV on the far wall flicked on silently, tuned to a Korean sports channel. Highlights rolled in the background—KBO baseball, J-League goals, then a familiar logo flashed across the screen. The Tigers' emblem is a silver tiger mid-pounce across a graphic cut.
Xavier's attention snapped to it automatically. The Korean commentators spoke over preseason footage—the game from the night before, chopped into quick sequences. Highlights of the Giants Stadium, the Navy jerseys—number 10 at quarterback flashed on the screen.
"Ah," Jung said, noticing where he was looking. "Your team."
"Yeah," Xavier murmured.
He watched in silence as the highlight package ran through the basics—Saints touchdown, Santos' field goal, then the play-action shot. Brady's roll-out, the deep ball, Hayes hauling it in for six. One of the younger Samson engineers pointed at the screen, squinting. "Your quarterback is… not very fast," he observed in Korean.
Jung translated with a carefully neutral tone as Xavier struggled to compute in his slightly buzzed state. "He says your quarterback looks… not so athletic."
"Most honest man in the room," Xavier said dryly, but he couldn't stop the small smile tugging at his mouth as he watched Brady jog back to the huddle, calm now, shoulders looser than they'd been on the first drive.
The stat line popped up on the corner of the screen in Korean characters and numbers. 9/15, 87, 1 TD, 0 INT.
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To Be Continued...