Chapter 1.2

The tabloids were laid out one after another on the chipped glass table. Absurd headlines were stamped across them in large bold print. Dan smoothed out his facial muscles, which were twitching of their own accord, and narrowed his eyes.

“Mister.”

“Just Dan is fine.”

“Dan?”

“What is it you’ve come here for?”

Dan spoke with a look of complete indifference. He genuinely had no interest whatsoever in the man in front of him had to say. One of several irritating elements when he occasionally watched F1, that was about the sum of Dan’s feelings toward Brian Paul. He wanted to wrap things up quickly and get some rest.

Brian spoke in a clipped tone.

“Would it be alright if I asked a few things first?”

Dan gave a half-hearted nod.

“Are you a Ferrari fan?”

“Yes.”

“Ferrari is a team with tradition. They’ve been struggling a bit lately but that’s…”

“Are you going to lecture me on F1 history?”

At Dan’s unfriendly question, Brian waved his hand and asked to confirm once more.

“No. Are you certain you’re a Ferrari fan?”

Unlike his quick reply just before, Dan pressed his lips firmly together. Thinking about it, there were many ways in which he fell short of calling himself a true F1 fan. There were various ways in which he fell short of calling himself a Ferrari fan too.

“Well, I’m the kind of person who watches F1 on weekends when I have time to see who became champion. I tend to root for Ferrari when I watch. That’s about it, it’s not the same as the Italian fans shouting ‘Forza Ferrari!'”

“Fair enough. You like Ferrari either way?”

“So among the teams currently out there, yes, I like Ferrari. Doesn’t most people? It’s a team with tradition and strength. It’s different from some team that just popped up out of nowhere.”

Dan spoke in an even tone.

“A team with tradition and strength, right.”

Brian repeated Dan’s words in a businesslike tone, his eyebrow twitching. The team his younger brother Christopher Paul belonged to had once been a storied powerhouse too. Only, they had been a powerhouse in an era too far removed to call it modern F1, and had withdrawn from the sport for a good while before returning.

When they came back to the track three years ago, opinions had been divided: they’ll fall apart and leave the track again, they’ll show what a champion team is made of. Having made a spectacular comeback in the midst of all that, they carried more of an image of having popped up out of nowhere than of a team with genuine tradition.

“You don’t like Chris?”

Brian asked, clearing his throat loudly.

“No.”

“Why not?”

At Dan’s answer, Brian asked with a stiffened face. His expression had dropped all pretense of the composed man of the world. Disbelief showed plainly on it.

Dan breathed out flatly at Brian Paul’s attitude, which was clearly that of a man with a severe brother complex.

“I just don’t like him, that’s why.”

“What specifically is it that you dislike so much?”

“A number of things.”

Dan answered with a serious face to Brian’s earnest question.

“Fundamentally I like aggressive drivers. Stable or smooth driving, the quiet but fast kind, those are impressive too, racing is aggressive by nature, but there’s a limit to what aggressive means.”

Brian’s face stiffened a little more with each word.

“I like clean fighting. Even aggressive drivers usually push their opponent into an unfavorable position and then surge ahead, but Christopher Paul pushes opponents all the way into the gravel trap.” (The gravel trap is the gravel-covered area installed on the outside of the track. It is used to stop a race car in the event of an accident, or to slow down a vehicle that has lost its ability to drive before it collides with a safety barrier. Because it forcibly reduces speed and performance, cars that end up in the trap often end their race right there.)

“That’s basically telling someone to get out and die. That kind of fighting isn’t right. It’s mean, it’s underhanded, it’s low.”

As he kept talking, Dan realized he’d thought about Chris Paul in quite some depth.

“One of Christopher Paul’s strengths is his race start, but honestly that’s not a start, it’s a nuisance. Right after the start he cuts across the road and thoroughly blocks his opponents’ lines, doesn’t he?”

Brian’s expression kept getting worse.

“His fans call it a legitimate start technique, but that start goes beyond interference and causes accidents. It’s not like everyone has to get out of the way just because someone’s coming in from the side, and when someone doesn’t move and there’s a collision, the temperament on that man. It’s not for nothing that even the head of Paul’s own team refuses to watch, hear about, or want to know anything about Christopher Paul’s race openings. It’s a disaster bad enough that you have to watch it with your eyes open and your ears on while completely zoned out. Shall I go on?”

Dan stopped there. Brian looked like he wanted to pick apart Dan’s argument point by point, but he magnanimously nodded in silence.

Dan was holding back in his own way too.

‘That bastard’s a traitor. What kind of fan likes a traitor? Traitors can drop dead.’

He’d wanted to say things like that, but he didn’t bother expressing his anger to someone who was on Chris’s side and had decided to be easygoing about it.

He didn’t want to condone the behavior of someone who betrayed the team that had raised him and walked away, and he did want to voice his grievances about such underhanded conduct, but the desire to come across as a rational person was stronger, so he held back what could have been an emotional outburst.

“Alright. Last night with Chris, truly nothing…”

Brian cleared his throat in a voice that sounded like he was biting down hard. Mid-sentence, as he was trying to confirm the facts, Brian caught sight of Dan’s stiffening face and closed his mouth. He glanced back at his companions.

The most spirited looking of the three gave Brian’s shoulder a reassuring pat as if to say it was alright. Brian gathered up his scattered words and spoke.

“Just to be sure, I, just a bit of the facts.”

“Nothing happened.”

Dan said flatly. He was genuinely puzzled. Everyone had their secrets, they said, so why was the entire world aware of a situation that only he and Chris Paul and the staff bound by client confidentiality should have known about. He had no idea at all where it had leaked from.

“Good. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] So you’re a Ferrari fan, you don’t like Chris, and nothing happened.”

Brian nodded to himself, satisfied.

“Yes.”

“Good, let’s make a contract.”

Brian said it in the tone of someone reading from a book.

“I’m sorry…?”

“I said let’s make a contract.”

“What kind of contract?”

“You’re unemployed, aren’t you?”

“That’s true.”

“Let’s make a contract.”

Brian held his hand out toward his companions again.

“Two and a half months off season, ten weeks. During that time, let’s contract you as Christopher Paul’s personal manager. The pay is a hundred thousand dollars per week. For every week extended, an additional ten thousand dollars on top. Activity expenses will of course be covered on our end. If you want, we’ll throw in a relationship allowance too. I can’t give you a per-encounter allowance since there’s no way for me to track the number, but if you agree to a contract prohibiting disclosure and written accounts of any romantic involvement, then the relationship allowance as well… what is it?”

Dan raised his hand without a word.

“Personal manager for two and a half months of off season?”

“Christopher Paul’s manager, yes.”

“Because I’m a Ferrari fan, I don’t like Christopher Paul, and nothing happened between us?”

“So that’s why, if you want, the relationship allowance as well…”

“A hundred thousand dollars per week?”

Dan asked, thoroughly ignoring the relationship allowance.

“Is that too little?”

Dan considered saying yes, but didn’t want to push his luck and ruin it. A hundred thousand dollars per week, off season roughly ten weeks. Two and a half months’ earnings came to a million dollars.

“No.”

“An additional ten thousand dollars per week for every extension.”

“Why me all of a sudden…”

Brian put on a business smile over his professional expression.

“Chris’s personal manager position is currently open. During the off season, we usually hire a chef and a housekeeper as well. But this time, we don’t have those people. Even so, there’s no need to worry too much. Bodyguards, coaches, physical therapists, gardeners, stablehands for the 51-room stable, a personal physician who’s ready to rush over at a moment’s notice, and a top-tier nutritionist who’s always available for consultation are all on standby at all times.”

“The personal manager role really just amounts to staying by Chris’s side, running the vacuum if the mansion gets too messy, helping with meal prep according to the diet plan the nutritionist has drawn up, and accompanying him when the team calls. [Read on RanaTranslations🌸] Simple, right?”

Dan was dizzy with the numbers: a hundred thousand dollars per week, ten thousand more for every extension, ten weeks total at most.

“Shall we draw up the contract?”

Brian smiled his business smile and pushed the contract forward. Dan knew there was a trap in here somewhere, but found it hard to stop his hand from wanting to move and sign.

Dan pressed down the urge to reach for the pen and tried to collect himself.

“Who exactly is this contract with? Christopher Paul? Brian Paul?”

“Christopher Paul.”

“Christopher Paul isn’t here.”

Brian smiled more broadly than he had at any point so far.

“I’m Brian Paul, Christopher Paul’s proxy.”

“Does Christopher Paul really pay that kind of money to a manager he’s only hiring for ten weeks?”

“The duration could change depending on Christopher Paul’s response.”

Dan stared quietly at the beautiful numbers written on the white paper. Numbers that represented income he could never hope for, now or in the future, were written there. He swallowed and made one last attempt to hold out.

“Christopher Paul must make a lot of money.”

Brian shrugged and said matter-of-factly:

“Of course. Chris’s annual salary is forty-five million dollars. That’s been the case since last year, but even his first year salary was more than half that. And that’s just the salary; his total annual income is several times that figure. He’s pulling in astronomical sums through advertisements, sponsorships, broadcast appearances, modeling fees, and more.”

Brian’s voice was full of pride and confidence.

“Above all, the value of an F1 triple champion isn’t something you can measure in numbers. Just thinking about the broadcasting rights FOM (Formula One Management), earns every year, it’s enormous. I can’t give you the exact figures, though.”

Hearing that Chris Paul’s annual salary was forty-five million dollars, Dan thought that a million and ten thousand dollars or so, sweeping up every last extension bonus, must be pocket change by comparison. Before Dan had even finished the thought, his hand had picked up the pen and quietly signed the contract.

Brian smiled his business smile and gathered up the signed contract.

“Dan, then we’ll see you in Dublin.”

On the chipped glass table sat a ticket to Dublin.

It was the true beginning of Kim Dan’s misfortune.