NOVEL NEXT Chapter 2: Chapter 2
The flight from New York JFK Airport to Manchester Airport takes just seven hours.
As soon as the gate opened, Helena rushed out as if she were being chased and jumped into the team car that had come to pick her up.
Normally, the drive from Manchester Airport to the Banfield Training Centre, the training ground and headquarters of Burnley Football Club, would take over an hour, but Helena managed to have her driver cover the distance in just 30 minutes.
Helena, who had been anxiously gazing at the passing English countryside, skipped the luxury of unpacking at the hotel and headed straight to the club office as soon as she arrived at Banfield.
The last time she had slept was early yesterday morning, according to her time zone. Yet, she walked through the chaotic club office, filled with tension and caffeine due to the sudden resignation of the manager and staff, and opened the door marked 'Mike Garlick.'
"What the hell is going on?!"
"Who are you?!"
Two middle-aged men, sitting across from each other at the conference table with dark expressions, looked at her with puzzled faces.
Helena pulled out a chair, sat down, and spoke to the man she thought might find her material helpful.
"I'm Helena Cartwright, the new director."
"Ah. So, the Cartwright Fund? I..."
"Yes, Mike Garlick. He was the former club owner. But that's not the issue. What happened? Why did the manager suddenly resign?"
The expressions of the two British men began to darken as they looked at the young American woman who had unexpectedly entered their office and started asking questions.
As Helena noticed their displeased looks, several responses came to mind.
Trying to suppress the instinct to shout—her most emotionally driven response—Helena chose to apologize, a decision guided by her cool-headed reasoning inherited from her father and her experience over the past ten years.
"I'm sorry," she said. "The last time I slept was 36 hours ago, and I just flew straight from New York, which took about 10 hours. I guess I got a bit carried away."
Helena straightened up in her chair and looked at the two men again.
"Hello again. I'm Helena Cartwright, the new Director of Burnley Football Club, representing the Cartwright Fund. How are you doing, and how can I assist you?"
Her polite apology and greeting seemed to ease the mood a bit, and Mike Garlick and his companion, John Banaskiewicz, began to explain things to her.
With all the ALK Capital executives gone, the only executives remaining were Mike Garlick, who had stayed on as an honorary director after selling his beloved hometown club to ALK Capital eight months earlier, and his long-time friend and former Burnley director, John Banaskiewicz.
This led to the absurd situation where former owner Mike Garlick and the new owner's deputy, Helena Cartwright, were left to handle the current crisis at Burnley Football Club, with John Banaskiewicz, the only remaining director, serving as a sidekick.
"... So does that mean we can't convince the director to return?"
"Sean had already said he would resign when I first sold the club. ALK Capital held him back with new investments and full support. Now that ALK Capital has suddenly withdrawn and a new American owner has appeared, it seems impossible to convince Sean to stay."
"I don't have anything against Americans," Mike Garlick added.
John Banaskiewicz, who had been listening to the explanation, continued speaking.
"Sean feels like trust has been broken, and trust is really important to him. I think Mike and I are probably pretty disappointed too, although he hasn't said it directly."
Helena clutched her head, continuously sighing.
Despite already having finished her fourth cup of coffee since arriving at the office, Helena tried to keep up with the jargon-heavy conversation between the two directors while resisting the urge to reach for the coffee pot on the side of the office.
"...The problem is that next week is the opening game, and we don't have a manager, we don't have a head coach, and we don't really have any coaching staff. They all left with Sean."
"Oh, then the Junior Varsity... So, can't we promote the junior team coach?"
While Helena, who was trying to recall the information she'd crammed into her head on the plane, interrupted, the two men flinched for a moment before simultaneously sighing.
"Well, here, instead of the junior team, the under-23 team is called the reserve team, and the under-19 team is called the youth team. Of course, the under-19 team is also divided by age, but Burnley's youth team isn't as divided as the big clubs. For reference, the main team is called the first team."
Mike Garlick continued the explanation, with John Banaskiewicz unexpectedly becoming Helena's surprise soccer tutor.
"But the reserve team coach also quit along with Sean."
"Then what about the under-19s, the youth team?"
Mike Garlick and John Banaskiewicz exchanged glances.
John Banaskiewicz shook his head, and Helena watched the two men.
"That guy hasn't even been here for a month. He's a complete rookie with no experience coaching the first team or the reserve team. I can't even remember what level of UEFA license he has."
"We have a UEFA Pro License. I remember Sean saying that," Mike Garlick added.
"Anyway, right now there's no other alternative than him, right? Or can you find a new director within a week?"
"I can save you, but..."
"...but?"
"...I'm not sure if we can get the director we want."
Mike Garlick said in a half-hearted tone. Helena responded,
"Then wouldn't it be better to meet that person and talk to him?"
"...It might be better than not doing it."
The man who entered the conference room, where all three club board members were gathered, was a young Asian man, about 180 centimeters tall, with a gentle expression and a very thin frame.
Even though Helena, who had attended public schools in New York since childhood according to her family's educational policy and had friends from all walks of life and races, found it difficult to accurately guess his age, it was clear that he didn't have the confidence or poise she typically expected from a sports coach.
The black-haired man nodded silently, sitting down facing the directors. He placed his hands respectfully on his knees and looked at the three of them.
Helena glanced at the papers in front of her (this primitive club still managed documents on paper!), feeling like a cow being led to the slaughterhouse.
"Hey, Hwimyeon Kim?"
The man sighed softly and responded in English, with a distinct accent, but not hard to understand.
"Just call me Kim. I won't even ask for Hyungmin."
"Then Mr. Kim?"
"It's Kim. Mr. Kim."
Helena continued speaking, thinking to herself that the pronunciation was more of a "G" sound, not a "K."
"Mr. Kim. Are you aware that you're the only manager left in the club?"
"Well, that's true, but if you're a coach, aren't there quite a few of you left on the youth team?"
"But that..."
Helena quickly checked the data.
"UEFA? - Mike, what is UEFA? - Anyway, this UEFA Pro License? I heard you're the only one who has it?"
Kim tilted his head slightly, then nodded in confirmation.
"That's great. So, can you lead the team in the opening game?"
"Are you talking about the Division 2 opening game?"
When another term she didn't understand came up, Helena finally gave up on the conversation and turned her head, silently asking for help from the other two sitting next to her.
Fortunately, John Banaskiewicz caught her unspoken request and answered for her.
"It's the first team opening game, not the reserve team."
"Uh... Weren't you just about to fire me?"
"Fire you? No, why would I fire you? No, I'm asking you to take charge as the interim manager for the opening match of the Premier League next week."
Kim, who had been sitting blankly for a while as if trying to process the question, finally responded in an agitated voice, as though he found the idea ridiculous.
"You want me to manage Burnley in the Premier League? A rookie like me? Do you have any common sense?"
"No, I'm not asking you to manage the entire season..."
John Banaskiewicz, who had suddenly become the irrational one, began to argue desperately, sweating profusely.
Helena turned her attention away from the heated conversation beside her and gazed out the window at the gloomy sky. Once again, she cursed her evil boss (and father) for throwing her into this situation.
Hyungmin was walking down the usually noisy club office hallway, which had become eerily quiet after the manager and his staff left. He opened a small door at the end of the hall.
Originally, the U-19 team manager had a separate desk in a shared office with other staff members, but Sean Dyche, who had brought him to Burnley, was so busy that he converted a small warehouse into a new workspace.
It consisted of just a small desk, a chair, and a folding chair standing next to a filing cabinet.
But for Hyungmin, it was the only place he felt was truly his own at Burnley Football Club, which had become his home just a month ago.
"What did you say? You want me to leave?"
A grumpy-looking white-haired man sat in front of the desk, which took up half of the small room, with only one small window near the ceiling letting the last bits of summer sunlight shine on the desk. He looked at Hyungmin and asked.
Hyungmin shook his head at the man who had taken his desk, unfolded the folding chair, and sat down across from him.
"No, Arthur."
"I knew you called me to fire me. Well, if you fire me, you'll have to pay a penalty, so can't you do that? By the way, why on earth did you call me? With this situation, everyone must be out of their minds right now."
Arthur Brimlow had been a fixture in Burnley Football Club's development program, dedicating his entire 60-year career to the club.
Born and raised in Burnley, he had progressed through the youth ranks but suffered a serious injury shortly after making his first-team debut. Afterward, he coached and managed Burnley's youth teams, served as the reserve team manager, and eventually became the club's head of development programs.
The elderly coach, who was about to retire, had planned to enjoy a peaceful retirement with his wife, but he had been coaxed into staying on to complete the handover to the newly appointed youth team coach, Hyungmin, at the earnest request of manager Sean Dyche.
Of course, no one had bothered to ask Clarissa Brimlow, Arthur's wife, how she felt about being suddenly forced to spend an inordinate amount of time with her now-retired husband.
Hyungmin answered the curly-haired old man, who was urging the young, blue-eyed child to speak.
"They asked me to lead the first team's opening game... as a temporary manager"
"… Are those guys crazy?!"
Hyungmin agreed with Arthur's outburst but felt slightly offended.
"No, that's true, but it's not really necessary to say it like that..."
"I'll be begging and kneeling at Sean's house, I don't need to hand it over to a greenhorn! I don't want Joachim Low, but I can call Roy Hodgson! Neil Warnock is also unemployed. We're Burnley Football Club! We can't tarnish the reputation of the Clarets who fight to the end like this!"
The former head coach of the German national team who won the World Cup. The former Crystal Palace manager who had managed top-flight clubs for decades, including the England national team. And the veteran who achieved the most promotions in English professional football history.
As all the big-name European football managers, currently unemployed, were brought up one by one, Arthur noticed Hyungmin's expression darkening rapidly and stopped speaking with a sharp expression.
"Uh, uh, no... what I mean is..."
"No, Arthur. I understand."
"Ahem. Well, of course, you have talent, but being a Premier League manager is…"
"No, I told you, you don't have to say anything."
"No! Who knows? You might have talent like Julian Nagelsmann!"
Nagelsmann had made his debut as a first-team coach in the German Bundesliga at the age of just 28. By 34, he had become the manager of Bayern Munich for a record transfer fee of 25 million euros.
When the same-age genius was mentioned, who was appointed as the manager of the Bundesliga powerhouse at that age, Hyungmin buried his face in his desk, deep in frustration.
"Ah, no... what I mean is...!"