I talked with Faber late into the night. Unsurprisingly, most of our conversation was about work.
"With 50,000 units, there's definitely some pressure."
Even if we just stamped the Ultimate logo on them, they'd sell out in no time. But a collaboration with Gucci is different. A 100,000 won hoodie can target a broad range of consumers, but a 3,000,000 won jacket must appeal to a more specific, elite demographic. So, the planning, design, and sales approach would inevitably have to diverge from what we've done so far.
"The upper class typically wears classic suits. It wouldn't make sense to start designing formal wear at this point…"
I listened quietly as Faber continued.
"If I want to retain my unique style, perhaps an activewear look would be best, don't you think?"
I nodded in agreement.
"But, just because it fits my style doesn't mean I can go telling aristocrats to hop on a board…"
Despite his words, he seemed to have something in mind.
"The only thing that comes to mind when I think of a culture admired by the upper class is rugby."
Rugby? That's not a bad idea. When I traced the people who had targeted me, most were members of rugby teams. So, it seems that the so-called "insiders" often have a rugby background.
As I was organizing my thoughts, Faber continued.
"You know those rugby shirts worn almost like uniforms? The ones with densely packed horizontal stripes. Even if we just added embroidery and played with logos, I think it could look quite sophisticated…"
"I like it."
"Really? Do you?"
I nodded. Have I truly become a businessman? Marketing ideas lined up in my mind as soon as I heard the concept.
"What if we add a storyline to rugby?"
"A storyline?"
"Imagine a freshman at a royal academy forming a team to enter a rugby tournament."
We have a magazine as a medium. If we can fully utilize it, the promotional impact would be enormous.
"We could serialize every step in the magazine: recruiting team members, showing training scenes, and capturing moments from the tournament."
Then the story would practically write itself.
"Will we get team members?"
"Of course."
The moment someone's face appears in the magazine, they'd be an instant celebrity. And if we serialize with weekly updates, wouldn't everyone be eager to join the team?
"The idea is good, but since the readers are mostly royal academy students, it's hard to expect much promotional impact…"
"It's about time we start distributing in general bookstores. Everything's been prepared for that."
"Did… did you foresee all this and set things in motion in advance? Did you create the magazine specifically for this moment?"
No way. I'm no Chairman Park Yong-hak. This is all just spontaneous, improvisational live-action! Quick thinking… ahem!
Let's just say I'm benefitting from my second life.
"Imagine, right before the game starts, everyone fully decked out in the Ultimate x Gucci gear—shirts, sneakers, bags—it'll look perfect."
"Are you preparing for a national tournament?"
It's just a marketing strategy; a national tournament would be overdoing it. A selection match between first and second years to determine the school's representative would be enough material for the magazine.
'There's even a fitting pretext.'
That absurd hazing tradition of seniors pressuring freshmen by making them prove themselves. Wasn't that how Jack and Peter got caught up in that incident? And there was the previous case where the second years banned Queensman magazine at their whim.
There were more than enough reasons for a showdown between the first and second years.
"Now that you mention it, focusing on a single game for promotional purposes does seem more effective."
But it seemed like there was still one thing on his mind.
"Do you think you'll be able to beat the second years?"
"…?"
"At your age, even a one-year difference can make a big impact, right? Plus, the second years have had a whole year to build their team dynamics. It might be tough for freshmen to compete…"
If winning were absolutely necessary, that'd be a gamble, not marketing. The process of preparing for the match would be entertaining enough on its own.
'Of course, winning would amplify the effect.'
Regardless, I must have looked quite confident.
"Alright, I'll trust you and start working on it."
***
Meanwhile, at the royal academy…
The field was bustling late into the night. Carl Bernstein had urgently gathered the rugby team.
The official reason was to practice for an upcoming game, but he had a different motive.
"Go!"
"Fight! Don't back down!"
And indeed, in the heat of the match…
"…."
Carl stood alone, lost in thought.
One scene wouldn't leave his mind: shopping bags thrown into the mud. He had heard that his mother personally sent invitations to the noble family, yet…
Then, wasn't it practically an official visit?
But they tossed what they had just bought straight into the trash?
'Why on earth?'
He had replaced all the designers, thinking maybe the products were the issue. But no matter how he turned it over in his mind, it didn't seem to be a problem with the clothes.
'Then what could it be… what kind of grudge could they have?'
He racked his brain, digging up memories from years ago, but damn, he couldn't make sense of it. If he'd only made a few enemies, he could at least guess! But he'd made trouble left and right—so where to even start…?
Just then—
"Carl!"
Ralph, the vice-captain, passed the ball to Carl. Despite being deep in thought, Carl's reflexes kicked in instantly. Swiftly, he snatched the ball mid-air, clutching it tightly, and then took off like a rocket.
But he wasn't really focused on the game; his mind was tangled with scattered thoughts.
'Tennessee Grosvenor…'
No matter how much rage flared within him, there was nothing Carl could do. If he ever made an enemy of the duke's family…
'Mother would tear me apart.'
'Damn it!' So what was he supposed to do with this anger?
At that moment, a hand suddenly stretched out from below, aiming to snatch the ball away.
'How dare you!'
Normally, Carl would have spun gracefully, protecting the ball. But now, blinded by fury toward Tennessee, he turned as if to pivot—only to slam his elbow with all his might into the opponent's jaw.
Crack!
A sickening sound, enough to make his hair stand on end.
Unsurprisingly—
"…"
Everyone on the field froze like statues. Then—
Thud!
His opponent collapsed, seemingly unconscious.
Yet Carl remained unfazed, his mind looping the same thought like a broken record:
'What am I supposed to do with this anger?'
Teammates rushed over, panicking.
"Are you okay?"
"Is he unconscious?"
And among them—
"See, he shouldn't have made such an aggressive move…"
One person tried to defend Carl.
Finally, Carl's gaze settled on his unconscious opponent. The solid sensation of the elbow strike lingered on his arm.
'Yes, this is it.'
An opportunity to knock someone down legally. If he couldn't harm Tennessee, at least crushing someone of his ilk would feel satisfying.
Then a name came to mind as if on cue.
'Park Ji-hoon.'
If he thought about it, this was all Park Ji-hoon's fault to begin with, wasn't it?
Carl quickly turned to Ralph, the vice-captain.
"What's happening with that friendly match you were arranging?"
"Huh? Oh, well… it's still pending because of the issue between the first and second years."
"So? Are we just going to sit around and do nothing?"
"Ah, no."
"Just make it happen!"
At Carl's growl, Ralph lowered his eyes in silent compliance.
***
The next day.
After the weekend, I headed out to the streets early in the morning. I might end up having to play in a rugby match. Thankfully, I'd been keeping up my stamina.
'Hmm.'
But lately, I'd been slacking a bit, using work as an excuse. I decided to do a light run to check my condition.
'It's raining.'
True to London's nature, the weather was gloomy. It was still dawn, with a light drizzle, so how many people would be out exercising? I might have the entire neighborhood to myself today.
I tightened my shoelaces and started with deep breaths.
"Hoo, hoo."
For the first ten minutes, I used only half my strength. Once my body warmed up, I pushed harder, running until I was gasping for breath.
The sound of rain hitting the ground, my steady breathing, and the pounding of my feet—those were the only three sounds in this dawn.
Of course—
"Haah, haah…"
The moment I stopped, the heavy, pounding beat of my heart, which I had been ignoring, finally made itself known, spreading from my fingertips to my toes.
Yeah, this is it. A feeling I never experienced in my previous life!
Maybe that's why, despite the hammering of my heart, as if warning me not to overdo it—
I found myself smiling in satisfaction.
My stamina was sufficient. I had no experience with rugby, but it's not a solo sport anyway.
'I have something up my sleeve too.'
For now, the important thing was to get the second years to accept this challenge. I raised my left hand to check the time.
'Time to make some calls.'
***
One hour later.
Since early in the morning, several people had gathered in my room. Of course, my roommate Peter was here, along with my business partner Olivia and military enthusiast Jack Grylls.
It was fine for Peter and Olivia since they've worked with me before, but—
"…"
Jack was somewhat behind on recent developments.
So I had to explain everything—Queensman's store, the magazine, and even the Ultimate project.
"I see."
When Jack nodded, Peter asked in surprise.
"You knew about this?"
"No."
"Then why aren't you surprised?"
Jack glanced over at me as he answered.
"I've been to Korea. Since then, nothing Ji-hoon does surprises me."
"What's in Korea?"
"A mansion-like house, a private office building with multiple floors, and even a first-class seat ready for his return to the UK…"
Enough with the unnecessary details!
Since Jack seemed to be caught up now, I explained the Ultimate x Gucci collaboration to everyone. I revealed that we'd be hosting a rugby match for the project, and it would be serialized in the magazine. Each of them responded differently.
First, Jack Grylls.
"Heave-ho! Heave-ho!"
Overflowing with testosterone, he immediately started a bodyweight workout, as if he were a warrior who'd just received marching orders, ready to dash out onto the field.
Next was Olivia.
True to her background as the daughter of a wealthy family, she thought big.
"If you're going to play in a match, you'll need practice opponents, right? Should I call a team from the States? If I ask my dad, he can arrange it quickly."
Lastly, there was Peter.
"We need to assess our opponent's strength first."
Quick-witted as ever, Peter seemed to have already planned his next move.
"The rugby team trains nearly every day. I'll sneak in and compile some analysis data."
This wasn't meant to be a meeting to gather help, just a session to share the upcoming plans with my people. Still—
'I'm grateful they're stepping up like it's their own business.'
It's a project where winning or losing doesn't really matter, but—
'Since we're doing this, why not give it our all?'
As more solid plans came to mind, I couldn't help but smile.