Chapter 6

6

2. Special Applications, Helpers (3)

"Here it is."

Fortunately, Sebastian parked the car in front of a Spanish restaurant.

When we entered the store, a waitress in semi-formal attire greeted us warmly in Spanish. It seemed that Sebastian and she were somewhat acquainted.

There was a menu on the table.

"I'll recommend today's special for the meal. And you can have whatever you want to drink."

I pointed to a familiar name of a beer. Sebastian called the waitress.

"Give me a glass of this beer and one serving of today's special. And I'll have my usual meal and drink."

"Vegetable juice with lots of vegetables? I've always wondered, is it really tasty? Without any sugar...?"

"It's edible."

The waitress nodded, still looking puzzled, and headed to the kitchen.

"Do you come here often?"

"Yes, the chef is Spanish, and most importantly, the food is delicious."

"Ah."

"Just a moment."

While Sebastian was checking his phone, the drinks and some bread arrived at the table. I couldn't take my eyes off the drink in front of Sebastian.

"You... always drink this?"

"Yes, during the season, I can't drink alcohol. It's also good for body maintenance."

Sebastian naturally sipped the thick green drink.

Ugh, it's terrible.

I took a few sips of my beer.

Thinking about it, it's impressive. Not drinking alcohol during the season. This thought became stronger as each dish was served.

My appetizer was a tapas dish with salmon on a baguette, and Sebastian's appetizer was a salad. When my main dish, a greasy oven-roasted shrimp, came out, Sebastian's main dish was a plain-looking chicken breast steak.

He really takes good care of his body.

For the second main course, mine was a beef steak, and Sebastian's was a healthy-looking pasta.

I couldn't help but ask out of curiosity.

"Do you eat like this every day?"

"...Not every day, just one meal a week. After the game, I need to eat high-calorie food. But I can't eat it now since I can't play in the games."

This guy, the more I see him, the better he seems.

Sebastian's eating pace slowed down, and he started talking more.

The conversation was mainly about my home and my life, including where to find good supermarkets and when to throw out the trash.

"Since we're neighbors, just ask if you don't know."

He's considerate.

I cut a piece of steak and tried to forget the fish and chips I had in the morning.

This is what food should be.

While looking at Sebastian, who was chatting, I had a few questions.

When did he start experiencing racial discrimination? Does he want to go back to Spain because of racial discrimination?

From the agency's offer to only manage him for the remaining season, it seemed like going back to Spain was a foregone conclusion.

If I ask, it might ruin the mood.

Just then, the waitress brought the dessert. While clearing the table, her hand touched mine. She smiled slightly. Latin women are the best. I felt my heart race for some reason.

At that moment, Sebastian's phone vibrated.

"It's from my mom. Just a moment."

Sebastian quickly typed a reply. Seeing this, I remembered something. When our hands touched, the phone didn't vibrate?

I checked my phone, but there was no icon on the status bar.

Was the helper I saw all day a hallucination? But the helper was still there, and the content was the same.

What is this?

"Do you have something like a horoscope in the East?"

"Huh?"

Sebastian was looking at me, having put his phone away.

I had only shown indirect interest before, so being directly asked made me flustered. I kept mumbling about the mystique of the East, but I knew nothing about it.

"There's also physiognomy and astrology..."

"Aren't those Western?"

"There's also the Chinese zodiac astrology."

"Oh, that, that one."

Sebastian naturally continued the conversation. Even when the topic shifted from the East to the West, Sebastian's talk didn't stop.

Sebastian seemed very interested in the occult.

It was also written in the helper. 'Likes superstitions.'

"...So, can you tell if it's better for me to go back to Spain or stay in England using something like a horoscope?"

Sebastian asked very cautiously.

Didn't he decide to go back to Spain?

Not knowing what to say, I was silent. Just then, a woman at the next table recognized Sebastian.

"Mr. Rodriguez?"

"Yes?"

Sebastian looked up at her. She covered her mouth and was about to exclaim but then shook Sebastian's hand.

"I'm a fan!"

Sebastian smiled awkwardly.

"I can't play in the games these days."

"The first season is an adaptation period. If you do well next season, don't worry too much. The team is doing well. If this continues, we can make it to the Premier League. It's all thanks to Mr. Rodriguez's good performance at the beginning!"

"...Thank you."

"I have a Rodriguez jersey. Can you sign it? And take a photo?"

"Sure, no problem."

Sebastian awkwardly signed and took a photo with her. I took the photo. Sebastian smiled briefly during the photo, and the smile didn't fade even after the fan left.

"You're popular."

"He's a nice person."

Sebastian blushed and replied. Then we got up and headed to the car.

While Sebastian was doing fan service, I thought about his question. Maybe he still has some attachment to his life in England, that's all I could guess.

The conversation ended awkwardly, and during the car ride, Sebastian didn't say anything. Sebastian sat in the driver's seat, sighed lightly, and started the engine.

"About what I asked earlier... just forget it. I must have been crazy for a moment."

To avoid an awkward atmosphere, I brought up the chef.

"The chef doesn't seem to know you're a football player. He thinks you're a student who likes sports."

"That's right. The chef has no interest in football. That's why it's comfortable here. I can eat relaxed because no one knows I'm a football player. Oh, and it's been a while since I had a fan like that."

"I see."

I scratched my head and looked at my phone. Even as Sebastian skillfully drove out of the parking lot, I couldn't take my eyes off the screen.

The helper didn't work when I shook hands with the chef.

We arrived in front of the house I would live in Brighton in 10 minutes.

As soon as I got out of the car, I was stunned by the grandeur of my new house while Sebastian took out my luggage and stood next to me.

"Sorry, I should have taken it out."

"Why are you so distracted? Is the house too small?"

"No, it's too good."

The house was much better than I expected. It was a two-story family home with a lawn I didn't know how to maintain.

"Are you going to live here alone?"

Sebastian nodded.

"Originally, there was someone to take care of various things, but they quit a month ago."

"Ah..."

"Anyway, go in. You've worked hard today. I should go to bed soon."

"Okay, what time do I need to be out tomorrow?"

He said there was no morning training tomorrow, so I could go to the club around 11. He said I had to eat at the club, so I asked if I could eat at home, but he said it was the coach's policy.

After setting the meeting time, Sebastian hesitated for a moment before speaking cautiously.

"Thank you."

"Huh?"

"It's been a long time since I had such a fun day. Really, thank you. Times."

Embarrassed, I scratched my head. Even Sebastian's strange pronunciation sounded good.

Not getting a response, Sebastian looked down and started speaking in a calm voice.

"I'll go back to Spain when the transfer window opens. So... if you want to quit for any reason, you can. Don't feel pressured. Just let me know. The agency will help you not to be fired. Being next to me is a tough job."

"What?"

What are you talking about?

"Why would I quit?"

As I asked, Sebastian looked up and smiled silently.

"Just because."

After a brief pause, Sebastian lightly said, wished me good night, and went back to his house.

The house had five rooms.

Free? It was surprising and a bit unsettling. I thought I should read the contract again and decided to enjoy the feeling of being rich by lying on the sofa.

A two-story house with a garden in a coastal city, it really felt like being rich.

Then I suddenly thought about how to clean this place.

Suddenly, the house felt like a burden.

I decided not to touch anything except one room, the kitchen, and the bathroom, and quickly unpacked my luggage. I only looked at the rooms and closed them. The same for the second floor.

The warm water and water pressure were good.

Back in my room, I sat at the desk, opened a notebook, and turned on my laptop. The internet was also set up.

Then, I turned on the helper.

"Is this real...?"

An unknown, mysterious, but very useful application. None of the information written here was wrong.

Even though I was misunderstood as a smartphone addict by Harry because of the helper, it helped me open Sebastian's heart and assist him.

"Really, thank you, Times."

Thinking of Sebastian's voice, my lips curled up.

At first, I thought of deleting it. I even considered changing my phone, thinking someone had hacked it and was playing a prank.

But my mind changed.

I realized it was impossible for someone to manipulate this. How could any machine or person predict exactly when someone would need to go to the bathroom in a few hours?

During training, I tested the helper's function by shaking hands with various people in the club or intentionally bumping into them, and found that it worked regardless of the person. The information I got revealed everything about them, even what they were thinking.

This was a magical application.

There were a few people for whom the helper didn't work, but this app was definitely useful, even if it only gave random information from three people.

Of course, I needed to be cautious.

I wrote the following on the first line of my notebook:

Guidelines for dealing with the helper.

I continued on the second line.

On the next page, I wrote down the helper's functions. Information comes in when there is physical contact. The information is exactly three items. The information comes in randomly, so no other patterns can be found.

I quickly turned to the next page.

Since it might disappear tomorrow, I started writing down the information I got today in the notebook.

First, Sebastian, who I would be working with, and the three jerks who were bullying him.

As I wrote, I noticed the current ability and potential of one of the three jerks and Sebastian.

"Weren't they on the A team?"

The three jerks were all on the A team, which basically meant they were starters.

So, four stars (★★★★) mean they are at the level of a second division starter? Then what about Sebastian with six stars?

I recalled the training. When Sebastian was frozen, there wasn't much difference in skill. But when he started using his elbow, even I, who have no coaching qualifications, could see that he was a few levels above the other players.

Seeing the coaching staff genuinely admire Sebastian's good plays, I don't think I was wearing rose-colored glasses.

In the early season matches, he almost dominated the second division. If he fully adapts, he might be able to play at the level of Messi in the second division. Six stars, that is.

"Right."

I looked at the top of the helper's list.

-Current Ability: ★★★★★★

This was the current ability of Aaron Ramsey, the first person registered.

Aaron Ramsey's level. If Sebastian had adapted smoothly, Brighton might not just be in the top tier but leading the league.

"Damn..."

If it weren't for the three jerks, Sebastian might have received all the media attention and become a star in the second division. And next year, he might have transferred to the first division or led the team to the first division. No, it was certain.

The thought of such a player being forced to return home due to racial discrimination made me furious.

Just as I was about to scroll down, I noticed a name I had forgotten about all day.

The incredibly handsome guy I saw in the morning.

-Potential: ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

-Current Ability: ★★★ (Position Mismatch)

-Deeply troubled

*20 days until deletion.

One, two, three...

"Seven stars?"

More stars than a first division starter?

Although it was potential, seven stars. My resolve to not believe it blindly flew out the window.

I leaned in close to the phone screen.

Seven stars... does that mean he could grow to the level of Messi or Ronaldo? But our agency terminated the contract with such a player?

Then, would it be a problem if I signed with this player...?

Suddenly, I felt greedy. With the clue of position mismatch, I might be able to guide his growth, and since he is deeply troubled, helping him might win his heart.

Plus, that handsome face.

The impact of having both football skills and a good face is beyond imagination. From David Beckham in the past to Cristiano Ronaldo recently, it's a perfect condition to make a name worldwide.

"No, no."

I shook my head. I needed to think rationally. I didn't know if I could sign with another player while being affiliated with the agency, and as I calmed down, I noticed the unusual shape of the information.

*20 days until deletion.

Chris Allen's information was the only one with four slots. The fourth message had a different red background.

Why is it being deleted?

"Ah!"

I remembered the chef whose information didn't show up at all, and the store staff.

'It's comfortable here because no one knows I'm a football player.'

People unrelated to football don't show up here.

I went back to the back of the first page of the notebook and wrote that the helper only gives information about people related to football. Then I thought again.

If Chris Allen's information is deleted, it means he will leave the football world as a fan, not just a player.

I pressed the only information I hadn't pressed today. The information of the racist kid I was talking to with Chris. I was sure it vibrated when we bumped into each other.

-Gang: Red Knife

-Broker

-Proposed match-fixing to Chris Allen

My eyes widened.

Gang? Broker? Match-fixing?

There was no need to guess. Chris Allen is involved in match-fixing and will be expelled from the football world.

A player with higher talent than Aaron Ramsey, perhaps a player who could make a name in football history.

I didn't want to get involved with match-fixing, but my hand naturally searched for Chris Allen on Google.

After a bit of searching, I found him quickly.

Chris plays for AFC Wimbledon, a third division team in south London. His position is goalkeeper, and he has been the starter since October because both the first and second goalkeepers were out for the season.

However, it seems they recently brought in a goalkeeper on loan because the average goals conceded per game is around 1.5.

"What am I going to do with this information...?"

Still, my hand kept moving.

And I found out that the day Chris's information would be deleted was exactly three weeks later, the day the game ends.

"What should I do...?"

The night deepened, and so did my thoughts.