The opposing head coach looked constipated as he faced the championship without a trophy, possibly the best affirmation for the Interstellar Club over the past year.
Kane felt that, on this day, the dim years of his life were brightened again.
Manson couldn’t stop smiling. Though the Three Musketeers said the preseason wasn’t a real match, it was ultimately an official match. This was his first championship since coaching a professional men’s rugby club, albeit regrettably without a trophy.
Lynch was also pleased. Investment is meant to yield returns—some are tangible, in money, others are intangible assets. He had invested money into the team and promised to keep doing so, and the team must show its value.
The players were satisfied, too. After a year of hard struggle, they’d finally won a championship, albeit one of little substance. Yet, they were still excited; it meant they had a firmer footing in the industry than before.
Perhaps the United Transport Association heard Lynch was around, so they specially crafted a certificate for the Interstellar Club, which might also be the first tangible award in preseason history.
The reason for their action was easy to understand. After all, Lynch is a major partner of the United Transport Association and a key vice chairman of the Sports Promotion Association. They need to respect Lynch.
Looking at those excited young guys, along with Kane’s gesture, Lynch decided to say something to these young men.
"Ideals without support are forever just ideals. Only ideals with achievable foundations have the possibility of becoming reality."
"I’m happy you chose the most correct new choice among many options. It’s a bit of a tongue twister, but I want to congratulate you; a completely different life from the past is about to unfold slowly before you."
In the locker room, players stood or sat, panting, their eyes filled with fiery gazes fixed on Lynch. The coach and Kane stood aside. Lynch, as the club president, coming into the locker room, carried a certain ceremonial significance—a confirmation of the team’s performance.
What he said also carried significance; being of the same age, his words resonated with the players more than Kane’s and Manson’s.
"No success ever comes without effort. Behind every achievement lies ten thousand sweats shed, especially true for athletes."
"I believe in one thing, which I consider the truth!" He pointed upward with one finger, "As long as you try hard, there will definitely be rewards. Absolutely!"
"Previously I heard Kane and Manson discuss some club issues, and I felt we needed to make some changes. Just taking advantage of this victory, I’ll disclose some changes."
"First, Kane will receive one percent of the club’s shares, but you cannot sell it to others. If one day you no longer wish to hold them, you can sell the shares to me at market price."
Manson looked at Kane with envy and jealousy instantly. Holding shares at least means a "partner status." Although many enterprises’ "partners" are merely excuses for exploiting their remaining workforce without raising wages, this status is really useful (not all partners actually get dividends).
If one day Kane wants to leave the Interstellar Club, merely having the status of "partner and manager of a professional club" will quickly land him a satisfactory job, unlike an ordinary manager.
Seeing Kane’s face ecstatic to the point of losing consciousness, everyone knew the impact it had on him.
Envy aside, it can only be envy, not jealousy.
For coaches and players, long-term loyalty to a team might earn them the label of "faithful," but it doesn’t align with their pursuit of far higher goals.
There’s a saying; new pursuits, new challenges—they will inevitably leave. If they become partners, it might limit their development.
Perhaps when they get slightly older, for a stable life, they’ll step down from important positions. This isn’t what a warrior should do!
When Kane’s lips started to tremble with excitement, Lynch smiled and gestured for him to shut his mouth.
"Secondly, starting next season, the club will establish a foundation dedicated to caring for athletes who must leave the professional arena due to injury issues. The foundation will arrange jobs for you. Though the salary might not be as high as what you earn now as athletes, but..."
Lynch’s smile was as bright as sunlight, warming people’s hearts, "...enough to support a family, ensuring the household doesn’t worry about food and clothing."
Manson and the ecstatic Kane were dumbstruck again. The number of times being dumbstruck today possibly surpassed those in the past year.
"Mr. President, no offense, the foundation you’re talking about..." A young guy, who looked about twenty-one or twenty-two, scratched his head uneasily. He was somewhat timid—not everyone can stay calm before a tycoon like Lynch.
Lynch nodded, "Sports Career Promotion Guarantee Foundation. It’s a division of the Darkstone Fund, a private fund, simply put, it’s personally mine."
"All athletes who serve in my professional sports club for over six years will be included for protection. I always believe those who contribute must receive returns. Moreover, I insist someone like us, a bit richer than ordinary people, should bear more responsibility."
"Capital isn’t necessarily cold-blooded. At least I won’t act that way. You have contributed your youth and health for me, so I must ensure your future life is carefree."
"You might be arranged to work as sports teachers in some schools. If assigned to high schools and universities..." He cocked an eyebrow and blew a cheeky whistle. The young guys burst into light laughter, like steamy livestock.
"You might also stay in the club as assistant teachers, or take professional roles in second-level, third-level, and more tiered clubs."
"You contribute for me; I give you returns!"
Although moved, Kane and Manson still felt uncertain about some aspects, until the new season began, making them see the young guys crashing more recklessly than before. They couldn’t help but marvel, Mr. Lynch is really a merciful capitalist.
After missing these very important things for many people, Lynch turned down some invitations and arrived at the hotel he’s staying at, meeting the three people he wanted to see in the reception room—the Commentary Three Musketeers.
Before Lynch arrived, these three were quite apprehensive, for they faced someone as wealthy as Lynch. During the recent match commentary, they might have offended him.
This is the most notable difference between politicians and capitalists. Politicians must save face, even if they want revenge, they do it secretly. Capitalists set everything openly; it’s a warning for those intending to provoke them, telling them the consequences could be unbearable.
So, when Lynch entered the reception room, three men whose ages summed up to over a hundred immediately stood up, standing self-consciously by the sofa, looking at Mr. Lynch.
Lynch took off his coat for the hotel’s butler and allowed the maid to polish his seemingly clean shoes again.
"Don’t be nervous, sit..." He motioned them, smiling as he walked to a standalone sofa opposite them to sit, "I really like your commentary style. I don’t mind what you perceive as offensive. Who can’t take a joke, right?"
Commentary Two instinctively responded, "Should we agree with your viewpoint?" The rıghtful source is 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝙣𝙚𝙩
The other two glared at him, then faced Lynch with flattering smiles.
Lynch laughed, making it hard to tell if he was truly indifferent or pretended to be, "Not joking, your style is delightful. I plan to offer you a job; I wonder if you have time."
The three seemed to have unified their stances, all nodding.
Before February, they had almost nothing to do, only staying home or commenting on rerun matches. If there was an extra job, it might be a good choice.
"Good. I want you to maintain your style; sharp, humorous, snarky like a proud female. But I want you to comment on not matches, but some people and events."
Commentary One vaguely felt something, leaning forward slightly, head lowered in inquiry, "Mr. Lynch, are you saying..."
Lynch glanced at his watch, "Soon it’s the state election. I have a good relationship with the Governor, recently all the news on TV is about this. I need some different people to contribute something different, do you understand my meaning?"
Commentary Two, seemingly sensing no real threat from Lynch, nodded repeatedly, "We understand, take the money, say what’s supposed to be said."
"Very well said!" Lynch pointed at him, "By February, the state election should end. In two months, I’ll give you three thousand bucks and arrange all programs. You just need to..." He flashed a sincere smile this time, "satirize our opponents like before!"
"People will love you!"
The vulgar common style of these men served more as hooks than operas. People will like watching their programs, therefore politically stand by the incumbent governor—so long as those biting words aren’t aimed at them, everyone finds it amusing.
If it’s an amusing thing, sacrificing one person, benefiting the whole state, a governor candidate shouldn’t get angry, right?