InkBound
patreon
CH161
🕑 Added 2025-03-01 08:30:02 +0000 UTCSame Time, Northamptonshire.
Today was the day of the F1 England Grand Prix.
On this day, where the world’s top drivers gathered, Tennessee was able to enter the venue as a VIP—despite it being a time when everyone was busy preparing for the competition.
Hurried footsteps.
The team principal of the British McClaren team rushed to greet him.
“Young master, you’ve arrived?”
The once-glorious McClaren team had long faded and was now considered to be in decline. However, after receiving the Grosvenor family’s bold support, they were showing a frightening upward trend, once again challenging for the F1 throne.
In such circumstances, the special treatment towards Tennessee was only natural.
The team principal removed his large headphones and asked, “I heard you were coming with a friend today…”
“Something came up.”
“Then the tour program or the car test drive…”
“Please postpone them for later.”
“Ah, understood.”
Sigh.
Tennessee let out a small sigh of disappointment.
That guy stayed in the dormitory every weekend, training. At most, he would go out to Queensman to handle work.
‘Where on earth did he go today?’
[Operation: Surprise.]
Originally, Tennessee had planned to give Park Ji-hoon a surprise invitation to the F1 Grand Prix. He intended to let him tour all the teams and even experience driving an F4 (Formula 4) car firsthand.
“……”
Still feeling regretful, Tennessee pouted slightly.
He still wasn’t entirely sure what the concept of friendship meant.
Even if he didn’t fully understand it, one thing was clear—being with that guy felt… comfortable, somehow.
Well, if he was going to consider him a friend candidate, sharing hobbies wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Thus, he had chosen F1 racing.
To be honest, he liked games, electronic music, and comics more. But now that he was a noble, he couldn’t exactly go around flaunting those interests.
The only hobby that didn’t tarnish his image was F1.
The one and only dignified interest he could openly display was racing.
And so, with the British Grand Prix as the perfect opportunity, Tennessee had planned to show off, ‘This is the kind of thing I like.’ He wanted to impress.
Unfortunately, Ji-hoon’s absence had thrown a wrench into the plan…
Unfortunately, all of his plans had fallen apart.
‘It’s not like today’s the only day.’
Tennessee steadied his heart and headed toward the sponsor room.
Perhaps because it was a VIP-only space, as soon as he put on the provided headphones, he could hear the radio communications between the team principal and the driver.
Vrooooom!
\- Tell the cameramen to stay sharp.
\- What?
\- I’m in top condition today. I’ll be so fast they might miss me if they’re not careful. Tell them to focus and film properly.
An hour later, McClaren’s star driver, Aiden Senna, delivered on his bold promise. He dominated the race and was crowned the Grand Prix champion.
Tennessee was glad his team had won, but still…
‘Would it have been nice if you’d seen this?’
He swallowed his disappointment once more.
It was late at night when Tennessee finally returned to school.
There were too many eyes on him, so he hadn’t been able to eat.
Smack.
Standing around for hours waiting on courses was exactly what he despised.
Maybe because he was hungry, the path to the dormitory felt endlessly long.
At least watching Aiden Senna’s outstanding race made it worth it.
If not for that, today wouldn’t have even been worth 30 points.
But then—what was this?
“Where have you been wandering around like that?”
A voice rang out from a bench under the streetlight!
When Tennessee turned his head, there was Park Ji-hoon, smiling brightly.
“You should’ve come back early on the weekend to recharge… staying out so late…”
Seriously, of all people to say that!
But the yellow paper bag in Ji-hoon’s hand melted Tennessee’s irritation away in an instant.
“Have you been eating properly?”
“Of course… You think I wouldn’t eat until this hour?”
“Really? Guess I bought two for nothing, then.”
That’s what he said, but—
Rustle, rustle—
he waved a bag emblazoned with the McDonald’s logo from side to side.
Was this what a flower looked like to a bee?
As if bewitched, Tennessee found himself striding forward.
***
‘Who would’ve thought that your arms were so crucial when kicking a rugby ball?’
While I was reflecting on Steve’s teachings alone, Tennessee returned—looking utterly famished.
Maybe that’s why.
He devoured the Big Mac large set like a beast.
When he started eyeing my food as if he hadn’t had enough, I casually handed over my fries.
That’s when he started spouting nonsense.
“Wasting food is a sin against the land. The Grosvenor family, who respects the value of the earth, would never…”
“I’m not a noble, so I’ll just leave it.”
“How irresponsible.”
Reluctantly, Tennessee accepted the fries as if he was doing it under protest.
He didn’t seem to care that the milkshake was half-melted.
Plop.
The fries repeatedly dipped their heads into the paper cup.
A while later, when only the empty wrappers were left on the bench, I asked, “Where were you coming from?”
“None of your business.”
Tennessee pouted in response to my question.
“What about you?”
“I was at training.”
“Where?”
“A private training ground. I went to learn from Steve.”
“Kicking?”
I nodded.
“Can you get better in one day?”
“The match is right around the corner. I can’t just sit and do nothing.”
“It seems like Carl is sitting around, though.”
“Huh?”
“He hasn’t been showing up to the training ground for a while.”
Oh, maybe he’s off promoting the school magazine again, or holed up in the office, obsessing over the distribution numbers.
Or perhaps he’s confident that he can crush first-years even without practice.
Whatever the case,
‘If he slacks off, he’s the one who’ll pay for it.’
After that, we shared a light conversation.
I told him about the training with Steve, whether I’d made progress with my kicks, and whether I’d continue that combination moving forward.
But that chat didn’t last long.
Tennessee soon adjusted his posture and asked, “So, what’s your point?”
“…?”
“You brought dinner and waited for me until late at night? Doesn’t that obviously mean you’re about to ask for a favor?”
This guy, Tennessee. Has he already figured out how human Park Ji-hoon operates?
Still, I shamelessly adjusted my expression and replied,
“Hearing you say that makes me feel a little hurt.”
“What?”
“Do I need a reason to eat with you?”
“There usually isn’t one. But today, your eyes look especially suspicious.”
Suspicious?
“They’re… unusually tender. Almost uncomfortably so.”
“……?”
“You’ve got the look of a butler doting on a cat.”
Clears throat.
I didn’t expect to be found out so easily.
It’s one of two things: Either we’ve become pretty close,
or this guy’s observational skills are on par with a detective’s…
Whatever the case!
“Well, it’s not like I don’t have a favor to ask.”
Of course. He gave me that ‘Hurry up and spill it’ look.
“You know how everything—rugby, the magazine series, the Gucci collaboration—is going exactly the way I planned, right?”
Tennessee nodded as if to say he agreed.
“What I need now is the protagonist for this story.”
The white knight to emphasize the conflict between good and evil.
A “OP” character to deliver the satisfying conclusion.
“So you’re saying you want me to step in as the protagonist of your story?”
“Exactly.”
It seemed like an unexpected request because he fell into thought.
By the time the dying streetlight flickered a few more times,
“Hm.”
Tennessee finally broke the silence.
“If I do this favor for you, what do I get in return?”
“What do you want?”
“I’m not sure I can say right now.”
“……?”
“Can you promise to fulfill it if I tell you within six months?”
“Time doesn’t matter. What matters is whether it’s a fair trade.”
At that, he grinned slyly, the corners of his lips curling upward.
***
Meanwhile, Park Ji-hoon’s elder brother, Park Yu-geon, was in Hannam-dong, Seoul.
‘What’s up with Ji-hoon?’
Park Yu-geon was reading a letter sent by his younger brother.
The writing had a relaxed tone, as though Ji-hoon had written it without much effort. Yet, the sentences were precise, clean, and flowed seamlessly.
Impressed, Park Yu-geon continued to read.
The letter was three pages long.
The first page briefly described what had been happening in England.
First, the trouble with Carl Bernstein!
Though Park Yu-geon was famously gentle, even he couldn’t help but feel anger at this part.
“What a scumbag.”
That was the harshest insult someone like Park Yu-geon could muster.
Thankfully, his brother had managed to turn even that trouble into a business opportunity. Not only had Ji-hoon launched an editorial shop and magazine, but he was now preparing to acquire a luxury brand.
‘He really is something else.’
The second page was filled with details about the new friends Ji-hoon had made.
The most notable name was, of course, Tennessee.
The heir to the most famous family in Europe.
‘Kind of like me, huh?’
To top it off, Tennessee apparently shared Ji-hoon’s love for gaming.
The only difference, though, was that Tennessee adamantly denied his own preferences.
‘Still, I think I understand him.’
Park Yu-geon couldn’t help but smile sympathetically.
Ji-hoon added that he wanted to transfer part of his stake to Tennessee and asked for his older brother’s opinion.
It wasn’t really necessary to ask—he was merely sharing his portion appropriately. Yet, his considerate brother still made a point of informing his partner and older brother.
Grin.
The third page contained Ji-hoon’s request.
His roommate had created a game, and Ji-hoon wanted Yu-geon to play it and provide feedback. If everything was fine, he intended to package it and debut it during the rugby tournament.
Even while studying abroad, Ji-hoon didn’t stop recruiting talent!
‘He really is something…’
Faced with his incorrigible workaholic brother, Park Yu-geon could only shake his head.
At the bottom, bold letters emphasized a warning:
<The game’s a bit violent, so don’t be surprised!>
How violent could it be? Rugby is rugby, after all.
Along with the letter, there was a box containing a coat made from vicuña wool.
<With this, no matter how cold it gets, you’ll be fine!>
Seeing his brother’s note, Park Yu-geon smiled faintly, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
Alright, I’ll show my gratitude by giving some feedback.
‘If Ji-hoon sees potential in this developer, I have high hopes.’
After playing a few rounds of the game, though…
‘What is this?’
At first, it seemed like a violent game disguised as rugby.
But as he played more, he realized that there were hidden layers of depth scattered throughout the gameplay.
More than anything else—
‘How did they fit all of this into such a small file size?’
If this developer was Ji-hoon’s age, they were in their first year of high school.
How was it possible for someone that young to have professional-level skills?
‘At this level, they’re a genius.’
This coming from someone who, back in his third year of middle school, had already released three legendary games that went down in industry history.
Yet, here was Park Yu-geon, looking astonished as if he had forgotten his own past achievements.
***
A few days later, New York.
Lately, Jo So-deok had found himself engrossed in reading.
The reason was simple.
As the editor in charge of Queensman’s U.S. edition, whenever drafts arrived from England, he ended up reading them more meticulously than anyone else.
‘And they’re surprisingly fun.’
The last issue was a special feature on Boss Park Ji-hoon, produced with meticulous care by Lukas.
Thanks to that, Jo So-deok had enjoyed it more than usual.
‘Let’s see what they’ve got today.’
With recent explosive growth in circulation, the number of ads remained the same, but the advertisers had changed to higher-paying clients.
Given that several of those ads had been secured by him,
“Heh heh heh.”
Jo So-deok’s shoulders couldn’t help but rise with pride.
“Yeah, the big money comes from watches, cars, and real estate!”
Feeling pleased, he flipped past the advertisement section and began reading the feature articles.
Now, let’s see… Today’s focus is…
‘Huh?’
T-Tennessee Grosvenor?
Even for Queensman, writing an article about Tennessee Grosvenor wasn’t something done lightly.
With the Grosvenor name involved, publishing anything without his permission could prompt a family-level response.
And yet, what was this?
‘Why is there so much here?’
The massive manuscript contained Tennessee’s full story: his past as a rugby player, his current campaign for student council president, and his first pledge to organize a match against the second-years.
It even included an interview that seemed to have been conducted directly by the boss.
“I do have issues with the second-years. It doesn’t feel appropriate to disclose the reason, but instead, I’ll resolve it like a man—through rugby. I intend to give everything I have on the field because that is the Grosvenor way. Accepting the results is natural, and, of course, there will be no grudges afterward.”
If there was one line that really struck home, it was undoubtedly: “That is the Grosvenor way!”
Wow!
That’s the kind of thing only a duke’s family could say.
If he, for example, went around shouting, “This is the Jo So-deok way!”
It’s obvious that readers’ heads would just fill with question marks.
‘Still, I do have a bit of tact, at least.’
Anyway!
He didn’t know how Boss Park Ji-hoon managed to convince him, but this issue’s cover featured Tennessee’s noble face—an extreme close-up, no less.
Wow.
Putting Tennessee front and center could only mean one thing…
The focus was now squarely on the rugby match between the first and second years!
Sure, Carl Bernstein would probably try to frame it as a routine selection match, but that wasn’t going to work.
The public would see this as a showdown between Tennessee and Carl.
And even further—they’d interpret it as a clash between the Grosvenor and Harris families.
And in that case…
‘One of them is bound to get crushed.’
The conclusion of the day:
“So why’d you have to get on the bad side of the boss, huh?”
Jo So-deok shook his head helplessly, as if it was all too hopeless to dwell on.
