Chapter 100: That Time I Built a Car Assembly Plant in South America

TL: Skye

Three months to the day after Coach Kim Hang-seo took the job.

San Marcos played the first international match in the history of its football program.

The opponent was Anguilla, a tiny island nation ranked somewhere around 210th in FIFA, population sixteen thousand.

Honestly, on the world stage they were a team nobody would ever notice, but from where San Marcos stood, it was a different story.

Because San Marcos didn't even have a ranking to speak of.

They didn't even have a stadium, which meant they'd had to travel all the way to The Valley, Anguilla's capital, just to play the game.

And yet, in spite of all that, the San Marcos public was burning with interest in this match.

Partly because the state had gone out of its way to promote it nationally, and partly because these people just plain loved kicking a ball around.

Only a few months earlier this had been a country where the concept of a national football team didn't even exist, and now its first-ever international match had the attention of the entire nation.

Every bar with a TV had no empty seats left; at the night markets the vendors closed up shop and crowded into the neighbor's stall to huddle around a radio.

On the new-city construction sites the laborers gathered in front of a TV the contractor had scrounged up for them, and even, yes, the same was true at Tortilla Farm.

The workers were packed shoulder to shoulder in front of the battered old TV set up in the admin-building cafeteria.

And no wonder, because in Tortilla Farm's case, one of their own was out there playing for the national team.

"Rafael's playing!"

"A guy who came off our farm is a national team player!"

Tweeeeet—

The referee's whistle sounded, signaling the start of the match.

[The first international match in the history of the Republic of San Marcos! We are underway!]

The voice of the broadcast crew, hastily assembled by state television, was trembling.

If the first half had to be summed up in a single word, "disaster" was the only one that came to mind.

The passion of the San Marcos players looked like it might come bursting straight through the screen, but real games aren't won on passion alone.

Maybe it was the nerves of a first international, but the passing errors came one after another.

Half the squad had no idea what to do once they got the ball, and the formation collapsed within five minutes of kickoff.

At Libertad Plaza, thousands of spectators watched the screen with anxious faces.

Every time Rafael tried to make a run, a roar went up, and every time he got shut down by the defense, a groan followed.

At the bars, fists tightened around beer glasses; in the farm's admin building, the workers shouted at the TV.

"Pass it! Pass the damn ball!"

"There! He's open! He's wide open!"

"I could do better out there myself!"

"Come on!"

The abuse and the encouragement poured out, but there was no way any of it was reaching the players on the screen.

Nil-nil.

And on that fruitless note, the first half came to an end.

Then, when the second half began, something changed.

The formation was different.

A substitution had been made, pushing Rafael up top as a lone striker, and Rio had moved from center-back to central midfield.

Coach Kim Hang-seo had begun to deploy the tactics he'd prepared.

And with that, the players started to come alive.

Rio especially.

The number of times he broke up play in the middle of the park climbed noticeably.

With that soldier's grit of his, he latched onto the opposing midfielders and took the ball off them, and took it again, and took it yet again.

The problem was that he couldn't do anything with the balls he won.

Every pass he tried to send forward failed to connect.

Time ticked on, thirty minutes into the second half.

Nil-nil.

At Libertad Plaza, the sighs began to spread.

At a bar, someone hung his head and downed his beer; in the Tortilla Farm admin building, the workers gnawed anxiously at their fingernails.

"Is that how this is gonna end?"

"Still, if we don't lose, that's something, right?"

A draw wouldn't be a bad result, all things considered.

Not losing the first game they'd ever played was a decent showing, wasn't it?

And just as they were about to make their peace with it.

Thirty-seven minutes into the second half.

Eighty-two minutes on the game clock.

Near the halfway line, Rio intercepted a pass from an Anguilla midfielder.

Ball at his feet, Rio lifted his head and hammered it forward with everything he had.

It wasn't a technically polished pass, but the direction was spot-on.

The ball dropped right in front of Rafael as he tore past the Anguilla back line.

And Rafael ran.

[He's off! Rafael's off and running! He's fast!]

Fast didn't even begin to cover it.

Two Anguilla center-backs gave chase, but the gap only widened; there was no sign they'd catch him.

And so, one-on-one with the keeper, Rafael swung his right foot.

There was no technique to it.

There was nothing beautiful about it.

He just booted it with everything he had.

Thwack!

The ball grazed the keeper's fingertips and rippled the net.

[Gooooooal!!!]

The broadcast crew lost their minds.

[San Marcos strikes first!!! Rafael Costa!!!]

The thousands gathered in front of the giant screen leapt up as one.

Total strangers threw their arms around each other, someone hurled beer into the sky, and somewhere a firework went off.

At the bar the bartender set down his glass and threw up his arms in triumph.

Every patron pounded the tables and chanted Rafael's name, and at the night market the vendors who'd been crowded around the radio grabbed each other and started to dance.

At the construction site the workers ripped off their hard hats and flung them into the air.

And then Tortilla Farm.

An explosive roar erupted from the admin-building cafeteria.

"Rafael scored!"

"He did it, the kid did it!"

They'd just watched a man they worked alongside score a goal for the national team.

Some of them wept, some of them laughed like lunatics.

It was a moment when all of San Marcos was swallowed up in a single roar.

On the screen, Rafael went sprinting after the goal, then pulled up in front of the main camera and threw off a military salute for his celebration.

The broadcast camera caught it in close-up, and Rafael's salute went out to TV screens across the entire country.

Naturally, the roar filling Libertad climbed a notch higher.

Eight minutes left plus stoppage time.

The players defended like men possessed.

Rio, who had somehow dropped back into defense, flung his body in front of a shot at the last line, and the keeper, Marcus, pulled off two decisive saves.

And then.

Tweeeeet— Tweeeeet— Tweeeeet—

Full time.

One-nil.

Victory for San Marcos.

On the screen the players clung to each other, weeping.

Coach Kim Hang-seo sat on the bench, gazing up at the sky.

Outside the stadium it was even bigger.

At Libertad Plaza, thousands began to sing the national anthem.

No one had told them to; the chorus rose up spontaneously.

People spilled out into the streets.

San Marcos flags fluttered from building windows.

In one house they banged on pots and shouted; in one shop the owner passed drinks around on the house.

At Tortilla Farm the workers came bolting out of the admin building and ran barefoot across the open yard.

Someone dug out a ball made of wadded-up rags, and an impromptu match broke out.

They charged at each other trying to reenact Rafael's goal, and the whole thing looked like a festival.

San Marcos's first international match, and its first win.

It was the night this little island nation became one through football.

"We won," Yu-jin said.

"Yes. We won," Isabella answered.

The corners of her mouth had turned up, a rare sight.

"Honestly, I thought we'd lose."

The two of them laughed at the same time.

On the TV, the replay of Rafael's salute was running.

Yu-jin let out a soft chuckle.

Savoring the afterglow for a moment, Isabella spoke.

"Your Excellency, we've still got a long road ahead before the World Cup qualifiers, but it doesn't seem like a bad start."

"No, it doesn't. They do say well begun is half done."

Yu-jin nodded and switched off the TV.

"We leave the rest to Coach Kim, and we get on with our own work. Right?"

That was the thing.

To keep San Marcos peaceful for one more day, President Choi Yu-jin had a mountain of work waiting for him.

"Haaah."

Right up until the day he could finally retire.

Hang in there, Yu-jin!

***

The morning after the friendly.

I was sitting at my office desk, flipping through the backlog of paperwork, when my hand stopped.

It was an operations report from Tortilla Transport.

[Vehicle Procurement Status: 500 heavy trucks acquired. Average per-unit price of $100,000. Total procurement cost: $50,000,000.]

Fifty million dollars.

Every cent of it money that had flowed out of the country.

I turned another page.

[Future Vehicle Demand Forecast: Once the entire length of the highway opens to traffic, a surge in private vehicle demand is anticipated. An estimated 30,000-plus vehicles will be required over the next three years.]

Thirty thousand vehicles.

At an average of just twenty thousand dollars apiece, that came to six hundred million.

And what's more, that wasn't even the end of it.

Given the economy's blistering growth, it was obvious demand for cars was going to explode.

One wrong move and we could end up like Southeast Asia, dependent entirely on imports, and if that happened, an enormous chunk of national wealth would bleed straight out.

'Can't have that.'

I closed the report and called in Isabella.

"Director."

"Yes."

"Have you seen this?"

I handed her the report; Isabella skimmed it and nodded.

"The matter of vehicle procurement costs. I've reviewed it."

"It's not just significant, it's serious. We're going to need thirty thousand vehicles, and if we import all of them, six hundred million dollars just evaporates. On top of that, the higher national income climbs, the more demand is going to explode. That's a certainty."

"That may be true... but there isn't exactly another way, is there?"

"Of course there isn't."

I got to my feet as I spoke.

"Which is why I'm going to make one."

"...I'm sorry?"

"I'm going to build a car plant."

Isabella's expression shifted, subtly.

The look of, here we go again.

Still, a professional is a professional, so she went straight to the practical questions.

"Are you thinking of manufacturing finished vehicles?"

"No. That's out of reach for now."

"Then..."

"We do it in stages."

"In stages. I'm curious what that would look like."

"Step one. We build a die-casting plant and start producing the simpler parts domestically. Dies are the foundation of auto parts, after all. As it happens, the International Steel plant comes online in six months, so that solves our raw-material supply. At the same time, we set up a semi-knockdown assembly plant. We bring in the parts from Korea and assemble them here, which is far cheaper than importing whole finished vehicles, and it creates a great many jobs besides. Do that long enough and we'll be able to produce parts ourselves, and one day, why not finished vehicles too? And..."

I looked Isabella dead in the eye as I said it.

"Long term, I intend to push for a full technology transfer."

"A technology transfer... Under ordinary terms, I imagine that would be a hard sell. Who exactly are you thinking of negotiating with?"

"Hyunhwa Motors, obviously."

I said it flatly.

Hyunhwa Motors.

The undisputed king of the Korean auto industry.

The world's fourth-largest automaker by revenue.

The reason I'd picked them was simple.

'Because he and I are on the same page.'

For some strange reason, Chairman Jung, who was under the impression I was a dictator, believed San Marcos was destined to become a second Republic of Korea.

He'd even gone so far as to announce his ambition to build a second Hyunhwa here.

Thanks to that, everything from the oil refinery to Chemical Industry, and even the highway construction, he'd built for us giving it his absolute best.

To put the scale in perspective, setting aside the United States, San Marcos was where Hyunhwa had made the single largest overseas investment of them all.

'A man like that will hear me out in earnest.'

It was as good as half done already.

"But given how many jobs are on the line, the Korean government may balk at the idea."

"That's... something we'll just have to overcome one way or another. For now, just get word of our intentions to Hyunhwa first."

"Understood."

It wouldn't be easy, but I had no doubt that if we kept throwing ourselves at it, an answer would come.

Just like it always had.

*****

Read more chapters on my Patreon - https://patreon.com/tlskye

If you enjoy this novel, please review and rate it at Novelupdates. Thanks! 😊

To receive the latest update notifications or report mistakes, join our Discord server linked below.'

.gg/woopread-708613326262894654