Three days later, at Madera Restaurant in downtown Belgrade.
Through the heavy French-style floor-to-ceiling windows, one could even vaguely see the ruins of the Ministry of Defense building, left by NATO bombing a few blocks away the previous year. At this time, Yugoslavia had just experienced a full decade of war. The 78-day continuous bombing by NATO in 1999 destroyed the country's infrastructure, factories, and power grid. Coupled with long-term international economic sanctions, the country experienced hyperinflation unprecedented in human history. By 2000, the monthly salary of an average university professor or doctor was only thirty or forty US dollars, the unemployment rate was extremely high, and countless families could not even afford to pay their heating bills in winter.
For young people in the Balkans at that time, sports, especially basketball and football, were almost the only legitimate way to cross social classes and escape the slums.
However, inside the softly lit private room, the scene was quite different. Miško Ražnatović had changed into a sharp suit, with dark circles under his eyes from staying up all night, but his eyes were unusually excited.
"It's settled. Josean Querejeta's lawyer relied too heavily on Spain labor law when drafting the buyout clause, which created a legal conflict with the supplementary provisions of the European Union's 1995 Bosman ruling." Miško took a swig of water and pushed several ink-smelling legal documents towards him. "At most, we only need to pay $400,000 in development compensation. Next, we just need to submit a mandatory buyout application to International Basketball Federation, go through a clarification process of about three or four weeks, and even if Josean is furious, he'll have no choice but to release him."
"By the way, Mr. Lin, your eye for signing this Argentina kid is absolutely brilliant... Not only is his playing style mature, but his understanding of tactics is completely unlike that of a 20-year-old. However, if you only focus on Argentina, you're underestimating the hidden treasures of South America and the Balkans."
Miško paused, his gaze sweeping across the ruins in the night outside the window, a hint of heaviness in his voice. "Just last month, I helped some youngsters from the Adriatic Sea region with their transfers. Some of these 15-year-olds are already 2.11 meters tall, with dazzling talent, yet they train like mad every day in worn-out, flat-soled shoes in a dilapidated gym without heating. They work so hard just to get a meager contract of two or three hundred dollars a month, so their families can get through this long winter. Those kids' physical talent would be just as good as anyone thrown into Italian Basketball League..."
Miško paused, then realized he'd been talking too much and chuckled self-deprecatingly, "Sorry, I've been going on and on. I just can't help but pay attention to these poor kids nobody cares about. To be honest, a few years ago I started my own small brokerage firm, hoping to help them standardize contracts and avoid some pitfalls. But compared to those United States brokerage giants who control multinational channels, without capital or connections, I'm just a low-level broker picking up scraps and earning a meager commission."
Gherardini, who was listening in, was secretly surprised. He hadn't expected that this guy, who was also a lawyer, would set up a company specifically for young players from the bottom tier, and that he had such a clear understanding of the talent pool.
Lin Qi didn't say much, but simply took a thick envelope from his suit pocket and pushed it in front of Miško: "This is your due reward."
Miško opened the envelope; inside was a neat stack of brand-new US dollars. Ten thousand dollars.
In this country where the dinar (the currency of Yugoslavia ) has almost become worthless, ten thousand dollars is enough to buy a top-tier apartment in downtown Belgrade, or to keep his struggling little brokerage firm running without any pressure for several years. Miško looked at the huge sum of money, his breathing quickening slightly. He thought he had simply landed a wealthy client; this amount had exceeded his expectations.
"Mr. Lin, thank you for your generosity." Miško carefully put away the envelope, his tone filled with obvious respect.
Lin Qi picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and met his gaze sharply, pointing out the crux of the matter.
"Would ten thousand dollars satisfy you, Miško?"
Miško raised his eyes. "Mr. Lin, what do you mean?"
"This money might be a huge sum for you right now. But it's just hard-earned money from cleaning up other people's messes." Lin Qi's gaze pierced through him like a tangible object. " David Falk, Arne Tellem, those big United States agents only care about the NBA All-Stars, they don't care about the poor kids in the Balkan Peninsula. Since you know the young talents in this land so well, why are you willing to spend your whole life guarding a small workshop with no say, fighting tooth and nail with deadbeat clubs for a mere few thousand dollars?"
These words were like a needle, precisely piercing Miško's deep-seated ambition. The air in the restaurant seemed to freeze for a moment.
Lin Qi calmly and deliberately unveiled his grand vision, one that was poised to revolutionize Europe basketball.
"Stop competing with those bloodsucking agents for players. We can build our own 'youth training base.' I'll fund the purchase of a suitable local small club and hand it over to you to manage. Not only that, I can also provide hundreds of thousands of dollars in stable operating funds every year and import top-of-the-line sports medicine equipment and data analysis systems directly from across the ocean."
In this devastated country, where even purchasing a few thousand dollars worth of medical equipment requires begging from all sides, Lin Qi's words struck like a hammer blow. Upon hearing this, Miško's breath caught in his throat.
After the initial shock, Miško stared intently into Lin Qi's eyes. As a local shrewd businessman well-versed in the rules of the local politics and business, he decided to first test the depth of Lynch's financial resources.
"Mr. Lin, when foreign capital enters Belgrade to develop basketball, the first choice is definitely the two powerhouses, Red Star and Partizan," Miško said cautiously, while closely observing Lin Qi's facial micro-expressions. "But as a local lawyer, I have to be frank... both of these teams are practically empty shells. Whoever takes them over will not only have to contend with troublesome local politicians, but will also need to prepare millions of dollars in cash to fill their messy debts..."
"Just a few million dollars," Lin Qi suddenly interrupted him casually.
Lin Qi picked up his wine glass, gently swirling the crystal-clear red wine, his deep gaze revealing a composure that Miško couldn't comprehend.
"For a few million dollars, you can directly buy out a country's top basketball club, plus a million passionate fans. What are a few million dollars in debt to Miško? He's practically the cheapest quality asset."
Lin Qi gently placed the wine glass on the table, making a crisp sound.
Upon hearing this, Miško's breath hitched slightly, and a wave of dizziness and dryness washed over him.
It was only at this moment that he suddenly realized the insurmountable cognitive gap between them... He was still meticulously calculating with the impoverished mindset of the ruins of Yugoslavia, trembling with fear over millions of dollars in debt, and even lamenting the plight of poor children earning only two or three hundred dollars a month. Meanwhile, the man before him casually regarded millions of dollars as a highly cost-effective investment. In the eyes of this young tycoon, this enormous sum of money—enough to crush a wealthy family and drive local gangs to their deaths—was nothing more than a set of chips to be casually played on the table.
After a brief moment of shock, Miško quickly abandoned any thoughts of probing and displayed the composure and decisiveness of a top lawyer.
"Of course you can afford it, boss. But this shouldn't be the way it is." Miško suppressed his inner turmoil and took on the role of the leader. "Using dollars to fill the holes of the old guard and to appease those corrupt politicians is a complete waste of time. Since we have enough funds, we can simply buy Avala company and restructure it. There's a small club called Avala Ada with clean books and no historical baggage. We'll buy it, completely overhaul it, and turn it into a pure youth training base for geniuses!"
After listening, Lin Qi's lips curled into a meaningful smile. He put down his wine glass and tapped his knuckles lightly on the table twice.
" Avala Adal... clean books, perfect for a youth training base. Buy it." Lin Qi's gaze deepened and sharpened, carrying a commanding presence. "But, Miško, as someone destined to control a sports empire, your vision isn't enough. Young players can't just hone their skills in lower leagues. To sell them for millions of dollars and send them to the highest level, you need a dazzling 'golden brand,' like the Europe Champions League."
Lin Qi leaned forward slightly and revealed his true ambition, word by word.
"So, my plan is... to have them all."