Chapter 232: Storm, Professionalism, Aftermath

At 8:30 PM, an unnamed man—let’s call him Mr. Citizen—dragged his exhausted body home and pushed the door open.

The cramped room no longer gave him the courage he once had in youth to change his situation by his own efforts. He had grown numb.

“Back?” His wife was busy in the kitchen. The faint nauseating smell left Mr. Citizen with no energy to respond, so he simply muttered “Hmm” and sank onto the worn-out sofa.

A small section of the sofa had collapsed where a spring broke, soon affecting the others, turning that spot into an unwelcome place—only his wife or their lighter children would sit there.

After the city hall reissued food vouchers, people noticed a problem: solid food was hard to get at relief centers. The previously criticized hard, stone-like food had all been replaced by liquid meals.

The new food looked like something freshly excreted, packaged in tubes. Eating was simple: soak the whole tube in hot water, then squeeze the contents onto a plate—like squeezing out waste—and eat it.

Many struggled with the new food, but city hall said the unemployment rate was too high, and their finances were tight. They couldn’t afford to feed everyone well.

Using two or three vouchers could still get solid food, but it wasn’t cost-effective.

People soon found ways to make the food more palatable.

Women at home would squeeze the liquid onto baking trays, brush it with oil, shaping it into round cookies.

Baked until moisture evaporated, it became a solid biscuit-like food.

This solved the texture problem. Adding cheap potatoes, tomatoes, some greens, and a little flour for thick soup made meals manageable.

The family sat under dim light, distractedly eating the unappetizing dinner.

His wife asked, “How was your day?” She only wanted to break the heavy silence around the table, not to provoke him.

Frustrations burst inside Mr. Citizen. He had exploded before. Suddenly standing, furious, he glared at his wife who challenged his authority.

Perhaps his son’s gaze stopped him; he didn’t escalate. Instead, he muttered “Spoiled my appetite” and left for the living room.

He turned on the TV—one of the few joys left for him and families like his.

Luckily, the city cable company waived service fees recently—TV and phone were gifts if users subscribed for several years upfront.

Some plans were three or five years. Ordinary families paid a monthly fee for TV access and got a free TV set, a great deal many joined.

Phones were different; communication fees were real-time, with basic and minimum monthly usage fees—costly expenses.

Most families didn’t need phones for work or life, so few had them. But everyone loved TV, and now, they couldn’t live without it.

As Mr. Citizen prepared to watch a sports program, it was suddenly canceled and replaced by another match. Cursing his luck, he swore—nothing went right.

He had spent the day begging for work from younger people, but never got hired.

He felt like a dog, kicked by everyone. Coming home only to be mocked by his wife, now even TV couldn’t satisfy him.

Anger grew, a destructive fury rising quietly inside him.

His eyes reddened from blood pressure. He wanted to grab a kitchen knife and make everyone who made his life miserable regret existing.

But at that moment, his rage paused, shifting his attention to the TV screen.

Young girls dressed more revealingly than his wife ran and sprinted across the grass.

The vivid scene calmed him rapidly.

The destructive urge reluctantly receded, waiting for another chance.

Even through the screen, he could sense their smooth skin and subtle fragrance.

He focused deeply, laughing at their collisions, and joked from a professional angle.

Most of all, his eyes tracked the ball. Though he never worked in sports, he was an expert at watching games.

When his wife and child entered, they expected a heavy, tense atmosphere or an eruption waiting to happen.

Instead, they saw a faint smile on his face.

“These games are really…” He suddenly realized his wife and son were watching him and blushed, trying to excuse his full attention on the girls: “Really vulgar, God, how can they air this on free TV!”

Free TV was the basic service—accessible by paying the lowest fee. Better or restricted programs were on paid channels.

He reached to change the channel but was stopped by his wife. “You were so focused just now, maybe I’d like this show too?”

Having a program that calmed her furious husband was a relief. She didn’t want to risk angering him by switching.

If a few glimpses of these shameless women could ease the night’s frustrations, why refuse?

So the family of three seriously watched the risqué match, making life a bit more harmonious after lights out.

There were many families like this. The next day, a huge reaction swept through Sabin City. Many called the TV company, asking when the second match would air, and whether it was an exhibition or a league.

Behind every question was a demand for more broadcasts and new content.

The TV leadership immediately held a meeting. The broadcast time had been bought through Mark’s connection by Lynch.

Yes, Lynch paid to bring the game on TV—but he clearly wouldn’t do it again.

The strong response changed his and the TV’s relationship. If the station wanted to keep the rights, they’d have to pay him.

Their offer didn’t satisfy Lynch.

That day, the Federation received news: a new sport, not on their roster, was born—with good ratings and social support.

Sabin City TV wanted to buy the broadcast rights from the Federation and offered a decent price.

The Federation and the TV had a long partnership; yearly broadcast fees for various games reached one or two million or more.

Surprised by the news, the Federation launched an investigation and sent a negotiation team to talk to Lynch.

They intended to absorb Lynch’s team and league, bringing the women’s professional rugby under Federation control.

Lynch had foreseen this from the start—that was the purpose of his actions. He wanted to negotiate with the Federation about the share of broadcasting fees and promotional resources.

Running a club wasn’t much simpler than running a company. Although it was a closed industry, the competition inside was fiercer and more brutal than in public sectors.

Capable teams could rely solely on broadcasting fees to cover expenses, maintain a healthy club size, and even turn a profit.

But teams without ability or means, despite receiving a share of broadcasting fees, couldn’t even maintain their basic scale.