"You know, Xiao Wang's studying in the UK, right? I specifically asked around about this Claire guy!" Zhang Peng, finding the wait a bit long, started gossiping with goalkeeper Li Dongdong. "Claire Lee might just be a footballer here, but he's seriously talented. He blew up on YouTube overnight and got signed to Warner Records by cozying up to some big shot's daughter in the UK nightclub scene."
"Whoa, they've got a nightclub scene that cool in the UK?" Li Dongdong's eyes lit up with envy.
Seeing Li's reaction, Zhang Peng got even more animated, waving his hands as he spoke. "I don't know the details, but Xiao Wang's been in the UK since middle school. Next time, I'll hit him up to take us out for a spin."
"Tch, what's fame worth?" Li scoffed. "Remember that match against the Dalian Group's team? Their boss's son rolled up in a Bentley with some starlet I've seen on TV."
Zhang Peng, annoyed at Li's cluelessness, smacked the back of his head. "You don't get it! That Qingdao travel agency we signed up with? Claire's already bought it out. You think Sun Xishuang could pull that off? Xiao Wang told me Claire's company is valued at over a billion dollars in the US, just waiting to go public!"
Seeing Li's bewildered look, Zhang Peng smugly pulled out the latest Motorola flip phone, grumbling, "Why hasn't this match started yet?"
A guy they called "Third Bro" showed up with a gaggle of young guys trailing him. "You think everyone's as impatient as you? I told you, don't rush!"
Third Bro waved off Zhang's complaints. "The foreign guide said the match starts at 4 p.m. They gave us an hour to rest up."
Zhang Peng clammed up when Third Bro took charge, muttering under his breath as Third Bro rallied the players.
But Zhang Peng's group was just a small slice of this tour group—wealthy, influential, and all about the nightlife, representing a certain segment of cross-border tourists.
---
Meanwhile, Claire Lee was swamped, drenched in sweat and slumping exhaustedly in the [Claire Hotel], savoring the cool blast of the air conditioning.
His assistant Delia, holding a document, rattled off updates. "So far, we've invited 14 celebrities to attend the Lymm Valley Stadium event. Tickets for the charity concert the day after tomorrow are live on our ticketing site, but at this rate, they might not sell out."
"No worries," Claire said, waving a limp hand. "Steve Chen's already talking to Tesco's ticketing department. If all goes well, those tickets will be gone by tomorrow."
"But… our hotel's fully booked," Delia added.
Claire, who'd been half-dozing, snapped awake. "What the hell?! I told them to coordinate the hotel rooms with the tour groups! How are we suddenly out of space?"
"The tour package is too popular," Delia explained. "A lot of guests booked a day early through their social circles back ."
"And you said the ticketing site's traffic wasn't a big deal, so we oversold the tickets." Delia flinched as Claire swore—it was her first time hearing him curse, and it rattled her. But she held it together, her eyes only slightly red.
Claire didn't have time to comfort her. He immediately called Nikas Bed, the outsourced general manager of [Claire's Ticketing]. Before Claire could say a word, Nikas jumped in. "Boss, we've sorted it out! A lot of tourists are thrilled about camping by the riverside, so we've perfectly handled accommodations for 370 people."
"370? That many?" Claire asked, stunned.
Nikas sounded equally surprised. "Yes, boss! If our main customers , I wouldn't have realized how many tourists have flocked to Newcastle!"
"Boss, you're about to make bank! All the food, luxury goods, and those wines in the duty-free shop? Sold out! If our suppliers don't speed up delivery tonight, our guests are gonna be pissed!"
Claire barely heard the rest—his mind was stuck on one phrase: the duty-free shop's wines sold out. The wines alone cost him nearly £1.7 million to stock, with a 50% profit margin!
He didn't want to think about the rest. As the first to tap into "cross-border tourism" market, Claire just wanted to speed up his money-making machine.
After hanging up, he shot a text to Steve Chen: [I think we need to ramp up marketing and tour group frequency in . You won't believe how much we made today alone.]
It took a while, but Steve replied: [Congrats on the cash, Claire, but I don't think I've got a stake in the Lymm Valley commercial area. Mind asking your uncle if the [Lymm Valley Business District] needs investors?]
Claire burst out laughing, sounding like a pig snorting. The commercial plots around Lymm Valley Stadium were indeed just his and his uncle's!
To soothe Steve's bruised ego, Claire fired off another text: [Oh, sorry, dear shareholder Mr. Chen! But our website's on the right track. I hope you'll keep supporting me to push forward with offline ticket stores and the IPO.]
After sending the message, Claire collapsed back onto the sofa. Delia had vanished somewhere, and as he started to doze off, his room's door was suddenly flung open.
"Claire! Can I raise the key for this song one more time?"
Ding! His phone pinged with a new message. Seeing it was from Steve Chen, Claire's heart raced for no reason. When he read the single word [Sure], he impulsively hugged the person who'd burst in.