DEARG Ch 30

“Honey, what are you doing today? We’re having a party at Taesoo’s place later.”

“The library.”

Jo Jihyun answered while organizing his books.

“Don’t you know what day it is? You’re going to the library on a day like this?”

The cabinet door closed with a thud. His expression was blank, his face pale as snow. Yet, Jo Jihyun had a charm that drew people’s attention.

“Can’t I go?”

His dry response came back. Kim Sunwoo laughed, shrugging, and said it wasn’t like that.

“Still, don’t you feel lonely spending a day like this staring at books in the library?”

“It’s fine.”

Jo Jihyun replied while packing his bag.

“Studying’s great, but you should have some fun sometimes. What’s the point of living otherwise?”

At Kim Sunwoo’s words, Jo Jihyun swallowed a smile. He lowered his eyes, the corners of his lips slightly curling. That was all, but Kim Sunwoo found himself staring, captivated.

“What?”

When their eyes met, Jo Jihyun asked expressionlessly, as if nothing had happened.

“Nothing, just… What are you doing tonight?”

“Reading, then sleeping.”

“With that face, living like that doesn’t feel like a crime against humanity to you?”

Jo Jihyun didn’t react to Kim Sunwoo’s silly joke, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s have fun on a day like this.”

Kim Sunwoo’s greatest strength was his lack of pretense. He was the epitome of a spoiled youngest son from a wealthy family. His greatest flaw was also his lack of pretense.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re punishing yourself with all that studying. Don’t you know, glory on earth, blessings in heaven? Let’s have fun today.”

It felt like watching a big dog tirelessly begging to play.

“You’re right. It’s punishment.”

Jo Jihyun’s calm agreement made Kim Sunwoo look surprised.

“Uh, no, I was just saying…”

“I was just saying too.”

“…Do you know how scary it is when you joke with that blank face?”

“Are we done with this pointless talk? I’m going.”

“If you change your mind, call me. From a payphone.”

Kim Sunwoo added with a chuckle. Jo Jihyun still hadn’t bought a cellphone. Despite people nagging him about the inconvenience, he ignored them. He didn’t contact anyone, nor did he intend to.

Not even the person he wanted to contact most.

Thinking of Kang Seokwon left a bitter taste. It had been a year since he left Korea. He went straight from the hospital to the airport. The flight was that night. His futile hope that a snowstorm would delay it didn’t come true. The woman who saw him off at the airport smiled. She whispered in a soft voice, Focus on your studies, not useless thoughts. That’s how you’ll get better. It was a threat. I hope you get proper treatment too. Jo Jihyun replied calmly. The woman’s hand trembled. His father patted his shoulder, saying to have a good trip. Your aunt will be there when you arrive. Call as soon as you land. Jo Jihyun didn’t respond. As he headed toward security, the woman grabbed him. If I catch you doing anything weird with that guy, I won’t let it slide.What will you do? Jo Jihyun asked. She seemed startled, not expecting that response. With a suspended sentence on your record, you won’t get off easily next time. Her face crumpled. Jo Jihyun shook off her hand and went through security. Upon arriving in the U.S., he handed his aunt evidence of the abuse and the trial results. He also played the recorded conversation with the woman at the airport. Compared to his mother, his father was more rational and fair. That was a trait of his paternal family. His aunt embodied his father’s best qualities amplified. What do you want to do? she asked. Jo Jihyun answered simply, Just don’t contact her. His aunt nodded. Since arriving in the U.S., he hadn’t spoken to his mother. It was the only good thing about being here. Everything else was just enduring. For the first week, he was bedridden. After that, he poured all his time into studying. Studying was an escape from reality. Or, as Kim Sunwoo said, maybe it was a way to punish himself. His past choices were making Kang Seokwon wait even now. Thinking of him made his chest ache. Had he completed the second surgery successfully? Was rehab going well? Unspoken words piled up. Two weeks after arriving in the U.S., he called Kang Seokwon. Don’t answer. He murmured that while listening to the ringtone, longing for the voice on the other end. I’ll hang up after thirty seconds. He’d told Kang Seokwon that. He counted the rings. With that thought, he placed the receiver back on the payphone. The next call was a month later. For the first three months, he called once a month. If something happened because of the calls, he’d told Kang Seokwon to pick up and hang up immediately. Please do that. If you don’t, everything could go wrong. Jo Jihyun had pleaded earnestly. Kang Seokwon nodded. He wasn’t someone who brushed things off with lies. Thankfully, Kang Seokwon never hung up mid-call. So, Jo Jihyun shortened the intervals—three weeks, two weeks, now once a week. He wanted to call every day but held back, fearing it would stir unnecessary longing. Saturday at 10 p.m., 9 a.m. in Korea. For a year, he’d called at the same time, so Kang Seokwon would know. By Wednesday, his mood lifted. On Friday morning, he couldn’t focus on studying, thinking of the call. On Saturday, he stared at the clock all day. Hearing the ringtone was everything, but knowing Kang Seokwon was listening too made his fingers tremble with nervous excitement.

Today was Saturday. Christmas, year-end celebrations—none of that mattered. He only thought of calling Kang Seokwon.

While studying in the library, he checked the time intermittently. At 9:30, he packed up and stood. For the past hour, he hadn’t absorbed anything from the book. The streets, a day before Christmas, echoed with carols. A giant star-topped Christmas tree sparkled with dazzling lights. The city glowed at night. Amid falling snow, people buzzed with unconcealed joy. Laughter felt obligatory, like happiness was mandatory.

Jo Jihyun stopped abruptly. A card stand outside a bookstore caught his eye. He met the gaze of a blue-eyed clerk. Send love to someone special. The clerk smiled, reciting a magazine-ad line. Jo Jihyun approached the stand. Knowing he couldn’t send it, he still picked the one he liked best and paid. He slipped the card into his pocket as he walked. Finding a payphone was hard, so he always used one near his house. He checked his watch. One minute until 10. He had an international calling card, but the cost never changed. He dialed and waited. The ringtone sounded. Was Kang Seokwon listening too? What was he thinking? What did he do yesterday? Today… The promised thirty seconds passed, and he hung up. He should’ve left, but his feet wouldn’t move. Carols played. His hand touched the Christmas card in his pocket. He didn’t know what came over him. Before he realized, he was calling Kang Seokwon again. The phone rang. He wouldn’t answer. Jo Jihyun knew that. He’d repeated countless times that he mustn’t pick up. Calling twice in one day was a first.

Glory on earth, blessings in heaven. Carols blessing the holy day echoed through the streets.

Jo Jihyun prayed fervently that the blessings would reach them, even briefly.

Listening to the ringtone, he longed desperately for Kang Seokwon. He hung up.

“Merry Christmas.”

Whispering words he knew wouldn’t be heard, Jo Jihyun closed his eyes deeply.

It was a white Christmas.

A heavy thud echoed through the gym. Soon, the sandbag slumped. The coach sighed, frowning.

“Stop for today and rest.”

Kang Seokwon didn’t answer, wiping sweat with a towel.

“What’s up with Seokwon hyung today?”

“The national team selection was announced.”

“He got selected, right?”

One guy made a throat-slitting gesture.

“What? Why?”

“No idea. Some say it’s because Seokwon hyung doesn’t play nice with the association.”

“D**n association.”

Another guy clicked his tongue.

“Hasn’t he been in a bad mood lately?”

“Has he? He’s so quiet, who knows what he’s thinking.”

Amid the chatter, Kang Seokwon took off his gloves and grabbed his bag.

“Hyung, leaving? Spar with me first.”

A gym junior tried to lighten the mood, but Kang Seokwon shook his head and left.

Descending the stairs, he unwrapped his hand wraps. Outside, the overcast sky looked ready to snow. The year-end streets were busier than usual. Waiting at the bus stop, Kang Seokwon checked his phone. No calls in three weeks. He knew why. After Jo Jihyun went to the U.S. two years ago, except for the first few months, a call came every Saturday at 9 a.m. It was 10 p.m. there. He lived for that moment, staying awake from Friday night to Saturday morning. Though he wasn’t a late sleeper, he feared missing Jo Jihyun’s call. That day, waiting for the call, he started reading the letter Jo Jihyun gave him at the hospital. He’d read it thousands of times, the paper’s edges worn. The childish handwriting made him laugh, choke up, or feel inexplicably sad. Every emotion surfaced. After the last page, the conclusion was always the same: he missed Jo Jihyun. He ached for him. He wanted to hold him, bury his nose in his disheveled hair, and breathe deeply. If that wasn’t possible, he just wanted to hear his cool, composed voice call him sunbae. That was all. When the phone rang, he pressed the answer button without thinking. He didn’t realize what he’d done at first. But the sound of breathing told him who was there. Jo Jihyun. A gasp came through. His panic was palpable. Don’t hang up. He begged like a starving man. Silence followed. After a few seconds, Jo Jihyun asked, Are you doing well? Instead of saying he wasn’t, he managed, Yeah. Silence again. He needed to say something, but his tongue froze. Are you training well?Yeah.I’ll hang up then. The call ended. For three weeks, no contact from Jo Jihyun. His heart burned black. They weren’t supposed to have direct contact for seven years, Jo Jihyun had said, so they could meet safely. Kang Seokwon chose to believe him, but he didn’t fully understand. Not knowing why Jo Jihyun was so afraid made him anxious. But hearing he’d been dropped from the national team today, he understood what Jo Jihyun meant by things going wrong. His mind went blank. It wasn’t the unexpected rejection. Everything incomprehensible suddenly made sense. A national champion missing the team roster was unheard of. The coach was furious, but a published list wouldn’t be reversed. Suddenly, he wondered what would happen if the calls stopped forever. Kang Seokwon swallowed the dreadful thought with a sigh. He had to trust Jo Jihyun. That was all he could do. It was why he endured the hellish pain of rehab. On bitter days like today, he wanted to hear Jo Jihyun confirm he hadn’t let go. Tomorrow was Saturday, but he didn’t know if Jo Jihyun would call again.

On the bus home, Kang Seokwon fiddled with his phone. At home, he checked the mailbox out of habit. A few bills, ads, and a white envelope. No letter from Jo Jihyun. Expressionless, he took the mail inside.

He tossed his bag and undressed. Showering, the bitterness of the national team rejection hit him late. He felt ashamed of promising to succeed and take Jo Jihyun to the U.S. For the first time since starting training, he faced fear of failure. Even going into risky surgery hadn’t felt like this. A crushing sense of inadequacy washed over him. It was a filthy feeling, hard to shake. When he reunited with Jo Jihyun, he didn’t want to be powerless anymore. This rejection stung because of that. His planned steps were slipping away, all his fault. Kang Seokwon sighed, frowning. Then he noticed the mail. He sat and sorted it, tossing ads and setting bills aside. A single white envelope remained. It was from the hospital he’d been in two years ago. He opened it, and two neatly folded letters fell out. Unfolding them, his breath caught.

To sunbae.

He knew whose neat handwriting it was. Seeing the letters felt like seeing Jo Jihyun. His face flushed, overwhelmed by uncontrollable affection. Like a man finding an oasis in a desert, he read to quench his thirst.

Sunbae. Hello. This is Jo Jihyun.

The words read in Jo Jihyun’s voice. Kang Seokwon read calmly.

By the time you read this, a year will have passed since I wrote it.

He recalled the hospital’s year-end event where they handed out stationery, promising to send the letters the next year. Due to some error, it arrived two years later.

Are you doing well? I wonder how your training is going.

Jo Jihyun had asked the same during their call. His trembling voice layered over the words.

Maybe you’re in training camp, selected for the national team.

Kang Seokwon gave a short laugh. He’d told Jo Jihyun that, even saying to visit him at camp. Today, the taste in his mouth was bitterly sharp.

Even if not, I want to say it’s okay. With your talent and effort, you’ll reach your goal someday, even if it’s not today.

It felt like hearing his calm, composed voice.

I sincerely hope you’re always healthy.

P.S. Did I tell you I love you?

The postscript made Kang Seokwon bow his head. It hit like a punch. He couldn’t withstand it.

Each letter brought Jo Jihyun vividly to life. His dark eyes gazed at him. His cool, composed eyes smiled. Soft hair fell over his forehead. When Kang Seokwon’s fingers brushed him, he lowered his eyes, swallowing a smile, lips curling. Without any wariness, he leaned into the warmth, staring quietly. Kang Seokwon traced each letter on the paper as if caressing Jo Jihyun.

He read and reread the letter. Before he knew it, the window was brightening. He carefully placed the letter in the box with Jo Jihyun’s others. He changed and went for a run. Even if not today, he’d stand where he wanted someday. No, he had to.

After running, he returned home near 9 a.m., drenched in sweat. Checking his watch and phone, no call had come. He drank water, wiping his face with a towel. He planned a quick breakfast before heading to the gym.

Then it rang.

The phone. Kang Seokwon tossed the towel and checked the screen. An international call. He counted the rings.

Twelve. Exactly twelve, then it would end. Eleven, ten, nine, eight…

He counted down. As expected, it stopped after twelve. He checked the call log. It came at 9:04. Jo Jihyun must have hesitated for four minutes at the payphone. That thought made him endearing and lovable. 1528 days remained until he’d see Jo Jihyun again. But they would meet.

Even if not today.

“Honey.”

Jo Jihyun frowned slightly at the nickname. Despite telling them his name repeatedly, the response was always the same.

“What?”

“What were you doing?”

It was Ethan, from the same class. Jo Jihyun showed him the textbook he was reading instead of answering. Ethan whistled softly.

“Fun?”

“More than talking to you.”

Ethan burst out laughing. The shadow made it hard to read. Ethan was persistent. Thinking it better to leave, Jo Jihyun closed his book and stood.

“Where you going?”

“I have plans.”

“Can we talk for a bit?”

Jo Jihyun checked his watch and said, Five minutes.

“Are you free this Saturday? I got some great tickets.”

Ethan confidently pulled tickets from his pocket and handed them to Jo Jihyun, who remained expressionless.

“Don’t you know what these are?”

“What are they?”

Ethan looked flustered at the question. Just then, Kim Sunwoo approached, waving.

“Hey, let’s go. I’m starving.”

Kim Sunwoo spoke in Korean, making Ethan frown.

“I’m leaving. I have plans.”

As Jo Jihyun said this, Ethan anxiously grabbed his sleeve.

“Really no time on Saturday? These were hard to get.”

Kim Sunwoo’s eyes widened at the tickets.

“Sorry, I don’t think I can.”

Jo Jihyun refused cleanly and turned. Kim Sunwoo let out a hollow laugh.

“Poor Ethan.”

Jo Jihyun raised an eyebrow, asking what he meant.

“Those tickets must cost ten grand. You can’t even get them with money now. Didn’t you hear the news about the fight of the century for the world championship?”

“Oh, that.”

Jo Jihyun replied indifferently.

“You like boxing, don’t you?”

“Do I?” Jo Jihyun responded.

“Don’t you? I was surprised you watched boxing broadcasts. I thought you weren’t into sports.”

Kang Seokwon was steadily climbing the ranks. He was considered unbeatable in Korea. After learning he could watch his matches online, Jo Jihyun caught a few. On days Kang Seokwon took too many hits, the afterimages kept him up at night, but seeing him was worth it.

“Ethan asked what you like, and I mentioned it in passing, and he got those.”

Jo Jihyun frowned, telling Kim Sunwoo not to spread useless talk.

“I knew he was rich, but d**n, he’s loaded.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“Me, compared to him? You don’t know who his grandfather is? Compared to the McCallens, my family’s a corner store.”

It was an exaggeration, but not entirely wrong. Ethan McCallen was the heir to a top U.S. military-industrial family, four generations deep. Kim Sunwoo’s father ran a solid business, but it wasn’t comparable.

“By the way, Ethan’s got it bad for you.”

Jo Jihyun openly grimaced.

“Why don’t you like him? Girls call him a prince.”

Jo Jihyun sighed, looking at his ever-innocent friend.

“Remember when Ethan’s group called you ‘ching-chong’?”

It was a derogatory term for Asians.

“Is that new?”

Kim Sunwoo laughed it off. Jo Jihyun usually ignored such teasing. Subtle racial discrimination wasn’t unusual.

“But is that really why you don’t like Ethan McCallen?”

Many people showed interest in Jo Jihyun, including women, but he never responded. Not into women? Kim Sunwoo asked. Jo Jihyun said he wasn’t interested. Since then, Kim Sunwoo assumed Jo Jihyun leaned that way. He didn’t bother correcting him.

“No. I just don’t like him.”

Ethan wasn’t like Choi Kiyeol in appearance, but something about him reminded Jo Jihyun of him. Ignoring him in public but approaching privately with advances didn’t sit well.

“Well, if you don’t like him, nothing to be done. What about me?”

“Even worse.”

Kim Sunwoo let out a deflated sound.

“Hey, don’t you remember when we first met? You stared at me, walked to our table, and asked to eat together. That was you, not me.”

Kim Sunwoo grumbled.

Months after becoming roommates, Kim Sunwoo confessed his feelings. Jo Jihyun rejected him outright. Kim Sunwoo, unconvinced, brought up their first meeting, saying he thought Jo Jihyun liked him. Was I wrong? Jo Jihyun nodded. Yeah, you were. Since then, Kim Sunwoo often brought it up, feeling wronged.

“They said you were a mute, but I bet on silent autism. When you came up and asked to eat together, we were shocked. That night, we were all too excited to sleep.”

Kim Sunwoo chuckled. Jo Jihyun had approached him knowingly, so he didn’t say much.

“But I’m really curious. What were you thinking back then?”

“Nothing much.”

“No way. You definitely thought I was pretty great. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked to eat together, not with your personality.”

Jo Jihyun let out a short laugh. Kim Sunwoo, then and now, was a genuinely good person, aside from being a bit annoying and loud.

“Oh, right. I got the newspaper you asked for. It should be at the house.”

Jo Jihyun turned his head.

“Today?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I’m going home for a bit.”

“What? For the newspaper?”

Jo Jihyun nodded.

“No one’s going to take it. Eat first.”

“No. See you later.”

Jo Jihyun turned and walked away. His pace quickened, and soon he was running. The distance from school to the apartment was about twenty minutes. By the time he reached the door and turned the k**b, he was breathless. As Kim Sunwoo said, a paper envelope lay on the table. Jo Jihyun grabbed it and went to his room. He tore open the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. It was a sports newspaper from Korea. Flipping through a few pages, he spotted a headline article: The Return of a Genius. The face was still stoic. This spring, Kang Seokwon was selected for the national team and won gold at the Asian Games. He’d seen the article online, but seeing it in print felt several times more thrilling. Sitting down, he read the article carefully, then took scissors and clipped it out.

“Scrapbooking?”

Kim Sunwoo, who had entered the room unnoticed, held out a paper bag with sandwiches and asked. Jo Jihyun nodded, tucking the article into a scrapbook file.

“Eat while you do it.”

Kim Sunwoo took out his sandwich from the bag, chewing as he spoke.

“Thanks.”

“No need to thank me. Just tell me if you need anything.”

Kim Sunwoo frequently visited Korea, where his family was. When Jo Jihyun asked if he could have a newspaper he’d seen him reading on a flight, Kim Sunwoo started bringing newspapers every time he or his father traveled to Korea.

“Really, thanks.”

Jo Jihyun bowed, and Kim Sunwoo burst out laughing.

“You’re such a mystery. You don’t even glance at ten-thousand-dollar tickets, but you’re this grateful for a newspaper.”

Jo Jihyun smiled silently.

“But who is it? Someone you know?”

At the word someone you know, Jo Jihyun gave a quiet smile. He recalled a man asking what it would take for him to be considered someone you know.

Jo Jihyun looked down at Kang Seokwon’s photo in the newspaper. Three years had passed, and the boy had grown into a man.

“Yeah. Someone I know.”

Three springs had passed. Four more, and he could meet him.

Budding flowers bloomed outside the window.

The alarm rang, and he opened his eyes. Turning it off, he got up, showered, and ate a simple breakfast before heading to train. He nodded to greetings and focused on training. His relentless training style, pushing his body to its limits, made others hesitant to approach. By the end, his clothes were soaked with sweat. He showered, changed, and left.

“Seokwon-ah. You know about the interview tonight, right?”

“No interest.”

The city team coach widened his eyes, asking, What? Kang Seokwon gave a brief nod and left the gym. The cold winter wind had softened, brushing his cheeks gently. Instead of heading to the bus stop, he walked for a while. Entering a convenience store, he bought soju. Fifteen hundred won, the clerk said. He paid, took the change, and sat by the Han River, drinking alone. Last week, he won the world championship. Calls and congratulations poured in. The final was on his grandmother’s memorial day. The championship was held in the U.S. Competing on her memorial day there didn’t feel great, even after winning. He hadn’t been congratulated by the two people he wanted most. Kang Seokwon swallowed the soju. On an empty stomach, the heat burned his throat. In the U.S., Jo Jihyun didn’t call. He must have done it on purpose. The physical distance brought more anguish than expected. Stepping onto U.S. soil, he repeatedly wanted to go find him. Knowing it was absurd in such a vast country, the urge surged uncontrollably. Leaving the match, he looked around, hoping against hope to see him, a futile expectation that left him drained. Back in Korea, interview requests flooded in from newspapers and broadcasters. He wasn’t confident with photos or talking, but he accepted every request for one reason: Jo Jihyun was surely watching.

Kang Seokwon pulled out his phone. People often asked why he still used such an old model, but he had no intention of changing it. He opened the photo album and pulled up an old picture.

Jo Jihyun, looking startled.

It probably came out weird.

His slightly sulky voice echoed. It was the only photo he had. He knew he could transfer it to another phone but didn’t want to. It felt like the memory of that moment would fade.

Kang Seokwon stared at the boy on the screen.

How had he grown? Taller, maybe? Hopefully, he’d gained some weight. His face, voice, hair, fingers…

In his memory, Jo Jihyun was still eighteen. No matter how he tried to imagine, it was futile. All he’d heard in years was his voice a few times. Kang Seokwon put the phone back in his pocket.

He decided to make time midweek to visit Gangwon-do. Finishing the soju, he poured the rest into the river.

He walked along the Han River Bridge. Waking early, training, eating a set diet, and training again—a monotonous life. Despite achieving his planned steps, a corner of his heart felt empty. Four years had passed. Each hour had felt agonizingly long, yet he was over halfway. The remaining half felt oddly more distant than the first year after Jo Jihyun left. Unless something unusual happened, like last week, Jo Jihyun called weekly. The ringtone still made his heart pound and his face flush with joy. But a sudden anxiety was hard to shake.

As the time nears, won’t you find the promise burdensome?

He looked up. White petals drifted in the breeze. More than thinking it beautiful, he wanted to show it to Jo Jihyun.

Arriving home by bus past 10 p.m., he showered and realized he hadn’t checked the mailbox. Jo Jihyun had promised to send a letter someday. It didn’t have to be today, but he always hoped it would be. Shaking his head lightly, he went outside.

A few flyers and bills were in the mailbox.

Kang Seokwon grabbed the mail and climbed the stairs. As he opened his door, he heard the neighbor’s door open.

“Hey, the athlete guy.”

The middle-aged woman next door called cautiously. Kang Seokwon bowed silently.

“You weren’t home last week, right? I got a piece of mail for you but forgot. Getting old, I keep forgetting things.”

At the word mail, Kang Seokwon held his breath. Just in case, he’d given her a ginseng set, asking her to hold his mail when he was away. He’d made the request every holiday for four years.

“Wait a sec.”

She went inside, leaving the door open. It might not be it. It could be an invitation or official letter from the association. He told himself not to hope, but his fingers trembled.

“It’s got an English name. Kang… right?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Kang Seokwon took the letter.

“By the way, I saw you on the news. You’re famous, huh?”

She looked skeptical that someone famous lived in such a rundown villa.

“Don’t pretend not to know me when you get even more famous.”

“I won’t.”

Kang Seokwon bowed politely and entered his home. He couldn’t take his eyes off the letter even as he took off his shoes. The English handwriting was instantly recognizable.

The envelope was thinner than expected. Jo Jihyun had said he’d send one letter. He couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. Taking a knife from the drawer, he carefully cut the envelope’s edge.

As he opened it, something fell out with a thud.

“…”

No thoughts came. His mind went blank, his ears rang, and his heart raced. His face heated with each blink. He hadn’t expected this.

In the photo, Jo Jihyun smiled. His hair was slightly longer, his eyes still delicately drawn. His cheeks seemed fuller, his neck long and straight, his earlobes, nose, eyebrows, smiling lips—things changed and unchanged.

Four years were captured in that single photo. Kang Seokwon stared, entranced, then noticed a piece of paper still inside the envelope.

A simple note was written on the white paper.

There were too many things I wanted to say to write them down.

Below was a date—the day they’d agreed to meet.

It felt like he’d heard everything.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Jo Jihyun answered, pulling the sheet closer.

“Let’s go to the hospital. We can cancel the ticket.”

“Don’t. I’ll take medicine and sleep. I’ll be fine.”

Kim Sunwoo frowned and clicked his tongue.

“Go. It’s an important wedding.”

Kim Sunwoo had to go to Korea for a relative’s wedding.

“I’ll tell Taesoo.”

“Don’t. It’s awkward.”

“Your aunt?”

Jo Jihyun shook his head. After a recent incident, he couldn’t face her.

His mother had come. She was clearly not in her right mind, demanding her son. His aunt firmly refused. His father joined in, saying she regretted and repented, asking why she’d sever family ties. You and your wife cut those ties. Don’t blame the kid. Before his aunt finished, his mother lunged, eyes wild. His aunt fell, breaking her wrist, and the police took the couple away. Jo Jihyun heard this from his cousin. Jihyun-ah, it must’ve been tough. He apologized repeatedly to his cousin. It meant many things. He promised it wouldn’t happen again and hung up.

He called his father, saying one more incident would lead to legal action. His father made excuses. Your mom’s very sick and struggling. She misses you. You know how much she loves you, right? Jihyun-ah, I get that you’re hurt, but parents and children… The phrase parents and children chilled his heart. Will you send me to a mental hospital again if I don’t listen? His father had no answer. Jo Jihyun believed he knew what his mother had tried to do. It’s not possible now. I’m not a minor, and it’s illegal without a doctor’s diagnosis. He hung up.

Since coming to the U.S., he hadn’t wasted an hour. He studied relentlessly, never missing a scholarship, and worked part-time. The first thing he did with his earnings was send the plane ticket money back to Korea. He didn’t want to owe them anything. Every moment here was, in a way, spent cutting ties with his parents. He didn’t know what more to do, and it felt hopeless. He barely slept since that day. Despite his efforts, his mother brought nightmares back into his reality with one visit.

Kim Sunwoo sighed, sitting by the bed.

“Why don’t you ever lean on anyone?”

“I’m really fine.”

Despite feverish eyes, Jo Jihyun spoke calmly. Kim Sunwoo reached to check his forehead. In that moment, the image of his mother’s hands choking him in a dream overlapped, and Jo Jihyun flinched, pulling away. Kim Sunwoo withdrew his hand with a slightly bitter expression.

“Sorry. I’m not feeling well, so I’m on edge.”

“…Are you going to therapy?”

After seeing Jo Jihyun wake from nightmares in a panic, Kim Sunwoo referred him to a psychiatrist. I know someone. Don’t overthink it. Think of it as talking to an uncle. In Korea, therapy’s a big deal, but here it’s like catching a cold. He added he could help with costs, genuinely worried. That was four years ago. Jo Jihyun had been attending regularly.

“I take my meds.”

Jo Jihyun smiled faintly, mixing sincerity with a joke.

“Go. You’ll be late.”

Jo Jihyun pushed Kim Sunwoo’s back. Reluctantly, he stood.

“If anything happens, call Taesoo, got it?”

“Got it.”

Kim Sunwoo glanced back, unconvinced, and added, “Say you’re sick if you’re sick.”

Jo Jihyun gestured for him to leave instead of answering. The door closed. He lay back down. The fever rose. Each breath stung his throat and lungs. His trembling body ached against the sheets. Like the day he left Kang Seokwon in the rain, he was in pain.

He suddenly remembered it was Saturday.

He had to call.

Jo Jihyun forced his eyes open to check the clock. It was almost 10 p.m. Holding the headboard, he got up. Dressing took forever. The late summer night air felt chilly. Clutching his clothes, he walked to the payphone. Each step made his head throb and nausea rise. The payphone, less than twenty meters from the apartment, felt as distant as the moon. Barely reaching it, he lifted the receiver. His hands lacked strength, dropping it several times. Propping it against his shoulder, he dialed with trembling fingers. Hearing the ringtone, he sank to the ground. His vision darkened, and his stomach churned. Breathing heavily, he fought nausea. His sight slowly cleared. He realized he’d been clutching the phone too long. About to hang up, he paused and brought the receiver to his ear. The call was still connected. Breathing sounded. It was Kang Seokwon.

“Sorry. The phone rang so long, I thought something was wrong.”

It was barely a minute. The man noticed even the slightest difference. Five years had passed, but he was still terrifyingly kind.

Jo Jihyun held the receiver without answering. He knew he had to hang up, but he couldn’t.

“Are you sick?”

From just his breathing, the man read everything. Jo Jihyun’s eyes burned.

“Jihyun-ah. Are you sick?”

The man’s worried, low voice made his suppressed emotions surge.

“Yeah… I’m sick.”

In the end, with Kang Seokwon, he acted childish and showed weakness.

“Should I come?”

His tone was as if he’d come to the house. So very Kang Seokwon. Five years later, he hadn’t changed. No, he felt even gentler. Though he’d already been as kind as could be.

“Where are you? I’ll come.”

“Later…”

Swallowing tears, Jo Jihyun continued.

“Make me barley tea.”

His voice cracked from the fever. A gasp came through the phone. He was holding back too.

“I’ll do everything.”

Hearing that steadfast heart, Jo Jihyun realized what he’d been trying to protect. He hung up. Returning home, he collapsed onto the bed without taking off his shoes. He was in excruciating pain, like his insides were burning. Jihyun-ah, Jo Jihyun. Someone called, but he couldn’t answer. He dreamed of Kang Seokwon. In the dream, he held the sick Jo Jihyun, saying it was okay repeatedly. Each time, his presence saved him. It was a dream he never wanted to wake from. He woke in a hospital bed with an oxygen mask. Jung Taesoo, at Kim Sunwoo’s request, had found him unconscious and brought him there. The flu had developed into viral pneumonia. He needed to stay hospitalized, and there was a chance his lungs might not fully recover, the doctor said. His first thought was relief. This time, it was his life that went astray, not Kang Seokwon’s. He was genuinely relieved. His aunt and uncle entered the room. He saw the cast on her arm. I’m sorry. I messed up. He barely spoke with dry lips. His aunt burst into tears. A strong woman, in both heart and body, crying like that was a first. A sick kid says that the moment he sees me? She wept. I’m sorry. Jo Jihyun apologized again. Since coming to the U.S., she’d helped him the most. Jihyun-ah, we talked, and… his uncle began hesitantly. His aunt expressed her wish to adopt him. If you want, of course. His uncle nodded. Jihyun-ah, you’re an adult, so it won’t change much, but I’ll do everything I can. Her eyes welled up. Thinking of how you grew up keeps me awake at night. She held his hand. It was the first time he’d felt maternal affection. Blushing, he blinked. Thank you, even for the offer. I don’t want to burden you anymore. His aunt shook her head. Living like this is the real burden. Why don’t you see that? She cried harder. His uncle patted her shoulder, comforting her. Jihyun’s still sick, so let’s talk later. There’s plenty of time. His aunt stood, telling him to rest. The room regained its quiet. Kang Seokwon’s image from the dream resurfaced. Guilt for causing worry weighed on him. Counting the remaining time felt too vast, and he closed his eyes.

He wanted to dream a long dream.

What? Kang Seokwon? Hahaha. Congrats. Yeah, it’s a rite of passage. Good luck, man.

When Kim Kyungrok said he was interviewing Kang Seokwon, he didn’t understand the seniors’ reactions.

Why? Is he a problem?

Difficult interviewees were often called problem children—arrogant, ranting but complaining after publication, or badmouthing other athletes or celebrities. It was common in the industry.

Not exactly a problem child. He’s diligent in his own way.

Then what’s the issue?

Kang Seokwon was currently Korea’s most prominent athlete. After winning Olympic gold, he announced his intent to go pro and was negotiating with a major U.S. promoter. He seemed to be on an elite path, but as a non-traditional athlete—not from a sports high school or university—he led a thoroughly unconventional life. An accident before college left him unable to walk properly for a time. After grueling rehab, he resumed training and reached the top. His story was one people in this tough era would love.

Hey, don’t prepare too much. You’ll just take photos and leave. Kang Seokwon comes well-prepared, though. A senior chuckled while Kim Kyungrok printed the interview questions. Kim Kyungrok looked puzzled.

He barely says anything—‘thank you,’ ‘sorry,’ ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘I’ll work hard.’ Like a macro. Just pick from those for the write-up.

Kim Kyungrok scoffed. Is that because you guys lack skill? To draw out someone’s story, you have to understand their life. Sincerely.

Tapping his chest, he made everyone laugh. Alright, do well.Yes, I’ll nail it. Just watch.

Three hours ago, Kim Kyungrok, full of enthusiasm, wanted to punch himself.

“As the first Korean athlete to sign with a major U.S. agency, what are your thoughts?”

“I’m grateful.”

“The nation has high expectations for your U.S. debut. What’s your resolve?”

“I’ll work hard.”

“Some view your U.S. move negatively, hoping you’d stay an amateur to boost national pride. What’s your opinion, Mr. Kang Seokwon?”

“I’m sorry.”

“…”

It was the toughest interview subject Kim Kyungrok had faced. As the seniors said, Kang Seokwon cycled through yes, no, thank you, sorry, I’ll work hard. The term macro wasn’t an exaggeration.

He wasn’t insincere or arrogant. He answered every question properly, with a respectful attitude. He just spoke too little.

Kim Kyungrok sighed, looking at Kang Seokwon.