OLP 1

Wearing the national flag emblem was a coincidence.

If the sunbae who won the 1,500-meter silver medal at the Olympics three years ago had not been injured just before the first World Cup event, and if it were not for the subsequent absurd mistake by the federation, the opportunity would never have come to me.

I was not a talented athlete. I was prone to injuries and had never set any noteworthy records. Finishing 8th in the recent national team selections was my best result since becoming a senior. My best result was 8th place. Under normal circumstances, I would not have even been able to set foot near the Olympics. It just so happened that the Winter Olympics were being held this season, and it also just so happened that athletes were disciplined one after another this season, which became a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me. The media defined my situation in one phrase: ‘The Accidental National Athlete.’ With every step I took through the main gate of the athletes’ village, the pressure weighed down on my shoulders. Injuries, skills, military service exemption… a jumble of complicated issues rattled around inside my carrier along with the team uniform I had received in advance.

Without even unpacking, I first went to see the head coach to greet him. It was to be expected, but as soon as the head coach saw my face entering the Hwarang Hall, he let out a deep sigh. The coaching staff also said nothing, but their faces were troubled. I did not feel hurt. It was natural for them to be that way. An athlete with no notable medals or records had become the substitute for an Olympic medalist, just because he surprisingly placed 8th in the selections. And so suddenly, at that.

In the Winter Olympics’ most reliable medal-winning sport, it was like starting with one card already discarded. The expressions on their faces as they told me the building and room number of the dorm where I would be staying were not good. I was so nervous myself that I did not even hear who my roommate was.

“Greet him properly. Don’t disturb his rest.”

“Yes.”

‘It would have been nice if Seonho was my roommate.’ I thought, picturing the face of my Yonsei University peer who had also made the national team for the first time. I walked through the lane of eight buildings and headed for the one used by the short-track athletes. I took the elevator and passed the lounge. As I walked, lost in the unfamiliar interior of the athletes’ village, I bumped my side into a laundry rack placed in front of a door.

“Ah.”

The socks were huge. I picked up the sock that had fallen because of me, put it back on the rack, and opened the door. My roommate was in the room.

He was a truly unexpected person.

Steam billowed out from the bathroom located to the right of the door. The man, who was drying his hair with a towel as he came out, glanced at me for entering without knocking. His wet hair was stuck to his forehead in a haphazard way. Unaware that the bag on my shoulder was slipping off, I gaped stupidly. What is this. Is this a hidden camera? No, wait. Why would he be playing a prank on me. I barely managed to come to my senses just as the other man’s eyes narrowed. An apology came out of my mouth on its own.

“Sor…ry.”

“It’s fine.”

Saying that, the man averted his gaze and turned to walk away. The man was wearing only a pair of black sweatpants. Muscles rippled across his damp upper body. His large, bare feet made wet prints on the floor. The moisture and the scent of body wash he left behind rushed to my face. I could not even blink as my eyes followed him. The man’s front was reflected in the rectangular window across the room.

Skin as white as a silver rink, eyes as sharp as skate blades, and a jawline even more defined. A faint scar on his smooth left cheek, a slender height unusual for a short-track skater. He was the Olympic gold medalist whose picture was hanging at the entrance of the ice rink training facility I had seen on my way up, and the biggest star born from the Winter Olympics.

It was Nam Jihoon.

I stared blankly. Forgetting even to close the door.

If the sunbae whose thigh injury got me into Jincheon was the 1,500-meter silver medalist, then the gold medal belonged to Nam Jihoon. Three years ago, Nam Jihoon swept the gold medals in all men’s short-track events, including the 1,500-meter and the relay, bringing a total of four gold medals to the Republic of Korea.

In the last Olympics, where the country had an unusually tough time, we might have fallen behind Japan in the overall rankings if it were not for the medals Nam Jihoon had brought home. Even in short track, a sport where medals were thought to be a given, an athlete like him was rare. A monster who appeared like a comet in his first Olympic appearance. A high school athlete whose university had not even been decided yet. Who could compete in who knows how many more world championships.

People were enthusiastic about Nam Jihoon’s talent and young age, and they held their breath the moment he took off his helmet. The youthful and clean face revealed as he took off his red helmet and ruffled his sweat-drenched bangs. A face that looked like it would win a gold medal even if you put him on an audition program right now. The Skating Idol. A nickname like that stuck in an instant.

And I had met him once at the last National Winter Sports Festival.

I had a constitution that did not build muscle easily. My height was average, but I was particularly weak in physical strength and poor at body checking. Even if I just brushed against an athlete smaller than me, I would be pushed away helplessly. I was constantly getting knocked over, so injuries were frequent.

That day was another one of those days. I narrowly avoided falling, but my body was thrown to the outside, distancing me from the top ranks. The race continued, and no attention was paid to the loser. Even my coach, who had brought me here, did not spare me a glance as I repeated the same pattern every time. I moved away from the center ice by myself and sat on the bench. My ankle, which I had strained to maintain my balance, throbbed. The cheers and shouts were all distant from me. I sat like that for a few minutes, touching the skate I had taken off my foot. Just then, a shadow fell over my head as I sat with it lowered.

“Are you hurt?”

At the same time, white fingers wrapped around my ankle.

Startled, I lifted my face. Someone in a racing suit was kneeling in front of me, carefully examining my ankle. Beneath the tight-fitting suit, a thigh the size of a young woman’s waist pressed against his calf. The gloves he had taken off were much larger than mine. He was wearing a helmet, so all I could see was a sharp jawline and red lips. He must have just finished a race, yet there was no sign of him being out of breath. As I looked at him in surprise, the person lifted his head toward me. Our eyes met.

“…”

“…”

For a moment, I lost all sensation.

The scar, said to be from a skate blade during his middle school days, was faint on his pristine left cheek. His indifferent expression did not change even as I stared, dumbfounded. It was my first time seeing him up close, yet his name immediately came to mind. Nam Jihoon. His name shone at the very top of the electronic scoreboard installed in the background. Why is the winner, who should be celebrating right now, here? At his sudden appearance, I forgot how to speak and just blinked foolishly.

He asked.

“It looks swollen.”

“…”

“Does your thigh not hurt?”

“…”

“Can’t you talk?”

As he said that, he tightened his grip on my ankle. His almond-shaped eyes stared at me intently.

“An answer. I’d like to hear it.”

Only then did I realize that I was at the rink, that the athlete who had just passed me was Nam Jihoon, and that he had graciously come over to check on me, who had injured my ankle because of him—though, strictly speaking, it was not his fault since I had stumbled on my own. I also realized that he needed to leave right away since he had won first place. I answered in a flurry.

“I’m… fine.”

The slow, dazed reply sounded foolish even to my own ears.

Nam Jihoon was silent for a moment. His long fingers flinched over the callus on my ankle. Finally, lowering his eyes, he picked up his gloves and stood up.

“Don’t forget to go to the infirmary.”

And he turned around.

Even in the tight, uncomfortable racing suit, he walked with his back straight. His coach ran over and draped a jacket over him. I could not say a word, just blinking my eyes. My judgment failed me, as if I had just been in an accident. Only strange analogies kept coming to mind. Like a prince who dismounts his horse to personally help up a beggar who was pushed over by the crowd during a royal procession, or the captain of the football team who is the first to speak to the bullied boy in an American high school… situations like that.

“…”

I lowered my hand. I stroked my ankle bone. I also touched the hard skin above it. My ankle where he had held it felt like it was on fire. As if the real injury had been inflicted by his fingers.

I raised my head. I craned my neck. I watched Nam Jihoon from afar as he was being interviewed and having his picture taken. I also watched the close-up shots of him that alternated with his name flowing across the scoreboard. His white face, his ice-like, expressionless face. But I knew the temperature of that hand. A heat that could be called a fever.

And so, a one-sided love that did not suit my station began.

The first one-sided love I ever experienced was intense. He appeared in my dreams every few days. I never got tired of watching his broadcasts, magazines, and races hundreds of time over. I thought of him even when I was training. Whenever I was tired and struggling, I would think of Nam Jihoon at the athletes’ village ice rink. I would sometimes imagine getting into Jincheon someday, using the same training facility as him, and becoming close sunbae and hoobae who would greet each other. Since entering the athletes’ village is the dream of every athlete in the Republic of Korea, I rationalized that having such thoughts was not too presumptuous. Despite the enormous skill gap between him and me.

A one-sided love was a feeling like a fever that rose and fell. I would be interested in his every move, but at times, I would deliberately try to ignore him. Since he was the best in my field, I could not avoid seeing him, but I tried not to give him any more attention than was absolutely necessary. It was to protect my heart from being eaten away by the fact that I liked him but could not catch up to him. Trying not to think, not to despair, focusing only on my own performance, and trying to continue my athletic career like that. All the while, the other person had no idea, while I went back and forth, turning my interest on and off, being as fickle as could be.

When I received the call to enter the village, the first person I thought of was, of course, Nam Jihoon sunbae.

But.

Still, this is too much.

I awkwardly carried my luggage and entered. Nam Jihoon, sunbae, just went about his business, regardless of whether I came in or not. I watched sunbae as he threw a towel on his desk and pulled on a t-shirt. His face, which still had a boyish look back then, had since become that of a man. My heart was pounding violently. I finally gave the first greeting I had practiced thousands of times in my head.

“Hello… Um, my name is Lee Yeojun.”

“I know.”

“Pardon?”

“I said I know.”

“Uh… ah.”

How does he know. Sunbae, who glanced at me, pointed to the bed.

“You use this side.”

“Yessir…”

I looked around the room. It seemed sunbae had been using it alone until I arrived, as there was no trace of anyone else. The open closet had only sportswear, and on the desk were only the towel he had just put down, his gear, and a laptop. Other than that, it was clean without a speck of dust. The space between the two beds was closer than I thought, which flustered me a little. There were two pillows on each. I sat down cautiously, as if worried I might wrinkle the bed, and kept my legs neatly together.

Sunbae sat across from me and rested his chin on his hand.

Sunbae did not ask me anything. As if he really already knew everything about who I was. He just rested his chin on his hand and stared at me intently. He did not smile, nor did he frown. He just looked. In front of sunbae who was openly observing me, I just darted my eyes around. Should I start a conversation? ‘It’s an honor to meet you,’ or ‘Why are you staring at me?’ I had not even taken off the bag I was still wearing. I started to sweat.

“Um… may I unpack my things.”

“Do as you please.”

“Yessir…”

I lowered the bag strap using only my shoulder. The backpack I used for my gear was the same model as the one sunbae had carried at the last World Championships. As I took out my skates, clothes, and personal belongings, I was stared at continuously, making a few minutes feel like several dozen. Then, suddenly, sunbae stood up. I shot up along with him.

Sunbae asked.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Eat?”

“Yeah.”

He jutted his chin toward the daily schedule posted next to the clock. A star was drawn with a yellow highlighter on the current time slot. It was mealtime.

“Ah… I’m fine.”

“I think you should eat.”

He scanned my body up and down, moving only his eyes. His eyelashes cast a shadow over the scar on his cheek. It was an expression I had seen in a photoshoot. The one where he tilts his chin up and looks down with just his eyes. My face turned bright red.

“I’ll eat after I unpack.”

“Suit yourself.”

Sunbae, grabbing the bag with his gear, left the room without a word of goodbye. Click. The door closed, and I let out the breath I had been holding. Only then could I properly feel the air in the room. I only realized after sunbae had left that the air conditioner had been running the whole time.

“He still uses that bag… It’s the same as mine.”

The same bag. I have to be careful to keep track of it so I do not get them mixed up. I muttered and stood up. Sunbae’s bed, neat as a hotel’s, was only slightly wrinkled where his hips had rested. I stepped out of the room and confirmed that to the left of the door was a nameplate I had not noticed before.

Room 407

Short Track

Nam Jihoon┃Lee Yeojun

Whew. I let out a sigh. I needlessly rubbed my chin with the back of my hand.

And so on August 28th, in the summer 166 days before the Winter Olympics, I became the roommate of gold medalist Nam Jihoon.