Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I tied a belt around my waist. On the other side stood Coach Park, the biggest man out of all the coaching staff. Weighing nearly a hundred kilograms, he outweighed me by thirty-five kg, despite our similar statures. He didn't budge as I took one step to the side, then two.

After around twenty steps, I stood up again. I soon dropped back down into position again and ran a hundred meters. Even though it was a simple movement, my sweat flowed like rain. The thick rubber felt like it was digging into my waist. I had the same thought again: ‘I want to die...’

“The strength to endure is important! The strength to endure!”

It was hot.

“Short-track racing is done with your thighs!”

It was practically blinding.

I wanted to drink coke. I wanted to wipe my throat with a wet towel. I wanted to sit down. I wanted to die...

‘I'm so embarrassed.’

"Stop! Next up, Jihoon! Come here.”

I finally crawled off the track. Fixing my gaze on Jihoon, who just picked himself up expressionlessly, I opened up a water bottle with one hand. It was lukewarm and only half-full. As I gulped it down like it were a life-giving potion, Seonho sidled up beside me.

Seonho, who’d been complaining earlier, ended up getting caught by the coach and was now taking a break after receiving some first-place training over there. Though he had been crawling along with me, he still had the strength to talk. He took the water bottle from me.

"You like Jihoon."

"Huh?"

"You're always looking at him."

Before I could respond, he shouted off to his right.

"Hyung, Yeojoon likes you!"

Jihoon, who had just buckled the belt around his waist, turned around.

"Yeojoon Lee likes you. He's a fan."

Seonho pointed at me and giggled. His glances and gestures toward Jihoon were incessant. Seonho, who, unlike me, was actually quite skilled, said that he’d often trained with Jihoon Nam since elementary school.

He’d been part of the same Seoul Metropolitan City team at the last winter sports competition and served as a national team candidate. Even though we were both from the same university, I’d barely gotten in with the lowest score, while he’d entered as the top student. In Seonho’s eyes, Jihoon was probably just a comfortable, older friend who he’d grown up watching. But I wasn’t comfortable...

Between Jihoon, whose thoughts I couldn’t read, and Seonho, who was smiling, I was the only one who seemed hesitant, not knowing what to do. Seonho shouted when he saw how my face had turned red.

"Wow. I guess he really does like you. Hyung, will you accept it?”

"No!"

Jihoon’s gaze, which was originally directed at Seonho, fell on me. My embarrassment grew by double.

“No, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like our sunbae... No, not sunbae, I mean hyung.”

“Yeojoon Lee, your face is really red.”

“...”

"Don’t worry, it's not a one-sided love. I think Jihoon likes you too. Hyung said you were pretty when he first saw you.”

"Huh?"

‘Really?’

I couldn't help but look at Jihoon. He was looking down at me with the belt around his waist. His foxlike eyes were staring right at me; my sweaty, drenched tracksuit, and my clear preference for lying on my stomach.

As hair rubbed against my stomach, it tickled, causing my body to flinch, and his gaze became noticeably intense. Even in the glare of the late summer sun, his eyes were clear and unblurred. It was an almost murderous look.

His eyes narrowed and his lips were pressed into a thin line. It wasn’t a look that I would have described as pretty… or anything else along the lines of that.

"When...?"

Jihoon didn't answer.

"Stop teasing him. He's going to cry."

And with that, he got into position. It was an explosion of strength from the very start. Even in his half-slumped position, he was able to drag a coach, who weighed over a hundred kilograms, with so much force that he moved sideward straight away.

"Woah..." I marveled at Seonho, who still had his head resting on my stomach.

I so badly wanted to grab him and question him about when Jihoon had said that, from when, where, and how to why, but I resisted. Instead, I continued to watch Jihoon training. I figured that since everyone was looking at him right now, I wouldn't be noticed.

"He's really good, isn't he? He's got the power of endurance, just like that."

"Yeah."

"I think he could split a watermelon with his thighs. Have you ever split a watermelon?"

"No... only an apple."

"I’ve split a peach."

"Did you split it or did you squish it?"

"Do you want to die?"

***

After finishing up our cycling and weightlifting routine, we headed back to the ice rink. The head coach, burning with enthusiasm to secure Korea's target of ten gold medals in the upcoming Winter Olympics, with a minimum of five in the short events, had everyone running while wearing sandbags, saying that even walking was a waste of their time.

"Don’t you think the head coach has been reading too many martial arts magazines?" Seonho grumbled but I didn't have the strength to respond.

I wanted to die again... Well, I didn’t really want to, but I muttered out of habit as I tied the laces of my skates. I tossed my backpack containing my gear haphazardly, and Jihoon came to sit down next to me.

I was surprised when our pinky fingers overlapped after he sat down.

Thud! One of his skates bumped into mine.

“Why did you get scolded by him earlier?” Jihoon asked quietly.

He’d seen it too. I shifted my gaze in embarrassment.

“I got distracted.”

“What were you doing?”

“Sunbae... no, hyung, I was watching you.”

"Me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

“Just... because I wanted to?”

“...”

"Sorry."

He grabbed my little finger, which was curling up in embarrassment. After a while, Jihoon’s pleasant voice continued. His tone was paradoxical; uniquely quiet and slow, friendly but seemingly uninterested.

"Do you have your phone with you?"

"Yes."

"Watch the recording of yesterday's training."

To be a short-track athlete, you needed to have a good phone if nothing else. The coach who was also in charge of video analysis recorded our training sessions every day and shared them with us.

I played the video that I had downloaded to my phone. As soon as it started, I was pushed by Seonho and fell. I span round and round until I finally reached the corner of the rink.

Jihoon, silently watching me roll over miserably, spoke up.

“You need to train your core more.”

"Yeah..."

His body leaned further into mine so we could share the view of the small screen. Our cheeks touched. I held my breath. My hand shook involuntarily, so he grabbed my phone and set it down in his lap. I almost dropped it.

“You’re skinny. Don’t try to endure too much.”

“...”

"Like this."

Neat fingers touched my phone as if it belonged to them. He frowned and concentrated as if he couldn't find the video he wanted. My knees felt as if they were glued to each other. I continued to hold my breath until I reached my limit and started flailing like a fish out of water.

Our knees and thighs were stuck together. Two bodies, both growing warmer, were pressed uncomfortably close. Jihoon had pulled up a video of a Chinese athlete who had gained recognition during the 16/17 season World Cup finals.

“Something more worth mentioning…”

His long finger summoned another video, which started with an interview. Blonde hair, though almost brunette, with a cute face. Fast English. It was a Canadian athlete who was still active and, barring any unforeseen circumstances would be competing in the upcoming Olympics.

Jihoon skillfully skipped to his desired timestamp as if he’d already watched it dozens of times. His manicured nail flicked toward the face on the screen.

"I really appreciate his technique because he plays dirty. This is helpful because he shares a similar body type to yours. Compare it to yesterday. How does he navigate through the same situation? There are moments when it can be a bit risky. Right here..."

Jihoon’s hand touched my waist, straightening my back and steadying my posture. His explanation continued. He had a leadership style that would make him a great coach even right now.

Obviously, I knew the athlete and I'd seen the video before, but I had never thought about it like that. It was as if he’d watched every single one of my matches hundreds of times without missing a beat.

And his advice wasn't just limited to that day. In our room, we would watch videos of our competitors together, and he’d advise me on management and strategy, during our independent training sessions, he would always assess my shortcomings. I almost felt like I was getting one-on-one tutoring from a nit-picky teacher.

Jihoon seemed like he’d be able to send a student with absolutely no experience to Seoul National University within a year.

If I were him, I'd have just abandoned my hopeless juniors and worked hard on my individual training.

Perhaps it was due to the relay race. He usually didn’t treat people well unless they had won a gold medal. No matter how good Jihoon and the other athletes were, if I messed up, it would be difficult to win at the Olympics. I admired his determination to win a medal in every single event.

I respected him. I liked him. It was impulsive to ask such a question, but…

"Aren't you anxious? What if you lose, make a mistake, or… don’t win a gold medal or something?"

“...”

“I feel grateful just to be able to go to the Olympics, but it’s different for you. Because you’re the best short-track athlete in the world... Aren’t you worried about missing out on first place?”

Yes, it was impulsive, but it was also something I wanted to ask him at least once. Upon my question, Jihoon, who had been looking down at my screen, lifted his gaze.

“Do you know which of the teams at Jincheon wakes up earliest?”

“Which one...?”

“Us. The short-track speed skating team.”

“...”

“And I’m the first person on the team to wake up.”

“...”

“I’m also the last person left at the training grounds.”

“...”

“I’m the best, and I’m number one. No one’s been doing it longer than me. Everyone wakes up later than me and finishes training earlier. It won’t be any different when it comes to athletes from other countries. So, I have no choice but to continue to be number one.”

He wasn’t bragging. It was simply a calm description of the facts.