Chapter 1

Chapter 1

01. Athletes’ Village

It was a pure coincidence that I got to wear the national emblem.

If one of my seniors, who had won silver in the 1,500-meter at the Olympics three years earlier, hadn't been injured before the first World Cup event, and if it hadn't been for the absurd mistake of the federation that followed, the opportunity would never have come to me.

I wasn't a very good athlete; I got injured a lot, and I never set any records. My eighth-place finish in the national team selection trials was my best performance since becoming a senior athlete. Eighth place. Originally, I wouldn't have made it to the Olympic team.

However, with the Winter Olympics taking place this season and so many athletes being disciplined one after the other, it became a golden opportunity for me. The media defined my situation in one phrase: “National Team Member by Chance”.

Each step I took through the main gate of the athletes’ village weighed down on my shoulders. Injuries, performance, military exemption... Complex issues rattled around in my suitcase, along with my pre-issued uniform.

Without even taking a moment to unpack, I went to greet the head coach.

As expected, he let out a heavy sigh as soon as he saw my face entering Hwarang Hall. The rest of the coaching staff didn’t say anything, but their faces betrayed their confusion. I didn’t feel hurt by it as it was only natural. An athlete with no medals or records became a stand-in for an Olympic medalist simply because he placed eighth in the selection competition. And so abruptly, at that.

It was like starting off by already discarding a winning card in the most important event at the Winter Olympics. The looks on their faces as they told me about the building and number of my accommodation weren’t good at all, and I was so nervous that I didn’t even hear who my roommate was.

“Go and say hello but don’t interrupt their rest.”

“Yes, I understand.”

‘It would’ve been nice if Seonho was my roommate.’

I thought to myself, picturing the face of my Yonsei university classmate who had just made the national team for the first time. Walking between the rows of the eight buildings, I headed toward the accommodation used by short-track athletes.

I rode the elevator and passed through the common room. As it was my first time seeing and walking through the athletes’ village, I bumped my side against the laundry drying rack in front of the door.

"Ah."

The sock was huge. I picked up the fallen sock, put it back in place, and opened the door. My roommate was inside, and it was somebody I genuinely hadn’t expected. Moisture wafted out of the bathroom to the right of the door, and the guy who was coming out, toweling off his hair, glanced at me as I entered without knocking. His damp hair stuck to his forehead in an unruly fashion.

I opened my mouth stupidly, not even realizing that my bag was slipping off my shoulder. What was going on? A hidden camera prank? Surely not... Why would this guy be pranking me? It was only when his eyes narrowed that I barely came back to my senses and automatically blurted out an apology.

"I'm… sorry…"

"It's okay."

And with that, he turned and walked away. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black training pants. Muscles rippled across his damp upper body, and his large bare feet left watermarks across the floor. The scent of lingering moisture and body wash hit me in the face.

Unable to blink, I followed the guy with my gaze, the front of his body reflecting in the square window opposite.

Silvery pale skin, eyes as sharp as skate blades, and a jawline even sharper than that. There was a faint scar on his smooth left cheek, and he had a lean stature that wasn’t typical of a short-track athlete.

An Olympic gold medalist and the biggest star the Winter Olympics has produced, whose photo hung at the entrance to the ice-skating training center I saw on my way over here.

It was Jihoon Nam.

I just stared blankly, even forgetting to close the door.

If the senior athlete who got me sent to Jincheon due to a thigh injury was the 1,500-meter silver medalist, then the gold medal belonged to Jihoon Nam.

Three years ago, Jihoon Nam swept all the gold medals in men's short-track events, including the 1,500-meter and the relay, bringing a total of four gold medals to South Korea.

If it weren't for his medal in the last Olympics, when Korea was having a particularly difficult time, we could have fallen behind Japan in the overall standings.

Even in short-track speed skating, where medals were often thought of as a given, an athlete like him was rare. A monster who appeared like a comet in his first Olympic appearance. A high school student whose college was not yet decided back then. An athlete who could go to several more world championships in the future.

People went crazy for Jihoon Nam’s talent and young age, and the moment he took off his helmet, everyone held their breath. Removing the red helmet, his sweaty bangs parted to reveal a youthful, pure face. He was the kind of guy you could send to an audition program right now and he'd probably win gold there too.

The Ice Idol — it didn't take long for the nickname to stick. And I met him at the last National Winter Games.

***

I had a physique that didn't allow me to put on muscle easily, and although I was of average height, my strength was particularly lacking and I was weak in physical confrontations. I’d go tumbling out of the way whenever I brushed against an athlete who was even smaller than me.

I was constantly getting knocked down and injured, and that was one of those days. I didn't fall, but my body was thrown out of control and I fell out of the rankings. The race continued, and there was no interest in the loser making a comeback.

Even the coach who’d been guiding me didn't pay attention to me as I repeated the same pattern every time.

Alone, I trod away from the center and sat down on the bench. My ankles throbbed from the effort of trying to keep my balance. The cheers and shouts were all far from me. I sat there like that for a few minutes, touching the skates that I had taken off my feet. And then, a shadow fell over my bowed head as I slumped down.

"Are you hurt?"

At the same time, a set of pale fingers wrapped around my ankle.

I lifted my head in surprise. A figure dressed in tricot was kneeling in front of me, examining my ankle carefully. Beneath the tight tricot, a thigh the size of a young woman’s waist pressed against my calf. His gloves were much bigger than mine and he was wearing a helmet, so all that was visible was his chiseled jawline and red lips. He'd obviously just finished the race, but he didn't look out of breath.

As I stared in amazement, he looked up. Our eyes met.

"..."

"..."

I lost my train of thought completely.

A faint scar from a high-school skating accident marked his otherwise clean left cheek. I stared at him, dumbfounded, but his impassive expression remained unchanged. Even though it was the first time I'd seen him up close, I recognized his name instantly.

Jihoon Nam.

His name was shining at the top of the electronic board in the background. Why was the winner, who was supposed to be in the middle of a ceremony, here in front of me? With his sudden appearance, I forgot to speak and just stared back at him, dumbfounded. He soon spoke up.

"Looks swollen."

"..."

"Do your thighs hurt?"

"..."

"Can you not talk?"

He exerted pressure with the hand holding onto my ankle. A pair of horizontally slit eyes stared back at me.

"Answer me. I want to hear."

Only then did I realize that this was the stadium, and the athlete who had just overtaken me was Jihoon Nam, that he had come over to check on my ankle — though strictly speaking, it wasn’t his fault as I had staggered on my own — and that I had injured it. And that he had to come over and check right now because he had won first place. I hurriedly replied.

"I'm... f-fine."

My late, bumbling answer sounded stupid even to me. Jihoon kept silent for a moment, his long fingers curling over the calluses on my ankle. Then, as I lowered my eyes, he picked up his gloves and stood up.

"Don't forget to go to the infirmary."

And so, he turned around.

Even in the tight, uncomfortable tricot, he walked with his back straight. His coach, who had come running over, threw him a jacket. I couldn't speak, only blinking. All of a sudden, like someone who’d been in an accident, I couldn't think straight.

Strange comparisons kept coming to mind.

Like a prince lifting a beggar who had fallen in the crowd during a royal procession, or a football team captain in an American high school approaching the boy who was being bullied... Scenarios like that.

"..."

I reached down and brushed my fingers across my ankle bone, touching the firm flesh above it.

The ankle that had been caught in his grasp felt like it was burning. Perhaps the real injury was the amount of damage his fingers had done. I lifted my head and cleared my throat, watching Jihoon Nam being interviewed and photographed in the distance.

I watched the close-up shots that alternated with his name flashing on the electronic board. A pale face, with an expression as cold as ice. But I knew the warm temperature of his hand. And you could call such heat “passion”.

And that was how my somewhat inappropriate unrequited love began.

My first crush was incredible. I would dream about him every few days, and even though I watched his broadcasts, read magazines he was featured in, and saw his matches hundreds of times, I never got tired of it. I thought of him when I was training. Whenever I felt tired and overwhelmed, I would think of Jihoon Nam on the ice at the athletes’ village.

I even imagined myself joining him at Jincheon one day, sharing the same training center as him, and greeting him as a close teammate. I rationalized that it wasn't too far-fetched to think about it, as it was every athlete's dream in South Korea. I dared to think about it, despite the vast difference in skill between him and me.

My unrequited love was like a passionate fever, rising and falling. I was interested in his every move, but sometimes, I deliberately tried to tune him out. I couldn't help but notice him because he was the best in the field, but I tried not to pay more attention to him than was absolutely necessary.

That was to protect my heart from being eaten away by the frustration of not being able to keep up with him. I tried not to think about it, to not get frustrated, to only focus on my own performance, and to keep going. I'd switch my attention on and off again, letting my whims take over.

When I received the call to move into the athletes’ village, the first person I thought of was undoubtedly Jihoon Nam.

But still... this was too much.