Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I stepped into the room hesitantly, carrying my luggage.

Jihoon Nam, one of my seniors, just continued to do his own thing regardless of whether I was coming in or not. I watched as he tossed his towel onto the desk and pulled on a T-shirt. His face, which had retained its boyish charm until just then, had now become that of a man. My heart was pounding inside my chest. I finally said my first words, which I’d rehearsed thousands of times in my head.

"Hi... My name is Yeojoon Lee."

"I know."

"What?"

"I said I know."

"Uh... ah..."

How did he know? He glanced over at me before pointing to a bed.

"Use this one."

"Okay..."

I looked around the room. There were no traces of anyone else at all as if he had been using it all by himself until I arrived. The open closet contained only sportswear, and on the desk was the towel he had just thrown aside, some skating gear, and a laptop. Other than that, the room was spotlessly clean.

The two beds were closer together than I expected, which was a little embarrassing. There were two pillows each. I sat down and crossed my legs carefully, not wanting to crumple the bed.

Jihoon sat down across from me and propped his chin up on his hand. He didn't ask me anything, almost as if he already knew who I was.

Resting his chin on his palm, he simply stared at me.

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He just stared. I just shifted my gaze around in front of him, as he observed me so openly. Should I be the one to start a conversation? Should I say, "Nice to meet you" or "Why are you staring at me?"

I hadn't even put down the bag I was carrying with me yet. I was sweating.

"Can I... unpack?"

"Do what you want."

"Okay... "

I shifted my shoulders and lowered the straps of my bag. The backpack I carried my gear around in was the same make that Jihoon had taken with him to the last World Championships. Minutes felt like hours as he continued staring at me while I pulled out my skates, clothes, and personal belongings.

All of a sudden, Jihoon stood up, and I jumped to my feet as well.

“Did you eat?”

“Eat?”

"Yeah."

He jerked his chin in the direction of the daily schedule posted up next to the clock. A star was drawn in yellow highlighter at the current time. Mealtime.

"Oh... I'm fine."

"You look like you need to eat."

His eyes moved, scanning up and down my body, his lashes casting a shadow over the scar on his cheek. I recognized that expression from the photos I’d seen in magazines. Chin up. Eyes down. Staring. I flushed bright red.

"I'll eat after unpacking."

"Sure."

He grabbed his gear bag and walked out the door without so much as a goodbye. When the door slammed shut, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding in. I could finally feel the air in the room properly, and it wasn't until he left that I realized the air conditioner had been running the entire time.

"You're still using that bag... Just like mine."

The same bag.

‘I'll have to make sure I don't get them mixed up.’

I mumbled to myself and stood up. His bed was made up as neatly as the ones you’d find in a hotel room, with only slight wrinkles in the spot where he had been sitting. As I left the room, I noticed a plaque on the left side of the door that I hadn't seen before.

[Room 407

Short-Track Speed Skating

Jihoon Nam ┃ Yeojoon Lee]

Whew. I let out a sigh and needlessly rubbed over my chin with the back of my hand. And so it was on August 28th, 166 days before the Winter Olympics, that I became the roommate of gold medalist Jihoon Nam.

***

Sports stars with record-breaking performances tend to be given nicknames.

Frozen Empress, Skeleton Emperor — it was usually something royal or imperial. On the other hand, Jihoon Nam's nickname was “Idol”. In my opinion, it was entirely due to his looks. Pale. Cool.

It seemed as if he would’ve been popular no matter what era he was born in. Even the scar left on his left cheek couldn't hide his attractiveness.

‘If anything, the scar makes him more unique.’

That was what my sister said every day, at least. Even though her actual older brother was an athlete, she never paid me much attention and only chased after Jihoon Nam.

Fans liked his unique, clever image. Ever since he was young, journalists threw all sorts of questions at him, but he never seemed flustered, effortlessly answering with eloquence. Regardless of how he looked, there was also the way he worked hard at everything he did without backing down.

Everyone who met the skater unanimously agreed that he would’ve done well even if he had become a celebrity, just as his nickname suggested. There was definitely something about him that made people love and care about him. Even though he was blunt, ignored reporters when they asked him weird questions, and openly disregarded anything below a gold medal as if it wasn’t a big deal, it was somehow acceptable.

The senior athlete I saw up close was the type of person who only knew about sports. Even in the off-season, he was constantly appearing on various broadcasts and commercials, and he showed no signs of slowing down. He didn’t even flirt with the usual female celebrities and sportscasters. Nor was he romantically involved with anyone else.

He was a man of integrity, who only ever thought about skating from the moment he woke up to the second he went to sleep. Even though he was so handsome and sexy, it was hard to picture him meeting and dating someone. He seemed completely uninterested in that sort of thing, to the point where I felt bad for daring to like him.

“Sunbaenim[footnoteRef:1], water…” [1: "Sunbaenim" is a Korean term used to address someone senior or more experienced in a particular context, such as in school, work, or a shared activity.]

Even after completing an intense training session, I approached Jihoon, who never seemed to take a break, extending a water bottle to him. The physical training on the track that followed lunch was the most difficult time for athletes. Under the scorching sunlight, practicing five different short-track maneuvers alternately, there was only ever one thought in your mind: ‘I want to die.’ Though thinking about it wouldn't necessarily make it happen, so you just had to endure it.

My entire body was covered in salty grime. Our sweat had almost turned the track into a swimming pool. Jihoon had red cheeks too, probably because it was so hot. He rolled up his sweatshirt sleeves to his shoulders and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel. He glanced at me as I held out a water bottle.

"Hyung[footnoteRef:2]." [2: "Hyung" is a Korean term used by males to address or refer to an older male, often a brother, friend, or colleague.]

"Huh?"

“Call me hyung. You're the only one here who calls me sunbae,” he added, taking the bottle of water from my hand.

With his strength, the bottle emitted a faint sound despite the gentleness of his grasp.

"It's cold."

"Yeah..."

That was because I had chosen the coldest water from the cooler. The half-full water was indeed cold, and Jihoon’s hands felt unusually hot as he took it. The hot, sticky flesh stuck to the back of my hand before sliding away. With sunlight pouring down onto the track, I could even see the peach fuzz on his shoulders and the sweat beading on them.

Brightly. Too brightly. I squinted.

"Thanks."

With that, he gave my wrist a quick squeeze before letting go. The warmth of my skin transferred to his palm. In the glorious summer sunshine, our skin clung to each other, falling apart and then coming together again.

Hot, hot, hot...

It was almost as if you could see the body odor in the air.

He drank the water with one hand, and with the other, he untied the sandbag around his waist and tossed it behind him.

Jihoon drank half of the water and splashed the other half over his head. After emptying the 500ml bottle, he crushed the plastic out of habit.

"So you don’t want to?"

"What?"

"Calling me hyung."

"No... I’m okay with it."

"Alright then."

He then headed over to the coach who was calling for him.

The coach, who had graduated from the same university as him and was rather proud of that fact, was holding a tablet and a pen. As Jihoon joined him, a shadow appeared over the coach's head.

The coach’s thick palm tilted the screen toward Jihoon as he showed the movements that he’d just filmed and explained them diligently. Jihoon was also noting something down on his smartphone and listening seriously to what his coach said. They were doing so even though there was nothing he needed to fix regarding his posture or method.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I watched his focused profile. I looked at the sandbag that he had thrown away. It had made quite a hefty sound when it fell.

‘Should I try wearing one of those too?’

While contemplating, I was suddenly struck on the back of my head. I nearly fell forward completely in surprise. Startled, I turned around, and it was the head coach. He shook his clenched fist.

"Why are you standing there like that? Are you slacking off, Yeojoon Lee?"

"No, sir!”

"Even if you're good, you have to work for it. No matter how times have changed, a silver medal is still disappointing, especially in our sport. Do you think people will tolerate you slacking just because they know you made the national team by chance?”

“…I’m sorry."

"Get it together!"

Another blow flew at me, and this time, it hit my temple. The side of my head was burning and my head felt like it was spinning. I staggered, trying to regain my balance.

As if that weren't enough, the head coach clipped me over the head as I stumbled. The sound rang out unusually loud.

Bang!

Everyone around me had already fallen silent. The entire track was quiet. Seonho questioned whether I was okay his eyes from behind the head coach, his mouth agape.

Humiliated, I shook my head and turned away. When I realized that even Jihoon was also looking my way, my face began to burn.

‘Should I just die...?’

Luckily, I was spared because the next drill started right away. The coach ran to the gear box and grabbed a bundle of yellow belts.

“Ugh, I hate this the most,” Seonho complained mindlessly.

It was the corner belt training that had been talked about so much on TV and in interviews that it was now common knowledge.

It would be no exaggeration to say that short-track rankings were determined by cornering. Much of the competition was determined by how well an athlete could resist the centrifugal force that tried to propel them out of the corner at high speed.

And the corner belt training was designed to combat that centrifugal force.

One end of the belt was tied around the coach's body, and the other end was tied around the athlete’s waist. They were told to walk sideways while maintaining a seated position as much as possible.

This was especially important for Jihoon Nam, who was tall. The taller you were, the more likely you were to be thrown out of position when rounding a corner.

When asked, “Do you need to be tall to do short-track?” one athlete had said, “Only moderately is best, just like me.” And he wasn’t wrong.

In our sport, being too tall was a disadvantage. Jihoon was an athlete who made up for his height disadvantage with his excellent skill and performance. Since he was tall and had good physical strength, many suggested that he would switch to long-track, but his results were so overwhelming that the coaches couldn’t force him to do so.

"You go first, Yeojoon. You must be confident because you've been so distracted."

"Okay..."

My face burned with embarrassment.