“Are you really quitting swimming, Hyung[3]?”
He seemed to run over in such a rush that even his famously massive lung capacity hadn’t saved him from panting. Jiheon wasn’t just surprised—he was completely thrown. He could have just said what he always told the younger swimmers when they asked: That’s right. You’d better swim extra hard for me, since I’m leaving, all right? That probably would have been the wise thing to do. But he was so caught off guard that he just stared at the boy in silence. That was his first mistake.
“Why are you quitting? Is it because you’re a beta? Because you’re not an alpha?”
Jaekyung grabbed his arm even more tightly, apparently thinking Jiheon was purposely holding back from answering him. Jiheon didn’t care that the boy sounded impatient or that he was making assumptions without knowing anything. He’d heard it all before—from his coach, the person from Korea Aquatics, the Swimmer’s Association rep, even his homeroom teacher. Every time he said he was quitting, they said the same thing.
But for some reason, when Jaekyung said the same thing, Jiheon finally had enough.
Of all the people who had told him the same thing, only Jaekyung’s words had made him angry. And the reason was obvious.
“You knew that from the start. There aren’t even that many alphas in the world. You are just as tall as they are, and you have the wingspan[4]. You can make it if you try. Why are you quitting before you’ve even really done anything?”
As it happened, the one saying those words was a twelve-year-old boy—confirmed to be an alpha just a few days ago.
Jiheon knew, of course, that none of this was Jaekyung’s fault. The boy hadn’t chosen to be born an alpha. And even if someone could choose, Jiheon would have wanted the same thing.
He told himself he didn’t need to lash out at the for what he had said and tried to calm his rage. But then Jaekyung spoke again.
“Alphas have to take medication if they want to compete. No one really knows what kind of side effects it might cause. At least you won’t have to deal with that.”
The anger he’d just managed to tamp down flared up again.
Medication? You're calling that a hardship? It’s just some pills. I have to get a chip implanted in my body—for life. And you're going on about that?
He’d once heard that when emotions ran too deep, they could come out as the opposite of what one actually felt. It turned out to be true. The boy hadn’t meant any harm, which only made his words sting more. Jiheon only laughed.
“Hey, I’ve never heard you talk this much before,” he said as he gently pulled the boy’s hand off his arm.
“That’s probably enough talking to last you a whole year.”
“Hyung,” Jaekyung said, reaching for him again. Jiheon pretended to adjust his backpack on his shoulders, smoothly avoiding Jaekyung’s hand. Then he took a very obvious step back.
“You sound like an alpha when you talk, Jaekyung. Guess I never noticed before. We never really talked, after all.”
This gave Jaekyung pause. The hand reaching for Jiheon froze in midair. Jiheon glanced down at it, then smiled at Jaekyung again.
“Well, at least now I know.”
Jiheon spoke lightly, purposefully making it sound as if he was joking, but there was no way the child hadn’t detected the subtext. That was the only explanation for how hurt he had looked.
Jiheon expected the boy to instantly demand to know what he meant, but Jaekyung did no such thing. He simply clamped his lips shut, watching Jiheon. Perhaps there was a glint of tears in the dark brown eyes.
The fierce intensity with which he had been speaking was gone, and now he looked about to burst into tears. For the first time, he looked like a boy his age.
Right. He’s only twelve.
The moment Jiheon recalled this, he felt instant regret. He had felt extremely embarrassed that he’d just taken out his anger on an innocent little boy. Even now, looking back, he felt the same. Just thinking about it was enough to make his face redden and his head drop. Jiheon lowered his head and ran a hand down his face.
He had apologized immediately and finished the conversation with a few kind words, but the damage had already been done. Even now, when he thought back to that last day, it wasn’t their parting words that came to mind first. It was his own immaturity—and the hurt look on Jaekyung’s face.
Jiheon had been quite young back then too, but that wasn’t a good enough excuse. Jaekyung had been much younger than him. No matter what he might have said, it was still shameful for an eighteen-year-old to speak that way to a twelve-year-old.
I wonder if he’ll be there today, too?
He rubbed his reddened cheek with his palm as the thought crossed his mind. The odds were, Jaekyung himself wouldn’t be there. Jiheon had heard that all contract-related matters were his mother’s responsibility. Besides, today’s meeting wasn’t even about finalizing a contract. It was just a chat. The upcoming championship was less than two months away. An athlete wouldn’t forgo his training for a meeting like this.
“Sir, shall I drop you off at the entrance?” the taxi driver asked. Jiheon’s head jerked up. The hotel was visible outside the window.
“Oh. Yes, please. The front entrance will do just fine.”
The taxi driver pulled over without another word. After getting out of the taxi, Jiheon stepped into the hotel and checked the time on his phone again. It was 2:46 P.M., and the meeting was to be at three.
Jiheon sat on a sofa in the lobby on the first floor. Kang Taejin, the CEO, and Lee Yujeong, the head of the Management Team, were expected to arrive after finishing other business outside the office. Thankfully, Ko wouldn’t be attending the meeting today. He had insisted on coming, claiming he was the reason the meeting had happened, but he’d been left out anyway. It seemed Taejin, the CEO, had also been aware that his uncle wasn’t exactly a boon to his business.