Yujeong said she’d be heading straight to the field, so Taejin and Jiheon returned by themselves to the office.
“That deal wasn’t for us, anyway,” Taejin said as soon as he got in the car.
“Why waste our time listening? It was clear he had no intention of hearing us out. All we’d be doing is dragging things out for no reason.”
He let out a sharp breath through his nose. Jiheon didn’t believe for a second that Taejin hadn’t seen this coming. He was just trying to make sure Jiheon didn’t blame himself for what had happened.
“I’m sorry, it’s my fault—” Jiheon began, but Taejin cut him off.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Taejin cut in, frowning.
“This had nothing to do with you! Forget it. I’m not interested in working with people like that. Whatever they say, I’m done. I didn’t get into this business to clean up after entitled brats. I am a man of principle.”
Taejin was a good man. Jiheon didn’t know what kind of businessman he was, but at least as a person, he was decent. That was enough for Jiheon.
Having once been a professional volleyball player, Taejin had gone through his own share of pain at the hands of his agency—and had also benefited from it. He was confident he understood better than anyone just how important a sports agency could be.
That was why Taejin had decided to work in the industry. But he had a short fuse, and he sometimes lost his temper. Because of that, he had thrown away a few deals that had been practically sealed. None of them were as big as this one with Jaekyung, of course. But these things happened often enough in the business.
Even so, Jiheon couldn’t help but worry. It was the third year since he’d joined the agency, but things had hardly improved, he felt. If anything, the company was only racking up debt.
“There are always people like him. Once they get a taste of success, they turn on the senior athletes for no reason. I mean, I can understand if their seniors gave them a hard time in the past. If they got hazed or bullied when they were rookies—sure, that’d leave a mark. But that’s not what this is. There’s no bad blood. No old grudge. He just wants to show off how successful he is now.”
Taejin seemed to believe that Jaekyung had asked that question to humiliate Jiheon in front of the others. It made sense for him to think so—especially since Taejin already knew that Jiheon was an omega.
Unlike in the past, disclosing one’s secondary gender was no longer a requirement when joining a company. It was left up to each company to decide whether to ask. Sports agencies, however, had to be extra cautious about their own staff since alpha athletes were taking pheromone sensitivity medication to prevent accidents.
That was why ProEdge had issued a guideline encouraging omega employees to report to HR in advance, though it wasn’t mandatory. But because it was only an advisory, more employees had opted to stay silent than not. As long as the chips were functioning properly, there were rarely any issues. And naturally, most omegas wouldn’t want to expose their secondary gender if they didn’t have to.
Some staff, of course, did let close coworkers know in advance, just in case something unexpected happened. But those cases were rare. Most either said nothing or simply submitted a medical form and left it at that.
Taejin, of course, had been informed by the HR Department that Jiheon was an omega. That was how he knew. But Jaekyung couldn’t have known. Even the last time they’d seen each other—nine years ago—he’d believed Jiheon was a beta. He had thought that was why Jiheon quit swimming.
But that didn’t excuse what he’d done. Asking someone’s secondary gender in front of others was undeniably rude, no matter the reason. Whether the person in question was a beta or an omega didn’t matter—especially not when the one asking was the textbook definition of an alpha.
And now Jiheon thought he finally understood why Jaekyung had asked. He thought I quit swimming because I was a beta. He probably thinks I gave up early, thinking I could never beat an alpha. And if he’d asked such a question in that thought in mind...
It couldn’t have been out of kindness. Jiheon let out a dry smile.
Jaekyung was the most popular athlete at the moment, Jiheon, meanwhile, was just an agent—a supporting role in someone else’s spotlight. If Jaekyung had meant to highlight the contrast between an alpha and a beta like this... it was almost cruel. And if Jiheon really had been a beta, and that was truly why he’d quit swimming, it would have cut much deeper.
But why does he want to go so far to hurt me?
Jiheon began to wonder. Maybe he was still bitter about the way they’d parted. He’d been a very serious person when it came to swimming, after all. Maybe he had resented the way Jiheon had not been man enough to continue. Jiheon had even made a sarcastic comment about him being just like an alpha, which had probably hurt him quite a bit. If seeing Jiheon had brought back the memory and Jaekyung had acted on an angry impulse, then what happened earlier wasn’t so hard to understand.
But Jiheon hadn’t thought of him as the grudge-holding type, and that surprised him. It wasn’t simply a matter of being disappointed in how small-minded he was, or anything like that. It intrigued him that Jaekyung could have remembered something involving another person for so long.
Well, I don’t even really know him, or what his true personality is like.
Jiheon hoped that the earlier conversation had at least made the guy feel a little better.
Still, he told himself to stop dwelling on it. Reality, of course, didn’t make it that easy.
“Mr. Jung, how did it go?” asked Seungmyung with glowing eyes as soon as he returned to the office.
“Terrible,” Jiheon said briefly.
“Oof. I knew it,” Seungmyung said, comically dabbing at his eyes. He wasn’t even asking for details, suggesting he hadn't been expecting much from the meeting in the first place.
“So they mean to sign with Kavva, then?” he added with a sigh.
“I think so... Though I can’t really be sure yet,” Jiheon said, telling him about what he’d heard in the lobby. When he briefly described the phone call he’d overheard between someone and a Kavva employee, Seungmyung’s eyes widened with surprise.
“Seriously? He’s skipping the Olympics? But why? What reason could he possibly have?”
That was what surprised him most—same as it had with Jiheon.
“How would I know?” Jiheon said, shrugging.
Seungmyung cocked his head, then asked.
“So he’s just planning to win four events this year and call it quits? Retire clean right after a record-breaking season? Is that it?”
In swimming circles, the four major events typically included the Olympics, the World Swimming Championships, and the Pan Pacific Swimming Championships—plus one other international meet like the Asian Games, the European Aquatics Championships, or the American Cup. Of course, most international championships were considered in so-called grand slams in sports—it was usually winning four in a year that counted—but in swimming, the standards were more specific.
Jaekyung had already taken gold at the Olympics, the World Swimming Championships, and the Asian Games. Now he was prepping for the Pan Pacific Swimming Championships, scheduled for a month and a half from now. If he took gold there as well, he would become the first Asian swimmer to achieve such a feat.
“Well, he’ll be setting a new world record anyway. I guess it’s not surprising that he’s not interested in doing anything more. But if he grabs a second Olympic gold on top of that, his career would be off the charts. Heck, with how he’s performing now, pulling off a third straight Olympic win doesn’t seem impossible. Don’t you agree, Mr. Jung?” Seungmyung asked, then added without waiting for Jiheon’s answer.
“I mean, even at the Olympics after the next one, he’ll still only be twenty-five.”
“For a swimmer, twenty-five is ancient. It’s only polite to let them retire by then.”
“Damn, you’re cold!” Seungmyung said with a laugh, then went on.
“That depends on the person, I’d say. I mean, look at how Jaekyung is doing right now. Even if he dips a little at twenty-five, he will still leave most of them behind.”
That was true. Jaekyung had been born with physical abilities far above average and had trained his whole life to make the most of them. As long as he stayed free of major injuries, he would still be able to perform consistently, no matter his age.
“Kavva’s probably in a tight spot right now, though. They must have offered at least several billion won[5] just for the signing bonus. They’ll have to put out ads for at least three years just to make that back. I’ll bet their plan was to have a big year after his fourth win, then get him a second Olympic medal to bounce back just as his popularity starts to dip.”
“Probably,” Jiheon agreed.
“Hmm. I wonder what’s in store?” Seungmyung said, sounding intrigued.
Arms crossed and all, he looked like an amused bystander. He seemed to have already forgotten that people from his company had gone to meet Jaekyung earlier today.
Well, cutting your losses early is always the smart move when something’s not going to work.
Giving Seungmyung silent credit for Seungmyung’s quick pivot, Jiheon opened a document on his desktop. He rested his fingers on the keyboard. The press release was due tomorrow. Just then, the office door opened, and two employees from Marketing walked in side by side, back from an off-site.
“What the hell was that, man?”
“He’s not really going to sign with us, is he?”
“Don’t be absurd.”
The people in the office turned to the pair, clearly agitated, and asked what was going on.