“I’ll get off here,” Jiheon told the driver.
The taxi driver turned the wheel and pulled up near the front gate of the gym. He was probably being considerate, but Jiheon didn’t like it. He just wanted to put it off as much as possible.
At least I don’t have to walk as far in this brutal heat, Jiheon thought, forcing himself to feel grateful. After he paid, he even thanked the driver for the ride.
But his steps slowed, and a sigh escaped his lips as he approached the entrance. Going back wasn’t an option, not after he’d come all this way. If he did, he might never work up the courage to try again—if there ever was a next time.
That was why, right after leaving the clinic, he had called Mrs. Shim and asked where Jaekyung was. He knew that if he hesitated, he’d just push it off. The harder the task, the wiser it was to just bite the bullet and get it over with.
Thankfully, Mrs. Shim didn’t ask any questions and told him what he needed to know—Jaekyung was at the Gwacheon Municipal Gym[7]. Apparently, he would be doing his personal training there until the upcoming competition.
Jaekyung had been competing internationally under the Korean flag for five years, but not once had he joined a group national training camp—except for one time, when he was first selected for the national team in his third year of middle school, for the Asian Games. Back then, he’d joined the group training, and even shared a dorm with other athletes. But after that, never again. Not at the Olympics, or the World Swimming Championships.
Whatever the reason, people were bound to resent the news that a national athlete refused to join group training or stay in the dorms. But with the mediation of Korea Aquatics and the Swimmers’ Association, he was allowed to opt out of group training. Then he won five Olympic medals, as if to prove everyone wrong. Nobody criticized him for training alone after that. As always, he trained alone in Australia with an Australian coach who had once been a national swimmer himself, and only flew over to the host country a week before the event to join the rest of the Korean team.
This time, though, he’d flown in two months already, and it seemed he might finally train with the others. But just as always, he probably planned to keep to himself. His Australian coach of seven years hadn’t come with him this time. Jiheon had read in an article that someone in the coach’s family was undergoing major surgery, which kept him in Australia.
Jaekyung probably didn’t need a coach with him all the time at his current level. He had been training consistently for the past ten years. He probably knew better than anyone what training methods worked best for him, and how he could draw out the most performance from his body.
With only a month and a half left until the event, he seemed to be focusing on toning his muscles. According to his mother, he did ground training on weekday mornings on the third floor of the gym, including resistance training, and swam for just two hours in the afternoon. Evenings were reserved for massages or chiropractic sessions.
So why was he getting treatment at that hour yesterday?
A sudden thought crossed Jiheon’s mind. It couldn’t have been because of the meeting. He hadn’t even seemed that interested in the contract. He’d shown up to train as usual today, so he was clearly fine, physically.
Maybe even Gwon Jaekyung got a little lax without a coach watching.
As he thought about such things, he reached the second floor, where the pool was located. Jiheon paused in surprise at the sight of the empty lobby. It was a weekday, and he knew that there wouldn’t be many people here in the daytime. But I didn’t expect the front desk to be empty, too. Shouldn’t someone be sitting there even if there aren’t many visitors?
Jiheon looked around uneasily, then noticed a sign taped to the desk: the pool was closed from one to six.
Despite being a public facility, it seemed to operate independently from the nearby schools. He sat at a table in the corner of the lobby and checked the time with a frown. It was now just past five. The gym had given Jaekyung permission to use the pool from three to six on weekdays, but if his mother was right, he would be out before five-thirty.
Jiheon felt a strange nervousness at the thought of seeing him again. Part of it was needing to apologize for yesterday—but honestly, something else was bothering him more. What he really feared was that Jaekyung would say he still smelled. Dr. Lim had reassured him, telling him that the chip had been replaced and the dosage increased, but Jiheon still couldn’t relax. What she had shown him in that textbook—the words she had highlighted—refused to leave his mind.
After a moment of hesitation, he got to his feet. He needed a cigarette. There was no way he’d calm down like this.
He climbed up to the roof, looking for a place to smoke. Nicotine always had a way of putting him in a slightly better frame of mind. After smoking two cigarettes, he felt much calmer. Reeking of tobacco, Jiheon made his way back down to the second floor.
Back in the lobby, he waited. Soon enough, someone emerged from the locker room. His head was covered by a towel, but Jiheon could tell from his height and build. It was Jaekyung.
Jaekyung seemed to recognize him, too. But that was it. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even look at Jiheon—just kept walking. He hasn’t changed a bit in ten years.