The athlete before? Jiheon had no idea who Jaekyung was talking about.
“Who do you mean?”
“The guy who got in the elevator with you before.”
“Oh, Yunho,” Jiheon muttered.
The light turned red at the same time. Jiheon stopped the car and rolled up the windows.
“His name is Song Yunho. He’s a fencer—won silver at last year’s Asian Games. I was on the field support team, so I tagged along for interviews and stuff. That’s all.”
“You two looked pretty close.”
“That’s just because he’s super sociable,” Jiheon said, laughing.
Jaekyung watched him for a moment, then remarked.
“What does it mean to be sociable?”
Well, it means the opposite of whatever you are, Jiheon wanted to say, but he held his tongue.
“He is friendly with most people. Gregarious,” Jiheon said with a small grin.
“Friendly doesn’t mean flirty,” he muttered under his breath, turning back to the window.
Jiheon was at a loss for words.
Is he talking about Yunho? Does he think Yunho was coming on to me?
Jiheon stared at Jaekyung, completely floored. The light changed, and traffic started to move. Jiheon pressed on the pedal and followed. He tried to focus on the road, but his mind kept drifting. He couldn’t shake off what Jaekyung had said.
Jiheon had to admit that Yunho had been a little more friendly to Jiheon than necessary.
But that was right after last year’s Asian Games, and it faded once Jiheon gave no sign he’d noticed. When they met in the elevator last week, their conversation had been completely ordinary—just the kind of small talk any agency employee and athlete might exchange. Jiheon couldn’t even begin to guess what had made Jaekyung think the way he did.
Still, he decided not to ask. Whatever Jaekyung said, it wouldn’t make things any less awkward. And if that happened, Jiheon would end up more awkward around Jaekyung than he ever was with Yunho.
They weren’t exactly comfortable around each other right now, and Jiheon didn’t want to make things worse.
I’ll just focus on driving, Jiheon thought.
To his relief, the roads were clear since it was a weekday, after all. He sped along, treating a yellow light like it was green. He made it from Jamsil to Mr. Cho’s place in Banpo in under fifteen minutes.
“ProSage?”
The building custodian asked the moment Jiheon rolled down the window, as if he’d been expecting him. Before Jiheon didn’t get a chance to correct him—it’s ProEdge, not ProSage—before being waved through to the guest parking lot.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”
Jiheon asked again after parking the car.
“I said no,” Jaekyung said without even a look. His cap was pulled low over his face, his arms folded. It seemed he intended to nap while he waited.
“All right. I’ll be right out after I say hello. Call me if anything comes up.”
With that, he shut the driver’s side door.
A staff member led him inside, where Cho greeted him. As soon as Jiheon offered his business card, Cho lit up.
“Oh! Yes, I know ProEdge! What’s his name again? Your CEO—Kang Taejin! I knew him before he retired. No idea if he was any good at volleyball, but boy, was he a looker.”
Cho chuckled at his own joke. He was nearly seventy, but still had a towering frame and a booming voice.
“I heard you used to swim yourself, Mr. Jung. You won a medal at the World Swimming Championships. Who knew you’d be helping a younger swimmer one day?”
Jiheon nodded in agreement.
“I guess I was lucky,” he said.
“Well, do your best. That Gwon Jaekyung, he’s good, no doubt, but a tough one to handle. You’ve got your work cut out for you,” Cho said with a chuckle. The knowing tone made Jiheon uneasy. He cleared his throat.
“It would have been nice if Mr. Gwon could join me today, but the championship is only a month and a half out,” he said.
He explained that Jaekyung probably needed to focus on his training and didn’t seem to have any time to spare. Cho just waved his hand as if this were no big deal.
“I didn’t become president of the athlete supporters association just so kids like him could bow to me. If he’s got time to drop by, tell him to swim another lap instead. That’s how he can thank me.”
Cho didn’t seem to care. At first, Jiheon wondered if he was being sarcastic—still holding a grudge from Jaekyung’s past refusal. But from the way he said it, he truly didn’t seem to mind.
The short exchange was enough for Jiheon to get a sense of who Cho was. He was straightforward and big-hearted. That was probably why he chose to sponsor Jaekyung—before he’d even won an international medal. Just hearing that the boy had broken a domestic record at team trials was enough.
Cho only sponsored promising athletes in less popular sports—a major player, if there ever was one.
“Speaking of which, since it’s just us here... Sports is business, too. And a sponsor is a businessman. That’s why I only back athletes with promise. If they win out there wearing my company logo, now that’s real promotion, plain and simple.”
Cho’s message couldn’t be clearer. His money didn’t grow on trees. He wasn’t saying it outright, but the meaning was clear. He wanted Jiheon to convince Jaekyung to go to the Olympics next year.
“Just get him to the Olympics. That’s all I’m asking. He needs to get that Chungryong Medal[9], doesn’t he? He’s already earned more than enough points, but it’s Korea Aquatics that’s been holding him back. First, they didn’t even recommend him—said he was too young, those lunatics. Then they changed their tune and said he had to win four events in a single year before they’d even consider it! Now they’re saying the point system’s changed again, and he has to win at least twice at the Olympics or whatever else they decide next. All they want is to maximize their profit.”
After a solid rant about Korea Aquatics, Cho circled back to the point. Jaekyung had to go to the Olympics. Jaekyung had been right about him. Apparently, Jaekyung had told everyone he was planning to retire after his fourth win this year. By the looks of it, everyone Jiheon met would talk about nothing but the Olympics for some time.