Strategic Mating Partner Chapter 50

This wasn’t training, nor was it a schedule that Sejin wanted or needed. If someone was going to take up his time like this, he should have just told Taehyun off, pushed him away, and gone home. But strangely, he didn’t want to do that. Even though Sejin stayed quiet without saying much, Taehyun would decide their next destination on his own, chattering away while occasionally making eye contact to check if Sejin was listening. It felt awkward. He was truly a strange person.

“Why…”

Sejin wanted to ask why Taehyun was doing this, but the sentence didn’t fully come out. Taehyun was unlike anyone Sejin had ever met. If Sejin had acted this way toward his mother, the person he’d known the longest in his life, she would have gotten angry right away. Do you think I’m your punching bag? Who do you think you’re acting like that with? His mother was not the type to indulge anyone. She was the one who acted spoiled. She only did what she liked and immediately cast aside anything she didn’t. Raising Sejin on her own without anyone’s help was, to her, the maximum effort she could give.

Sejin knew early on that ignoring people, not responding, and acting curtly wasn’t mature behavior. His mother wouldn’t tolerate such whining, yet this strange person brushed it off with a smile. Dragging Sejin to a place that only kids would enjoy, spending his entire day on it, was something Sejin couldn’t comprehend. To Taehyun, it seemed like a 100% losing deal. Sejin’s suspicions didn’t fade. Why was this person going to such lengths? Why… But the reason he couldn’t ask outright was because he was afraid of what Taehyun’s answer might be. Things that couldn’t be understood were frightening. It was an unavoidable fear, stemming from the fact that Sejin and Taehyun were fundamentally different beings.

When Sejin hesitated instead of immediately taking the photo, Taehyun gave an awkward smile.

“Why? Well… it’s just a memory. Later, you’ll look back and think, ‘Oh, there was a time like this.’”

He added with a laugh.

“You don’t always have happy moments in life, so you make save points like this. Things might feel tough, miserable, and annoying now, but you’ll think, ‘There was a time like this.’ If you endure it now, moments like this might come again. Good memories fade easily, you know. Photos are the best magnets for bringing back those faded memories.”

It was still nonsense to Sejin. How could that be helpful? Recalling good times when things are tough only makes you feel more miserable, doesn’t it? As Sejin stared at Taehyun with a face that showed he still didn’t understand, Taehyun let out a short, “Ah,” as if something occurred to him. Then he thrust the photo at Sejin and said, “Hold on. Just take it for now.”

With that, he limped toward a nearby souvenir stall, dragging one leg. He could barely use one foot properly, yet he was trying so hard to move quickly that it honestly looked a bit pathetic. But Taehyun didn’t seem to care at all. A moment later, he came back holding a headband with light yellow ears. The tag on the headband read “Desert Fox” in four characters, with a fox character sporting large, yellow furry ears printed on it. Still smiling, Taehyun approached and plopped the headband onto Sejin’s head.

“Hey, it suits you.”

He let out a puff of air, like a hearty laugh, and grinned broadly. Sejin was about to rip the headband off but hesitated, lowering his head and mumbling, “What are you doing…”

“What? It looked like it’d suit you, so I figured we’d try everything while we’re here.”

Then, as if he’d bought one for himself too, he pulled out a headband with tiger ears from under his arm and put it on.

“How’s it look? Pretty good, right?”

Even if he asked… Taehyun’s handsome, masculine face was an undeniable fact. The weird headband made him look a bit silly, but it didn’t erase his good looks. Sejin wanted to resist saying he looked good, so he stayed silent.

“…….”

Taehyun remained unfazed.

“I’ll take your silence as a yes.”

Without even a moment of awkwardness, he dragged Sejin off to ride another attraction. He was truly a strange person. Unnecessarily stubborn, never hurt, never discouraged, just… Sejin felt afraid again. Getting disliked by ordinary people didn’t bother him. If he didn’t like them either, he could just ignore them and move on. But Taehyun? If someone this generous and kind gave up on him, it would feel like proof that Sejin was truly beyond saving. Just a few weeks ago, he didn’t even know this person existed, someone who should mean nothing to him.

“…….”

Sejin was led by Taehyun’s hand, caught up in these thoughts the whole time, even as they rode the next ride and got off. What was it about this person? It wasn’t even an important relationship, so why did it matter if he disappointed him or not? Even as these cynical thoughts crossed his mind, the moment he saw Taehyun’s carefree, calm face, he couldn’t say anything. So Sejin spent half the day being dragged around by Taehyun. If Taehyun said to go somewhere, he went. If Taehyun said to ride something, he rode it.

After a full day of walking, riding, and looking around, the sky was turning a deep orange. As people started to leave and cars began pulling out of the parking lot, Taehyun glanced at his phone, found a bus heading to the nearby station, and led Sejin to the bus stop. While waiting for the bus, Taehyun looked down at Sejin and asked, “Today was fun, right?”

Sejin wanted to snap back immediately. Fun? How could it be fun? His head was hot from walking under the sun all day, his feet ached, and his legs were stiff from moving around without even doing proper exercise. Wasting time like this was ridiculous.

But he couldn’t spit out such sharp words because, throughout all this meaningless activity, Taehyun had stayed by his side. No one, except his parents or his dedicated coach before coming to Korea, had ever paid him this much attention. Even the old man who sponsored Sejin didn’t care this much.

If this time was just a waste for Sejin, it must have been the same for Taehyun. Even if he couldn’t train properly due to his injury, it wasn’t like he couldn’t do anything else. So Sejin was even more puzzled. Why was this person going through all this trouble? Why. When Sejin didn’t respond, Taehyun smiled and asked again, “Can I take your silence as a yes?”

“…….”

He was such a strange person, really. The moment Sejin met Taehyun’s confident gaze, he felt embarrassed and wanted to run away. Something in his chest felt like it was about to burst. It must be nausea, a lingering side effect from riding too many intense attractions.

After parting with Sejin and returning home, Taehyun stuck the photo they took on his fridge. As he’d told Sejin with a smile, both of them had their eyes closed, far from looking handsome. Still, it vividly captured what happened in that moment—how Sejin, without even screaming, bit his lip and endured. Even months or years later, looking at this photo would bring back those memories.

‘…….’

In that sense, every photo was a precious treasure to Taehyun. Even without special meaning, it was valuable in itself.

Before Taehyun said goodbye to the director, the director had started losing his memory about six months before his passing. It was like dementia. The small mercy was that he didn’t show signs of delirium, but he struggled to remember both old and relatively recent events. Photos helped during those times.

“Oh, right. I forgot. My memory’s been so bad lately.”

There were many times he couldn’t recall anything at all, but sometimes photos served as a bridge to successfully bring back memories. So Taehyun took photos of special moments whenever the director wasn’t around and brought them to his hospital room. This happened then, that happened then. As they chatted, the allowed visiting time would pass in a flash. The director’s locker was soon covered with so many photos from Taehyun that there was no space left to add more.

“He’s such a filial son, coming to see his dad so regularly despite being so young.”

New patients who didn’t recognize Taehyun sometimes misunderstood, but Taehyun was fine with that too. He had wished more than once or twice that the director, not his still-living biological father, was his real dad.