Strategic Mating Partner Chapter 64

The problem was that many of those familiar faces were people who had abruptly cut off contact and disappeared four years ago when Taehyun was at his lowest point. It was easy to predict what kind of situations would unfold now.

“Hey, Sung Taehyun! I seriously thought you’d dropped dead somewhere! You didn’t answer my calls, huh? You’re back competing and seem to be doing fine, but why is it so hard to see your face?”

That kind of reaction was still on the milder side.

“It must be a lot of pressure, huh? Well, you’ve been getting a ton of support, haven’t you? With all that investment, you’d need at least one Olympic medal to save face… This is probably your last shot.”

There would surely be plenty of people throwing jabs like that. Fame was a double-edged sword. Even if Taehyun stood on the podium at championships and international competitions day after day, even if he never lost the top spot in the association’s official rankings, what mattered was the decisive moment. For an athlete like Taehyun, who had no Olympic achievements, there was more than enough room for criticism. Constantly filming commercials and playing tag with celebrities on variety shows (Taehyun had appeared multiple times on a chase-style program that adapted the rules of tag) only to have no Olympic medal to show for it—that’s the reputation he’d end up with.

It was unfair, but there was nothing he could do. People didn’t care about rankings on some world federation website written in English; they remembered the color and number of medals. Other athletes likely felt the same. That guy, with no medal to his name, gets fame just for being good-looking and lives an easy life, taking support others could only dream of. Having blown two Olympics through no fault of his own, Taehyun was a sinner with no excuse to offer.

They might as well spit in his face. They couldn’t say anything nasty to his smiling face, but they were all too good at stabbing knives into his wounds in plain sight. In those moments, Taehyun would smile appropriately, thank them with a friendly face, and move on. In truth, he wasn’t grateful at all. How many of those people genuinely supported him? Most were probably hoping he’d fail to reach the medal podium again. If he kept falling short of his medal dreams, he’d forever remain a fake hero, a fraud coasting on popularity and good looks.

“Ha… I really want a drink.”

Taehyun pictured the inside of his fridge for no reason, then shook his head with a sigh. There was no way alcohol would be in there. After his failure four years ago, he’d spent time under psychiatric care and was deemed at high risk for alcohol dependency, leading to a complete ban on drinking. He’d improved a lot since resuming training and competing, but his counselor still forbade him from drinking alone. Drinking socially in a suitable setting as a treat was fine, but drinking alone to vent frustration was strictly off-limits. It was sound advice with no flaws, and Taehyun followed it faithfully, as he did now.

Suddenly, as always, he felt the loneliness of having no one to open his heart to. Could he talk to Sejin, who knew about his near-rock-bottom state and the need for a mating partner? At least it wouldn’t feel like deception. Sejin was an athlete receiving even more support than Taehyun, though for different reasons—his family background and achievements. It wasn’t the right time now, with training camp approaching, but maybe after the competition, he could buy Sejin a drink. Not necessarily to vent, but to celebrate the results and console himself too. It was obvious Sejin wasn’t the type to enjoy drinking, but maybe it’d be different with Taehyun. An inexplicable confidence welled up in him. After all, Sejin did seem to let his guard down around Taehyun more than with others. So maybe it was okay for Taehyun to act a bit spoiled too. Feeling embarrassed, Taehyun rubbed his face.

“…….”

What was this? There was a limit to being immature. Taehyun swallowed another sigh and steeled himself. No weird thoughts—just move your body. He jumped up, stretched his stiff trapezius muscles, and the coach, as if waiting, picked up a sandbag. Taehyun focused on his leg movements and kicked the sandbag. He wanted to skip this training too, but the policy mandated participation, and as a national team member, unless he had a specific disqualifying reason, he had to attend. This was the result of his underwhelming performance at the last Asian Games.

“Does squeezing us into group training guarantee medals?”

If they’d properly supported less popular sports from the start, this wouldn’t be an issue. Expecting athletes to magically bring home medals from barren ground with meager support—most of which went to the higher-ups in associations and ministries rather than the athletes themselves—was ridiculous. As he cursed the associations and officials, he realized others probably saw him as an idiot who took all the support but couldn’t win a medal. His toes faltered again.

“Taehyun, focus!”

Taehyun snapped back to attention and put in more effort.

“Yes, sorry.”

“From one again.”

“Yes.”

He’d won gold at the Asian Games—twice, even. But the public judged based on the Olympics. For athletes like Taehyun, who drew too much attention, it was especially true. The Olympics were a global stage, while the Asian Games had a limited pool of standout countries. It was unfair, but there was no helping it.

At least the facilities now guaranteed single rooms, so as long as roll call wasn’t too strict… it wouldn’t be impossible to do it there. Though, if possible, it’d be better to get a pass and do it outside. With limited lodging options nearby, two guys going in and out of a motel might spark rumors among locals, so doing it in the village might be safer. Either way, he’d bring plenty of pheromone deodorizers. With that resolve, Taehyun kicked the sandbag with all his might.

“Argh!”

Maybe he put in too much force. The coach, gripping the sandbag, went flying backward with a whoosh. Fortunately, he used a falling technique and wasn’t hurt, but he looked startled.

“Hey, are you trying to kill me?”

“Gah, sorry!”

Taehyun hurriedly helped the coach up.

“My poor joints. I can only do this until this year. Maybe I’ll open a dojo and deal with kids instead.”

The coach, still in his late thirties, groaned loudly for effect, and Taehyun immediately retorted.

“Coach, go observe a preschool class once. You’ll be grateful I can go to the bathroom on my own.”

“That’s what you call talking?”

“The elementary kids are no joke either. They’re like flying monkeys—can you handle them?”

Taehyun knew this well from personal experience. Kids were light and had boundless energy, charging into everything with full force despite weighing only about 20 kg. Watching them move as if defying gravity, darting around the dojo, was awe-inspiring. Until he became a middle school athlete, Taehyun himself had climbed the dojo’s interior fixtures like grips, scaling to the ceiling and jumping down, so he vividly remembered the limitless crazy feats only possible back then.

“Ugh, I shouldn’t have said anything. Just don’t get hurt.”

Though he grumbled that Taehyun was killing him, the coach had been one of the most earnest in persuading Taehyun to return when he was nearly broken. The head coach of the taekwondo national team was the same. With such good people cheering him on, he couldn’t afford to fail this time. Realizing he was giving a bitter smile, Taehyun straightened his lips.

“Yes, I’ll be careful.”

Not that being careful guaranteed 100% prevention. Taehyun let out another long sigh and focused on training.

By the time he finished his routine and returned home, it was past 9 p.m. Having showered at the center, Taehyun changed into pajamas and threw himself onto the bed. Ha… I’m dead. He wanted to collapse and sleep, but there was something he needed to check first. Crawling, he grabbed his phone.

9:21 PM

Did your team get the training camp schedule too?

Since training camp schedules varied by sport and timing, the fencing team, with far more members than the taekwondo team, might get theirs later. With so many athletes, some competed in smaller events or served as judges or officials for junior and youth competitions during the Olympic preparation period, making schedules complex.

Prioritizing the Olympics was ideal, but it was impossible to hold training camps when key personnel were inevitably absent. Some flexibility was usually allowed. Taehyun considered that if their schedules didn’t align, it might actually be easier for pheromone exchanges. Soon, a reply came from Sejin.