Strategic Mating Partner Chapter 79

Which one was the real Sejin? Taehyun wanted to demand the return of his Joo Sejin, the one whose teasing charm was so endearing. He’d already done so, though.

Taehyun’s turmoil didn’t last long. As he threw himself into training, Sejin’s arrival at the athletes’ village crept closer. Taehyun sighed, alternating glances between the gradually filling dormitory and the parking lot lined with chartered buses.

“Ha…”

The moment Taehyun let out an involuntary sigh, a stranger’s voice cut through from behind.

“Our athlete Sung. Something not going well?”

“Huh.”

Startled by the middle-aged man’s voice, Taehyun snapped to attention, turning around with a composed expression. During a break after a training set, while Taehyun was lost in thought, this man had barged into the training area. Both the coach and head coach were eyeing Taehyun, wary of the intruder. He was the new facility manager who started earlier this year. What was his name… Chiuk? Park Chiuk? Taehyun forced a smile and responded.

“Oh, no, sir. I was just taking a moment to breathe deeply and refocus.”

The man chuckled, his smile somehow unsettling.

“Is that so? Our athlete Sung must feel a heavy burden, being the big brother of the national team with so much responsibility. Even I could learn a lot from you.”

He suddenly grabbed Taehyun’s shoulder, kneading it. Though it seemed without malice, the uncomfortable gesture forced Taehyun to maintain his smile. What was this? Why was he acting like this? It wasn’t uncommon for older officials from government agencies or private associations to act overly familiar, but this man was a complete stranger, so Taehyun couldn’t guess his intentions. Wasn’t he from the volleyball team’s coaching staff? Like the previous village head, he must have climbed the ranks skillfully, but Taehyun hadn’t had the energy to keep up with such figures lately, so he knew little about him.

“You’re too kind. I still have a long way to go.”

Taehyun gauged when to bluntly ask, “Why are you here?” With self-important older men, it was usually best to flatter their strength and build, then ask their purpose once they were in a good mood. As Taehyun tried to read the man, he spat out casually, still smiling.

“But I’ve been hearing some disappointing things lately. The athletes’ village isn’t some neighborhood motel where you come and go as you please without a word, is it?”

“What…?”

Taehyun thought he’d misheard. But sadly, the man’s words were exactly as he’d heard, and he drove the point home.

“You’re supposed to be a role model right now, aren’t you? Instead of setting a good example, you disappear for two days for personal reasons. Back in my day, that was unthinkable. Got it?”

His smile remained, but every word was laced with intent to humiliate. Taehyun responded with a friendly grin.

“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

So that’s his game. This was one of the scenarios Taehyun had dreaded before arriving. For now, he’d play it off. He tried to appease the man, but it wasn’t enough.

“Athlete Sung, it’s not about mouthing off—it’s about proving it with actions. Don’t you know how bad the economy is? People are complaining we’re wasting taxes on nonsense when that money should help citizens. Do you know how many lives are riding on this Olympics?”

Hah. Taehyun began to grasp the situation. Team Korea’s performance at the last Asian Games fell short of expectations. With a global recession tanking government approval ratings and international results unusually poor compared to past events, there was much talk of wasted taxes. Fortunately, Taehyun had secured gold again, sparing him blame at the Asian Games, but he felt an immense responsibility this time.

Disappearing for two days—technically covered by the coaches as an approved overnight pass—was understandably irritating to management. Seeing the head coach, who wanted to defend him but couldn’t due to the situation, Taehyun knew the moment he’d feared had arrived. This wasn’t something to brush off with a smile. He bowed his head, intuiting the gravity.

“I’ll be more careful to avoid causing concern. I’m sorry for the disappointing behavior.”

What could he do? Let the man vent. Confronting him would only hurt Taehyun. As an Olympian, being called a tax thief or a waster of funds was unavoidable, and this man likely needed an emotional punching bag for the pressure he faced from above. Getting upset wouldn’t change anything, and enduring insults and harsh training was nothing new. He could handle this.

“Good. Get your head straight. How old are you, retiring after hogging the juniors’ spots?”

Though he could endure, it didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. Taehyun felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. Still, there was little he could do to resist. He kept his head bowed, trying to stay composed, but the nausea was unstoppable despite the familiarity of such situations.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Satisfied with Taehyun’s submission, the man tightened his grip on his shoulder.

“Do well. The higher-ups have big expectations for you, Sung. Don’t make such foolish mistakes again.”

As the man finished his brief tirade and left, the coach, who’d been frozen, rushed to Taehyun.

“Ugh, that guy must’ve been chewed out today. Don’t take it to heart. These types always vent on athletes or staff.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. He’s just picking a fight.”

Taehyun knew, but the situation suddenly felt overwhelming. Was it his tangled thoughts or the crushing pressure? He couldn’t tell.

The national team’s coach and head coach were selected by the Ministry of Culture, Sports, and Tourism, with athletes’ opinions barely considered. Since those in power held the purse strings, they couldn’t intervene despite knowing the venting was rude. The fact that he’d made them tiptoe around because of him felt unbearably disgusting. Taehyun held his forehead, waiting for the nausea to subside. But his stomach wouldn’t settle, and he stood up.

“I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Okay… Don’t push yourself if you’re not feeling well.”

Remembering Taehyun’s poor condition upon return, the coach shouted after him. Ignoring it, desperate to splash cold water on his face, Taehyun headed to the bathroom but was hit with severe dizziness, collapsing against the wall. If people saw him here, they’d ask if he was okay, if he was sick, or if it would affect his competition prep. As his head throbbed, wondering what to do…

“…….”

A familiar, refreshing scent suddenly hit him, calming his churning stomach like a digestive pill.

“…?”

Before Taehyun could process the oddity, a familiar voice sounded above him. Looking up, he saw a startled Sejin staring down.

“What are you doing here? Are you sick?”

Sejin bent to help him up, and oh—meeting Sejin’s shocked eyes, instead of wanting to flee, Taehyun felt relieved. His face flushed red, and no words came out. Something was definitely wrong with his head.