Strategic Mating Partner Chapter 8

At Taehyun’s question, Sejin silently studied his face. Meeting Taehyun’s gaze, his perfectly shaped eyebrows raised without a hint of malice, Sejin paused before answering.

“I might need it.”

The short, concise sentence made Taehyun frown, his relaxed expression creasing slightly. Really? Fencing wasn’t a record-based sport. Why would he need it? It wasn’t like he had to compete against his own best time for some internal struggle. He was already overwhelmingly dominant in first place. Taehyun wondered what nonsense this guy was spouting.

“You’ve maintained a stable ranking for the past four years. What do you need it for?”

Taehyun’s rebuttal, implying the absurdity of Sejin’s statement, was met with an even more baffling response.

“Have you been keeping track of my ranking?”

“How could I not? The sports channels talk about nothing but you every time there’s an international competition.”

The record of the great fencing prince, Joo Sejin, wasn’t just known to Taehyun; even a second-grader would know it. As Taehyun stared at Sejin with suspicion, Sejin added, without blinking,

“My skills aren’t what they used to be.”

This was utter bullshit. Taehyun’s face crumpled in disbelief, his eyes narrowing. His characteristically gentle eyes sharpened like a detective who’d just found a crucial clue.

“You’re only twenty-two.”

But Sejin remained unfazed, his face an impenetrable mask.

“I just want to check. To see how it feels without the suppressants, compared to now.”

It was still nonsense. Sejin had presented as an alpha after they first met when they were eighteen. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have paired an omega with an eighteen-year-old alpha whose pheromones were still unstable. It didn’t make sense that he’d want to know how it felt without suppressants, considering he hadn’t started his athletic career after presenting. If you’re going to make excuses, at least make them believable, Taehyun thought, the words rising to the tip of his tongue. As he glared at Sejin with a look of utter disbelief, Sejin turned the question back on him.

“What about you, hyung?”

Taehyun had plenty to say to that.

“Hey, for me, it’s a genuine performance issue. There’s a definite difference in my condition when I take suppressants for competitions and when I don’t. Besides, this is my last competition, and I don’t want to have any regrets.”

He hadn’t intended to say that much. Sejin’s nonsense had provoked him, and now his true feelings were out in the open. Taehyun’s face flushed. Everyone expected Taehyun’s retirement, but he hadn’t officially announced it yet. It was a plan he’d had for a long time, regardless of whether he won a medal at this last Olympics. His ankle couldn’t hold up anymore, but there was a bigger reason.

Taehyun fundamentally didn’t mesh well with competition. Winning felt good, of course. But in a competitive sport, a winner meant there was a loser. Even in victory, Taehyun found it hard to look away from his opponent. Losers reacted in different ways, but there were patterns.

Anger, tears, hollow laughter… Among them, what bothered Taehyun most were the tears. He preferred opponents who couldn’t control their fighting spirit and tried to attack him even after the match was over. Whenever a loser cried, even when he was the victor, Taehyun, being a hard worker himself, acutely felt their efforts and empathized with their loss. Winning felt hollow, leaving a heavy stone in his chest.

It was ironic that he’d been an athlete for over ten years, feeling this way, but a mismatch between talent and temperament wasn’t uncommon. Even if he didn’t enjoy defeating others, he wanted to meet the expectations of those who cheered for him. He liked achieving results and satisfying people with those results. So, for one last time, he wanted to achieve a result that would satisfy those who had supported and cheered him on. This bittersweet realization made Taehyun avoid Sejin’s gaze. Sejin took a step closer.

“Then do it with me. The fact that we’ve met before isn’t a reason we can’t be partners.”

“Hey, don’t talk about that kind of stuff here.”

Startled, Taehyun scrambled to cover Sejin’s mouth. The feel of full lips against his palm made him reflexively pull his hand away. Sejin looked bewildered, unsure what had happened.

“Let’s go. I’ll take you home.”

He couldn’t leave Sejin on a busy street like this. Dragging him back to the hotel parking lot, Taehyun felt a wave of self-consciousness. He’d never felt so self-conscious about his domestic compact SUV, a prize from a competition years ago. He could easily afford a better car, and his mother drove a luxury import, but Taehyun had been content with his prize car.

Everyone knows I’m not short on money, even if I don’t flaunt it with a car. People like that a young, popular guy like me is down-to-earth. That had been his rationale, but watching Sejin, nearly 6’3”, contorting himself to fit into the small car, filled him with a strange mix of amusement and shame. Even though Sejin was now twenty-two, in Taehyun’s memory he was still a prickly kid, and he felt awkward asking him to get into his slightly shabby car.

I shouldn’t have said anything about him not having a car even though he’s rich. It could easily be thrown back at him: You’re rich, why do you drive such a small car? Sejin, oblivious to Taehyun’s embarrassment, squeezed into the passenger seat. The seat was pushed so far forward that anyone with long legs would have to sit awkwardly. The last person in this seat must have been short. He wondered who it was. Who had sat here, accompanying Taehyun in his car? As Taehyun lost himself in thought, Sejin remained silent. With a sigh, Taehyun asked,

“Where do you live? Give me your address for the GPS.”

“…Jongno-gu, Pyeongchang-dong… number 00.”

As he entered the address, Taehyun gaped at the map displaying rows of luxury homes. There was no way Sejin, who claimed not to even need a car, owned a place here, whether as an investment or residence. It had to be his grandfather’s house, a high-ranking executive at a major corporation. Taehyun asked,

“Do you live with your grandfather?”

“No. He’s in a care facility. He said it’s more comfortable for him.”

“So, you live with your mother?”

Taehyun asked as he started the car. Sejin shook his head.

“Usually, but my mom travels a lot for work, so I’m mostly alone.”

It must be lonely in such a large house, big enough for a whole family. Taehyun, who considered himself filial but not dependent, had also felt lonely when he started living independently after his rehabilitation two years ago. He often invited friends over. It was more that he enjoyed company, but he’d lived with his mother for so long that the empty space felt strange.

Sejin was different. Maybe he preferred being alone. But the eighteen-year-old Sejin Taehyun knew had been a prickly, insecure kid beneath the surface. He doubted Sejin had completely matured in four years. Is he okay being alone? Preoccupied with his own concerns, Taehyun drove out of the parking lot.

Silence filled the car. Only the faint sound of their breathing, the engine, and the muted noise from outside penetrated the thin windows. Taehyun fidgeted with the steering wheel, glancing at Sejin’s reflection in the rearview mirror. His slightly sullen, expressionless face gave nothing away.