Kiss the Ground Chapter 16

“Really?”

“Yes. Donobi especially likes it. How long have they been in business…?”

“Can I write that down now?”

Pulling out a small notebook from his bag on the spare chair, Ilya’s eyes sparkled. It was enough to momentarily divert Yoon Chahyun’s thoughts that had questioned his profession. When Chahyun nodded, Ilya opened the notebook and scribbled something.

“Actually, I usually record with audio, but today is a private occasion. I’ll just take a few notes…”

“Sure.”

While Ilya organized his notes, Chahyun ordered the meal. The staff didn’t seem particularly surprised, noticing Chahyun’s face. Most of the stores around the club, where colleagues always gathered to mark their presence, had a similar atmosphere.

The two exchanged light conversation until the meal arrived. They talked about Ilya’s hellish deadline situation and Chahyun’s struggles of attending the training center until the weekend, just before an upcoming match. Sharing difficult experiences rather than good ones did indeed increase intimacy, as some research suggested. As they finished the appetizer-like conversation, Chahyun felt more at ease with Ilya than before.

The table fell silent for a moment when the meal arrived. The body that had endured training all afternoon was now appealing for relaxation. Although it was a restaurant he had visited frequently lately, the food still tasted delicious, and Ilya seemed satisfied with the meal.

“This is good. There are many Chinese restaurants that serve heavy dishes, but this one is not like that.”

“Right? The downside is that they don’t deliver…”

“The atmosphere here is nice, so coming here in person isn’t bad at all.”

“I’m glad Mr. Park likes it too.”

Suddenly, Ilya, looking at Chahyun, lowered his fork.

“Actually, my family name is pronounced ‘Park.'”

“Really?!”

“Yes, really. My father is Korean, so you can call me ‘Ilya.’ We don’t usually address people by their last names, right?”

Ah, that makes sense… Chahyun had been vaguely curious, but it seemed impolite to ask such a question on their first meeting, so he had kept the thought to himself. Responding to Chahyun’s puzzled gaze, Ilya added with a slight smile,

“Also, I lived in Korea until I was sixteen, so I can speak Korean.”

“No wonder… your pronunciation seemed natural when you said my name.”

“Is that so?”

Ilya smiled proudly. While Chahyun’s compliment seemed to please him, Chahyun secretly sighed with relief. He remembered the moment in the restroom corridor that day when a journalist revealed that he had taken a photo of Misha and Chahyun’s kiss ceremony. He had almost unconsciously blurted out Korean profanity at that moment. If he had uttered even a single curse word, it could have caused a major problem… aware or unaware of Chahyun’s discomfort, Ilya continued the conversation in fluent Korean.

“You looked quite tired during the interview, Mr. Chahyun.”

“Did it show? I was a bit tired, but…”

“You looked very tired.”

Ilya seemed to enjoy using Korean more than the content of the conversation. It made sense; Korean wasn’t a language you could casually overhear in the corners of a store without intentionally lowering your voice. With a playful narrowing of his eyes behind his glasses, Ilya continued,

“By the way, I think my guess was off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your relationship with Asplund.”

The orange light reflected in Ilya’s glasses, glinting brightly. For some reason, Chahyun fell silent, feeling as if he were being seen through. The silence was loud, as if Chahyun were waiting for a response.

“You said there’s no discord. You mentioned it back then.”

“I didn’t believe it.”

“…”

“But after watching the interview, I understand now. ‘Discord’ isn’t the right word. You wouldn’t passionately think about someone you dislike that much.”

Chahyun absentmindedly gripped the glass of lemonade in front of him. This was about the comments Misha made during the interview.

He could have just said, “Yes, we’re closer than we thought,” and brushed it off. However, realizing that the person in front of him had witnessed everything, including him avoiding Misha in front of the restroom, he missed the timing to respond casually.

It felt as if everything was laid bare. Chahyun suddenly became uneasy. Yet, the current unease was different from what had dominated him until now—worries about the aftermath of Misha’s sudden actions and the awkwardness among teammates within the club.

Strangely, this uneasiness was about Misha Asplund’s well-being. A concern that, in this moment, something private about Misha might be revealed through Chahyun.

Chahyun worried that, by some chance, the journalist might discover Misha’s personal orientation through him. He became unexpectedly frightened at the thought of a journalist with his profession finding out about Misha’s private affairs. Beyond a kiss on the field that could be dismissed as an incident, if Misha’s private situation were to be exposed…

Chahyun didn’t want to make Misha feel that way. It was a very unfamiliar emotion.

“Is this a formal interview? Usually, those are arranged through the agency.”

In response to Chahyun’s direct question, Ilya momentarily looked at Chahyun and then dropped his shoulders, as if he had collapsed. The piercing gaze disappeared as if someone had turned off a fluorescent lamp. He genuinely lowered his eyebrows, seeming apologetic.

“I wouldn’t do that… I have a habit of constantly asking and poking around. I keep getting pointed out, but I’m not good at fixing it.”

“I try to avoid personal stories.”

“Um… I’m really sorry if I upset you. What I really wanted to ask was something else.”

Ilya’s expression, as he spoke weakly, seemed a bit desolate. It didn’t seem intentional. Chahyun felt a bit awkward, thinking he might have overreacted a bit. It was likely a result of recent events and the synergy created by Ilya’s profession as a journalist.

“What did you really want to ask?”

“It’s about the open training day next week. I plan to cover that too. I thought getting information from the players in advance might help with the article composition…”

“What if Ilya spills the club’s secrets in advance?”

“I’m not that obsessed with achievements! I mentioned back then that I prioritize journalistic ethics.”

“Hmm…”

As Chahyun brought the lemonade glass to his lips and played with his thoughts, Ilya sighed pitifully. Even though he was already prepared with a notepad and pen in hand, he seemed troubled.

Suddenly, Chahyun remembered how Ilya had deliberately shifted the difficult topic during their recent interview. Although he didn’t suspect it, he felt a bit uneasy around Ilya, who seemed somewhat cautious. Chahyun nodded subtly.

“Okay. I’ll answer only what’s allowed. Go ahead and ask.”

As soon as Chahyun finished speaking, Ilya’s eyes lit up again. That gaze was truly a professional habit. Chuckling to himself, Chahyun responded calmly to the waterfall of questions.

***

Chahyun settled into his car parked behind the restaurant. Ilya, who had interrogated Chahyun with numerous questions until the end of the meal, quickly grabbed the bill, claiming it was for the interview. Just before leaving the restaurant, as Chahyun handed Ilya’s handkerchief back, the two shared a laugh about how unpredictable the situation had been.

Ilya offered his best wishes to Chahyun just before parting. There were many familiar faces among journalists, but there were few people close enough to share a meal with. Despite feeling a bit unfamiliar, Chahyun didn’t dislike Ilya, who was passionate and intellectual about his work. The fact that their nationalities were similar also had some influence.

The appointment was around five o’clock, but by the time it ended, it was well past nine. Ilya wished Chahyun well before leaving. Although there were many journalists whose faces were familiar, there were few people he felt intimate enough to share a meal with. It was somewhat unfamiliar, but Chahyun didn’t dislike Ilya, who was passionate and intellectual about his work. His nationality, similar to Chahyun’s, also played a role to some extent.

It was around nine in the evening when the appointment ended, and when Chahyun hurriedly drove his car home to prepare for tomorrow’s schedule.

Having parked his car in the garage, Chahyun quickly approached the entrance. He planned to comfort the dog, eagerly waiting for its owner’s belated return.

It was when Chahyun grabbed the handle to open the door that he noticed something brown protruding from under the entrance.

“A bag?”

Chahyun looked down, lost in thought, as he gazed at something unnaturally placed in an improbable location. After all, the mailbox was installed near the fence, far from the entrance. The only fence door to approach the entrance was firmly locked until Chahyun’s return.

Why would a postman with broad audacity bother to come all the way to the entrance and push mail under the door? However, in this neighborhood, there was no culture of trespassing into someone else’s residence without permission.

Chahyun raised his head and glanced around. Due to the spacious gaps between houses, the surroundings were silent. Only the trees planted in the garden rustled in the evening breeze.

Chahyun slowly bent his waist and touched the envelope stuck in the gap under the door. Whether it was forcibly wedged or not, it took a little time to pull it out. The bag he pulled out with effort was about the size of B4 and slightly thick. It had a unique texture that didn’t feel like thin paper or documents. Chahyun flipped the envelope back and forth, then lifted the front, where the sender and recipient could be marked.

There was only one letter written on it.

「1」

One? Chahyun frowned at the letter that seemed to contain no information. Contemplating whether to open it right there, Chahyun held the envelope and first entered the house.

“Ginseng, were you good? It’s pretty late, huh?”

As he took off his shoes with a sigh, a large dog jumped out of the bedroom. Although he had been controlling the amount of feed a bit due to weight concerns, Chahyun had no intention of putting him on an evening diet, so he hurriedly ran to the dining room. As if complaining of hunger, Hong-sam whined and busily followed him.

“Alright, let’s eat.”

As soon as Chahyun placed the bowl filled with feed on the floor, Hong-sam stuck his nose in. Watching him eat hastily, Chahyun stroked the dog’s back with a sense of apology.

Once the urgent matter was resolved, the bag left on the table caught Chahyun’s eye. It was slightly crumpled on the outside, squeezed into a narrow space. Chahyun, taking off his hat, approached the table with care.

Seeing the envelope with no recipient’s name in his hand, Chahyun’s sudden and eerie imagination came to mind. It was somewhat childish and creepy—a letter sent containing a virus for bioterrorism. Opening it could result in catching the Black Death or the plague, as often depicted in movies. The situation was creepy enough for him to unconsciously imagine such things. He briefly considered whether to tear it apart or simply throw it away, but curiosity about the contents lingered. From the touch alone, it didn’t seem to contain unknown powder or devices.