Chapter 10: A Debt That Money Couldn’t Repay

One morning, Coach Go entered the gym with a rather solemn expression.

“Pause.”

At his words, everyone stopped training and turned to look at him.

“We have a friendly match tomorrow.”

Kang-hoon nodded and asked, “Sounds good. Who are we up against?”

“The association will be bringing the opponents.
Several former members of the national team are expected to participate, and association officials will also be coming to watch.
So tomorrow, it’s important that you show them exactly what you’re capable of.
Especially you two.”

The coach pointed at Han-gyeol and Kang-hoon.

“You’ll be competing in the final selection trials at the end of this year, so pay particular attention to how you approach tomorrow’s match.
You know who’s going to be refereeing the selection trials, don’t you?
People from the association.
You understand better than anyone how much authority a referee has in fencing.”

Han-gyeol silently nodded.

In fencing, a referee’s decision was more decisive than anything else.
Although video review existed, it had little power in the face of a referee’s authority.

Attacks, defenses, and successful counterattacks were all determined within fractions of a second.
The referee’s job was to judge those fleeting exchanges and award points correctly, but the outcome wasn’t always fair.
There were plenty of blatant cases of biased officiating, and athletes frequently protested the decisions.

Han-gyeol thought he understood what Coach Go was getting at.
He wanted them to impress the association officials and earn some goodwill in advance.
That way, when those same officials served as referees at the national team selection trials, they’d be more inclined to make favorable calls in Han-gyeol’s matches.

Even if that wasn’t the coach’s intention, there was no harm in making a good impression on the association officials.

Since Han-gyeol had never been particularly good at winning people’s favor, he decided to keep doing what he always did.

But then, a problem arose.

“Hey, Han-gyeol.”

A few hours before the friendly match, Kang-hoon came looking for him.

He seemed to be in an unusually good mood.

Han-gyeol remembered what Jin-ung had told him.

You should be careful for a while.

After hearing something like that, he couldn’t help remaining on guard.

“What is it?” he asked in a stiff voice.

The answer he received was unexpected.

“There’s someone outside waiting for you.
If Coach Go comes looking for you, I’ll tell him you stepped out for a moment.”

It was a more ordinary reason than he’d expected.

Was I being unnecessarily hostile?

Han-gyeol thanked him and went outside.

When he reached the gym entrance, he saw the back of a woman waiting for someone.

He approached her cautiously.

“Hello.”

At the sound of Han-gyeol’s voice, she turned around.

He was certain he’d never seen her before, yet somehow, her face seemed familiar.

Have I met her somewhere?

He searched his memory, but nothing came to mind.

Her hair was neatly tied back in a single ponytail.
She bowed her head slightly and greeted him.

“Hello.
You’re Joo Han-gyeol, the fencer, right?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“My name is Park Shin-hee.
I’m not sure if you’ll remember me, but we met once at the hospital.
When my older brother was hospitalized, you came to visit him with some of the other athletes.”

At the mention of the hospital visit, his memories came back.

There could only be one answer, especially considering her name.

“…Are you Park Shin-woo’s younger sister?”

She nodded.

Park Shin-woo’s younger sister…

Her sudden appearance left Han-gyeol feeling as though his breath had caught in his throat.

Unable to look her directly in the face, he instinctively lowered his head.

He vaguely remembered seeing her sitting beside Park Shin-woo’s mother when he’d visited the hospital.

More than anything, she bore a considerable resemblance to Park Shin-woo.

Han-gyeol struggled to think of something to say, but in the end, he could only bring himself to ask why she’d come to see him.

Shin-hee looked straight at him as he hesitated.

“I guess you still feel guilty.
I can tell from how your expression darkens just from looking at my face.”

“……”

“Would it make me a terrible person if I said I was glad about that?
My brother still keeps spouting that comforting nonsense about how it wasn’t your fault, Joo Han-gyeol.
Maybe he’s right.
After all, it was an accident during a practice match.
I understand that intellectually, but sometimes the anger overwhelms me so much that I can’t sleep.
Especially since I watched the footage of that practice match…”

“…I’m sorry.”

That was all Han-gyeol could manage to say.

He couldn’t even dream of offering some inadequate words of comfort or trying to make excuses for what had happened.

All he could do was apologize without conditions, and he had to be satisfied with that.

Han-gyeol thought it was a relief that her gaze still held hostility and resentment toward him.

He had never expected forgiveness.

He was accustomed to receiving looks like hers.
To him, those looks were punishment for daring to reach for something beyond his station.

“Oh, right.
I heard you’ve been selected for the national team and will be competing in the Olympics.
Congratulations.”

“…Nothing’s been confirmed yet.
There’s still one competition left.”

“Isn’t it practically certain?
You’re so good at what you do.
I’ve watched my brother compete, so I can at least recognize a talented athlete.
And I heard you won gold at the Asian Championships this year, too.
Everyone says you’re a formidable athlete with no weaknesses and incredible stamina.
Why would the Olympics be any different?
If you win gold, you’ll be loved by the public and become famous in my brother’s place.
I’m jealous.
Some people are gradually being forgotten…”

The last part of Shin-hee’s statement was so quiet that Han-gyeol could barely hear it.

He hurriedly shook his head.

“No.
How could I ever hope to match Park Shin-woo’s popularity?
It’s thanks to him that fencing has become so well-known in Korea.
I still have a long way to go.”

“You’re being excessively modest.
I hear people talking about you all the time.
Something about how you’re going to reclaim the gold medal you missed because of your injury last time.
Come to think of it, I heard your ankle has fully recovered, too.”

“…Yes.
May I ask where you heard that?”

“From Choi Kang-hoon.”

“What?”

The name caught him completely off guard.

Han-gyeol had naturally assumed she’d heard about him from athletes of the older generation, so his eyes widened in surprise.

“I contacted Choi Kang-hoon before coming here.
As you can probably guess from why I’ve come to see you, I thought you might avoid meeting me, so I had to go about it this way.
He was the only member of your fencing team I knew.
This was the first time I’d actually spoken to him, but he seemed like a very kind person.
When I asked about you, he was happy to tell me things.”

Han-gyeol was stunned.

He finally understood why Kang-hoon had been in such high spirits lately.

It was because he’d been keeping in touch with Park Shin-woo’s younger sister behind his back.

Of course, Shin-hee wasn’t to blame.
She probably had no idea that Kang-hoon and Han-gyeol had a bad relationship, and she hadn’t contacted Kang-hoon with the intention of getting at him.

Kang-hoon could be as friendly as he wanted when he chose to be.
He’d probably been extremely warm and accommodating toward Shin-hee as well.

“Then… was Kang-hoon the one who told you to come today?”

“Yes.
I told him I needed to meet you and asked when I could find you.
He said he’d watch for the right moment and let me know.
Then he suddenly contacted me yesterday.
He said you had independent training today, so you’d have plenty of time to talk…”

Han-gyeol clenched his teeth.

Choi Kang-hoon, you bastard.

He’d deliberately arranged for Shin-hee to come to the gym that day to ruin Han-gyeol’s match.

He must have wanted to make sure Han-gyeol couldn’t concentrate on the competition.

Han-gyeol could sense the malice behind it.

He’d known Kang-hoon disliked him, but he’d never realized the man was this twisted.

Suppressing his anger, Han-gyeol forced himself to speak.

“Then… may I ask why you came to see me?”

“Did you send this, Joo Han-gyeol?”

She held out a white envelope.

It was thick enough that he could guess what was inside without opening it.

I didn’t send that.

He should have said it outright, firmly and without hesitation.

But his mouth wouldn’t move, as though someone had sewn it shut.

Everything was a mess.

His head hurt.

It felt as though the nightmare from that time was returning all over again.

Doubt and self-loathing surged toward him relentlessly, like waves crashing against him as he stood on the shore.

High tide was approaching.

Waves washed over his bare feet, while white foam churned from the chaos inside his mind.

A white sun blazed overhead.

Its light was so intense that it didn’t merely dazzle him; it stung his eyes.

You crazy bastard! Do you even know who you hurt?!

Voices of blame and resentment continued to hound him without pause.

Han-gyeol stared toward the distant horizon.

I’m tired of it.

I’m tired of living as Joo Han-gyeol.

“…Mr. Joo Han-gyeol?”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Haa… Enough with the apologies already.
About this envelope—it’s full of money, isn’t it?”

“I never sent anything like that.”

“My goodness.
I’ve never met anyone who’s this bad at lying.”

For the first time, Shin-hee’s expression twisted into something resembling a smile.

No, it wasn’t quite a smile.
It was more like a sneer she’d forced herself to produce.

Was my brother really forced to retire because of someone like this?

Her eyes seemed to ask exactly that.

“Take it back.
We don’t need it.
We have no reason to accept money from you, and you know perfectly well that this isn’t the kind of injury money can fix.
If money could solve it, we would have had him undergo surgery or whatever else he needed long ago.
I don’t want to accept money just so you can ease your pathetic little conscience.”

“…But…”

“Mr. Joo Han-gyeol, I heard you’ve been receiving support to continue fencing all this time.
We’re not thieves.
We have no intention of squeezing compensation money out of someone who doesn’t have much to begin with.
It’s not as though you’re legally obligated to pay us anything.
Rehabilitation costs a considerable amount, but my brother is a gold medalist, respected by the entire country.
We don’t need your help.”

Shin-hee forcibly shoved the white envelope into Han-gyeol’s arms.

“Well, goodbye.”

She turned away coldly.

Han-gyeol remained standing there long after she had left.

The paper envelope slipped from his hands and fell to the ground with a soft thud.

There wasn’t even a puddle here, yet somehow, it felt as though his feet were getting soaked.

One memory after another came rushing back.

The midday waves kept crashing into his mind, over and over.

Crash.

Crash.

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