Chapter 105: The Things Left Unsaid

While Ji-tae calmly told everything, Woojoo couldn’t stay composed at all.

The circumstances he had never even imagined came crashing over him like a massive wave.

It felt suffocating, as if all his airways were blocked.

“So… that’s how your shoulder got injured…?”

“Yeah. I went to the hospital right away, but it was deeply embedded, and the impact all went to my shoulder, so my ligament was torn.”

Ji-tae, talking about the past, seemed oddly calm.

“They said I probably wouldn’t be able to play sports for a while… so I had no choice but to quit.”

Ji-tae stared blankly into the air.

As if replaying those moments in his mind.

“My mom was an actress, but she wasn’t that famous. She had just started gaining attention when she met my dad, and she gave up her career.”

Woojoo recalled the face of Ji-tae’s mother from the photo frame he had once seen.

“She was probably forgotten as soon as she quit. But my mom… how do I say it… she was someone who liked attention, so she couldn’t endure my dad’s attitude.”

After marriage and pregnancy, continuing work wasn’t possible.

And at the time, his father didn’t approve of her acting career anyway.

Because of that, she became an actress who faded away just as she was beginning to shine, and when even her husband turned away from her, she gradually broke down mentally.

His father neglected her, but Ji-tae had done the same.

Thinking his parents hadn’t fulfilled their duties, he also didn’t pay attention to his mother.

“Sometimes I think… if I had believed my mom when she said my dad was seeing someone, and tried to persuade him instead of brushing it off… maybe that wouldn’t have happened…”

Or if he had comforted and embraced his mother a little more back then, maybe she wouldn’t have clung so desperately when his father asked for a divorce.

While Ji-tae was hospitalized, everything moved quickly.

His parents divorced, and his mother stayed by his hospital bed, crying for days.

Half of those tears were guilt toward her son.

And the other half were sorrow from losing her husband.

“Yoon Jaeyeon’s mom is a doctor. She worked at the hospital I went to back then. That’s why he knows everything in detail.”

“How did you end up going abroad?”

“Because of my mom.”

At the time, Seonhyeok was studying overseas, and his mother wanted to take Ji-tae to where his uncle was.

With his sports, his dreams, and his future all shattered like the broken glass from that day, Ji-tae was exhausted both mentally and physically.

He also felt guilty for not taking care of his mother, for neglecting her as her son.

So he had no choice but to follow her decision.

And because he didn’t want to stay in Korea anymore, he went to New York with her.

At first, he lived like a wreck.

Not drugs, but everything else—alcohol, cigarettes, all the bad habits.

His mother began seeking attention from him, and Ji-tae, trying to relieve stress, drank even more.

It was a vicious cycle.

He even collapsed often and ended up in the hospital multiple times.

“Honestly, if it weren’t for my uncle, I probably would’ve kept living like that.”

“Won Ji-tae.”

Even when Woojoo called him, Ji-tae didn’t look at him.

“Why… didn’t you tell me?”

Woojoo steadied his choking voice and finally asked the question he had wanted to ask the most.

Why hadn’t Ji-tae said anything?

Why did he reject all offers and disappear with his phone turned off?

The memories of calling him countless times at the airport and hearing that he had quietly vanished came flooding back.

“Was there a reason you couldn’t tell me?”

Maybe he didn’t have time because he had to leave quickly.

Or maybe he was too busy taking care of his mother.

If that were the case, Woojoo felt he could at least understand.

“I had time to tell you.”

“……”

“While preparing to go abroad, I stayed home the whole time. I just chose not to say anything.”

“Then why…?”

Ji-tae, who had been staring into space the whole time, finally turned his head.

His expression, which had been detached as if telling someone else’s story, twisted for the first time.

“I didn’t want to tell you.”

How many times had he heard that now?

Even before, whenever Woojoo tried to dig into his past, Ji-tae would draw a line and say he didn’t want to tell him.

And even now, after everything had been revealed, it wasn’t much different.

“You know everything now. What I was feeling back then.”

“What does that have to do with disappearing without saying a word?”

“Kang Woojoo, what was I to you back then?”

Woojoo froze.

That single question stopped his thoughts completely.

“You said I was your rival. But because of that damn accident, I couldn’t play anymore. I couldn’t stand on the same stage as you as a volleyball player.”

As if even he found it suffocating to say, Ji-tae ran a hand through his hair.

“You said I was perfect. That you wanted to beat me. But now you know, right? I wasn’t perfect at all.”

His family had never been normal.

He didn’t even know how to feel or express emotions.

If he hadn’t met Woojoo through volleyball, he might have grown into someone who responded to everything like an emotionless doll.

He used to think only his father was to blame for ruining his mother, but after the accident, he often wondered if he was any different.

Even abroad, he pretended to accept his mother’s need for attention while actually ignoring her.

And whenever he realized he resembled the man who had ruined her life, Woojoo’s words—“you’re perfect”—would echo in his mind and drive him crazy.

“I liked that you called me your rival. Back then, it was my reason to live. So even if I couldn’t confess these feelings, I thought it’d be enough if I could stay by your side playing volleyball forever. As long as I was on the court, you would keep looking at me.”

In that sense, volleyball was the only lifeline in Ji-tae’s life.

“But when my shoulder ended up like that and everything fell apart… I couldn’t face you anymore. I couldn’t tell you that I couldn’t play anymore… not even if it killed me.”

If he did, he would have to explain everything—why he got injured.

And he was afraid Woojoo would find out about the accident somehow.

Then everything—his family, his reality—would be exposed.

And what would remain was a pathetic version of himself, unable to even play sports.

There was no way Ji-tae had the courage to show all that to Woojoo back then.

“I lost everything. Volleyball, which was my only connection to you… my family too. How could I come see you in such a miserable state?”

Because to you, I only had value as a rival.

Ji-tae muttered quietly, rubbing his face.

His weak voice, unable to escape his large hands, echoed hollowly within.

He had finally poured out everything he had long forced into a box and hidden away.

“That was really the reason…? Just because of that…?”

“What do you mean ‘just’…?”

Ji-tae, filled with frustration, lifted his head—then froze.

Woojoo’s face was completely twisted.

His eyes were red, as if he might cry at any moment.

“If you had told me you couldn’t play volleyball because of the accident, did you think I’d say, ‘Oh, then I guess I don’t need to see you anymore’?”

Woojoo exploded, shouting as he stood up.

“Your value as a rival? Don’t talk bullshit. Why are you deciding that on your own?!”

As Woojoo raised his voice, Ji-tae also stood up, emotions surging.

“You said it yourself again and again. That I was just a rival. That if I didn’t play volleyball, we would’ve never met!”

“So what? That’s just a hypothetical situation that never happened. In reality, I did meet you.”

“……”

Ji-tae froze.

“I got to know you through volleyball. As a player, and as someone who truly understands my passion for it—you’re the only one.”

It was Ji-tae who reignited Woojoo’s dream, which even his parents didn’t support.

For Woojoo, volleyball was proof of himself, the only way to earn recognition.

And Ji-tae was the partner and rival who ran alongside him on that harsh path.

Because of him, Woojoo could continue and grow.

“Fine. Even if I accept that you thought your only value was as a rival… I still can’t understand why you left without saying anything because of that.”

“I had no choice.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.”

“It wasn’t something I could just tell anyone…”

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