Chapter 38
People might have different opinions, but in my book, sports fall into two main categories: battles against yourself, and battles against your opponents.
Events like swimming or marathons that measure time aim to surpass the records you set against "yesterday's you." On the other hand, sports like soccer or tennis need a rival to take down—you can't tell who's better until you face off directly.
...Why bring this up out of nowhere? Obviously, there's a reason.
"6 minutes 23 seconds?! No way!"
"How's a shaman doing that...?"
"You're telling me that's not drugs?"
"Whoa! Is he a monster or what?!"
As muscles filled out my once-frail frame and my times improved dramatically, I quickly drew attention. Records are proof of skill, after all! With clear evidence ruling out drugs, fakes, rigging, or bribes, times get recognized anywhere, anytime.
"At this rate, national team isn't a pipe dream!"
"You think so?"
I responded coolly to the excited coach's ambitions while toweling off the pool water. Why? 'A shaman on the Olympic national team? Yeah, right.'
No history of someone without aptitude making the national team and excelling—even digging through every international competition record.
I had confidence thanks to what Song Seon-yeong taught me, but even factoring that in, the coach was overhyping me. The limits of my talent without aptitude would show soon enough.
"What's with that half-assed attitude! You think I'm joking? Look here—this is the record from the last Olympics' national team entrants."
The coach frowned and showed me a meticulously prepared chart. It was a rankings table, with personal bests listed clearly next to names and positions.
"Huh... not much difference from mine?"
"Exactly!"
"Hmm..."
I scrutinized the table, especially the long-distance events. They favored lung capacity and stamina, letting you hold your starting speed all the way.
"Know what other coaches and swimmers are calling you lately?"
"What?"
"Nuclear submarine."
"......"
Treating a perfectly healthy guy like a radioactive hunk of junk? Rude as hell.
"You're the first to complete 4000m without tiring."
The coach showed me the stopwatch readout and clicked his tongue.
"Is that a compliment?"
"Obviously."
"Your face doesn't look convinced."
It was the same suspicious glare as those who thought I was doping.
"You used to hit your stamina wall before, but after that vacation, you don't tire at all."
"Feels that way to me too."
I'd sensed it myself.
"What'd you do on vacation? You said you were just getting checked at the hospital. Did you actually get some superhuman surgery or...?"
"Coach..."
"Gasp! For real?!"
"You've watched too many fantasy movies and novels."
"......"
No surgery—just got beaten half to death by that superhuman. In a dream, sure.
"But seriously, Coach—do you really think I could make the national team?"
"It's not a 'think'—it's a certainty."
"Even with my short-distance times like this?"
Olympic swimming features freestyle 100m, 300m, 1000m, 2000m, 4000m, and the 10km marathon that tests human limits. Back in the day, they split into butterfly, backstroke, etc., but after the occupational revolution, athletes' skills exploded, merging them into freestyle... I don't care enough about swimming history to know the exact reason.
"You're right—plenty of first-stringers beat you in 100m, 300m, and 1000m."
"Ugh."
I knew that already.
"But you're untouchable in 2000m and 4000m."
"That's just two out of five events."
"So what? Medals count per event. No need to ace all five."
"Ah..."
"Better to snag third in one than fourth across all five."
"...Hearing you say that gives me some confidence."
"Feel free to have more. Your short-distance is mid-to-upper second-string, but that monstrous stamina lets you crush first-stringers in the long haul."
"Heh~"
My confidence really started swelling. It helped that it was backed by hard numbers, not empty flattery.
'Me on the national team?'
First thing that popped up: 'pension.' Olympics medalists get national merit status—pension for life. Just imagining it made me happy.
"And your specialties aren't just two—it's three, if we count the 10km marathon. Leaving that out would be a shame."
"But I don't have a 10km time."
Lapping the pool multiple times might work, but the 10km is open-water, no walls or turns to slow you down. Never had a chance to clock it.
"No time? Make one. That's what I wanted to tell you."
"Hm?"
"The first-stringers training in the middle of the Pacific invited you."
"What about you, Coach?"
"I'm coming too, obviously. Heh heh."
The coach grinned creepily, looking thrilled.
"When do we leave?"
"In five days."
"Ack! That's barely any time. Why tell me now?"
"What, got a girl you're supposed to meet?"
"Not that, but... wait, why bring up girlfriends?"
"Weird. Girls usually swarm national team prospects like you..."
"What's weird? I'm not even confirmed yet."
"Your records say otherwise. Oh—got a passport?"
"Nope."
"Make one while you can."
"No money."
"...I'll cover it. Just do it."
"Okay."
"Wait, even applying today might be tight. Come on—let's do it now. Got a photo for it?"
"Nope."
"Aigoo... So much to do."
That sealed my first trip abroad.
* * *
"Healthy!"
"I know."
I'd grown so used to Elmolrans Hospital that I casually replied to the health scanner at the entrance.
How used? "Mr. Kang Moon-soo. Back again?"
"Hi."
"Seeing Director Seo Hye-ju today too?"
"Yep."
Nurses and doctors passing by recognized me. Not just because I visited often, though.
The buzz came from waking Choi Kang-min, who'd been vegetative for seven years. Word spread about the chaebol heir treated by a 'shaman'—even featured on major broadcasts.
'Still, all good.'
People didn't care which doctor treated the celebrity son or how. That let me keep a low profile and hide my shaman aptitude naturally.
Was I ashamed of being a shaman? Nah. But I hated the colored glasses fakers like Yuil-am shoved on the job. I wanted them to see me as Kang Moon-soo, plain and simple.
"Hi, Director."
"Come on in."
Seo Hye-ju, who'd shared the lab password as a sign of trust, welcomed me warmly.
"Busy as ever today."
"Time doesn't wait. Not yet, anyway."
Not yet. Loaded words.
"How's the patient?"
"Choi Kang-min? Same as last week. Can't assume everyone recovers like you."
"Am I that fast?"
"Exceptionally. Unique constitution, I'd say. If you were him, you'd be back in three months—assuming no aging over those seven years."
"You can tell that?"
"Don't underestimate modern medicine. We measured every change while you slept. Down to your second gen."
"You're kidding!"
"Dead serious."
Isn't that assault? Shaking off the thought, I gave the answer I'd delayed forever.
"Sorry. I'm happy with my current job."
"Swimmer?"
"Yeah."
I'd planned to fake it for a year, but skill got me real recognition—and national team shot wide open. Not jumping in blind.
'Just a bit longer.'
Recent Olympic freestyle 4000m records? World-class for me. Silver medal right now! My stamina and lung capacity were freakish.
"Surprising. Thought you loved money."
"I do. But I don't need overflowing piles. Enough for worry-free retirement is plenty."
"Shame. Can't spend in a capitalist world."
"...Can't be helped."
Hadn't bought a decent outfit with my bank balance. Too stingy. Always chickened out, so no desperation or urgency.
"Gotta get a place."
"Planning a cheap rental later."
National merit gets housing lottery points—prime after newlyweds... Nail meaningful Olympics results, and no issue.
"Car?"
"No license. No plans for one."
"Marriage?"
"...I'm 20 this year. Too early to worry. No girlfriend anyway."
Song Seon-yeong's face flashed, stinging my chest a bit.
"No ambition at all. New to society?"
"......"
Her words felt dismissive; I frowned slightly.
"Relax. Just teasing 'cause things aren't going your way."
"Got it."
"But remember: not all doctors treat for money."
"I know. But I lack the capacity to meddle in others' lives."
"Pfft! The guy who became a lawyer for his buddy?"
"...Not me."
"It is you. Just like that formula you gave was real."
"Decision's final."
I shut down her persuasion firmly.
"Mind if I ask why?"
"Doesn't pay."
"Liar. Commercialize this dream-sourced formula, and we're rich."
"......"
The formula from my future dream. Hard to buy her claim it'd flip my life.
'Just a dream?'
As outlandish as a fantasy novel turning real.
Anyway, "Met a witch."
"Witch? First I've heard."
"Obviously. Haven't told a soul."
"Where?"
"In a dream. And reality too."
I still remembered vividly. Her warnings each visit.
"What'd she say?"
"Warned me not to interfere with her work."
"Interfere...?"
"Yeah. That's when I decided. Last time. No more meddling causing harm."
"I get the resolve, but it's random. Details."
"Someone else has shaman aptitude."
"She's the witch?"
"Yeah. Don't know name or face. Just a young woman in black mage robes."
"Hmm..."
Seo Hye-ju stroked her chin thoughtfully, then beckoned.
"What?"
"Just look at this. Then I'll drop it."
"What is it?"
I glanced at her computer monitor.
'Patient?'
Bearded man, age hard to guess.
"Three years like that."
"......"
"From another hospital. Transferred after hearing about Choi Kang-min's similar case."
"...I see."
"But you know. Elmolrans can't treat him. Some world-class hospital. Useless without a shaman."
"......"
"That's my pitch."
I stared at the motionless man on-screen, then looked away.
"Too bad."
He's probably happy in his dream world. No pity or urge to save.
"Change your mind, tell me anytime."
"Even if I do, can't."
"Huh?"
"Off to training camp in the middle of the Pacific."
Key schedule for my near future.
"That's a shocker."
"Won't even make weekends for a while."
"Back when?"
"No clue."
I had no right to shatter that man's happiness.