Chapter 56
“Moon-soo, you became a swimmer?”
“Somehow...”
After getting fired from my convenience store part-time gig that had been keeping me fed, there was nothing I could do thanks to my aptitude. Shaman. With the shitty reputation and perception, no one would hire me at all. Can't really blame them. From a restaurant owner's point of view, a chef is way more appealing than some young shaman kid. Same went for every other job.
“If you, who beat me, lose to someone else, it'd bruise my pride. Make sure you snag a P-medal at the Olympics.”
“You say it like it's that easy!”
P-medal. Ever since P's aptitude tester showed up, the Olympics had turned into a war of superhumans overflowing with talent. And that sparked curiosity. Who was the greatest athletic genius in the world?
“It's not hard. Just win the most medals at the Olympics.”
“Easier said than done!”
The P-medal was the prestigious award given to the athlete who racked up the most medals that year. But since it was impossible to medal in a sport that wasn't your aptitude, countries had to resort to national-level tricks. How? By dipping a toe into team sports like soccer, basketball, or baseball—just enough to pretend to participate.
“Moon-soo, if you get a P-medal, I'll marry you. Tempting, right?”
“Ah, sure.”
Her proposal offered zero dreams or hope, so it sparked zero motivation.
“...Hey.”
“What?”
“Your reaction's so lukewarm. You didn't get a girlfriend, did you?”
“No, ma'am.”
“...You know your face shows it when you lie? Spill it right now.”
“I really don't.”
I felt so pathetic denying it that tears nearly welled up.
“Fine, I'll believe you.”
“Hey, Song Seon-yeong. What do you care who I date?”
“I told you. Get a P-medal, and I'll marry you.”
“That's your idea of...”
I gave up on having a logical conversation with this willful girl my age.
“Not curious?”
“About what?”
“You told me to be a model. If you say it, you gotta take responsibility.”
“Uh...”
She was hitting me with logic out of nowhere.
“Not curious?”
“...Yeah, I am. Is swimsuit modeling doable?”
“It's alright if you ignore the annoying creeps. I even got a fan cafe recently.”
“Whoa! Congrats.”
Song Seon-yeong said she liked it because it was easy work, but that was because she was confident in her looks—the lifeblood of modeling. People with model aptitude? P's aptitude test was known to prioritize “body proportions” and “mental fortitude” over subjective aesthetics. In other words, Song Seon-yeong, with her killer looks on top of that, had real edge in the competition.
Me, on the other hand...
“Didn't the coach get fired?”
“How'd you know?”
“It was on the news. And Mom saw it, got greedy for the open spot. Said it's close to home, easy commute.”
“She's not a coach.”
Song Seon-yeong's mom had swimmer aptitude. Even with her national team history, wasn't it a stretch?
“You're not a real athlete either, are you?”
“Well... true.”
“You don't get this world yet. Aptitude is faith, it's religion. Even the P-medal, given to those who transcend aptitude, gets tainted by tricks.”
“So what about me?”
“That's why they stuck you with a non-standard coach, right?”
“......”
I had nothing to say.
“Truth is, at the time, Mom didn't know the fired coach's swimmer wasn't even aptitude swimmer.”
“Must've been disappointing.”
“Nah, she was thrilled?”
“Huh?”
“Mom was over the moon thinking no other coach would take this player, easy hire.”
“I see!”
It was a perfect answer reflecting a reality full of discrimination and prejudice.
Ding-dong♪
“Oh! She's here.”
Song Seon-yeong, who had been lounging comfortably on the sofa mid-chat, sprang up nimbly at the doorbell and headed for the door.
“Hold up! This isn't your hotel room! Who's coming?”
“Your new coach.”
“How do you, who aren't even an athlete, know th— Hello?”
Click.
Song Seon-yeong ignored my question and flung open the door.
“Pardon the intrusion.”
In came the new coach, greeting calmly as she entered. White hat and sunglasses, a cardigan sheer enough to show her bikini swimsuit underneath, hot pants accentuating her long legs—she was a standout.
Is this really the coach...?
She looked like a tourist on honeymoon with her husband. A bit bewildering, but I couldn't just stand there. Time for greetings.
“Nice to meet you. I'm Kang Moon-soo.”
“Great to meet you, Kang Moon-soo. I've heard nothing but praise about you—my ears are sore.”
“From the previous coach...”
“No, from my daughter. Nonstop the whole way here.”
Whoosh—she took off her sunglasses, and my eyes went wide.
Song Seon-yeong...?
Minus the softer eyes and faint crow's feet, she could've passed for her big sister! I instantly knew why.
“Mom! What the hell is that outfit?! It's too slutty!”
“Back in my athlete days, I hated stuffy coaches. To bond quick with players...”
“Wear that in front of Dad!”
“Don't need to bond with that nag who complains the second he opens his mouth.”
“Change now!”
“Seon-yeong, don't ruin Mom's first day. Why don't you head out?”
“Argh, seriously...!”
The mother-daughter bickering right off the bat left my head spinning. Above all, the new coach is Song Seon-yeong's mom...?
She'd hinted at it, but I never imagined zero “normal” coaches would take me on.
...Is this really okay?
After compromising with her daughter by slipping into a hotel bathrobe, the coach offered a handshake.
“Kang Moon-soo, let's get along.”
“Feel free to drop the formalities. Makes me uncomfortable...”
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks! I hate stiff relationships anyway. Looking forward to working with you!”
“Yes, Coach.”
“Oh! Call me casually from now on, Moon-soo. 'Auntie' works... or 'mother-in-law'!”
“Mom...!”
My peaceful athlete life was in for a massive shake-up.
* * *
I was a swimmer who'd posted meaningful results in practice races—good enough to aim for Olympic medals. Especially my stamina; in freestyle 4000m, just qualifying guaranteed a medal, they said. Even untested, 10km marathon looked promising.
And yet. (Kang Moon-soo athlete. Regrettably, previous coaches are already assigned, so none can take you. Please don't misunderstand or take offense.)
“Yes.”
The university called after hearing I'd woken up. (Your new dedicated coach, Jang Seo-yeon, isn't a coach per se, but she has national team experience. It'll help plenty as you aim for nationals.)
“Yes.”
(Kang Moon-soo athlete?)
“Yes.”
(Are you even listening?)
“Yes.”
I got it loud and clear, so shut up already. (...If you're dissatisfied, consider your health. Great results or not, frequent blackouts and gaps are fatal for athletes. Take better care.)
“Yes. I will.”
It's not my health...
Excusing it as entering others' dreams would just fuel shaman prejudice! Better stay quiet. (We feel bad pushing a mismatched aptitude athlete like you too hard, but...)
“It's fine.”
(Delayed a bit by the incident; details via Jang Seo-yeon coach.)
“Yes.”
Jang Seo-yeon coach. My ex-girlfriend's mom! She aimed for comfy coach-athlete vibes, but I'd end up with chronic indigestion.
Click.
I ended the dull call and geared up to head out.
Time to go.
To the room of Kim Eun-jeong, who'd possessed the protagonist of romance fantasy novel I Became the Youngest Daughter of a Count.
* * *
“I'm so sorry. I should've come thank you right away...”
“I'm fine. How's Kim Eun-jeong?”
“My daughter... sob!”
Kim Eun-jeong's mom suddenly burst into tears, trailing off.
Not tears of joy...
She'd woken, but wasn't in great shape. Her dad, a middle-aged man I assumed, was deep in serious consult with Supervisor Seo Hye-ju. With the patient awake, my role was done.
Still, “If she's not sleeping, could I see Kim Eun-jeong?”
“That's fine, but... her nerves are frayed...”
“It's okay.”
As long as she didn't hack off my limbs in a bad mood, anything went.
Slide—
I opened the sliding door to the big room with the king bed.
Whoa!
Bits of paper smaller than fingernails were scattered everywhere from the bed.
“Hi?”
“......”
Riiip—Kim Eun-jeong sat on the bed, slowly tearing and shredding pages of the novel I Became the Youngest Daughter of a Count. A far cry from how she'd clutched it like treasure before.
Twitch.
Her unfocused eyes reacted to my voice.
“Kim Eun-jeong, glad you woke up safe.”
“...Why'd you come? To mock the girl lost in delusion for a year?”
“No way.”
I set the book I'd brought on the vanity chair.
“What's that?”
“A gift. Five volumes the author left unpublished for over two years—the finale.”
“...Who does the protagonist end up with?”
“Open ending.”
Too tangled to pick one guy; left it to readers' imagination.
“Kinda comforting. Knowing the original protagonist's future is no different from mine.”
“Can't be helped.”
Marrying all the guys? Impossible. Why? Noble bloodlines demand she “must” produce heirs. Even one per guy takes at least 20 years minimum? No guarantee of instant pregnancy, plus postpartum recovery stretches it way longer...
Insane.
Husbands waiting turns to avoid mixed seed, protagonist popping out kids till menopause... everyone's miserable future.
“I wanted to be pretty like the novel protagonist.”
“So guys would like you?”
“Yes.”
No denying it. Instinct to pass on pretty/handsome genes advantageous for society. Natural for us mortals.
But, “No matter how pretty, guys hate girls surrounded by dudes.”
“But if you're not pretty, no guys at all?”
“Enough sophistry. The guys you dumped weren't guys?”
“Mom...”
Unable to retort, Kim Eun-jeong glared at her mom for spilling her past.
“I was bragging how popular you were... but you always dumped them. Too short. Thinning hair. Gut. Small eyes. Facts, right?”
“Ugh!”
A seemingly timid mom who sure didn't hold back with her daughter!
Ding-dong♪
Then, like a lifeline for cornered Kim Eun-jeong, the doorbell rang.
“Oh! So quick.”
Her mom dashed to the door like greeting a welcome guest.
Who was it?
Slide—
The sliding door to the big room opened, and a sharp-dressed guy in his twenties entered with flowers and a fruit basket.
“Eun-jeong. How's your bod—huh?”
“Hi.”
The guy locked eyes with me, the early bird, and panicked visibly.
“Uh... s-sorry. Didn't know you had a boyfriend. Glad you're awake. I'll just...”
“Wait!”
Whoosh! The patient bolted upright, yelling desperately.
“Sorry for sneaking— ”
“This guy's a nurse Supervisor Seo brought! And you know I have high standards for guys?”
“Damn right.”
“Does this sleazy-looking dude seem my type?”
“No.”
Suddenly under personal attack, I couldn't hide my bafflement.
“Flew in?”
“Yeah. No same-day ticket, took a bit.”
“To see me?”
“Obviously.”
“...I must be crazy. You suddenly look hot.”
“R-really?”
Admitting her own madness, the patient turned to me.
“Nurse dude. Nothing to say? Get out.”
“Ah, sure.”
I slipped out quietly, not interrupting their real-life romance.
This seems...
Like a pretty decent happy ending.