Chapter 79
With Nam Hae-su's sponsorship cut off, the first-team swimmers were stuck doing ordinary training no different from the second or third squads. And that went for me too...
"Why only Player Kang Moon-soo?"
"Just bear with it. Can't be helped."
"His opponent's a nuclear submarine."
"Why is Madam Park Han-hee...?"
The swimmers' murmurs echoed off the enclosed pool walls and reached my ears.
What the hell did I do?
I'd only passed on all of Nam Hae-su's secrets to Madam Park Han-hee. As his spouse, she had a right to know. I hadn't even reclaimed the memory chip—just handed it over without asking for anything in return.
So why this? I'd thought we'd settled things cleanly. Or was that my mistake?
"Player Kang Moon-soo, you're not just handsome—you've got the skills too."
"Thank you, Madam!"
Madam Park Han-hee approached me during my unnecessary break.
"My husband would've loved seeing you."
"No way in hell—ahem! Yes, ma'am."
Everyone else had family or girlfriends cheering them on. Me? A grandma in a wheelchair. Not your average grandma, of course.
"Just as you said, Madam."
"A truly outstanding athlete."
"We're looking forward to it too."
International Swimming Federation executives hovered around her—department heads, team leaders, section chiefs, coaches... Nam Hae-su, the Swimming Emperor, might've cut off his sponsorship in his will, but his fame and influence hadn't vanished. Madam Park Han-hee had seamlessly filled the void.
"My sister would've loved seeing you too..."
"Ah, yes."
The guilt of selling out her one and only little sister to leverage Nam Hae-su's weakness. Madam Park Han-hee had mourned her own flesh and blood, unable to look her straight in the face until the day she died.
"Let's have a meal together sometime."
"It'd be an honor!"
"This old lady's thrilled to chat with a young, handsome man after so long. Feels like I've shed years."
"......"
Speak for yourself—I'm feeling ancient!
"Time to go."
"Yes, Madam!"
"We'll escort you."
The federation execs wheeled Madam Park Han-hee away. Like a dowager empress procession from some historical drama.
Poke, poke.
"When did you get chummy with her?"
Coach Jang Seo-yeon snuck up and playfully jabbed my side with her elbow.
"When did you get here?"
I countered with a question.
"Couldn't be helped. That was Madam Park Han-hee."
"Why her, though?"
"Back when I was competing, she was like a goddess to us. You've seen the level of support for the first team, right? Shame it was just a taste."
"Yeah..."
The cruise ship meal had been so satisfying, I was a little disappointed it ended there.
"Your times have improved noticeably again."
"Really?"
Great news.
"I was worried you'd rested too long, but right after rehab, your scores shot up."
"Glad to hear it."
This time, I hadn't died in the dream—that had to be why.
"Especially your leg strength. Even Seo Hye-ju—basically your personal physician—said the same."
"Leg strength..."
Coincidence? In Nam Hae-su's dream, I'd focused on track and taekwondo, where legs played a huge role. Swimming? No extra training needed—I was already number one across the board, Olympic gold-medal material. So I'd only practiced old-school strokes like backstroke, breaststroke, and butterfly a bit.
What if...?
I replayed past events in my mind.
Song Seon-yeong.
A dog-paddler like me had learned proper swimming from her in the dream—and suddenly I was great at it.
Choi Kang-hun.
Average joe in stamina and grit, until the Magic Boy killed me. After that, I surpassed norms.
Kim Eun-jeong.
Zero fighting skills, until I picked up swordsmanship and spearmanship in the romance fantasy novel world of I Became the Youngest Daughter of a Count. Boom—strong.
Nam Hae-su.
And this time, to outdo the Swimming Emperor in Olympic golds, I'd invested hard in track and taekwondo.
The payoff? Not just knowledge and experience—my real body reflected some of it too.
"...Coach. Thank you so much."
"Out of the blue?"
"I wouldn't have noticed without you."
"The leg strength?"
"Yeah. And you mentioned something similar last time."
Time spent in dreams wasn't "wasted"—it wasn't wrecking my body or stealing my time. I'd realized it.
Huge discovery! This was a game-changer, enough to redesign my entire life.
"I'm no good as a coach aptitude-wise."
"What does that have to do with it?"
"Can't teach worth a damn, so I at least gotta check my athletes' conditions meticulously. Make sure I'm not holding them back."
"Ah..."
Normal coaches see scores rise and think, I taught 'em well! Not arrogance—just common sense. Even top athletes ruin their bodies with bad training if the coach sucks or is absent. Performance tanks, obviously. Coaches are that crucial.
"Moon-soo, you're my benefactor!"
"Me?"
"You have no idea how much grief I got from my doctor husband for being a 'bum' all these years...!"
"......"
"Think why Seon-yeong ignored her aptitude for modeling? All because of him. He made her believe athletes end up miserable."
"I see..."
Song Seon-yeong kept suiciding in her aptitude-driven dreams—family was the culprit.
"And yesterday? Biggest shock ever."
"What happened?"
"My husband did the trash sorting for the first time in 15 years. Didn't even ask him—he just grabbed the bags by the door and took 'em out."
"...Bet that felt good."
"Like our honeymoon all over again!"
"Ah, yeah."
In capitalist society, money was key to household peace.
"Getting along with Seon-yeong?"
"Me?"
"Who else? Some other wolf sniffing around my girl goes straight to the cops!"
"Ha, ha, ha..."
I was already planning to secure her a job anyway.
"Quit yapping and spill."
"Uh... She came by a few days ago, badmouthing some other guy."
"Ah, that pervert prince bastard?"
"You knew."
"I'm her mom. Hubby's fond of the punk, though."
"......"
While I slept, some foreign prince—Leon, I think—fell for Song Seon-yeong at first sight and confessed.
Leon.
No claim to the throne, just a figurehead prince. Still, superior to me in every way: wealth, looks, status, lineage... I had my growing bank account and healthy bod—that was it. Different worlds.
"Don't sweat it. My girl's repulsed."
"Seemed like it."
But Nam Hae-su's secrets taught me something.
He married his unrequited crush Park Han-hee by exploiting family weaknesses.
Yet he died without justice. Crowds mourned at his funeral...
I could be a victim in this unfair world too.
"...Coach."
Better to be the perpetrator.
"Hm? Looks like you've got a favor to ask."
"Yeah. Mind if I skip training today and hit the taekwondo dojang?"
"Taekwondo? Suddenly?"
"I trained a bit back in the day."
"And?"
"Wanna test it out."
Time to carry out in reality what Nam Hae-su had interrupted.
* * *
Olympic history shows athletes' records and skills improving closer to modern times. Ergonomic suits. Systematic training. Advanced gear materials. Human physique enhancements. Many factors, but P's Aptitude Test machine had the biggest impact—no debate.
"So you're the guy. Aptitude says swimmer, but you're a swimmer."
The head instructor—who trained national taekwondo reps—eyed me up and down.
"That's right."
"Unbelievable! No shade on swimming, but you think taekwondo's a joke if even aptitude-less scrubs can go national?"
"We'll see."
Old days: Die clueless about your talents. Now? Everyone knows by 19. Result? Fields vary, but efficiency and output differ 2x to 500x.
Sports too. Only monsters in human skin make it as athletes.
"Wanna end up in the hospital?"
"I'm good. Got my doc at Elmolrans Hospital."
Free checkups—grateful, even if I overdo it!
"...Even Elmolrans can't revive the dead."
"Then I won't die."
"No liability for broken teeth or nose bones."
"Got it."
The instructor smirked mockingly at my reply and bellowed,
"Hear that? He says he's fine. Everyone here witnesses...!"
"Yes, Master!"
"We heard!"
He called one athlete.
"Yoo Il-chung."
"Yes!"
"You spar him."
"Got it!"
The young man strode forward at the summons.
Born for taekwondo.
Leopard-like agility, long legs—hallmarks of taekwondo aptitude holders. Bulky muscles? Too stiff. Taekwondo, the Olympic combat sport using legs most, demands flexibility. Why? Heel to crown, instep to cheek, sole to chin... Not just head shots, but rigidity limits you to body kicks.
Anyway,
"Excuse me..."
"Yoo Il-chung."
"Right. Player Yoo Il-chung. Do you know a Yuil-am by any chance?"
"My brother."
"Ah-ha! Asked 'cause you look alike."
Genius fake shaman Yuil-am. Last person I wanted to see again—and here was his spitting-image little bro.
What a joke...
Fate's prank? Never felt more grateful for dream-taekwondo than now.
"You know my brother?"
"Senior in the biz."
"Senior? Look, claiming to be the genius shaman's junior on your own is trouble. Spreading falsehoods, defamation—crimes."
"Ah, got it."
"Watch yourself from now on."
"...Will do."
Yuil-am excelled at condescension and testing patience. This Yoo Il-chung? Brothers in more than looks.
"Bow."
The instructor-referee's order. We stepped back, faced off, and bowed slightly. Taekwondo etiquette. I'd learned it sniffing Coach Gomushin's foot odor.
"Be honored. World official taekwondo rank 8, Yoo Il-chung, deigns to face you."
"...Thrilled."
To legally beat Yuil-am's brother!
"Begin!"
Whoosh—I crossed my feet quick, closing distance on the signal.
Cocky?
Yoo Il-chung showed zero reaction so far. I backed off. I'd charged Coach Gomushin before, got countered instantly, knocked out plenty.
World #8 powerhouse! No pushover if legit.
"What? Scared?"
His tone shifted to taunting.
"Probing."
"Yeah? Too bad—I ain't dragging this out—"
Mid-sway, he lunged!
No probing?
Too slow for ambush, motions basic.
"Hup!"
Whoosh—breath held, right foot pivot, spun like a top, left leg whipped overhead.
"Wha—"
Before his side kick hit my gut—crack! My spinning back kick, power-boosted, smashed his cheek cleanly.
"Gack~?!"
"......"
Big wind-up flaw, but devastating payoff. Especially Coach Gomushin, Korea's taekwondo god—his was unstoppable even forewarned...
And it lands?
Old-school taekwondo working modern? Who knew.
Thud!
Yoo Il-chung's eyes glazed, bloody froth at his mouth, crumpled.
Silence.
"......"
"......"
His cheering coach and athletes were speechless.
"Who's #7?"
At my question, eyes locked on one guy. He panicked.
"M-Me? I..."
"You #7?"
"Eek?! Misunderstanding! Was #7 ages ago—now I lose to Yoo Il-chung sometimes, just an eel!"
"I see."
"......"
"Next up, #6?"
"Gasp!"
Time to test if dreams weren't wasted—right here.