The Room You Can't Leave Without Doing It

The quarantine-as-a-close-contact part, fine, whatever. But that confirmed case he came into contact with — anyone with eyes can tell that's Seoul Group's Chairman Han Tae-gun, can't they?

Even the reporter was apparently too scared of a defamation suit to say it outright, so it just reads "86-year-old Mr. H." And who else could an 86-year-old Mr. H testing positive at exactly that time possibly be? lololol

So how exactly does a rookie player end up meeting a group chairman?

It was the height of the pandemic's hardship, and baseball talk across the internet had dwindled to almost nothing.

And honestly, who was going to chat about baseball while the news every single day ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was about case counts climbing, someone dying today, someone recovering tomorrow but left with horrifying aftereffects? In a national mood like that, nobody cared.

The leagues elsewhere were in total shambles too — the US and Japan had gone fully off the rails, and Korea was the only place still cautiously feeling things out under the label of "exhibition games." People were talking about a May opening, but even that could get pushed back again if the situation deteriorated further.

And yet, Kim Yi-seon was a giant dangling carrot of a story. He was the first baseball player ever quarantined, he had a massive fanbase on his own, and on top of it all came the rumor that he'd met the Chairman himself — so the boards flooded with rumors and wild theories of every shape and size.

Of course, most of those theories never got anywhere close to the truth, and they made delicious fodder for Agent Han Mi-young, who'd been starved for work lately thanks to the pandemic. But every now and then, someone stumbled toward the truth from a completely unexpected direction.

They keep brushing it off as "another club employee in quarantine," but my gut says it's the CEO. Word is she filmed that documentary about Yi-seon back in high school and they've met plenty of times... Hmm...

They do say a pitcher needs a strong lower half to throw well — and apparently a certain important part of that lower half is quite impressive too, yep.

"Yes, as long as you're feeling all right, that's what matters. Yes. Go get some rest."

Seo-hee set down her phone. The person she'd just been talking to was Chairman Han Tae-gun. He was quite an elderly man, but whether thanks to health that defied his years or because the coronavirus happened to be a weak strain in his case, he had apparently been an asymptomatic carrier — which was why his positive result had come back late.

With the old man ill, she clearly couldn't keep up her usual stiff, businesslike front, and she'd spoken to him with a warmth far softer than her norm.

But feelings were one thing; reality was another. The two of them, quarantined, were fated to spend the next two weeks inside this cramped little compound.

"Honestly. You should be playing games right now, Yi-seon. This is your prime, and look at this."

"I'm fine, noona. Thanks to you looking after the facilities here, I'm not lacking for anything when it comes to training."

Here it was — the facility Seo-hee had poured so much stress into building. A few vacant rooms in a corner of the Futures team dormitory had been converted for quarantine, ringed by a gym and a practice building thrown up as a temporary structure.

And in the process, to make sure everything met quarantine standards, she'd dragged in the already-overworked public health center staff for a full inspection. Seo-hee might hate working, but when the moment demanded it, nobody worked harder.

"If anything, aren't you the problem, noona? I'd think living here would be uncomfortable for you."

That was the one flaw, if it was a flaw: the rooms had been built strictly for athletes, with very little consideration for a woman's daily life.

"Living arrangements are fine. It's work that's the problem... For now I'll just handle as much as I can by video call."

But even as she said it, Seo-hee's face was drawn with fatigue. It pained him to watch — why did she insist on suffering like this?

"Noona. You don't need to be working this hard."

"I'm the CEO. The basics are still my job."

He knew perfectly well that baseball operations already ran under the general manager, and the business side under the corporate support team. At every other club, the CEO was the person who stamped documents at the end of the line — a cushy sinecure where you traveled around and did nothing. The "basic duties" didn't amount to much at all.

Only Seo-hee worked herself to the bone. If it were pure ambition driving her, he wouldn't dream of stopping her — but the Han Seo-hee he knew wasn't that kind of person.

No, this was a sense of responsibility and other people's expectations piling more work onto her plate. She could have quarantined comfortably at home, but she'd decided to enter this facility herself because she was the one who'd ordered it built and couldn't very well exempt herself, hadn't she?

Always saying how exhausting everything was, how she wanted to rest — and never letting go of the work. The textbook type who can't say no to duty and pressure. He knew people like this inside and out. Which meant what she needed was a demonstration that the world spins just fine without her.

"No, actually, I'd say this worked out well. Noona, you're not working a single minute during this quarantine. Two weeks. Rest properly, then walk out of here."

What she needed was a perfect vacation, forcibly separated from her job. Any other employee would have burned a month of leave by now; a CEO never got that chance, which only made it worse. A golden opportunity had landed in his lap — no way was he letting it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠slip.

He reached over and detached the webcam Seo-hee had installed.

"Wait! Yi-seon! Without that I can barely do my job!"

"That's the point. Don't. The people making someone in quarantine work aren't exactly good people, are they? If something's genuinely urgent, I'll give it back just for that."

Noona wore the face of a scolded puppy, but he had zero intention of conceding. He'd told her before, hadn't he — his original dream was to live a comfortable life in some corner of the world. Time to make that dream come true for her.

More than a week had already passed since the quarantine began.

The sun sat high in the sky, and Han Seo-hee was still sprawled across her bed.

Comfortable. And unhurried.

At first, being away from work had made her anxious, but by now she had to admit it: this life was more pleasant than she'd expected.

Knock knock knock.

"One sec."

She slid open the locked veranda window and Kim Yi-seon slipped in. He swept a glance around the room, then poked at her computer tower.

"You weren't working just now, were you?"

"I told you I wasn't."

He leaned in close, as if searching her face for any lingering trace of exhaustion. He'd apparently just showered after his workout — there was a faint scent of body wash about him.

Having inspected her thoroughly enough to catalog her scent, he broke into a grin.

"A few days of rest and you already look better. Brighter, too."

"Hard not to be, when someone marches in here every single day with fire in her eyes ordering me to rest."

Quarantine rules were strict — even for those who tested negative, one person to a room, staying put quietly, was the principle. Meetings like this shouldn't have been happening at all, and of course Yi-seon's room and Seo-hee's room were separate.

The problem was something nobody had thought of when the facility was built: the verandas of these rooms were all connected. He'd discovered it on day one and had been hopping over ever since.

Once, when he came over too often, she'd locked the veranda door and refused to open it — so he'd pulled out his phone, planted himself down in front of it, and sat there for an entire hour. She surrendered, and after that she just opened it right away every time.

Truly, exactly as Ye-eun had said: the boy's stubbornness was ferociously stubborn. He was proving it again right now.

"If you need the cam, just say so. In exchange — one hour a day, got it?"

The webcam he'd confiscated last time, only to magnanimously allow her limited use of — with a time cap, no less. Like a parent rationing a toddler's game time.

Not that she particularly felt like working at the moment, anyway.

"Nope. I'm good today."

"Really? Nice."

At her answer he dropped cross-legged onto the floor and pulled out his phone. Seo-hee took out her own smartphone and resumed the drama she'd been watching.

"..."

"..."

An hour passed. Then two. Not a single word exchanged between them. An extrovert would probably have found the silence suffocating, but in moments like this Han Seo-hee felt at ease.

Someone who never forced conversation on her. Someone whose presence didn't make quiet companionship awkward. There had been no one like that anywhere around her, which was why human relationships had always been pure stress.

But time spent beside Kim Yi-seon now wasn't uncomfortable at all. It was comfortable — the kind of everyday life she had always dreamed of.

She was watching the drama in that warm haze when a title on the OTT site's drama list snagged her eye, over and over.

She flinched and scrolled right past it. A drama that seemed to center on a successful career woman, promoted at lightning speed, who falls into an office romance with a younger subordinate.

It was a recently concluded hit that kept surfacing in her recommendation feed, and Han Seo-hee kept avoiding it. No hidden reason. It just didn't look entertaining. That was all.

But her eyes kept flicking — glancing, glancing again — toward Kim Yi-seon sitting on the floor.

Right. I've watched practically everything else worth watching. Nothing else to see. And I can't even work properly because of Yi-seon, so there's no other way to kill time.

Having finished constructing her excuse, Han Seo-hee pressed play on episode one.

I shouldn't have watched it.

That was Han Seo-hee's verdict after bingeing the drama straight through.

Was it boring? Not remotely. It hit her tastes dead center — and that was precisely the problem. It was such a bullseye that the story and the scenes refused to wipe themselves from her head.

She'd stayed up all night racing through it without sleeping, and even now the great scenes kept replaying one by one.

Especially the male lead — he didn't actually resemble him, but the vibe was uncannily like Yi-seon's, so...

"You idiot! You absolute idiot!"

She thumped her head hard against the headboard. Get a grip, you lunatic. You have to.

There was a five-year age gap, for one. She was the CEO; Yi-seon was a rookie. And above all — the wedding hadn't happened yet, sure, but wasn't Kim Yi-seon a married man? His wife was that Ye-eun, wasn't she?

Even now, the memory of Ye-eun was terrifying. She'd been oddly kind to her — but that was the treatment reserved for an adult Han Seo-hee with no entanglement to Kim Yi-seon. God only knew what that woman would do to a shameless Han Seo-hee sniffing around her husband. She didn't dare imagine it.

Seo-hee exhaled a long, deep breath and tried to steady herself. Honestly, by now she admitted it. She had feelings for Kim Yi-seon.

But he already had two girlfriends, and even setting her aside, women flocked to him — was a man like that going to spare a thought for Han Seo-hee? They had gotten close, sure, but honestly, part of it had probably just been him being courteous to a club employee. To his CEO.

So this feeling had to be folded away and put in a drawer. Confessing would only be a burden to him. He had no intention of accepting, and turning her down would be too awkward for him — she'd just be dumping stress on the poor guy.

So: deep breaths, and press the fantasies back down. She couldn't promise she'd banish them completely, but Yi-seon came by her room every day, so she at least had to act normal on the surface.

And so, to force her mind elsewhere, Han Seo-hee went hunting for variety shows and gag webtoons, anything to calm her heart.

An hour passed that way. Then two.

...

...

...

...Wait. Why hadn't Yi-seon come by?

Normally by this hour he'd have finished morning training, knocked on the veranda, and appeared with that trademark reckless grin of his, wouldn't he?

Unease crept in, and Han Seo-hee gingerly stepped out onto her veranda. Naturally, no one was there.

I guess I'll have to go check his room, then.

Every delusion imaginable detonated in her skull, but she crushed them down as best she could and carefully made her way to Yi-seon's veranda.

She stood at the window. No sound from inside, curtains drawn just as they'd been.

She rapped on the glass — knock knock. No response. Cautiously, she tried it: unlocked.

Creeeak.

"Yi-seon?"

She stepped into a man's room for the first time in her life, heart tight with nerves — and saw him, curled up in his blanket on the bed.

...What, he overslept? The sun's nearly overhead. Sleeping in this late is a bit much.

The tension drained out of her. So Yi-seon was still just a kid after all. He'd probably stayed up all night bingeing some manga or other, same as her.

For a moment she considered just letting him sleep, but no — he was a professional athlete. Training had to happen. She tiptoed over to wake him.

"Mnn..."

Something was off, though.

Wound up tight in his blanket. Flushed face. Furrowed brow.

A terrible thought struck her, and she pressed a hand to his forehead.

"Yi-seon! Wake up! Yi-seon!"

"Mnn... noona?"

"Yes, it's me — are you okay?! Does your throat hurt? Are you coughing at all?!"

His head was a lump of burning coal. And along with it surfaced the doctor's warning from before: even a negative test could flip positive later on.

Han Seo-hee had to move, and move fast.

"...Well, thank goodness. It's just a cold, body aches and all."

"Sorry, noona."

After all that frantic commotion, the test kit came back negative, and the doctor she'd called to describe his symptoms said it wasn't COVID — just an ordinary cold. The worst-case scenario was off the table, and for that much she could breathe again.

On Yi-seon's forehead sat a makeshift ice pack, assembled with Han Seo-hee's clumsy handiwork. She'd fished a retort-pouch porridge out of the pandemic relief supplies and fed it to him in a hurry, then dug out cold medicine as well.

There was nothing urgent left now. So with a voice finally freed of worry, Han Seo-hee answered his apology.

"What is there to be sorry about? You're the one who's sick. Besides, you took care of me when I was ill once, remember?"

It had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been not long after she'd first met Kim Yi-seon. He'd noticed a cold she didn't even know she had and looked after her. Now the situation had flipped entirely on its head, and she found it a little funny.

"Right. Then... thank you."

...I always did think his smile was cute, but stack the sickness on top and now he's got that fragile, pitiful look too — this is just unfair, the destructive power of—

"Thank you?! Like I can't even manage this much!"

You idiot! There you go again! Your kid is SICK and you're thinking WHAT?

She wrestled her thoughts back under control. Caring for an ailing player was simply one of a club executive's core duties. There was nothing personal in it. In the drama, too, when the junior employee who handled important work fell ill, the heroine visited his sickbed for strictly professional reasons, and...

No! Nursing someone through an illness isn't a man-and-woman thing — close friends do it all the time. Even in the drama, up to that point they weren't romantic at all, just a boss and a junior employee who'd grown close, and...

Exactly! A person is SICK, and having weird thoughts about a sick person is morally indefensible.

But the delusions would not stop. Maybe she'd relaxed too early, convinced the dangerous part was over — the strange thoughts just kept coming.

Right. Even just facing Yi-seon when he pops into MY room is enough that I have to brace myself. And this would be me, nursing a sick Yi-seon, in HIS room? That's far too dangerous.

Time to go. I can't stay in this room a second longer.

"Yi-seon, call me if you get any worse, okay? I'm going to head back to my room."

Because if I stay, God only knows what I might do.

She rose from her seat and turned toward the veranda — and that was when it happened.

"Noona... can't you stay here with me?"

His fingers caught the hem of her shirt. Fever-flushed, his face tilted up at her, eyes glistening and wet.

...

Now that I think about it, there was a scene exactly like this in the drama. The sick male lead grabbing the heroine just as she tries to leave. And what happened after that scene, again...?

Doesn't matter. You flirted first.

She pivoted on the spot and walked straight back to the bed. Then, with one decisive motion, she flung the blanket right off of him.

"Noona?"

Yes, this is on you. From here on, I do as I please.

And then, precisely as she'd seen in the drama, she covered Yi-seon's body — not with the blanket, but with her own. Whether it was the fever or the sweat, his scent was stronger than usual.

It's not... unpleasant or anything... but somewhere in me, everything feels strange.

Yi-seon twisted and squirmed in flustered panic — and somehow that only pleased her more. You bad boy. All this time it's been ME left flustered and sputtering, hasn't it? Now it's your turn.

"Noona? C-can't you give me a little space? Just for a second — noona!"

Mm, nope. Not listening. Time you got a taste of it too.

Wriggling with that thought, she burrowed into the hollow of his chest. Somewhere in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠process her whole body ended up pressed and rubbing against his, which was a little embarrassing — but his reaction was getting more entertaining by the second.

Take that! And that! You shameless swallow, you! Revenge time!

...

...

...

"Haah..."

Yi-seon let out a long sigh — and for some reason, that sigh sent a little shiver down her spine.

"...I did tell you to give me a little space, you know."

And then... something she had never once felt before touched her, right between her thighs.