FBPP C28

Chapter 28

The truth was, Ji-han had suspected some kind of scheme when the guy kept pestering him over the repairs and even called him all the way here. But stalking? Absolutely not. At worst, it was a ploy for money, or maybe an attempt to leech off his fame.

Besides, this was Korea. Stalking crimes targeting men were hardly common, and it didn’t make sense that someone wealthy enough to frequent a private gym would deliberately scratch a car under the gaze of countless CCTVs in the parking lot.

Ji-han let out a disbelieving laugh and brushed a hand across his lips. His face was the kind people often said was hard to approach even when he was silent, so he worried the laugh might come across as mocking.

“Don’t worry. I never thought of it that way.”
“That’s a relief.”

Ji-han poured himself another drink. Annoying as he’d thought the guy was, his taste in liquor wasn’t bad. The whiskey and vodka on the table were all to Ji-han’s liking. He wasn’t rude, he wasn’t unnecessarily loud, and his voice was smooth and pleasant to hear.

Ji-han suddenly thought of AkashaPhilBan, who was the complete opposite. If that bastard, the one he couldn’t stomach no matter how hard he tried, had even half of Kang Kyung-woo’s manners, his Zenith life would have been many times more peaceful.

“Do you not hold concerts in Korea?”
“I do. I’m on a break right now.”

Too curt? Swirling the liquor in his mouth, Ji-han added lightly,
“What sport do you play?”
“Sport…? Swimming, and a bit of weight training.”

A swimmer? Thinking back to Kang Kyung-woo — sleeveless, broad-shouldered — Ji-han accepted it easily enough. Swimmers were known for their wide shoulders, and Kyung-woo’s shoulders were certainly broad. But damn — were there really many men in the world built like that? Did they even belong to the same species?

Even if Ji-han trained twelve hours a day, he could never build muscles like that. The bone structure was something he simply wasn’t born with. Somehow, Kyung-woo looked like the type who’d have abs even if he just sat still breathing. A twinge of envy rose inside him.

“I seeee.”

His voice trailed off. Ji-han hated working out and resented men who were born naturally muscular. He preferred exercise limited to breathing.

“So what do you do these days during your break? I’ve heard performers can’t put their instruments down, even on vacation.”

Wasn’t that true of all professions? Take your hands off your work and you got rusty, regardless of what it was. Sure, in music, fingertip sensitivity was crucial, but the same went for athletics. Even Ji-han had to lower his bench press after just two weeks off.

“I just rest at home. Play games…”

Mentioning gaming was safe; it was bound to come up in the talk show anyway. To his surprise, Kang Kyung-woo showed interest.

“Games? Online games?”
“Yes. Zenith.”
“Ah… you seem like you’d be good at it.”

Was that a compliment? The MCs and writers on the talk show had teased him about his “unexpected image.”

“Not really. My rank’s low.”
“What’s your tier?”

What, was this guy also a Zenith player? With how many users it had and the fact that it hosted world championships, it wasn’t shocking — but picturing polite, well-mannered Kang Kyung-woo in a game full of flaming and sarcasm felt off.

“Silver.”
“Oh dear.”

Oh dear? That was a genuine sigh of pity. He spoke as if he knew the misery of being stuck in Silver. Ji-han found himself curious. It was the first time he’d talked gaming face-to-face with someone.

“What about you, Mr. Kang Kyung-woo?”
“Just call me Kyung-woo. I’m… Gold.”

Gold? Barely a step above Silver, and yet he sighed at Silver like it was hell and Gold was paradise. The nerve. As if Plat wasn’t still a madhouse.

“You’re good, then. My goal is just to escape Silver.”
“What’s your position?”
“…Support.”

It was the role beginners most often picked. Zenith was a game where every position and character showed wide performance gaps between newbies and pros, but Support was the least likely to cause a catastrophe. Or, more precisely, even if you messed up, it could be salvaged.

Compared to tanks who had to provide vision and disrupt enemy lines, melee dealers who demanded brutal mechanics and positioning, or ranged dealers who melted if caught out, supports could get away with just slapping a shield on the marksman and not be blamed in low tiers.

“That’s interesting. I think this is the first time I’ve met someone who plays the same game.”

Thankfully, he didn’t press for nicknames or ask to play together. He knew how to keep a respectable distance. He really did seem well-mannered.

“So do you dress up your avatar too?”
“Do I look like the type?”
“Mm… yes. You dress well in real life.”
“Well, since I’m not very good at the game itself, I do end up collecting avatars.”

Zenith wasn’t called the paradise of fashion-lovers for nothing. Ji-han hadn’t started as one, but somehow ended up being one anyway.

Kang Kyung-woo’s eyes, level with his cheek, suddenly locked on his.
“…What?”
“Nothing.”

Kyung-woo smiled.
“I just thought it was kind of cute, collecting avatars.”

Was he insane? Ji-han barely kept his expression under control. Did this guy really just call a fully grown man “cute”?

“Oh, no… I didn’t mean anything weird. It just feels like playing dress-up dolls. I don’t care about avatars myself.”

Again. That oddly sheepish look. His face, all broad and manly, paired with that rain-drenched-puppy expression, looked almost too naïve.

Ji-han tapped the rim of his shot glass with a finger and changed the subject while holding Kyung-woo’s gaze.
“Right. Anyway. Could you hand me that on-the-rocks glass over there?”

The conversation, light as small talk at first, grew easier as the alcohol sank in. Not that they were tossing jokes back and forth like close friends, but it flowed without awkward pauses.

“Is there a reason your hobby is gaming? There are so many other things… reading, movies, dramas.”

Why gaming? Ji-han wasn’t the type to rationalize his actions. He avoided things society condemned, and anything that might tarnish his image, but everything else he just did as he pleased.

Zenith had caught his eye, he’d tried it, and it turned out fun. In that world, where no one knew him, he could act however he liked.

“I do read books and watch movies or dramas.”

Kyung-woo set down his glass and chuckled low. His voice, husky and velvety, sent shivers down Ji-han’s ears.

“Really? Anything interesting lately?”
“Check the broadcast.”

All he’d done was skim a summary, but at least it was reading outside of piano scores. He’d even wasted a whole hour prepping some anecdotes for TV.

“In my case, because of work, I started to get confused about who I really was. Not like I’m a philosopher, but I even found myself wondering why people live.”

Ji-han, who could slip into another persona like Jekyll and Hyde, didn’t even think like that. Wasn’t that depression talking?

“I heard games help relieve stress, so I gave it a try. And it’s true. At first it only stressed me more, but later…”

Kyung-woo poured himself another drink. His hand was a bit unsteady now, probably tipsy.

“It was fun. They say people’s true nature comes out in games. Maybe so. I’ve never gotten that angry in real life.”

With a body like his, getting angry in reality would be attempted murder. Even grabbing someone by the collar could mean a police report. Better he vent in a game — safer for society. As long as it wasn’t directed at Ji-han.

“For me it’s not that profound. It’s just easier to get immersed. Winning and losing shows right away. With movies or books, you have to follow along; the emotions are long and complex. Too much effort when you only have a little free time.”
“That makes sense. Still, I’m curious. What’s the most fun movie you’ve ever watched? A music film?”

The movie Ji-han enjoyed most was a comedy about a detective opening a fried chicken shop. Music films? He didn’t even care for standard romances.

He rubbed the smooth surface of the glass with his fingertip, thinking.
“No. Titanic.”

No way he’d admit to some ridiculous comedy film being his favorite to someone he barely knew.

“Ah… so you don’t watch a lot of Korean movies?”
“Not picky about nationality.”
“Hahaha!”

Kyung-woo’s eyes crinkled as he laughed fully. Ji-han, in the middle of pouring, looked up in confusion.

“What’s so funny?”
“Ji-han, you’re not a good liar, are you?”

What the hell? Sitting here right now, Ji-han was eighty percent lies, you bastard.